Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘He’s got a remote, same as me,’ Nuttall said.

‘There must be a way to override it.’

‘Downstairs.’

‘Better do it now.’

Nuttall swung around and practically shoved Ingeborg aside in his eagerness to take up the suggestion. He was over the barrier of the cupboard, through the door and heading towards the stairs like a bat out of hell. Exactly why he was so keen to stop his son escaping wasn’t clear. Possibly, Diamond thought, having Royston in the line of fire was preferable to being questioned about the activities of Fight for Britain. The man had been visibly shaken at being asked about military weapons.

‘Search the room for anything dodgy,’ Diamond told Ingeborg. ‘I’m going after him.’

Downstairs, Nuttall was in the hall, hitting the digits of a control panel mounted on the wall just inside the front door. ‘I’ve locked everything,’ he said. ‘No one can get in or out.’

‘Can you tell if the front gate was open in the last few minutes?’

‘It wasn’t. Definitely.’

‘He’s still in the grounds, then.’

‘He’ll have gone for his bike,’ Nuttall said.

‘Where the Porsche is?’

‘Christ — I’ll kill him if he uses that.’

‘Shall we check?’

Outside, Nuttall kicked off the flipflops and sprinted across the lawn towards the open barn, with Diamond doing his insufficient best to keep up. Royston wasn’t in sight, but as Nuttall got closer the sound of barking started and the Dobermann raced towards him. He stooped and grabbed it by the collar and held on.

Diamond approached with caution.

‘The dog won’t go for you,’ Nuttall said. ‘It’s a guard dog, but I won’t let go of it. I feed the brute, so it knows me. But if it was sniffing here, the boy must be somewhere around.’

‘Does it know Royston?’

‘Yeah, but he doesn’t feed it. If he steps outside when the dog’s on guard, it’ll have him.’

‘Let’s see if there’s anything left of him,’ Diamond said.

They approached the collection of vehicles. The motorbike was still in place and so was the Porsche.

The dog started growling, straining to be free and showing its teeth.

‘I’m going to let go of it,’ Nuttall said.

‘Is that wise?’

‘Stay real close and it won’t touch you.’

Not liking this one bit, Diamond practically nudged shoulders with Nuttall on his free side. The instant it was released, the Dobermann dashed to the Porsche and prowled around it, continuing to snarl.

‘He’s inside, the scumbag,’ Nuttall said. ‘He was going to use my motor.’ He charged forward and flung open the door.

A youth was cowering on the rear seat.

The dog leapt inside and sank its teeth into the sleeve of the boy’s bomber jacket. Nuttall grabbed it by the collar and tugged, trying to haul it off. He only succeeded at the cost of a slice of leather that remained in the closed jaws.

‘Get outta there!’ Nuttall shouted at his son.

The dog had moved a short way off and was lying down, content to chew the leather.

Royston looked anxiously to see where the dog was and then emerged from the car, a tall, pale young man who had gone through the adolescent growth spurt and hadn’t yet put on much flesh or muscle. There was a slight resemblance to his father in the flat nose and puddle-brown eyes, but he didn’t have the military grooming. A mop of thick, dark hair drooped over his shoulders and he hadn’t shaved in some time. He was shaking, either from the experience with the dog or fear of what would happen next.

He said in a rush of words, ‘Dad, I wasn’t trying to take the car, honest. I haven’t got the key, have I? You left it unlocked. It was the only place I could find to get away from the dog. You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know it was anywhere near the house. It would have gone for my throat. I was desperate.’

‘Get inside the house, you pillock,’ Nuttall said. ‘We’ll sort this later. This gentleman is a cop and he can have you for evading arrest if he wants. I’m not going to stop him.’

‘What does he want me for?’

‘Do as I say. In the briefing room. At the double.’

Royston wasn’t of a mind to argue. He turned and walked swiftly towards the house.

‘He won’t run off again,’ Nuttall said to Diamond.

Diamond nodded his thanks. ‘He was probably making a dash for the motorbike. Does it belong to him?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Powerful. A present from you?’

A shake of the head. ‘He paid for it on the never-never. I brought him up to value things. I’ll say this for him: he’s no scrounger.’

‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to speak to him without you in the room. He’s not being arrested. We want his help as a possible witness.’

‘Suit yourself. I’ll put the dog in its pen.’

A double favour — better than Diamond could have hoped for. The man was only too relieved to be asked to keep his distance. It hardened Diamond’s opinion that Nuttall was more concerned about the hidden armoury than whatever trouble his own son might be in.

Back in the house, Ingeborg met Diamond at the door. He raised his eyebrows — a silent question.

‘A wad of banknotes,’ she said in a voice pitched low. ‘A grand or more, at a guess. Plenty of expensive clothes, some soft porn magazines and CDs and a small quantity of party drugs.’

‘Personal use?’

‘I reckon.’

‘Are you switched on?’

‘Aren’t I always?’

‘The mini-recorder.’

‘Ah.’ She touched a point deep in her cleavage. ‘I am now.’

They went into the briefing room.

Royston was sitting at the far end of the long table, arms folded in such a way that one hand covered the hole in his sleeve, as if he’d resolved not to reveal any weak point. He’d got a little colour back. It was likely that after being mauled by a Dobermann everything else paled into insignificance, including a grilling from the police.

Diamond established the boy’s identity as well as confirming theirs, then said, ‘This is about the murder of PC Tasker in Walcot Street last weekend. You know about it, I’m sure.’

‘What do you mean — know about it?’ Royston said, shooting him a defiant look. ‘I know sod all.’

‘You heard about it.’

He shrugged. ‘Everyone did.’

‘And you’re often in Walcot Street, doing the pubs and clubs?’

‘It’s a free country,’ he said, echoing his father’s comment when justifying shooting at targets of policemen. Plainly this interview wasn’t going to be an easy ride, but at least the boy wasn’t playing dumb.

‘How old are you?’

‘Come on,’ he said, getting more confident. ‘You’re not going to do me for under-age drinking. Seventeen, and never touched a drop.’ He grinned, inviting a challenge.

‘You met Harry Tasker more than once.’

‘So did loads of others. Walcot was his beat. He was always down there trying to get us to talk. Community policing, innit?’

‘Sometimes he caught people doing stuff they shouldn’t,’ Diamond said. ‘Did he ever catch you?’

‘What — drugs and that?’ Royston said, cool, as if prepared for this line of questioning. ‘Never. Not me.’

‘Other people?’

He shrugged. ‘Not for me to say.’

‘I was told you know a lot about what goes on.’

‘Doesn’t mean I do it.’

‘You’re not saying you never do drugs, are you, Royston?’

Ingeborg said, ‘We know different. There are some in your room.’

He glanced at her as if he’d only just noticed she was there, then frowned and shifted position on the chair. ‘I’ve never been nicked or anything.’

‘So you’ve got a clean record,’ Diamond said. ‘Was that thanks to Harry Tasker?’