Authors: Peter Lovesey
‘There was one of them, yes. Some kind of folding stand under the barrel. And a holder for the bullets.’
‘A box magazine. How did he carry the gun?’
‘In his right hand, the barrel towards the ground. But he stopped once and drew it to his chest and gripped it with both hands. He turned round. I think he heard me kick a stone.’
‘Scary.’
‘Very.’
‘You took evasive action?’
A grin. ‘Flat on my stomach in the long grass. He didn’t see me, I think.’
‘You wouldn’t be telling the tale if he had. Where did this happen?’
‘About a hundred yards after we crossed the swing bridge.’
‘We’ll take a look in daylight. We should be able to find where you were lying. Let’s get back to him. What height would you say?’
‘About the same as me. I’m five nine.’
‘Anything memorable about the way he moves?’
‘A bit of a stoop, but that could be the weight of the weapon. It looked heavy to me.’
‘Six pounds or more, probably. You wouldn’t want to carry it for a mile or two, as he did. Did you see his face at any stage?’
‘Not enough to tell you anything about it.’
‘Clean-shaven?’
‘Hard to tell. If he had a beard it wasn’t bushy.’
‘And he kept the baseball cap on all the time?’
‘All the time.’
‘Where did he give you the slip?’
‘If I knew that, I’d have called in when it happened. I went on for quite some way, thinking he was still ahead of me. What with the poor light and the bends in the path I was losing sight of him every now and then. Thinking back, it must have happened about halfway between the swing bridge and here. Maybe he did spot me following him.’
Diamond shook his head. ‘You’d be dead meat if he had. It’s possible he heard you and decided to go back. He knows this area, that’s for sure. He was taking a calculated risk approaching the town by way of the park. For about half a mile he was on a narrow strip with the river to his left and the canal to his right. We could have trapped him there. I think he came that way thinking we hadn’t had time to prepare an ambush, then lost his nerve or more likely changed his mind and doubled back. He could still be lying up somewhere.’
‘Is it worth making a search?’
‘Until daybreak our chance of locating him is nil. We’ll organise what we can at first light, but I’m not optimistic.’
‘Should I rejoin my unit in Becky Addy Wood, guv?’
‘No. Take off your shoes.’
PC Shilling gave Diamond a long look. He’d gleaned that he couldn’t take everything at face value from the man from Bath. ‘My shoes?’
‘I want forensics to look at them. Unfortunately I can’t offer you a replacement pair. You’ll just have to tiptoe to one of the minibuses in your socks and curl up on a seat and get some shuteye. I’m going to need you later.’
The hour before dawn – not the time you want to be awake – was when it fully sank in with Diamond that a unique opportunity was lost. The best that could now be hoped was that forensics would pick up some traces. Helpful as Shilling had tried to be, his description of the suspect was of negligible value. People’s estimates of heights were unreliable and a change of clothing would negate all the rest.
Was this the moment to hand the whole sorry case back to Jack Gull, who was still officially running the show? The Serial Crimes Unit had the firepower, all the expertise, and was better equipped for action than a middle-aged detective with a beer belly and a limp.
I don’t think so, he told himself.
The latest killing was on his patch. Harry Tasker was Manvers Street family and the family cared. No one – least of all Diamond – was going to back off. And if Gull or any other jobsworth wanted to argue they would come up against the fact that the sniper had demonstrated local knowledge, set up camp in Becky Addy and dominated the terrain like a territorial jackal.
‘I’ll need more of your foot-soldiers than we had overnight,’ he told the inspector in charge of the Wiltshire contingent. ‘This lot did all I could have asked and deserve their sleep, but replacements must be here before they go off duty. There’s a search to get under way. And in case you’re about to ask, I’m bussing in more from Avon and Somerset.’
‘What I was about to ask is who is funding this,’ the inspector said. ‘It seems to be your operation with our manpower. I’m seriously overrunning my budget.’
‘In the interests of cross-border harmony, I won’t tell you where to stuff your budget. Don’t push me, chum. It’s been a long night.’
Various duty officers, at forensics, headquarters and Manvers Street, had to be called. There was a certain satisfaction in
reminding them that even at this hour he was on the case and requiring back-up and expecting results. Finally he called Supergull and updated him.
‘You seem to have a lot of energy,’ the head of the SCU commented.
‘I grabbed some shuteye earlier, quality shuteye. How about you?’
‘Knackered.’ So utterly knackered that Gull had forgotten to preface it with a strong adjective.
‘Better get your head down, Jack. It’s under control.’
‘Right, I’ll do just that.’
Without even a murmur of protest.
Actually Diamond was feeling chipper. The sleep he’d fitted in before midnight had set him up nicely. He’d probably experience something akin to jet lag later. For the present he was Mr. Motivator.
Soon after the first flush of daylight, he took a walk with PC Shilling (in borrowed shoes) and a scene-of-crime team through the countryside park to look for the place where Shilling had lain prone in long grass. The dawn chorus was exhilarating and the sudden shafts of light through the trees made a show better than anything Walt Disney had ever put on film. For one fleeting moment he persuaded himself he should rise earlier more often. Then he remembered why he was here.
Distances can be difficult to judge in stress situations and Shilling’s first estimate of where he’d hit the ground was wrong by almost fifty yards. One of the team walked on and found the place eventually, enough grass still flattened to leave no doubt.
‘Do you want this taped off, sir?’
‘No need. I’m more interested in where the suspect was.’
Henry Shilling pointed. ‘Twenty to twenty-five yards in that direction, no more.’
‘Let’s see.’ Diamond’s faith in Shilling’s judgement of distances was draining away. However, the ground conditions gave rise to hope that the search was worthwhile. This stretch was close enough to the Avon to get flooded from time to time. Marsh flowers like the creeping buttercup thrived here and so did riverside trees such as sallow, willow and alder. The ground dried hard in warm weather, but a stretch of the path was still moist from recent high water.
He started forward.
‘Watch how you go, Mr. Diamond.’ This urgent shout came from one of the forensic team and it wasn’t Diamond’s limping
gait that concerned him, but the possibility of shoeprints being stepped over and ruined.
He stopped. ‘One of you lot had better go ahead.’
The process took fifteen minutes longer than it would have with Diamond leading the way, but it produced a result: a number of clean prints in an area of light mud. The marks showed the sort of intricate patterning typical of rubber-soled running shoes. And yes, they were measured at twenty-three yards from where PC Shilling had hidden in the grass. The direction and positioning suggested that the wearer of the shoes had stood there and half turned before moving on.
‘These are stunning. I couldn’t ask for better,’ the forensics team leader said as if he were judging a flower show. ‘Tape off this area and we’ll get some photos first and then do the casts.’
‘You’ll be able to identify the make of shoe?’ Diamond asked.
‘No question. We keep a database of all the makes. Better still, there’s evidence of wear noticeable even to the naked eye, so we should be able to match them to the actual pair of shoes. You get little cuts, nicks and scratches that can be just as helpful as fingerprint ridge patterns.’
‘We still have to find the shoes.’
‘True, but you can also look for matching prints elsewhere. Were any found at the crime scenes?’
‘I believe they were.’
‘A word of warning. I wouldn’t get too excited,’ the man from forensics added, having stoked up a heap of excitement himself. ‘Prints found on a public pathway won’t stand up in court, even with your police witness. A competent defence lawyer will eat you alive on what we have so far.’
‘It’s a beginning,’ Diamond said. ‘Up to now all we have is a worthless sighting of the suspect on a motorbike.’
‘Why worthless?’
‘Because the witness is a dumb cluck who can’t tell one bike from another.’
He and PC Shilling left them to it.
The systematic search of the area had been under way almost two hours with no new finds when Diamond took a call on his mobile from Keith Halliwell.
‘How are you holding up, guv?’
‘Okay.’
‘And how is the pain in the –’
‘Jack Gull? He’s gone to bed.’
‘I meant
your
pain in
your
leg.’
‘Not a problem. Hasn’t hampered me one bit. Where are you?’
‘The incident room. Remember you asked me to look for fingerprints for Willis, the guy living on the top floor in the Paragon house?’
‘From his car, yes. And you got a good set. Any news yet?’
‘He isn’t in the system. Seems he’s a law-abiding citizen.’
‘Pity.’
‘Also a call came in from Harry Tasker’s widow. She’d like to see you as soon as possible.’
‘See
me
?’ Yesterday’s meeting flashed up in his memory: the next-of-kin interview he’d rather forget. ‘Something wrong?’
‘She wouldn’t say. Wouldn’t leave a message. Wouldn’t want anyone else to go there. She had a female officer with her yesterday, but she soon sent her packing. I didn’t press her for information, in view of her sad loss. I promised you’d try and get there later today.’
‘I’d better. Did it sound urgent?’
‘Hard to tell. The voice is kind of flat. The shock has kicked in, I guess.’
‘It kicked in with a vengeance while I was with her. If she’s calmed down, that’s a help. Maybe it’s about getting the body released for the funeral. When’s the autopsy?’
‘This afternoon.’ A pause from Halliwell. ‘You’d like me to be there?’
Diamond disliked being predictable. ‘Who else is about?’
‘Nobody much. Half the station are up at Westwood on a door-to-door round in case anyone witnessed the suspect in the last few days. John Leaman is catching up on sleep. Ingeborg is in Radstock.’
‘Radstock?’
‘You may remember sending her there to get the dope on their murdered officer.’
‘So I did.’ It seemed a month ago.
‘Looks as if it’s me for the post mortem, then.’ Halliwell refrained from adding ‘as usual’.
‘You’re a tower of strength, Keith. If it weren’t for my dodgy leg …’
‘… which you said hasn’t hampered you one bit.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Okay, guv. I’ll head off to the mortuary. No one is better placed than you to handle Mrs. Tasker.’
Open to debate, Diamond thought.
More shoeprints were found matching the set discovered earlier. They were in a stand of larch at the eastern edge of Becky Addy Wood, where PC Shilling had first seen the suspect. The finds might not impress a court of law, but they were encouraging to Diamond. He was satisfied they had been made by the suspect. They could be compared with any shoeprints found at the murder scenes in Wells and Radstock. Photos and fresh casts were taken.
Towards midday John Leaman returned to duty and took over. ‘You deserve a siesta, guv,’ he said.
‘A black coffee will have to do,’ Diamond said. ‘I’ll go home and feed the cat and then visit Emma Tasker. She’s asking to see me. God knows why.’
The gasholder at the Windsor Bridge works loomed and he stopped the car as close as he could to Onega Terrace, opposite a row of houses called Park View. Grimly appropriate, he thought. In theory, there was a park across the street, but any view was masked by a solid mass of tall conifers, so the residents had to settle for parked cars.
A large woman, much larger than the widow, opened the door. Diamond explained who he was.
The woman looked him up and down with suspicion, probably taking him for a pressman, in spite of who he claimed to be. She was evidently a neighbour doing her best to shield Emma from unwanted callers.
He told her he’d been invited to call.
‘What did you say your name is?’
He heard Emma’s voice from deeper inside the house. ‘If he’s the big thug who was here yesterday, send him in.’
Not the best testimonial I’ve been given, he thought.
He was shown into the room where Emma Tasker sat in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket made of hand-knitted, coloured squares. ‘What caused that?’ she said, eyeing his crutch.
‘Fell over.’
‘Drunk?’
He shook his head. ‘Man drove at me on a motorbike.’
‘So it isn’t just a try for sympathy in case I lose my rag again and start throwing things at you?’
He chanced a quick smile and failed to get one in return.
‘What man? One of your own?’ Again, the remark sounded flip, the sort of bitter humour he was used to at work. But still her face showed not a flicker of amusement.
‘No, a suspect. He was hiding in the woods near Bradford on Avon.’
‘Did he get away?’
‘Up to now, yes.’
‘Is he Harry’s killer – Harry and the other two who were shot?’
‘It’s likely.’
‘Bastard. And you let him get away?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘He’ll shoot someone else now.’ She was unrelenting.
‘I hope not.’ The words sounded feeble as he spoke them and he tried for a stronger response and did no better. ‘We’ll not rest until he’s caught.’
‘He’s got nothing to lose,’ she said. ‘He’ll go on picking off good men while you lot fail to catch him.’
‘Believe me, ma’am, we’re doing everything in our power to stop him.’ Quickly, he changed tack. ‘And how are you coping?’
‘It’s no picnic.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I haven’t had any sleep yet.’