Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

Diamond doubted if that was a wise offer.

In a few minutes the small army, about forty of them, drew close to get instructions. Barely forty minutes ago, the chief inspector told them, an Avoncliff resident walking her dog had seen a figure in black running through the wood with a rifle. In view of the reports of gunfire in recent days and bullets embedded in trees she’d phoned the police. Becky Addy Wood had good possibilities as a hideout for the Somerset Sniper.

A few officers had gone ahead to scout the area where the gunman had been seen. Cordons had been set up at the obvious escape points. The entire wood was not large — barely two hundred yards across and half a mile in length — but difficult. For a start, it was on a steep escarpment of the Avon valley. Little had been done to manage the dense woodland except clearing the rutted motocross tracks. Thick scrub and fallen and rotting timber was everywhere. In places the search party would be knee deep in leaf mould. As if that were not enough, the remains of a stone quarry were sited at the near end. A tramway had once delivered the precious limestone blocks down the steep gradient and across the Avoncliff aqueduct to a wharf where they were dressed and loaded onto barges and transported along the Kennet and Avon Canal. Little of this industrial history was visible any longer. The trees, blackthorn and nettles had taken over. But hidden blocks of stone and open mine workings presented extra hazards.

The searchers were to spread out across the strip and advance slowly from west to east looking for signs of recent activity, in particular small fires, encampments and evidence of shooting. At any point if they sighted the suspect, they were to take cover at the nearest available place.

‘No problem,’ Gull said to Diamond.

‘Hitting the ground, you mean?’

‘Finding some cover. All these fucking trees.’

‘It is a wood,’ Diamond said.

‘I hate them. I could take a chainsaw to them.’

Diamond quite liked trees usually and they were here in variety, oak, beech, larch, fir, pine and spruce. Unfortunately many were dead. The place had a neglected look. Maybe Gull was right and some felling was wanted.

Staying upright would be a challenge. The body armour made him top-heavy, a novel experience for him. The ceramic shield inside the Kevlar padding was like a ton weight. Still, it could be a life-saver. The pockets at the front contained helpful items including a torch, a taser and, not to be thought about, a personal first aid kit, for use by medics if he were injured.

He and Gull were side by side, twenty feet apart, in the line that presently started a slow rake through the wood. He had mixed feelings about this search. It was difficult to understand why the sniper would have thought it necessary to hide in Becky Addy Wood when no one knew what he looked like. Instead of skulking in this godforsaken place, he could have taken tea in the Pump Room without any risk of being recognized provided he tucked the gun out of sight.

‘Where’s the tree?’ he called to Jack Gull.

‘What do you mean — “the tree”?’

He’d touched that raw nerve again. ‘The tree he’s supposed to have used for target practice.’

‘Why ask me? They must know.’

The voice of the chief inspector told them to shut their faces. A reasonable request in the circumstances, if crudely expressed. They’d asked to be treated like everyone else. Or Gull had. But there were respectful ways of saying it.

Five minutes in, and Diamond was ready to defect. He’d twice tripped over roots and once nearly lost his shoe in thick mud. Everyone else was in boots or heavy duty trainers. If he’d known how this morning would turn out, he’d have dressed for a hike through the woods. He was still in the oxfords he wore for the office. And his second best suit. He’d sometimes remarked to friends that his job was never boring. You couldn’t predict from one day to the next where you would be and what you would investigate.

Suddenly the people on the left stopped and gestured along the line for everyone to halt. They’d reached a thickly wooded stretch where it was impossible to see more than two of the searchers to right or left. The rule of silence now was too much to hope for. The news of a find was soon passed along. There was evidence of a tent being pitched and the ashes of a wood fire.

‘That’s it, then,’ Diamond said. ‘He’s upped sticks and gone. He’d be a fool to come back.’

‘It’s got to be taped off for checking,’ Gull said. ‘We could get his DNA. This could take some time.’

‘I’m going to have a look,’ Diamond said.

‘We’re not supposed to break rank.’

‘Stuff that.’

He strode off to see what was happening. He hadn’t come here to make up the numbers. If Jack Gull chose to toe the line, that was his loss, Diamond decided. The stride became a swagger, but not for long. The going was rough and made worse because of the downward incline. Soon his steps were more like stumbling. Once he caught his foot in a rabbit hole and landed on all fours. He got up, rubbed his hands and carried on, watched by more of the team waiting compliantly for the order to move on. They didn’t question his insubordination.

Presently the ground dipped and he looked down on a sunken section formed possibly by quarrying and protected on three sides, yet entirely grassed over, a perfect hideaway. The CIO from the Wiltshire force was standing on the opposite bank overseeing police tape being staked around an area where a flattened square was clearly visible, as were the holes made by tent-pegs. The embers of a fire were still giving off faint wisps of smoke.

‘What do you reckon?’ Diamond asked.

The CIO looked up, surprised that someone had left his post. Seeing that it was Diamond he didn’t make an issue of it. ‘Not kids, for sure. No fag-ends, no beer cans. Looks to me like one careful camper was here last night.’

‘Careful in what way?’

‘Not to leave any rubbish behind.’

‘The sniper, sleeping rough?’

‘We’ll find out, won’t we?’ The CIO’s beady eyes were more than just hopeful.

‘Why would he have returned to the wood this morning?’

‘To bury the murder weapon is my guess. Easy to cover with leaf mould. Very difficult for anyone else to detect.’

Diamond needed more convincing. ‘Where’s the tree he’s supposed to have used for firing practice?’

‘There’s no “supposed” about it. Someone fired bullets into it. About thirty yards behind us. An oak.’

‘Have you recovered any?’

‘They were all embedded in the tree.’

‘How about the bits the rifle ejects?’

‘The cartridge casings? No, we haven’t found any. He had time to pick them up.’

‘Do you think he’s still about?’

‘We’ve got to assume he is. Our first response car got here within fifteen minutes of the 999 call coming in.’

‘What exactly did the witness see?’

‘A figure running or jogging across the road close to where we all parked. Not much of a description, I’m afraid. Dark clothing, possibly black leather, but — this is the clincher for me — definitely carrying a gun.’

‘A rifle?’

‘Not a handgun, for sure.’

‘Was he aware of being spotted?’

‘She doesn’t think so. The running wasn’t an attempt to get away.’

‘Hair colour? Height? Build?’

‘Uncertain. Difficult to tell under the trees.’

Too vague for Diamond. The tree interested him more. ‘While you’re finishing off here I’ll take a look at that oak.’ He moved off in the direction he’d been told.

This one stood a good thirty feet high and the trunk must have been three feet in diameter. He saw the bullet holes. In its long life this tree had never suffered such injury, nor been given so much attention as a result. Blue and white police tape deterred anyone from approaching within six feet. Even in his present defiant frame of mind, Diamond conformed. Some restrictions had their point. It was likely that the gunman had stepped up to the tree to see the pattern of his firing. Footprints were a real possibility.