Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘Will anyone out there tell me what’s happening?’

‘Bravo?’ the radio spoke. A different voice.

‘Yeah?’

‘Unit Two. Reference Oscar One, we’re moving in.’

‘Thank Christ for that,’ Gull said. To Diamond, he said, ‘That’s the gun team.’

Being at HQ, as he called it, evidently gave Jack Gull a sensation of power. It did nothing for Peter Diamond. He felt marginalised. All the action was happening at the far end of the wood and he could do nothing to influence it. While he was holed up behind a holly bush, young police officers with no experience of this kind of skirmish were risking their lives against an armed killer. His main impulse was to get out and give support. If he hadn’t been handicapped by the leg injury he would have been there. He felt wasted here, listening to Gull swearing into the radio, increasingly infuriated.

The speaking was all one-way.

There hadn’t been anything back from the armed police or the bobby known as Oscar One for two or three minutes. In this situation two or three minutes seemed like an hour of normal time.

‘Nobody’s fucking listening to me.’

‘It’s not about you,’ Diamond told Gull. ‘If they switch off, it’s for their own safety.’

‘Just as long as they got the tosser this time.’

‘Just as long as no more of ours are killed.’

‘You think he’s on a spree?’

‘He’ll be armed for sure.’

‘Our lads are trained. They’ll take him.’

But at what cost? Diamond feared for the copper who had radioed the first sighting. He wouldn’t be armed or trained. Neither would the other Wiltshire lads drafted in to keep watch. The last words heard from Oscar One had been ‘He’s coming this way.’

‘Did you make a note of that grid reference?’

‘Of course I fucking did,’ Gull said. ‘We know who was on the spot and we know the gun team went in. I’m trained for the job.’

‘Where was it in relation to here?’

‘I get you.’ He produced a map from the side pocket of the combat trousers, unfolded it and flicked on a torch. ‘Oscar One was speaking from the northeast edge of the wood, which means the sniper will have come from the Jones Hill side.’ He looked up from the map, and it was not a friendly look. ‘If I remember right, you dismissed Jones Hill and said he’d come through Westwood.’

‘We don’t need to know where he came from,’ Diamond said. ‘All we need is where he is right now.’

Gull hadn’t listened. ‘He wouldn’t flog his way through half a mile of sodding wood to get where he is. He’d come from the North.’

‘It’s history, Jack.’

‘He knows where he hid his rifle and he picked the quickest route.’

‘Or the smartest.’

They slipped into silence, with never a chance of agreeing. Gull was chewing his thumbnail again. Diamond’s thoughts were with Oscar One, the luckless copper who had called in. This operation had been rushed. Ideally only armed officers should have been posted in the wood.

‘Don’t you think you should move more of your marksmen to the scene?’

Gull shook his head. ‘The gun team makes their own tactical decisions. I can speak to them, but they judge when and where to move. Makes sense.’

‘A law unto themselves.’

A shrug. ‘SOP.’

‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

‘Standard operating procedure. I’m in overall charge, of course.’

This came across as a hollow claim. Right now Gull didn’t look like the man in charge. He’d got up from the canvas seat and was pacing the small area like an expectant father outside the delivery room.

Diamond had to step aside for him to pass. ‘Mind if I sit down?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘It’s turned on, is it?’ Diamond asked when he’d lowered himself into the chair.

‘What?’

‘Your radio. I can’t see a light.’

Gull looked down, swore again, fiddled with the controls and got the static sound back. Immediately a voice asked, ‘Anything happened yet? This is Delta Three. All quiet here.’

‘Then get off the fucking line.’

A faint ‘Charming’ could be heard before Delta Three signed off.

Gull tried once more to raise Oscar One and got nothing.

‘Here’s a suggestion,’ Diamond said. ‘Why don’t you leave me here in charge while you go out and check what’s really going on? I can’t move fast, but you can, and you’ve done the training. Are you armed?’

‘I’ve got my Glock, that’s all.’

‘Handgun?’

‘Yeah.’

‘More than most of those poor beggars have got. They’re armed with batons at best.’

‘They’ll have protective jackets.’ Even Gull appeared to realise this was a callous remark. ‘They know better than to get involved. We laid it on the line.’

‘No use laying it anywhere if an armed sniper gets a sight of you.’

A long pause.

‘So you think I could be more useful out there,’ Gull said. He replaced the stopper on his hip flask and pocketed it.

‘Sure of it. Have we got a spare radio? I can take any calls that come in, but I reckon the guys close to the action have switched off. You’re wasted here.’

‘Okay, I’ll go.’ Whatever Jack Gull’s limitations, he wasn’t a coward. He’d wanted to oversee the mission from the hub, and this hideout had ceased being that. He handed the radio to Diamond saying he’d pick up a spare from one of his team. ‘Keep me fully informed, Peter. Refer all decisions to me.’

‘Goes without saying,’ Diamond said.

He watched Gull put on night-vision goggles and a ballistic helmet and then he was gone.

The next phase would be a trial for Diamond. He hated being so passive. Better make sure the radio was working. Really it was a form of mobile phone. The police had been using them ever since he’d joined the Met. They’d called them ‘bat phones’ in those days, which dated him. Still, he could say he’d used a mobile a good twenty years before they became trendy.

The distinguishing feature of the police radio was the static, a grating, unmusical sound that usually meant someone was about to get in touch and alerted everyone around as well. The armed police used earpieces for covert operations like this.

He had the thing in his hand and was turning up the volume when it spluttered into life. ‘Bravo, can you hear this?’

For a microsecond he had to think who Bravo was, and then: ‘Right. Bravo here. Who is this?’

‘Oscar One.’ Said in the reassuring West Country burr.

‘Christ, lad, are you okay?’

‘No problem.’

‘Thank God for that. What happened?’

‘I saw him, sir, a guy moving through the wood who has to be the suspect. He was heading my way, darting from tree to tree. He got as close as ten yards and then beetled off to the right of me. He’s away now, I think.’

‘Which direction?’

‘West to southwest, I reckon.’

‘Deeper into the wood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Description?’

‘There wasn’t much light to see by.’

‘Try.’

‘I only caught the outline of him. He’s wearing dark clothes. Some kind of baseball hat, I reckon. He’s not all that tall. Moves well, like he’s fit.’

‘Armed?’

‘If he is, he isn’t carrying a rifle.’

‘Moves well, you said?’

‘Bent over, like he didn’t want to be seen.’

‘Did he spot you?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m well hidden here. In fact, I got a real shock when someone put his hand on my shoulder from behind and he was one of ours. Freaked me out.’

‘An armed officer?’

‘That’s right, sir. There were others, I think. I told him what I’ve just told you and they headed off after the suspect.’