The Vows of Silence (26 page)

Ten minutes later, a DC put her head round Simon Serrailler’s office.

“Guv? Someone’s bringing in Craig Drew’s father.”

“What for?”

“Doing eighty in a fifty limit.”

“What’s that got to do with us?”

“He was riding a black Yamaha motorbike.”

Simon went back to his screen but he had lost track of what he was doing. Motorbikes. Craig Drew’s father. The wedding.

He called the team into the conference room.

“Motorbikes. It’s thin, to be frank, but it’s our first definite line of inquiry. Black Yamaha motorbike, 1,000cc probably.” He wrote on the whiteboard. “I want a check on how many of these are registered to the area, excluding our own bikes obviously … anyone with the slightest link to any of the gunman’s victims, log it, copy everyone in, put it up here. When you’ve got a connection, if you get one, think, think, think. We’ll interview but”—he tapped his forehead—” make this work. What’s the connection, is it coincidence, is there any personal history, firearms? Anything.”

“Is this just Lafferton, guv?”

“For the moment. The rings will spread outwards. He hasn’t come from far—we won’t be looking on the
other side of the county. This is a local man, local knowledge—I’d be surprised if he comes from as far as Bevham. Now, funerals. You know the theory—the killer likes to see the job finished so he sometimes goes so far as to attend the funeral of his victims. The bodies of Melanie Drew, Bethan Doyle and the girls who were killed outside the nightclub are being released on Friday. Once we have funeral details, we’ll mount a discreet presence at each one. ARV will park up nearby. We’re taking no chances. We’ll have uniform in the cemeteries or the crematorium and outside the churches … in any case, there’ll be an official police presence at each one. But I want CID mingling with the mourners in the pews and at the gravesides, at the wakes if they have them … everywhere. Looking and listening. Detail, detail, detail … connections, connections. And motorbikes first. Thanks.”

A mile away from the station, in the Dean’s office at Lafferton Cathedral, the Chief Constable, Paula Devenish, was in reassurance mode.

“All leave is cancelled. The cathedral, the grounds and the close will be sealed off from the Friday morning—only those with photo ID and passes will be allowed anywhere near. Two armed response vehicles will be on standby and officers from two others will be in position from five a.m. on the Saturday morning.” She nodded to the AR Gold Command.

“The sniffer dogs will go into the cathedral twice, on the Friday morning and again on the Saturday. They will also go over every delivery as well as the flowers.
We know our job and we’ll do it. Please trust us on this.”

“Thank you, Chief Constable, but given the number of shooting incidents—fatal shooting incidents—I’m sure you understand only too well how concerned we are.”

“Of course I do.”

Royal Protection coughed. “There hasn’t been a lot of, er, progress, has there?”

“If you mean there hasn’t been an arrest yet, no. That doesn’t mean lack of progress.”

Royal Protection’s face was a mask of politeness.

“It isn’t,” the Lord Lieutenant said quickly, “as if we don’t quite often have royal visitors to the county. We’ve always looked after them well and kept them safe, I think.”

“You haven’t always had a sniper in your midst,” Royal Protection said.

“So what do you propose?” Paula Devenish spoke sharply. When her force was under attack from outside she defended it aggressively, no matter what she might say in private. It was one of the things Simon Serrailler liked about her.

“I propose that Their Royal Highnesses do not attend.”

“Oh but you can’t!” The Lord Lieutenant’s face was puce. “My daughter will be so upset. The Prince of Wales is her godfather, and a very attentive one. He came to her confirmation.”

“Well, perhaps he will not be coming to her wedding. I’m sorry, but this is what I will be recommending to His Royal Highness’s office.”

“Well, I will be speaking to His Royal Highness himself, never mind his bloody office, and I think I know what he’ll say. He’d be appalled if he thought he was seen to run away. Good God, man, the royal family face a possible sniper’s bullet, to name but one threat, every time they appear in public. It’s thanks to the police that they have all remained safe to do their jobs among us and I deplore your suggestion that our own force cannot continue to guarantee their safety. This … gunman has made no specific threat to the royal guests—not so far as I am aware.” He looked at the Chief Constable, who shook her head.

The Dean had been silent, biting the side of his finger occasionally. Now, he sighed. “I do hope this is not going to cause a falling-out amongst us,” he said unhappily. “Do please reconsider.”

Royal Protection frowned. “I have to act as I see fit, and I do see a problem here, frankly. But let’s look at the updated plan and the proposed arrangement of armed officers.”

Gold Command stood and unrolled a map smoothly, laying it on the table and securing it with brass paperweights and a candlestick.

“ARVs will be parked here, here and here. An armed officer will be positioned here, here, on the tower here, on top of the New Song School building here, in the organ loft, and in the roof space above the fan vaulting. There will also be armed officers at the east door, here—”

“Just a moment,” said the Lord Lieutenant. “I can’t say I like the idea of our guests arriving and there being officers with machine guns clearly visible.”

“Most of them will be concealed, sir …”

“I hope and trust you’re not allowing the public into the close, are you, Chief Constable?” said Royal Protection.

“We were planning to allow a cordoned-off area opposite the east door … the public would like to be able to have some sight of the wedding.”

Royal Protection shook his head vigorously. “Out of the question.”

“But only yesterday I was watching the Queen doing a walkabout among a crowd in Southampton—”

“Southampton doesn’t have a killer on the loose—or at least not as far as we know. As far as I am concerned this area of yours is a no-go zone for the royal family until you catch him.”

He stood up. “If you will excuse me, I have a meeting in the next county in an hour and a half. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lord Lieutenant, but I will recommend that Their Royal Highnesses do not attend your family wedding. Unless there is an arrest, of course.”

Royal Protection glanced across at the Chief Constable, who barely met his eye.

Fifty-five

“Candyfloss!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious. I love candyfloss.”

“But it tastes like sugar-coated wire wool.”

“Does it? I’ve never eaten sugar-coated wire wool.”

Helen exploded with laughter and let Phil pull her by the hand towards the candyfloss stall. The smell of burnt sugar mingled with the diesel fumes of the generators and the burning oil from the burger stalls on the smoky night air. It was eight o’clock and the Jug Fair was packed. Helen looked up at the Sky-Dyve plunging giddily down and at the sparks and crackles from the bumper cars and felt like one of the kids.

The candyfloss queue snaked round and back and mingled with the queue for hot dogs and another for toffee apples.

“God, this is fun. I haven’t been since Tom and Lizzie were in single figures.”

“Place is knee-deep in cops.”

“Not surprised. This is just the sort of event where a gunman could run amok. Look around … all those points a sniper could stand.”

Helen’s eyes were drawn to the Sky-Dyve. If a man … at the top of the helter-skelter. If …”

A gun cracked loudly not far away.

Phil put a reassuring hand on her arm. “Shooting ducks. He wouldn’t take the chance. Here.” He handed her a shocking-pink cloud of candyfloss. “Flowers for the lady.”

He put his arm round her and they wandered off in the direction of the rides.

Sam Deerbon steadied himself and waited for the row of ducks to bob past him four times.

“Hurry
up
, Sam. What’s wrong with you? Can’t you do it or something? I could do it easy-peasy, they don’t go very fast, hurry
up
.”

He ignored his sister. The ducks bobbed by again. He steadied himself again.

“Sam, are you still there?”

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Three ducks out of five went down.

Hannah turned away in disgust.

“Well done, Sam!” Judith said.

Sam smiled a small, satisfied smile and chose a pink porcelain piggy bank from the prizes on the stand.

“What do you want that for? What a stupid prize. You could have had that big blue elephant and given it to Felix, you could have had a mega box of sweets, what do you want a stupid piggy bank for?”

“To save money in.”

“What do you want to save money for?”

“To leave home with.”

Hannah’s eyes widened slightly and she looked up at Judith.

“So I won’t have to live with you, stupid.” Sam turned towards the fish-hooking game, examined it and came away.

“Too easy,” he said.

Cat returned carrying four paper cones of chips.

“God, I hate this fair. It’s packed, they rip you off, it hurts your ears and it smells.”

“It’s GREAT.”

“I knew you’d say that, Sam. Have some chips.”

“Think what the men are missing.” Judith Connolly bit into a hot chip and winced.

Chris was at Hallam House with Richard. He had felt like a change of scene and the radiotherapy had begun to bite, giving him better days. Judith would pick up pizzas from the Italian restaurant, on her way back from the fair.

“I just saw Si on the far side of the square talking with a couple of CID. Never seen so many in one place.”

“Makes it safe. I hear they’re not letting the royals come to the cathedral wedding though. Seems a pity.”

“They daren’t risk it at the moment … only think.”

“I suppose so. But you shouldn’t let this madman change the way you behave. Some people thought this fair ought to have been cancelled.”

“Mummy, can we go on the dodgems, please, please?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll go in a car with me, I’ll drive and I’ll bang you into so many other cars you’ll puke up all your chips and all your ice cream and—”

“Sam!”

Sam smiled and folded his empty chip cone into smaller and smaller triangles.

The sky above St Michael’s Square was orange. AR Bronze Command stood in shadow looking round, up, down, to one side, to the other side. He had assumed that the sniper wouldn’t fire from anywhere not providing him with a clear escape route. What if he had been wrong? They had discussed and dismissed several times the idea that he might now be on a suicide mission and therefore be trigger-happy at the fair, unconcerned if he was caught at last. He looked up at the top of the helter-skelter. Someone could have climbed the spiral stairs and be hanging about at the top. No. Only a kamikaze shooter would do that. The direction of the shots would be easy to see and there was no way down other than by sliding on a mat. And if he did that, they would be waiting for him at the bottom.

The floodlit cathedral tower commanded the fair. They had been up there, locked the bell tower, locked
the door to the observation platform, and a couple of men were patrolling below. But he felt uneasy. Something niggled at the back of his mind and he was annoyed that he did not know what.

The square was heaving with people, the noise of rival music and machinery and generators most likely to muffle the sound of shots, and besides, shots were going off all the time as people queued at the rifle ranges. Maybe they should have closed those down for tonight?

He looked around him again. And up. And down. To this side. To that.

Tanya and Dan Lomax were on the Jinny horses, trying to hold hands across the gap between them as the merry-go-round picked up speed until it was a dazzling whirl of music and lights streaming through the night. She seemed to have been on the Jinny horses half her life, as a maid, as the Fair Queen, and now as a bride. The Jinny horses meant being happy and Tanya was happy. She tried to see Dan’s expression but they were going too fast. She wanted to shout, with laughter and excitement and pride and happiness.

“I have decided,” Sam Deerbon said, coming back to the spot beside the fortune-telling tent, where Cat had told him to meet them. He had been given the choice of his last ride. Hannah had already chosen the teacups and been sneered at. “The teacups are what babies go on—Felix could go on the teacups, I should think. You’re a scaredy-cat.”

“Right, what’s it to be, Sam, and don’t say the Sky-Dyve, you know you—”

“No. It’s in the square. Come on.”

They moved slowly through the crowd.

“Hold onto my hand, Hanny, don’t let it go.”

Sam shoved someone in the back.

If Chris were here he could have had one of them on his shoulders, Cat thought. Even Sam. Even now.

They shuffled forward, Judith in front, trying to weave in and out.

“There’s Uncle Simon! Uncle Simon!” Hannah yelled but she wouldn’t have been heard, and in any case, Simon was out of sight again, somewhere in the crowd.

“There!” Sam said.

TAKE A TRIP TO GHOUL TOWN ON THE GRAVE TRAIN.

“I’m not going on that, I’m not going anywhere near that.” Hannah pressed herself into Cat’s side.

“You’re too little anyway, you have to be as tall as that gate and you’re not. Can I?” His eyes shone.

“I’ll go with him,” Judith said quickly. “If you’re dead sure, Sam.”

“Dead, dead sure.” Sam laughed. “Good joke, Judith. Come on, quick, the queue’s moving.”

“Judith, if you …”

“It’s fine,” Judith said, as she was pulled away, “honestly. Why don’t you and Hannah go on the wobbly staircase into the hall of mirrors. Go on, I’ll treat you.”

“Thanks! Would you like to, Hanny?”

“Yeah!”

They separated. When Cat glanced back, Sam and Judith were at the ticket booth, ready to go.

*

Clive Rowley, Paul J and Paul C pushed their way through the ten-deep crowd surging towards the Sky-Dyve. No one moved for them.