Peter Robinson - Sleeping in the Ground

‘OK.’ Banks gestured to Gerry, who closed her notebook, then he turned to Gareth. ‘Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.’ He handed the youth his card. ‘If you remember anything else, however minor you think it is, please call me.’

‘Do you know... how many?’ he asked.

‘We don’t know yet.’

Gareth hung his head. ‘It feels terrible, you know. To have been so close and not known, not been able to do anything.’

Banks stood up and rested his hand on Gareth’s shoulder. ‘You should think yourself lucky you were over the ridge, out of the way. A walking stick isn’t much use against a powerful rifle. Take care.’

As they walked to the car, Banks asked Gerry to check Gareth Bishop’s story. ‘I know he seemed honest,’ he said, ‘but stranger things have happened than killers interposing themselves into the investigation. We’d look like a proper pair of ninnies if it turns out he did it all along. I’d like you and Doug to check his alibi at the Lamb and Flag — find out what time he arrived and how long he was there — then check the walk he says he did just to make sure he isn’t lying about what he could and couldn’t see or hear. Get him to show you it tomorrow morning, if you like. Tell him it’s a re-enactment.’

‘What about his room at the hostel, sir?’ said Gerry.

‘The search team will get to it. They’re doing the whole place. Though if Gareth did have anything to do with the shooting, he’s no doubt got rid of the gun by now.’

Back at the mobile incident vehicle parked beside the church, Banks asked if there had been any developments. There hadn’t, and the only comfort Banks could take from that scrap of news was that nobody else had been shot.

Banks arrived at the boardroom in Eastvale Regional HQ just before eight o’clock that Saturday evening and found the whiteboards already plastered with photographs of the victims. The ancient wool merchants with their purple-veined noses, whiskers and roast-beef complexions, staring down from their gilt frames on the walls, would probably wonder what on earth was going on. Because of the nature and scale of the crime, the usual team had been augmented by staff from county HQ, civilians as well as police officers. All the chairs around the long polished oval table were taken, and someone had brought in some folding chairs for the people at the back. The shooting was now of national concern. People were scared. An armed killer was on the loose, and nobody had any idea who he was or where he might strike next.

The only new development was that the sniffer-dog’s trail had stopped at the lay-by where Gareth Bishop said he saw a man get into a black people-mover. Stefan Nowak’s team was working the lay-by, intent on drawing even the tiniest amount of trace evidence from it. They had found a partial tyre track that Stefan believed could belong to a RAV4, so that was a start.

Banks had called the meeting to get a fix on who the victims were and to steer the investigation in the most fruitful direction. He wished he knew what that was. He felt the weight of responsibility, and he couldn’t afford to be wishy-washy; the team was depending on him for leadership and authority. Most of them wouldn’t get to meet the higher ranks who moved the pieces behind the scenes, but Banks was the senior investigating officer, and he was on the front line with his troops.

Banks stood by the whiteboards and faced the crowd. He already knew that there were three dead and six wounded, including Winsome. Ten shots, nine casualties, one bullet in the church door. Was that precision marksmanship or simply shooting fish in a barrel, as Mike Trethowan had said? Three of the wounded, including the groom, were in critical condition.

Banks summarised what they already knew about the shootings then walked over to the board of photographs, where he went on to share what he knew about the victims. He pointed to the first photograph. ‘Let’s start with the dead,’ he began. ‘As many of you already know, it was a fairly high-profile wedding for these parts, and it got a fair bit of coverage in the local media. First victim: the bride. Her name is Laura Tindall. She was a successful model, then she switched to running an agency. Laura was in the process of moving from the Docklands area of London to a country home near Lyndgarth with her husband-to-be. One bullet to the heart. She died instantly.’ He moved on. ‘Second, we have Francesca Muriel, her maid of honour, who also lived in London and was a work colleague at the agency and a close friend of Laura’s. Head shot. Thirdly, there’s Charles Kemp, father of the groom. Bullet wound to the chest, puncturing his right lung. He ran a software development company on the outskirts of Northallerton. Those are the dead. Dr Glendenning and his assistants will be carrying out the post-mortem examinations as soon as possible. I’d like to add that many of the survivors are in poor psychological shape, as you can imagine, and we may not be able to talk to some of them for a while. Also, Chief Superintendent Gervaise has arranged counselling for those who need it — and that doesn’t only mean the wedding guests.

‘Now the wounded. Benjamin Kemp, bridegroom. The bullet hit his liver. He’s in intensive care. After he left the military, Benjamin went to work for his father’s company and lived in Northallerton. Diana Lofthouse, bridesmaid, an ex-model and another close friend of Laura’s, was shot in the back. She should survive, but she’s unlikely to walk again. Next, Katie Shea, another bridesmaid. Shot in the stomach.’ Banks glanced at Gerry, who looked down at her clasped hands on her lap. ‘She has extensive internal damage. It’s touch and go. In addition, there’s David Hurst, a wedding guest, friend of the groom, with a leg wound, the photographer, Luke Merrifield, who may lose an eye, and our very own DS Winsome Jackman, friend of the groom, who was lucky to escape with a minor flesh wound to her shoulder. Winsome, I’m happy to say, has already been released from hospital and is resting at home with her fiancé, Terry Gilchrist, the hero of the day. Winsome is under mild sedation for shock and pain, but I’ll be talking to both of them at some length tomorrow. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the tally. The bride’s parents, Robert and Maureen Tindall, were uninjured, as was the mother of the groom, Denise Kemp.’

‘Why?’ Banks heard someone ask. ‘For Christ’s sake, why ?’

‘A good question,’ Banks said. ‘One thing we have to accept is that we may never know. Alternatively, we may find out, but we might not be able to understand. It may seem like a madman’s reasoning to us. But if we are dealing with a rampage killer, we may discover what triggered him, and we may also find that the wedding was simply the most convenient or dramatic way he could find to express his sick needs. Don’t expect any easy answers. All we have right now are theories.

‘I want to know everything you can find out about the victims, especially those who are deceased. Start with their movements over the last twenty-four hours, including what they ate for breakfast this morning and who they stopped and said hello to on the way to the church. Nobody knows what trigger sets off an event like this. We have information that leads us to believe a certain amount of forethought went into this shooting, so you may find yourself going back beyond those twenty-four hours. Use your judgement. If you come up with anything you think is the remotest bit relevant, tell me. We’ve already got plenty of officers out there canvassing the dale, and all shooting clubs and legal gun owners are being contacted through information from their firearms certificates — especially owners of AR15s.’