Peter Lovesey - Skeleton Hill

‘How long?’

‘Fifteen minutes, maybe less. It felt like fifteen. I figured that when he did break from cover I’d take a shot over his head to panic him. Finally I saw the long grass move and I knew exactly where he was lying. Sure enough, he surfaced and started running towards the empty house. I shot over his head and the recoil nearly knocked me off the wall.’

‘You missed?’

‘Of course I bloody missed. I meant to miss, but then the stupid sod stopped and turned towards me. I pulled the trigger a second time out of pure tension. I saw a hand go out and he dropped and I realised I’d hit him. I jumped down and went over to look and I could see he was in a bad way. I was still trying to think what to do when the police came over the wall. The rest you know.’

‘You ran off.’

‘I panicked, didn’t I?’

‘What happened to the gun?’

‘I dropped it somewhere in that long grass.’

‘You’re saying you didn’t intend to hit him? We’re supposed to believe that? What do you take us for?’

‘I’ve got no experience using guns. You can look at my record. I’ve got form for other stuff, but nothing to do with firearms.’

‘Come on, Jenkins, it’s your gun. You admitted that just now.’

‘For self-defence. I’m in a dangerous job, for Christ’s sake.’

‘You had plenty of time to think if you were going to use it. Cat and mouse, your words. You cold-bloodedly waited for DI Halliwell to show himself and then you loosed off two shots.’

‘That’s wrong. I want a brief.’

‘You’re going to need one. And you’d better get praying as well.’

The hospital told them Keith’s condition remained critical. He was in intensive care and unable to speak. His wife had arrived and was spending the night at the hospital, but even she was being kept away from the patient.

‘Doesn’t sound good,’ he said to Louis. ‘He lost pints of blood. I know that. Do you think I should be with his wife?’

Louis shook his head. ‘Right now she’ll be blaming you for what happened. It’s not personal, it’s inevitable.’

‘I gave the poor old lad what I thought was the easy option, visiting this gentle couple in Barnes who go to church on Sundays. Olena was really wide of the mark over them.’

‘Didn’t you say one of the family drove Mrs Halliwell to London?’ ‘Her brother.’

‘They don’t need you, then. Come back with me. I’ve got a spare bedroom.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly ten. You look bushed.’

In the morning he heard that Keith had responded to treatment and was out of intensive care. A short visit would be permitted. Elated, he took a taxi there.

In the corridor leading to the ward, his heart sank at the sight of Sheila Halliwell and her brother walking towards him. Situations like this always defeated him. He stopped and turned up his palms in apology.

Sheila stepped forward and offered her face for a token kiss, which he supplied, wishing he’d shaved before starting out. She said, ‘He’s going to be all right, they say. I’m sorry I was so sharp when you phoned yesterday. It must have been the shock.’

‘You’ve seen him?’

‘Yes, and he told me neither of you could have had any idea he was going to have a gun pulled on him.’

‘Is he well enough for me to go in?’

‘He’ll be upset if you don’t. He keeps saying there’s something he must tell you.’

The patient was in a side ward, tubed up for a transfusion. He appeared to be sleeping. He had more colour than Diamond expected, but creases of strain showed in his face, even in repose.

‘We can postpone the funeral by the look of you.’

The eyelids flickered and opened.

‘Me, being unfunny, as usual.’

‘Good to see you, guv.’ Keith’s voice was not much more than a whisper. ‘I messed up big time.’

‘You didn’t. You’re a hero. Are you sore?’

‘Full of morphine. Hard to keep my eyes open.’

‘Sheila said you want to tell me something.’

‘Yes?’ Unfortunately he was starting to drift off. The eyes closed again.

‘Was it about yesterday?’

‘Yesterday, yes.’

‘You got to the house and spoke to Vikki. I know that much.’

‘Vikki?’

‘The madam, at sixteen Marchant Street.’

He opened his eyes briefly again. ‘She knows, guv. Vikki knows. You’ve got to see her.’ Then he was gone again.

A hand on Keith’s free arm, a gentle squeeze, and he left.

This would not be easy considering he had Vikki’s husband in custody and 16 Marchant Street was a crime scene. Police cars would be standing outside and the house would have emptied of girls and clients. Vikki had lost her husband and her livelihood. Even if he caught up with the lady she wouldn’t be in a frame of mind to tell all.

He called at the Crimea as soon as it opened and looked for Andriy, thinking he might know where Vikki lived.

No Andriy.

‘I don’t understand,’ the barmaid said. ‘Always he is here when I open. I hope he is not ill.’

He guessed what was amiss. ‘He took some bottles home last night. Probably sleeping it off.’

His only other contact was Olena. He had to try.

He went first to the church and found her removing used candles from in front of an icon. ‘There is nothing I can tell you about Viktorya,’ she said, and contradicted herself by adding, ‘She is upset. Distress.’

‘You’ve seen her, then?’

‘I cannot speak of this in front of St Volodymyr.’

‘Shall we go outside?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Viktorya is distressed because her husband is at the police station. Did she tell you?’

Excluding him, she opened a new box of candles and set them out neatly in front of the shrine.

He said, ‘Would you light one for my friend, Keith Halliwell, who was shot yesterday? I think St Volodymyr will be sympathetic.’ She sighed and walked with him to the main door. On the steps, she said,

‘She is at my house. I don’t know what happen. You are good man, I think. Be gentle, yes?’

He walked the short distance to Meon Road. Vikki came to the door, opened it a fraction, saw him and slammed it shut. He bent down and talked through the letterbox. ‘Vikki, I’ve come from Olena. Do I have to go back and ask her to leave the church and unlock her own front door?’

After some hesitation, she opened it and glared. No bread and salt welcome this time. The blonde hair was in need of combing and the eyes were red-lidded. She turned her back on him and stepped into the front room where the photos stood on the mantelpiece, including the one of Vikki, or Viktorya, as she was known here. They sat facing each other on the two chairs, overlooked by the crucifix.

‘Olena doesn’t know what goes on in Marchant Street, does she?’ he said.

‘She thinks the best of everyone,’ Vikki said. ‘She is like a mother to me. You don’t tell your mother things that will trouble her.’

‘But she knows your husband is being held for shooting a policeman?’

‘She doesn’t know it all.’

‘Keith is going to pull through, I think. I saw him this morning. He told me you gave him information. In view of what happened I’m going to have to ask you to repeat it.’

She shrugged and looked away.

Softly, softly wasn’t going to work with Vikki. ‘We’re holding your husband on a minor rap at present. We have to decide what to charge him with. Could be evading arrest, illegal possession of a firearm, shooting with intent to kill. He’s lucky it isn’t murder. The courts take a hard line on cop killers.’

‘He never meant to kill.’

‘That’s his story. He claims he wasn’t aiming the gun, that he’s inexperienced at using it.’