Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘No, but I’ll tell you who I am.’ Diamond brandished his warrant card. ‘Is there a lion on the loose?’

There was no answer.

‘Why are you stopping the traffic?’

A sharp change of tone. ‘Sorry, sir. Orders, sir.’

‘Who from?’

‘DI Polehampton, sir, Serial Crimes Unit.’

Polehampton. The blood pressure rocketed. What was the point of a stakeout if everyone coming into the area was alerted?

‘You can stop this nonsense right now, clear the road and get out of sight, do you understand? Those are my orders. Do it.’

Chuntering, gripping the wheel, Diamond almost missed the narrow lane leading to the village.

Westwood is large enough to be divided into Upper and Lower. The part he had reached, on the edge of the ridge above the Avon valley, was the Upper. He drove past a mix of cottages and modern houses to a clearing where upwards of thirty uniformed police had gathered. These were Avon and Somerset men he recognised. John Leaman was among them.

How ridiculous.

At boiling point by now, Diamond flung open the door, put his crutch to the ground and emerged with a limp almost as menacing as Anthony Sher playing Richard III.

He had their complete attention.

‘This is supposed to be an undercover operation,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

Leaman cleared his throat. ‘Guv, this is me, John Leaman.’

‘I can see who you are. In fact, I can see all of you. I could see the checkered caps from two hundred yards off in the moonlight.’ To be truthful he’d seen them in his headlamps, but the point was the same. ‘We’re supposed to be staging an ambush, not a passing-out parade. I suggest you remove them now.’

They did so.

Leaman said, ‘I’m responsible, guv. I picked this as the quietest place to meet.’

They had to assemble somewhere to get orders, even Diamond had to concede, and this was away from most of the houses, with only a farmyard across the street. He asked Leaman for a progress report. All the streets in Upper and Lower Westwood had been checked for parked vehicles. Registration numbers had been noted. Four motorcycles had been located, three in the lower part of the village. Leaman reeled off the makes and details. All were registered to local residents and were now under surveillance.

‘Was this done without waking half the village?’ he asked. ‘We don’t want an audience tonight.’

‘Those were their orders, guv.’

‘Get them dispersed, then, and out of sight. Do they know what to do? No heroics. Leave that to the armed officers. Simply observe and report. I don’t want to see another bobby until the sniper is dead or disarmed.’

‘They’ve all been told.’

Actually Leaman had done a good job. The hat-bands could be forgiven. The men moved off in different directions.

‘Where’s Polehampton?’ Diamond asked, switching his anger to the main offender.

‘With Jack Gull, I believe. They went to the woods to liaise with the Wiltshire team.’

‘Did you know he ordered a stop on vehicles approaching Westwood?’

Leaman put his hand to his head. ‘He said something about surveillance.’

‘Since when was surveillance Mr. Plod with a torch in the middle of the road? I’m wondering if he’s sealed off all the other approaches. Can you reach him on your radio?’

All Leaman got was static.

‘Try Jack Gull, then.’

Supergull’s abrasive voice came on the line. ‘That you, Diamond, on the fucking scene at last?’

‘Yes, but no thanks to your deputy,’ Diamond said, and told him about the road block. ‘If he’s sealed off the village, we’re all wasting our time here.’

‘Sounds like a slight balls-up. Hold on.’

Good as it would have been to hear the exchange between Gull and Polehampton, Diamond had to imagine it.

Finally Gull came back on line. ‘No problem. All the stops have now been called off. A temporary measure to make sure we bussed all our men in without being overlooked. We’ve staked out the woods down here. No chance anyone can come or go without being observed. That’s if you and your men have control of the fucking village.’

‘Control is a strong word. We’re in place,’ Diamond said.

‘Where are you going to be?’

‘Me personally? Free range.’ He winked at John Leaman.

‘Keep in touch, then.’

‘Until I ask for radio silence,’ Diamond said, begging the question who was running this. ‘That’ll be necessary later.’ He switched off. No ‘over and out’ in case Gull wanted the last word.

He was starting to feel restored. Next, he wanted a look at the parked motorcycles. ‘Are they far off?’

‘Too far for you to walk,’ Leaman said.

‘Hop in the car, then.’

Guided by Leaman, he drove down to Lower Westwood. The two levels of the village had once been separated by fields, Leaman told him, but during World War II a small business called Royal Enfield manufacturing — of all things — motorcycles had been acquired for secret war work and almost a hundred extra bungalows were built for workers drafted in from the Midlands. More infill had taken place since and Upper and Lower were defined only by the two through roads north and south.

They toured the small streets in Diamond’s car. He decided the chance of the sniper owning any of the three bikes parked in Lower Westwood was small. It would be too much of a trek from Becky Addy Wood.

‘Do you think he’s in the area already?’ Leaman asked.

‘Could be, if he got in before Polehampton closed it down. My sense is that he’ll come early. He’ll want to do a recce before entering the wood.’

‘But you don’t think he’ll park the bike at this end?’

‘Unlikely. Now that I’ve seen the set-up, John, Upper Westwood definitely gives him the most options.’

‘He could be using a car this time.’

Diamond gazed at the long line of parked cars in a street called The Pastures. ‘Thanks for that. Cheers me up no end.’

‘A car would be less obvious, when we all know he used the bike before.’

‘I get the point. You don’t have to hammer it home.’

‘Let’s hope Jack Gull nabs him in the wood, eh?’

‘We can hope. How many men does Gull have?’

‘Fifty or more, plus the armed response team. They’re covering all the routes in.’

‘All the obvious routes in. I still think Westwood is the most likely.’

‘I don’t want to be pessimistic,’ Leaman said, ‘but this is a guy who surprised us once already.’

‘One thing is certain. He knows the wood.’

‘And you still think he’ll come for the gun?’

‘I do. It’s a balance of risks. In another full day of searching we’d probably find it. Forensics would extract enough information from that gun to lead us straight to him. He has to recover it fast, so he’ll take his chance tonight.’

They returned to Upper Westwood and Leaman showed him the fourth bike, a black Yamaha, parked off the road in a lane between two stone walls.

‘This is the best bet yet,’ Diamond said, trying to visualise the bike that had run him down. ‘Have you checked the registered owner?’ The Police National Computer came in useful sometimes, even he would admit.

‘Someone called Jones.’

‘Has it been used in the last hour?’

Leaman got out and put his hand tentatively close to the exhaust pipes. He shook his head.

‘We need a man observing.’

On cue, a constable bobbed his head above a drystone wall. He’d been crouching in somebody’s garden.

Diamond grinned. ‘Magic. But don’t do that if the sniper comes for the bike. He’ll blow your brains out.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘It wouldn’t be. Down again, lad.’