Authors: Peter Lovesey
Halliwell spoke first. ‘Fill us in, then.’
‘He’s downstairs with that sergeant who fell asleep in his car.’
‘Steve Stillman? What’s so special about that?’ John Leaman asked.
‘Using interview room 2?’ Gilbert said, refusing to be downed. ‘The word from Jenny in the control room is that he was waiting in the yard to meet Stillman’s patrol car when he came off duty. They went in looking as if World War III had broken out, both of them.’
‘Going over his story again, I expect,’ Leaman said.
Halliwell said in support, ‘It’s no big deal, using an interview
room to talk to a fellow officer. My guess is he didn’t want us to hear about it in case we get the idea he’s picking us off one by one. It would have looked bad if he’d come up here with Stillman in tow.’
‘He’s made up his mind the sniper is in-house,’ Gilbert said.
‘He’d better think again, then,’ Ingeborg said from her side of the room. ‘In-house he is not. The report has come in from forensics. It’s on my screen now. The guy living rough in the woods is definitely the sniper.’
‘How do they know?’
‘Matching shoe prints. There was a good set in the pillbox at Avoncliff. They’re a perfect match with another set taken from the tree-house at the Wells shooting.’
‘That’s it, then,’ Leaman said. ‘Who’s going to tell the boss?’
‘What’s more, there were more of the same along the countryside walk where the sniper was almost caught last night.’
‘Shoe prints aren’t as reliable as fingerprints,’ Halliwell said. ‘I’ve heard of mistakes being made with shoe evidence.’
Gilbert said, ‘He’s bright enough not to have touched anything except the gun.’
‘It’s not just the make of shoe he was wearing,’ Ingeborg said. ‘It’s the wear on the shoes, all those little grooves and nicks. They’re in no doubt.’
‘Pity we don’t have a national database for shoe prints, like we do for fingerprints,’ Halliwell said.
‘Now you’re being facetious,’ Ingeborg said. ‘This is good evidence. No way is he in-house, as Paul suggested, not in any sense. He’s very much out in the open and he can’t be one of ours, living rough like that. There’s no reason for a cop to go on the run.’
‘Are you going to tell the guv’nor?’ Leaman asked her.
‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’
‘I’d like to see his face.’
‘We’ll all see it when he comes upstairs.’
He did, several minutes later, all smiles. ‘Afternoon, people,’ he said, and before Ingeborg or anyone else could speak he told them he’d just had a profitable session with Sergeant Stillman. The word ‘session’ made it sound like a chat over a glass of beer. He was more buoyant than he’d been all week. ‘Things are starting to emerge,’ he said, ‘things some of us may find difficult to deal
with. Keep this strictly to yourselves for the present. There was gossip – and it may be no more than that – about Harry Tasker, to the effect that he was on the take.’
Ingeborg took a sharp, indignant breath. ‘That’s so mean, regardless of whether it’s true. The poor man is dead and his own fellow officers are slagging him off?’
‘Which is why we’re going to deal with it discreetly.’
‘I don’t think we should deal with it at all.’
‘Worthy sentiments, Inge, but you’re wrong. It’s got to be investigated. We may have found the motive for Harry’s murder. If he was demanding pay-offs from people up to no good, he was playing with fire.’
‘You said it’s only gossip.’
‘And sometimes gossip is true. Harry was one of the longest-serving beat constables and he thought he was entitled to special treatment. He was very protective of his own beat, unwilling to switch with anyone else.’
‘That’s to be expected. He knew it better.’
‘Agreed, but there is another construction.’
Halliwell said, ‘He didn’t want anyone else finding out?’
‘Correct. Well, Harry’s dead, and he can’t object any more. I want two of you on that beat tonight, meeting people, finding what they know.’
‘Tonight?’ Ingeborg said.
‘Around ten, when the low lives come up to feed. I’ll tee it up with the beat manager. This is a job for you, Paul. And Inge.’
‘Me?’ she said. She obviously had other plans for the evening. In Diamond’s murder squad, you could never count on anything.
‘You’re quick to spot evasion. Walk the same beat Harry did, call at the same pubs and clubs and get a sense of whether he ever demanded backhanders in return for protection, or silence or information.’
‘What if Jack Gull makes an arrest before then? Some forensic results are in that I think you ought to see.’
‘We’ll still be stumped for a motive. This could be it. Meanwhile I’ll talk to our contacts at Wells and Radstock and see if by any chance the earlier victims were on the take.’
A little later, Keith Halliwell stepped into Diamond’s office. The big man was studying yet another list, this time of officers who
had served with Harry Tasker in the past and also had firearms experience. Guiltily, he turned it face down.
‘Do you seriously rate Sergeant Stillman as a suspect, guv?’
‘Why? Is there something else I should know about him?’
‘He’s a good guy. If a volunteer is wanted, he puts up his hand. Doesn’t mind doing an extra shift to help out. They’re saying in uniform that he was dog tired on Sunday morning when he fell asleep in the car.’
‘It’s no excuse, as you and I know, Keith.’
‘No one thinks he could have shot Harry.’
‘He’s an AFO. He knows how to handle an assault rifle. I want to find out next if he was issued with one recently.’
Halliwell sighed softly. ‘He’d need a motive.’
‘He wasn’t Harry’s best pal, I can tell you that.’
‘Harry was an awkward cuss, guv. Didn’t get along too well with anyone in uniform. You can’t blame Stillman for being cool about him.’
‘I’m not blaming anyone at this stage,’ Diamond said. ‘There’s more to come out, I’m sure. This is in confidence, Keith. I’ve been going over lists of firearms officers from way back, people who served with Harry and the other victims. Prior to 2004, as we know, you could do a five-day course and plenty did. It looked good on your record. So there’s a fair number of names.’
‘Anyone we know?’
‘Harry, for one.’
‘Harry did the course?’
‘When he was based at Helston. One of twenty-three names supplied by Devon and Cornwall Constabulary, PC Tasker. He could have upgraded here and done the five-week course at Portishead, but he never did. He wasn’t ambitious any more.’
‘Unlike certain other people?’
Diamond gave him a sharp look. ‘Who do you mean?’
‘Ken Lockton, for one. If he hadn’t gone it alone, we might have caught the sniper.’
‘I wasn’t going to say that.’
‘Guv, did Ingeborg show you that forensic report?’
‘On the shoe marks found at Avoncliff? She handed me a copy, true. She didn’t have much to say. She’s not a happy bunny.’
‘But this new evidence seems to wrap it up.’
‘Yes?’ He couldn’t have made the word sound any more negative. ‘We still don’t know who the sniper is.’
‘True, but this is a definite link with the killing at Wells.’
‘Keith, I’ve been in this game too long to use the word “definite” about anything. It’s new information, I grant you.’
Sensing that Diamond’s pride was on the line, Halliwell didn’t push the argument any further. He cleared his throat. ‘About tonight, guv.’
‘All these years and I thought you’d never ask.’
Halliwell did his best to humour the boss by smiling. ‘I’m thinking about young Gilbert and Ingeborg walking Harry Tasker’s beat. They said nothing to me about this, but is it safe, do you think?’
Diamond frowned. ‘They’re grown-ups. They’re cops.’
‘I know, but Harry was murdered on that beat.’
‘He was in uniform and so were the other victims. If the sniper wants more blood, he’s not going to kill coppers in plain clothes. He’ll move on to some other town and target another poor blighter on the beat. That’s the pattern, Keith. He doesn’t vary it. To come back to your question. Yes, those babes are going to be safe.’
19
‘I
feel like a traitor, doing this.’ Ingeborg said to Paul Gilbert. ‘It’s muckraking, that’s what it is, and it’s so much worse because Harry is dead. He can’t defend his reputation.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘I’ve got a lot of respect for the guv’nor, as you know, but this time he’s screwed up.’
‘There is one thing about it.’
‘Tell me,’ she said in a world-weary tone. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Up to now, he’s been saying the sniper could be one of us, a cop. If I understand him right, he’s come round to thinking it could be an outsider after all. You and I are trying to find out if Harry was bent, right?’
She sighed. ‘I get you. If it turns out to be true, and Harry was shot because he was on the take, the killer has to be some lowlife he was threatening.’
‘And that’s got to be preferred to one of us.’
Ingeborg didn’t appear any happier. ‘It still leaves us doing a filthy job. Why can’t he see what everyone else does – that there’s an evil guy out there who is killing cops and doesn’t care who they are?’
They’d reached George Street, into the second hour of their trek around the beat that Harry Tasker had done so often that he’d claimed it as his own. Finding people willing to speak was easier than they’d expected. Most had heard about the murder and a few had actually met Harry. No one had so far said a word against him.
Gilbert, too, had doubts, but more about the practicality of the
task. ‘Even if Harry bent the rules a bit, who’s going to tell us? As soon we mention he’s the lad who was murdered, they only want to say nice things about him.’
‘I’ve written some of them down, ready to quote back at you-know-who,’ Ingeborg said. ‘ “An old-fashioned bobby, like you lot used to be.” “Firm, but fair.” “Good with the teenagers.” None of that squares with what Mr. D suggested.’
‘But are they sincere, or are they telling us what they think we want to hear?’
Ingeborg flicked some hair back from her shoulder. ‘Not much we can do about that.’ She wasn’t usually so resigned. The tug of loyalties was getting to her.
Gilbert decided it was up to him to suggest a change of plan. ‘Two of us together is a bit heavy. Listen, why don’t I stand back and watch you from across the street? People might speak more freely to you if you’re on your own.’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘The blokes will.’
‘Go on. Pull the other one.’
‘I mean it, Inge. Let’s give it a go. See those two?’ He was looking across the street at the bouncers outside Moles, Bath’s oldest nightclub. ‘It’s a fair bet they spoke to Harry at some time.’
She still didn’t like the suggestion. ‘I won’t be popular with the queue. They’ll think I’m trying to sweet-talk my way in.’
‘The guys on the door will know you’re serious as soon as you show them Harry’s picture. I’ll watch from over here.’
There was sense in what he was saying. She gave way with a sigh, adding. ‘At the next place, it’s your turn.’
‘Okay, but I don’t have your advantages.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Knickers.’
She raised a smile, gave him a dig in the ribs and crossed the street. In the timeline of popular music, Moles, at over thirty years old, was not quite as venerable as the Rolling Stones, but it had had some biggish licks. Its small stage had hosted The Cure, Primal Scream, Tears for Fears, Radiohead, Blur and Oasis as bands on their way up the charts. Ingeborg’s visits didn’t go back that far, but she was a regular and knew the interior nearly as well as the CID room. Even so, bouncers tend to change and neither of these two recognised her.
‘Hi, guys.’ She gave them her playful smile and a sight of her warrant card. ‘Just checking that it’s all okay tonight.’
‘What’s all this?’ the bigger of the two asked. ‘You expecting bovver on Cheese night?’
She laughed. The Big Cheese was a midweek institution here, cheap drinks and cheesy tunes everyone knew the words to. Trouble was rare. ‘I’m trying to get some background on the officer who was shot last weekend.’ She held up Harry’s picture. ‘Did you know him?’
‘Poor sod, yes. He’d stop and have a word sometimes.’
‘What about? Last night’s TV?’
‘No, darling. He was doing his job, telling us to keep a look out for drugs and that.’
‘And were you able to help?’
He shook his head. ‘We know who the bad lads are, anyway. They don’t get in when we’re on.’
‘You wish!’
‘Like that one across the street making out he’s nothing to do with you. He’s got bad lad written all over him.’
She didn’t turn to look at Paul, but the comment amused her. She’d save it up for later. ‘I can tell you’re smart. Harry would have looked to you two for the inside story.’
The one who hadn’t spoken, shorter, wider and with more tattoos, said, ‘He didn’t need no inside story. This was his manor.’
‘He controlled it, you mean?’
‘He had his methods.’
The taller one’s t-shirt tightened against his pecs. ‘The lady doesn’t want to know that.’
‘Pardon me, the lady does,’ Ingeborg said, alerted.
He shook his head. ‘We’re not in the business of shopping people, ’specially dead people.’
‘You wouldn’t be shopping anyone. You might be helping to find his killer.’
‘Some chance.’
‘And if you withhold information, you could have blood on your hands.’
The wider and shorter of the pair looked concerned and said, ‘You could try asking in the Porter next door.’
He was talking about the pub where patrons tanked up before using the club. It was said to be owned by Moles.
‘Who would I ask?’
‘You could start with a black guy called Anderson if he’s there.’
The tall one cut in and actually put out an arm to ease his mate aside. ‘Leave it.’ To Ingeborg he said, ‘Anderson doesn’t know a thing. My mate is talking through his arse.’
‘But I’m listening.’
‘Lady, you’re wasting your fucking time, and ours.’
Ingeborg would be the judge of that. She’d heard of Anderson before. He was well known in Walcot. She returned to Paul Gilbert and told him she’d learned nothing concrete from those two, but there were hints of illicit goings-on. His turn had come now and he might get lucky.