Authors: Peter Lovesey
‘Several grand. How do you do it?’
‘Business, innit? You buy cheap and sell at a profit.’
‘What are you selling? What’s the commodity?’
‘Anything I can shift.’
‘Where do you get it?’
A tinge more of colour came to his face. ‘All over. Bristol, Bath. London sometimes.’
‘Wells?’
He shook his head.
‘Radstock?’
His lip curled and he looked away, as if the question didn’t even merit an answer.
‘You’re not being very open, Royston. Should we ask your father?’
‘He ain’t interested.’ Said swiftly, and without any sign of alarm.
‘In that case we’ll have to look more closely at PC Tasker’s notes.’ In the same even tone, Diamond expanded on this white lie. ‘Did you know he kept a detailed record of everything he observed on his beat?’
‘I bet,’ he said with scorn, but there was a frisson of concern.
‘How do you think we got onto you?’
Royston shifted in the chair again. ‘You can’t do me for anything. I could blow the whistle on your lot.’
‘Really?’ Diamond said. ‘Why haven’t you done it already?’
No answer.
‘I think PC Tasker was wise to everything you get up to, Royston, and you were scared shitless. He could have nicked you whenever he wanted, but he chose to hold off. I want you to tell me why.’
‘You’ve got it wrong.’
‘Was it because of who you are?’
‘What are you talking about – my old man? No way.’
‘You’re not short of money.’
‘Which I earn,’ Royston put in quickly.
‘Around the pubs and clubs?’
‘It’s legit. Like I said, I sell at a profit. It’s investment. I make money, buy more stuff and sell it on. That’s called trading, right? I’m a trader.’
‘Trading in what?’
‘All kinds of stuff. It changes. You need to know what’s hightone, right? Could be some flash new mobile one week, a bit of bling the next. The trick is to stay ahead of the game.’
‘Mobiles and bits of bling aren’t going to make you all that rich. I was told you’re in a bigger league than that. Larger items.’
He almost purred. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Never mind. Is it true?’
‘I’ve put a few things people’s way.’
‘Don’t piss me about, Royston. What items?’
‘Guitars. I can clear a good profit on a Japanese acoustic and still save money for my customer.’
The terminology tripped off his tongue slickly enough to carry conviction. Diamond followed up at once. ‘Ever traded in firearms?’
Royston shook his head, almost too quickly. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘You know about guns. Your father trains people to use them.’
‘And I know about the law, and all.’
‘How does your business go down with your father?’
‘I told you. Doesn’t give a toss.’
‘Are you a paid-up member of Fight for Britain?’
He flicked the ends of the long hair upwards. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘I dare say you’ve used the firing range at some time. We were looking at it earlier. Impressive.’
‘I’ve had a go, yeah. Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Any good, are you?’
‘Average.’
‘Got your own gun?’
‘I know what you’re on about,’ Royston said. ‘Just because my old man has a firing range, it doesn’t mean I shot the copper. No, I’m not interested in shooting. I wouldn’t want one of my own.’
‘There are plenty on the premises here.’
‘So?’ He stayed nonchalant.
‘So it’s important for you to convince us you didn’t borrow one
of those guns on the night of the shooting. Were you in Bath on Saturday night?’
‘It doesn’t mean shit if I was.’
‘Were you?’
‘Sure – and so were hundreds of other kids.’
‘In the Walcot area?’
‘Some of the time. I was on the move. I don’t stay in one place long. I’m doing business, in case you forgot.’
‘Where were you at four on Sunday morning?’
‘Back here. It’s all gone quiet by then.’
‘Is there any way you can prove that? How did you travel – taxi?’
A shake of the head. ‘Used my bike. I leave it in Beehive Yard.’
‘Off Walcot Street? So that’s where you ended up, close to where the shooting happened?’
He was unmoved. ‘There was no shooting when I was there.’
‘When you got home, was your father still up?’
‘No.’
‘Did you make any phone calls, use the computer? Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to help you prove what you’re saying.’
‘I crashed out.’
‘Until when?’
Now his voice rose. The pressure was getting to him. ‘Jesus, I don’t know. Late.’
‘Next day – Sunday – what did you do?’
‘It’s a blur, man. Sundays always are.’
‘Think carefully, Royston. This is important. Did you go out at any time on Sunday?’
He squeezed his eyes as if trying to see through that morning-after blur. ‘I might’ve.’
‘Not good enough,’ Diamond said. ‘Did you use your motorbike?’
‘I always use the bike to get about.’
‘Try and remember. Did you drive out to Bradford on Avon?’
‘Why would I go there?’
‘You tell me. There was a sighting of a motorcyclist in Becky Addy Wood, near Bradford, on Sunday. Could that have been you?’
‘No chance,’ he said at once and with finality.
‘It’s well known to motorcyclists. They do motorcross there. Scrambling. Do you do that?’ It was a trick question from Diamond, the offer of an explanation for being there.
Royston wasn’t buying. ‘With my machine? You’re crazy.’
‘Recently cleaned, by the look of it,’ Diamond said.
‘That’s no crime. If you had a bike like that, you’d take a pride in it.’
This had not been as productive as Diamond would have liked. The boy had flinched a few times, when told (untruthfully) that Harry Tasker kept a written record of his beat patrols, when asked where he acquired his items for trading, and whether he’d ever dealt in firearms, but he’d put up an able defence.
They left the official way. The front gate opened for them.
‘What did you make of him?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg when they were on the road again.
‘Royston? Smart for seventeen. Cool, but scared underneath. There’s definitely something he doesn’t want us to find out, but I’m not sure if it’s as serious as murder.’
‘How about the father?’
‘He’s capable of killing. I’m sure of that.’
‘He’s got the firepower, as we now know,’ Diamond said. ‘The underground armoury has got to be reported. I’m afraid it’s going to look as if the boy blew the whistle on his father.’
‘Won’t Nuttall get arrested and put away before he can do anything about it?’
‘You can put someone like him away, but you can’t stop ugly things from happening. He has plenty of followers.’
Ingeborg took in a long breath. ‘Would he put out a contract on his own son?’
‘It’s not impossible. I didn’t detect much love between them.’
They were driving down Widcombe Hill where the road narrows before it joins the A36 south of the railway station.
‘So will you report what you found?’ Ingeborg asked.
‘All those guns? Of course.’
‘Now?’
‘Soon as we get back.’
26
J
ack Gull was in the incident room with DI Polehampton peering at mugshots on a computer screen.
‘Family history?’ Diamond said as he walked in.
‘Piss off, Peter,’ Gull said without looking up.
‘What’s this about, then?’
It was Polehampton who answered. ‘Looking for a match with our friend in the cells.’
‘Hasn’t he told you who he is?’
‘He’s still playing dumb, unfortunately.’
Still with his gaze on the screen, Gull said, ‘So here we are checking every sad fuck arrested for possession of firearms over the past five years.’
‘You’ve got his prints. You must have checked the PNC.’
‘Nothing matches. He’s not in the system.’
‘So why bother with this lot?’
‘No system is infallible, that’s why, not even the Police National Computer.’
‘You must be desperate.’
‘Did he say anything to you when you were lying on top of him?’
‘Not a word,’ Diamond said. ‘Maybe he is mute.’
‘Maybe he was enjoying it.’
Polehampton laughed. Diamond did not.
‘Seriously, Jack, he could be handicapped.’
‘No chance. He can make sounds all right. He’s a fucking teddy bear. Jump on him and he squeaks.’
‘Is that what you tried – jumping on him?’
‘Would I do that?’ Gull said, turning to look at Diamond. He did a double take at what he saw and then grinned broadly. ‘Jesus Christ, are you auditioning for Midsomer Murders dressed like that?’
‘Both my suits are at the cleaner’s. I hope you haven’t used violence on this man.’
‘He’s got a voice for sure. Squeaks, but won’t squeal – yet.’
‘Some teddy bears talk if you treat them right.’
‘Okay, Mr. Nice, you try.’
Diamond shook his head. ‘He’s yours.’
‘But you nicked him.’
‘Only when he made a run for it. I wasn’t sure if he was the guy we were looking for. I’m still not certain.’
‘You can be now.’ With relish, Gull told him about the finds in the river at Avoncliff. ‘He’s your demon motorcyclist, Peter. When the search closed in he dumped the bike and helmet in the river. He kept the gun for longer. Decided to get rid of it when he spotted the stake-out around his bolt-hole. That must have been the splash you heard.’
This all made sense. Difficult to see it any other way. The confidence was draining from Diamond. ‘Where is it now?’
‘The G36? Already gone for ballistic testing. They’ll dry it out and get it firing again, no problem. These are army guns built for battlefield conditions.’
‘You’re not serious about wanting me to see him?’
Gull’s tone changed abruptly. ‘He’s the Somerset Sniper, for Christ’s sake. He shot your man in Walcot Street. He ran you down and put you in hospital. You should be on your fucking knees begging for a session with him.’
‘Do the forensics match up?’
‘You bet they do. His prints were taken last night when he was brought in and we got an eighteen-point match.’ In fingerprint scoring, this was an inner ring. Sixteen points of similarity would be enough for the courts.
‘A match with what?’
‘The beer can in the pillbox. Every fucking thing he’s handled. And the shoeprints match up too. The trainers he was wearing last night were definitely the same ones the sniper wore in that garden at Wells. It’s not just the tread pattern on the soles. The wear marks make a shoe impression unique, all the cuts and scratches in the rubber.’
Diamond said in a spat of annoyance all his own, ‘You don’t have to lecture me on shoe evidence, Jack. I wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘It means we’ve got the bastard bang to rights.’
There was no denying the boast if the forensics were that good. Up to now, there had been doubt whether the man Diamond had caught at Avoncliff was the same individual who had slept in the pillbox. But you can’t argue with quality fingerprint and shoe evidence. Diamond had obviously got his thinking wrong, hopelessly wrong. Instead of treating the case as an out-and-out manhunt, as Gull had, he’d tried to be clever, divining motives that didn’t exist and looking for suspects close to home. In the process he’d misread the signs and alienated his team. Self-reproach bore down on him like a tsunami.
Bullheaded in defeat, unwilling to cede Gull the triumph, he said, ‘But you don’t know who he is.’
‘We’ll find out.’
‘Or why he did it.’
‘Obvious. He’s down on cops. You want to see the look in his eyes.’
‘Have you told the press?’
‘Put out the usual short statement last night – “a man arrested and helping us with our enquiries”. You can’t keep a news story like this under wraps.’ Gull flexed his arms. ‘I’ll have to face the hacks again in the next hour. Then of course they’ll be screaming for a name.’
‘Didn’t he have anything on him?’
‘Some loose change, that’s all.’
‘You’ll have taken his DNA?’
‘Nothing like it in the database.’
‘Any scarring, tattoos, vaccination marks?’
‘Bit of a birthmark on the right hip. Fat lot of use that is if no one ever sees it. No other marks.’
‘Teeth?’
‘I’m not going down that route. Tracing dental records is bloody impossible unless you know which dentist to ask. One day we’ll all be computerised and then it’ll be child’s play. That’s a long way off.’
‘It’s down to old-fashioned persuasion, then?’
‘Down to you, mate, and your winning ways. Give me a shout when he’s ready to talk.’ Gull returned to the images on the computer.
Diamond started walking towards his office. ‘I can give it a go. First I’d better get through to Portishead.’
‘Headquarters?’ Gull was all ears again, staring over the screen at Diamond. ‘What for? I’m your Headquarters man. You’ve got me.’
‘It’s too big for you.’
‘Bollocks to that. Your Uncle Jack’s in charge.’
‘Not this time.’
He told them both about Soldier Nuttall’s underground gunroom. His account of it grew a bit in the telling and impressed them mightily, but didn’t have any bearing on the sniper investigation. Having something positive to show for the man-hours spent pursuing the wrong villains was scant consolation for the mistakes Diamond had made.
‘Fair enough, you’d better pass the info on to someone who can act on it,’ Gull had to concede finally, and then recouped some self-importance by stressing his inside knowledge of Headquarters. ‘Ask for the Head of Operations. My good friend Danny can organise a raid. Doesn’t mean you have to be part of it. Tell them I need you here. They can find the fucking guns without your help.’
In ten minutes the chastened Peter Diamond was in the interview room with the Somerset Sniper facing him across the table. Keith Halliwell had joined him and the tape was running. This was being done strictly to the code of practice of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act even though the official caution had to start with the unhelpful directive, ‘You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so.’ How many hundreds of occasions had Diamond spoken those words without expecting them to be taken literally? Suspects always had something to say, even if it was only, ‘No comment.’