Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

Still more delay. Seemed he’d bought a little time. He tilted his head a fraction for a sight of the bushes where the sounds were coming from.

Something moved low to the ground.

A silvery figure shuffled towards him in the moonlight, smaller than he expected, and — surprisingly — with a black and white muzzle.

A badger.

Suddenly the animal sensed where Diamond was and veered off left. The last he saw of it was the sway of the rump disappearing into a hole in the ground.

He might have laughed if he hadn’t had the shakes. The sense of imminent death had not been funny. He waited a couple more minutes to get a grip on his nerves, then hauled himself to his feet and hobbled on. He wouldn’t be telling anyone about the experience except, perhaps, Paloma after a few drinks.

Becky Addy beckoned. He’d reached the curve of the road down to Avoncliff where you plunged into the heart of the wood. Here he was certain to be in someone’s gunsights. He’d have regarded it as dereliction of duty if he wasn’t.

When the challenge came, it wasn’t, ‘Who goes there?’

It was a shout of, ‘Armed police,’ followed by a respectful, ‘Mr. Diamond, sir?’

Reasonable. He’d warned them he was on his way. ‘Yes.’ He held up his hands — torch in one and crutch in the other — and limped towards the source of the voice.

The black body armour of the policeman merged so well with the bush he appeared from that he got within twenty yards of Diamond before he was obvious. Hooded and gloved, and in night-vision goggles, he kept his MP5 sub machine gun up to his shoulder and trained on Diamond. He was following firearms unit protocol.

For his part, Diamond was doing his best to send a telepathic message: careful with that trigger.

‘You’re welcome to use the crutch, sir.’

‘Thanks, and you’re welcome to lower the gun.’

Protocol was satisfied. The officer relaxed his stance. ‘Superintendent Gull is expecting you. Would you follow me?’

‘Point me in the direction. I’d rather you stayed at your post.’

‘No need, sir. Two other guys are with me.’

He hadn’t spotted them until now. Hooded and in black like the first man, they were almost close enough to shake hands except that they were gripping their Heckler and Koch carbines. Both nodded as he went past.

Jack Gull was even better hidden. He’d taken position between a tall holly bush and an enclosing mass of laurel that effectively formed a natural shelter. Inside, he was seated on a folding canvas chair with his feet up on a low branch. In his hand was a hip flask, presumably of liquor. ‘Welcome to HQ.’

Diamond was not impressed, surprised or envious. ‘What’s happening, then?’

‘Not much. Any action in the village?’

‘Plenty of time for that.’

No offer of a seat. Gull didn’t even remove his feet from the branch. Although he was wearing combat trousers and body armour, he didn’t look as if he had any intention of putting himself in the line of fire.

‘I hope you haven’t made the wrong call here,’ he said, taking a swig from the flask.

‘What do you mean?’ Diamond said.

‘About the sniper burying the gun in the woods and coming back to collect it. We’ve committed a lot of resources.’

‘Losing confidence, are you?’ Diamond said. ‘Back in the incident room you were with me a hundred per cent. In fact, you were the first to come up with the theory.’

‘Was I?’

‘That’s my recollection. You talked about the bullets in the tree and the signs that he camped here.’

‘If you say so.’

‘But I don’t mind taking the credit when we reel him in,’ Diamond said.

‘Get stuffed.’

‘Where’s Polehampton?’

Gull shrugged. ‘Somewhere out there, checking the front line.’

‘I’d feel a lot safer if he was here. How did he come to join your outfit?’

‘Influence. His father-in-law is in the Government.’

‘Can’t you find him a desk job?’

Gull shook his head. ‘I want him where I can keep an eye on him.’

‘Like out in the woods?’

No answer.

Diamond asked, ‘So what do you reckon is the sniper’s motive in shooting policemen?’

‘Obviously revenge. Some arsehole with a grudge against us. There’s no shortage of cop-haters.’

‘Someone with form, then? A professional?’

‘You bet. Anyone who can handle a G36 like this guy is no beginner.’

‘And you’re the expert, of course?’

‘Anyone joining the SCU has to go through the assault weapons courses with CO19 at Milton Keynes. The initial firearms course alone is thirty-five days and then there are the rifle courses. If they ever took you on, which isn’t likely, you’d learn that H amp;K are the tops for reliability. The G36 works with a spring-buffered short-stroke gas piston system that is self-regulating. Mind, they’re expensive. I’d say the sniper’s weapon is worth as much as your car on the black market.’

All of the jargon was putting a glaze over Diamond’s eyes, but he still had an interest in the gun. ‘Worth coming back for, then?’

‘Would you come back for your car?’

‘I wouldn’t bury it in a wood.’

‘I haven’t told you the beauty part,’ Gull said. ‘You can fill your H amp;K with dirt, chuck it in a lake, drop it off a cliff, drag it through the jungle and it will still operate.’

‘I expect he wrapped it in something.’

‘Naturally. He wouldn’t want the job of cleaning the fucker. But if he did, they’re dead easy to break down and clean. I’ve done it.’

‘On the firearms course?’

‘Well, yes, I don’t own one. They’re illegal. Paramilitary. Even in the States, they’re banned. At one time H amp;K tried marketing them as semi-automatic sporting rifles. Legislation put a stop to that.’

‘But illegal arms dealers still supply them?’

‘To the right customer.’

‘The wrong customer.’

‘Depends on your point of view.’

‘How many of these guns are in circulation?’

‘How long is a piece of string? Put it this way: we’re not going to trace the murder weapon by going to the manufacturers and asking.’

‘Could it be police-issue?’

‘Easily. They told me on the course how many go missing. Hair-raising. And even more are knocked off from the armies across the world. A bent NCO in a regimental armoury can make a fortune. They simply fiddle the inventory.’

A rustle from the laurel bush interrupted him.

‘What’s that?’ Diamond said, thinking wildlife, anything from a snake to a deer.

It was static from a walkie-talkie. Jack Gull put out a hand and withdrew his personal radio from where it was hanging from a branch. Over the rustling came a voice: ‘Oscar One to Bravo. Stand by. Something happening here. Sounds up ahead.’ The speaker was a moonraker, Wiltshire through and through.

‘Report your position,’ Gull said.

‘The bushes are moving.’

‘Your fucking position, Oscar One.’

‘590811. He’s coming this way.’

‘Let him come,’ Gull said. ‘Stay where you are and let him come. Calling all armed units, we have a sighting at map reference 590811.’

‘There are badgers in this wood,’ Diamond said as if he were a nature study expert. He thought of the hapless copper out there in the darkness practically pissing himself with tension. A mistake now could compromise everything.

‘Can you see anything?’ Gull said into his radio.

A crackle of static followed by a hiss, but no voice.

‘If he’s as close as all that, he won’t speak,’ Diamond said.

‘Speak up, Oscar One,’ Gull demanded into the radio.

Silence.

‘Disconnected,’ Diamond said.