Peter Lovesey - Cop to Corpse

‘No, ma’am.’

She wasn’t listening. ‘The Brotherhood, he called it. Great if you’re a member. He was never asked. He wouldn’t have joined, anyway. He had principles.’ She glanced at the wedding photo on the wall showing a tight-lipped Harry standing rigidly to attention beside herself, his radiant, smiling bride. ‘Did you know him?’

‘Not well,’ Diamond was forced to admit. ‘I work from a different office.’

‘Don’t you listen? He didn’t work in an office,’ she almost screamed at him. ‘He was pounding the streets while you had your feet up. Why the hell did they send you if you hardly knew him?’

‘No one sent me. I volunteered to come.’

‘That beats everything,’ she said. ‘What — do you get a kick out of giving bad news to people?’

In this situation the bereaved can say whatever they want and there’s no comeback.

He shook his head. ‘I’m here because I know what you’re going through. Four years ago my wife was shot and murdered in Victoria Park.’

She gave a sharp, impatient sigh. ‘I’ve got my own cross to bear. I can’t find sympathy for you.’

‘I’m not asking for any,’ he said.

‘I hate the bloody police and all they stand for.’

‘There are times when I’d agree with you. Look, I really think you should drink something. You’ve had a terrific shock. Shall I make tea?’

She stabbed a finger at him. ‘Don’t even think about stepping into my kitchen.’

He’d not expected hostility like this. She’d taken against him and nothing he could do or say would alter that. The only way now was to find someone she was willing to relate to. Then think of an exit line.

‘Is there anyone you’d like me to contact? A neighbour? A friend? I’m thinking somebody should be with you.’

Those fierce brown eyes rejected the suggestion outright, but she relented enough to say. ‘Someone should tell them I won’t be in for work.’

An opening. He went for it. ‘Fine. Where is it? What’s the number?’

She was a supervisor at Playzone, the children’s activity centre, she told him before giving the details. He couldn’t help wondering how small kids fared with this pent-up aggression. Maybe she was totally different with them. He called the place and said Mrs. Tasker had suffered the loss of a close relative and might not be in for a few days. When he finished the call she was no longer in the room.

He heard a kettle being filled, so he followed her into the kitchen, defying her order to keep out. She had her back to him yet she must have heard his approach because without turning to look she said, ‘I’m just so angry. He’s been on nights all week. We’ve scarcely seen each other.’

‘And there are things you wish you’d said?’ He was speaking from painful experience.

‘I feel cheated.’

‘You have every right. Believe me, we’ll pull out all the stops.’

She snorted at that. ‘If you want sugar, it’s in the cupboard behind you.’

While this embodiment of fury busied herself with milk carton and teapot, Diamond was bold enough to seek information. He asked if Harry had been threatened by anyone, recently or in the past.

‘Apart from me, you mean?’ she said without a glimmer of irony. ‘I gave him hell on a regular basis. No, he was too easygoing to make enemies. Mind, he didn’t tell me everything. Harry wasn’t much of a communicator. He kept his feelings hidden. If I asked about his job, he’d say there wasn’t anything worth mentioning.’

‘I don’t have to tell you police work is like that a lot of the time,’ Diamond said. ‘Loads of boring stuff you wouldn’t want to hear about.’

‘You don’t get it, do you, bloody man?’ she said, widening her big eyes, ‘Anything is better than silence.’

Lady, you’re going to get a lot of that in the weeks and months to come, he thought. ‘I’m asking these questions because we have to be certain he wasn’t shot by someone he knew.’

‘He was killed by that madman who’s been targeting policemen, wasn’t he?’ she said. ‘I’ve forgotten what they call him.’

‘The Somerset Sniper. That’s a strong possibility. If so, it was almost certainly done because Harry wore the uniform, nothing more. He was a cop, so he was fair game. Doesn’t make it any easier to accept.’

‘To come back to your question, I can’t think of anyone who hated him enough to kill him.’

‘Did he have any interests outside the police?’

‘Fishing.’

He took this as another rebuke. ‘I’m doing my job. We need to know.’

‘I said. He fished, with a rod and line. Is that clear enough for you?’

He gave a faint, embarrassed smile.

She added, ‘He didn’t get much time for it.’

‘You must have gone out together sometimes. Where did you go? A favourite pub?’

‘You’ve got to be joking. If we went out more than twice in the past year I can’t recall it. All he ever wanted was to put his feet up and watch telly. It was the job. It tired him out. If I go out, it has to be with the girls, my buddies. That’s all the excitement I get.’

‘This being a murder enquiry, you’re going to have to put up with any number of questions like these. We’ll need to look at everything connected with Harry, bank statements, phone, address book, diary, computer. It’s a huge invasion of your privacy, but necessary. I’m telling you this so that you’re prepared.’

‘You’re not,’ she said. ‘You’re telling me so that the copper who gets the job doesn’t get the blasting you’ve just had. You’re shell-shocked. You look worse than I do.’

Whatever his condition, he needed to drive into the city again. On the car radio the local news reports were coming in of the fatal shooting of a uniformed policeman in Walcot Street and they were linking it to the two previous shootings. He’d completed his next-of-kin mission in the nick of time, even though it hadn’t been the sympathetic heart-to-heart he’d planned. He’d left Emma Tasker in the care of a policewoman trained in helping the bereaved. She would surely cope better than he had. Next-of-kin interviews were never easy, but that one had shaken his confidence. He didn’t have time dwell on it. Soon the media tsunami would swamp everyone. Good thing Jack Gull was in charge.

In the Paragon, the house-to-house was under way. Keith Halliwell had finished interviewing the close neighbours and nobody had spotted the sniper. Some had reacted to the sound of the shooting by going to their windows. So thick and high had been the crop of weeds that a gang of gunmen could have operated from that garden and not been seen.

‘Getting on for five hours since the shooting,’ Diamond said to Halliwell. ‘If he’s got any sense he’ll be miles away by now.’

‘Unless he lives here.’

‘Right. What’s your take on that civil servant, three-gun Willis on the top floor?’

‘In the clear. His licence has been checked. Each of those rifles is registered. The Devizes Gun Club confirms that all three are in their armoury, secure. There’s no way he could have used one this morning and got it back to Devizes by the time we interviewed him.’

‘An unlicensed gun?’

‘If there is one, we didn’t find it. His flat was well searched.’

‘He wouldn’t have it in his flat after using it, would he? He’s a careful bugger. Willis is still top of my list. That bedroom window.’

Halliwell gave a faint grin. ‘If he’s as careful as you say, he wouldn’t have left the window open. The thing is, he may be nicely placed to have carried out this morning’s shooting from his bedroom, but what about the earlier killings in Wells and Radstock?’

‘Trust you to sabotage a good theory.’