Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘You did well, Oscar One.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘You may be in for another shock. The CIO is on his way to you now. You’re still in the position you gave us before?’

‘The same, sir.’

‘And are you alone now?’

‘Some others are hidden nearby.’

‘That’s good. Stay out of sight in case he’s back. Over and out.’

The description of the suspect was not much help. What could you expect at night in a heavily wooded area? One good thing was that the sniper wasn’t carrying his rifle. No doubt he was on his way to collect it. Diamond’s guess was that it was buried somewhere close to where the motorcycle had surfaced.

That would be this end of the wood. Not far off from here.

Wanting to check the map for himself, he looked around and realised he couldn’t. Gull had gone off with the only copy. How dumb was that? If someone radioed in with another sighting, there was no way of checking the position.

Presumably maps had been issued to everyone. He needed one — and fast.

He got up from the chair, leaned on the crutch and hauled himself outside. The moon had gone behind a cloud again. Amazing what a difference it made. He could have kitted a funeral out of the darkness.

‘Anyone about?’

Silence.

‘I need some help here.’

He’d spoken softly, assuming that the men who had shown him the way weren’t far off. He didn’t want to yell.

The only other option would be to radio for a map. Not the best way to encourage confidence in the ranks.

He was on the point of returning inside the hideout when a voice from his left said, ‘Sir.’

One of the ninjas.

Diamond explained the problem. Map, Maglite torch, pencil and notepad were provided. ‘Any signs of activity out there?’ he asked.

‘All quiet, sir.’

‘Stay alert. He could be heading this way.’ The order was superfluous, but he felt he had to say something to reassert his dented authority.

Back in the hidey-hole, he opened the map and worked out approximately where he was and what the coordinates were.

The radio rustled and a voice he recognised said, ‘Bravo, this is Jack. Over.’

Gull hadn’t assigned himself a call-name. He couldn’t be Bravo any more, so it was first-name terms.

‘Go ahead, Jack,’ Diamond said.

‘Can you recall that grid reference?’

Diamond grinned. ‘It’s all right. Oscar One called in. He’s okay. The target moved west.’

‘We had a sighting?’

‘Yes, but we’re not much wiser.’

‘I’m returning to base.’

‘As you wish.’

The radio hissed as Gull signed off.

Diamond sat forward in the chair, waiting. One of the silent watchers, surely, would soon report another view of the sniper picking his way through the wood. The man was either incredibly lucky or skilful or he’d given up and gone. It was weird to be here with the radio knowing that the firearms officers were posted at strategic points through the wood waiting for the same snuffle of static that would start his own pulse racing.

Then he heard a sound that wasn’t from the radio.

An explosive burst from the wood startled him so much that he tipped the chair backwards and almost fell. He couldn’t tell the precise direction. It was followed by another, surely a rifle shot.

Not an echo, but a second bang.

Immediately, the radio came alive with a babble of voices. ‘Jesus!’

‘I heard shots.’

‘That’s got to be him.’

‘Where did it come from?’

‘Gunfire, close by the quarry end. Delta Three going in.’

Gull’s voice. ‘This is control calling all units. Will someone give me a fucking grid reference?’

‘Delta Three again. Our best estimate is 598807. Over.’

Gull: ‘Did everyone get that? 598807. All SFOs, repeat SFOs, close in on the target area. And now I’m ordering radio silence.’

His heart thumping, Diamond came to a rapid decision. If Gull was running the show, calling himself ‘control’ again, leave him to it. Two men in charge could lead to disaster. He didn’t need to do anything in this emergency except stay tuned. The wise thing was to follow what was going on in case he needed to take over. But what was going on? The shots had sounded close, definitely from this end of the wood. He had to assume the first, if not both, had come from the sniper. None of the firearms officers had reported preparing to shoot.

When the sniper used his gun, he aimed to kill. Up to now, he hadn’t been known to miss.

There followed a petrifying period of silence. Diamond pictured the armed police homing in on the place where the shots had been heard. They were coming from all parts of the wood. The sniper would be surrounded, but at what cost?

Three minutes went by.

No more sound.

This was becoming unbearable.

Diamond flicked on the little torch and tried to find the location on the map. A grid reference — someone’s estimate of a grid reference — wasn’t the number of a house or a car registration. It was an informed guess, no more. In the digital age we treat strings of numbers with all the respect accorded by ancient philosophers to the four elements. 598807 sounded like a combination that would open a vault. It was only a stab in the dark.

Tracing his finger up and across, he stopped it over nothing of interest. He estimated that the firing had come from about two hundred yards northwest of where he was now, somewhere close to the place where he’d encountered the badger. There wasn’t a lot of cover there, more bushes than trees. There was no certainty which bush might be hiding the killer. Sending men in was a huge risk, even when they were in body armour. It only wanted a cloud to move away from the moon and a crack shot like the sniper could take out three or four before his fire was answered. And knowing the wood as he did, he might still have an escape plan.

Diamond released a long, shaky breath.

Then he heard a soft sound nearby. It could have been a falling twig. There was a lot of dead, dry wood outside. Or it might have been the wildlife again.

He switched off the torch and stood up.

Picked up the only weapon to hand, his crutch. Made from light alloy for ease of handling, it was no weapon at all in reality.

More sounds from outside, heavier and regular. Someone was stepping fast towards the holly bush.

Diamond raised the crutch and held it in front of him like a fencer. Instinctive, but futile. It might stop a paper bag in the wind. Not much more. Balanced on one good leg and one dodgy one, he’d fall over if anyone grabbed it.

The steps got louder. No question that they were human.

It crossed Diamond’s mind that the sniper, being familiar with Becky Addy Wood, very likely knew of this hideout.

The steps stopped.

He held his breath and waited, watching the narrow space between the laurels and the holly, straining to see anything.

A metallic gleam appeared. He was certain it was a gun, a black automatic, and it was levelled at his chest.

‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘I’m not armed.’

‘Fucking better not be,’ Jack Gull said, stepping in and returning the Glock to its holster. ‘Careful with that crutch. You could hurt someone. You were so quiet here I had to be careful. Could have been him, lying in wait. He’s at this end of the wood.’

‘And it’s gone quiet again,’ Diamond said.

‘I don’t mind that. By now we’ve got the rat encircled.’

‘Let’s hope so. What next?’

‘They’ve all had time to get in position and find cover. I’m going on air again.’ Over the radio Gull asked all SFOs — the Specialist Firearms Officers — to report their positions.

Back came a mind-numbing series of numbers. Gull got them into a notebook and said to Diamond, ‘That’s all units accounted for. He must have missed with his two shots.’