James Carol - The Quiet Man

Without another word, she walked over to the Mercedes and blip-blipped the doors open. Winter took one last drag on his cigarette, crushed it out, pushed the butt back into the pack, then stood up.

‘You still owe me an exclusive,’ Delaney said.

‘I’ve got your number on speed dial. As soon as I’ve got anything, I’ll be in touch.’

Delaney flashed him an I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it look. ‘Have a nice day.’

Winter watched her walk back to the news truck before climbing into the passenger seat of the Mercedes.

‘The woman’s a pussycat,’ he said.

‘No, Winter, she’s a viper.’

‘And snakes are perfectly harmless so long as they’re handled properly. Incidentally, Jefferies says that he’s already sent Gifford’s passport picture.’

Anderton took out her cell and checked it. She tapped an attachment onto the screen then held the phone toward Winter. Like every passport picture he’d ever seen, this one was bleached out and made Gifford look guilty. Maybe not guilty of murder, but certainly guilty of something.

‘We need to talk to Sobek,’ Anderton said. ‘Maybe we can jog his memory by showing him this. Kerrisdale is only five minutes away. I’ll call to let him know we’re on our way.’

Anderton stepped into the porch and pressed her eye against the top scanner, and her thumb against the bottom. Ten seconds passed, then the door clicked open and a disembodied voice said, ‘I’m on the firing range.’ They followed the sound of gunshots through the house, the noise getting louder the deeper they went. Each shot was followed by twenty seconds of silence. Enough time for Sobek to readjust his aim and take a couple of deep breaths. They descended the stairs into the basement, turned right and walked past the closed door to Sobek’s office. They stopped outside the door at the far end of the corridor and waited for the next gunshot. Even with their hands pressed over their ears, it was still loud. Anderton opened the door and they went in.

Sobek was stood in a combat stance at the end of the range. Legs apart so his weight was distributed evenly, left hand supporting the right to steady the gun. Ear defenders to protect his hearing and shooting eyeglasses to protect his sight. He looked over and saw them standing in the doorway. The gun went down, the ear defenders ended up around his neck. He hit a button and a small motor burst to life. The target started floating toward him like a ghost. Winter estimated that the length of the range was about twenty-five yards, which was consistent with a full-length bowling alley. The flooring hadn’t been changed since the previous owner lived here. It was slick and glossy and the markings were still visible. Sobek was a yard back from the foul line. Another five yards on from that, the arrows tapered to a point.

Winter and Anderton walked over. Sobek didn’t acknowledge them. His attention was fixed on the target. Winter counted twelve holes. The gun was a Glock 19, which meant there were still another three bullets, which was worth bearing in mind. All the bullets had hit the target. Nine in the chest, three in the head. The head was covered with a copy of the photo composite. Sobek studied the target for a moment then turned to Anderton.

‘Any progress?’ he asked.

‘We’ve identified the killer.’

For a long couple of seconds Sobek just stood there, absorbing the news. The brief smile that fluttered across his face was there and gone before it had a chance to take root.

‘Does the name Billy Gifford mean anything to you?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’

Anderton took out her cell phone and switched it on. Gifford’s passport picture was already cued up. She handed the phone to Sobek. He stood looking at it for the best part of thirty seconds. ‘I’ve never met this person,’ he said eventually.

‘Take another look.’

Sobek took another look, this one longer than the last. He was concentrating hard, trying to place the face. He handed the phone back and shook his head. ‘I’m sure I’ve never met him.’

‘Yes you have.’

‘You sound pretty certain of that.’

‘We are.’

Anderton pressed her phone screen twice and Sobek’s picture appeared. She passed the cell to him. He glanced at the screen, then looked back at Anderton for an explanation.

‘Billy Gifford is a professional photographer. He did some promotional pictures for your company.’

Sobek didn’t say anything for a while. He’d slipped back in time, digging deep into a memory that would have been vague to non-existent. He got hold of something he could hook on to and nodded to himself. ‘Yeah, I remember now. It was shortly before Isabella’s murder.’

‘Can you remember when, exactly?’

‘I can’t, but it would be easy enough to find out. It’ll be in my diary.’ Sobek looked at Gifford’s picture again. He was staring hard, still trying to place the face and not quite managing to. He shook his head. ‘I still don’t recognise him.’

‘What exactly can you remember about the photoshoot?’ Winter asked.

Sobek turned to him and let loose a long sigh. ‘Not much. It was organised by Alison Farnsdale, my PA at the time. She was responsible for looking after our website. That’s what the pictures were for. I remember that the photographs were taken in the conference room, and I remember that I was up first so I wouldn’t have to hang around waiting. And therein lies the problem. The whole thing was over in less than a minute. I went in, sat down, had my picture taken, then left and went back to work. I don’t remember anything that passed between us, although I dare say something must have been said.’

‘There’s a good chance that Gifford was at Isabella’s funeral,’ Winter said. ‘Before you say anything, just think that over. It might help if you close your eyes and picture the scene. He would have been hanging around on the periphery, and he would have had a camera. He was probably posing as a press photographer.’

Sobek closed his eyes. For almost a minute he just stood with his eyes shut. The faint emotions flickering across his face were there and gone in a heartbeat. Mostly his face was a complete blank. He opened his eyes and shook his head.

‘To be honest, I’d struggle to tell you who was there and who wasn’t. But that’s not really surprising. I attended the funeral on autopilot. All I wanted was to get home and lock the doors.’

He handed the cell phone back. Anderton put it away.

‘What else can you tell me about Gifford?’

‘We can tell you that he’s not at home.’

‘You’ve been there?’

‘That’s where we’ve just come from. The police are there now. We were able to take a look around before they got there.’

‘Did you find anything?’

Anderton and Winter shared a look. ‘Yeah, I guess you could say that,’ she said.

While Anderton filled Sobek in, Winter walked over to the gun cabinet and checked it out. There were a couple of rifles and half a dozen handguns. He seemed to have a thing for Glocks. There were two 17s and another 19. Boxes of ammunition were stacked up neatly next to the safe, all different calibres. Sobek could have started his own small war. How many of the weapons were actually licensed? How many were legal? How many had had their serial numbers filed off?

Winter replayed the day’s events, searching for relevance, searching for significance. The trip to the records office, the trip to the newspaper offices, their search of Gifford’s house and the interview with Mrs Franklin. Things were still moving fast, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. They had to tread carefully, though. Gifford was clever and resourceful, and he was still out there. They couldn’t let him slip through the net because their enthusiasm had got the better of them. There were two questions he kept returning to.