Cop to Corpse (4 page)

‘Including the residents, sir?’

‘Especially the residents. Are they getting stroppy?’

‘Some are. The armed response lads went through all the flats searching for the sniper.’

‘People don’t take well to that sort of invasion. Okay, if anyone wants to know, we’ll be interviewing them all shortly. Do you know the injured man, Inspector Lockton?’

The constable nodded. ‘Quite well, sir.’ A pause. ‘D’you think he’ll pull through?’

‘We can hope. Popular with the lads, is he?’

‘He got promoted recently.’

‘That isn’t the same thing.’

A faint smile.

‘He’s mustard keen,’ the constable said in an effort to be fair. ‘He does a good job. He was here first thing, sir, in charge of it all. I mean down in Walcot Street where the shooting happened.’

‘How did that come about – a newly promoted man in charge?’

‘As duty inspector, on the night shift.’

‘I get you.’ The lowest in the pecking order gets the leavings. ‘If he was directing the operation, what induced him to come up here?’

‘I couldn’t tell you, sir.’

‘You were down there, weren’t you?’

‘All I know is he was there one minute and gone the next. Someone else took over.’

Diamond radioed for CID assistance and got his deputy, DI Halliwell, the man he trusted and relied on. ‘Keith, I’m at the house in the Paragon. I want the people who live here turned inside out as possible witnesses. It seems likely the sniper fired from this garden and Lockton worked it out and came up here to investigate and was knocked cold. Someone let him in, someone clobbered him. And someone may have seen the attack.’

‘I’ll sort it, guv,’ Halliwell said. ‘Was Lockton working alone, then?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Strange.’

Diamond took the fifty-six steps down and was approached by a crop-headed muscleman he knew to be Supergull, Jack Gull, head honcho of the Serial Crimes Unit. Exactly how Gull, who wasn’t much over forty and looked as if he chewed car tyres, had made it to chief superintendent was an unsolved mystery. A show of civility was inescapable.

‘How you doing, Jack?’

‘We’re taking over,’ Gull said.

‘Fine.’ Diamond refused to rise to the bait. He had his own way of dealing with situations like this.

‘Fine’ wasn’t the reaction Gull had prepared for. ‘Polehampton tells me you’re pissed off about it.’

‘Did he get that impression from me?’ Diamond said. ‘He’s no mind-reader. What’s the plan, then? Do I stand my people down and leave it to you guys?’

‘You know that’s not the way it works. We need them and we need you.’

‘Some of them are still here from the night turn. They can’t stay on their feet much longer.’

Gull wasn’t interested in human frailty. ‘What did you find up those steps?’

Diamond told him and played the trump card he’d saved for this. ‘So we’ve got two crime scenes. Who do you want up there?’

Gull hesitated.

‘Between ourselves,’ Diamond said, ‘Polehampton doesn’t fill me with confidence. I already have a top detective at the scene briefed to interview possible witnesses.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘DI Halliwell.’

‘Halliwell can carry on,’ Gull said as if he’d known Halliwell all his life. ‘Would you oversee it? I need Polehampton down here.’

‘If you insist,’ Diamond said, suppressing the smirk that wanted to appear.

All this climbing of steps would either make him a fit man or bring on a coronary. Back at the house in the Paragon, Keith Halliwell had already singled out a key witness. ‘I think you should speak to her yourself, guv. She opened the door to Ken Lockton and he wasn’t alone as we supposed.’

‘I’ll definitely speak to her.’

‘I’d better warn you. She’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.’

She was the tenant of the ground floor, a cello-shaped blonde of around twenty called Sherry Meredith. She’d made up – eyes, lips, the works – and was in white jeans and a low cut black top with glittery bits that seemed out of place before eight in the morning. In matters of fashion Diamond was way behind the times.

‘They called really early when I was still in bed,’ she said. ‘I buzzed them in.’

She already had his full attention, and not for how she looked or what she was wearing. ‘Trusting.’

‘I wouldn’t have, except they said they were police and when I looked there was a police car outside.’

‘You said “they”.’

‘Yes. Two of them.’

‘Are you sure? In uniform?’

She frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Of course you know.’

‘I didn’t know what they were wearing. I know now, but I didn’t when I looked out of the window. All I could see was the car. I’m trying to be truthful.’

He nodded, accepting the logic. He wished he hadn’t asked. ‘After you buzzed them in, you saw the uniforms?’

She had to think about that. ‘Yes. The one who did the talking is the man they just carried out on the stretcher. The other one was a sergeant. Three stripes on his arm – would that be right?’

His patience was being stretched. He nodded. ‘Did you find out the sergeant’s name?’

‘If he mentioned it, I didn’t take it in. I was still in pyjamas, not made up or anything.’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘It’s embarrassing. How would you feel if you were me? I’m telling you why I couldn’t think of much else.’

‘Can you remember what the inspector said?’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Do I look as if I’m joking? Try. It’s important.’

‘I told you I was in my pyjamas.’

‘Miss Meredith –’

‘Sherry.’

‘Sherry, I’ve never believed those stories about dumb blondes. I can tell you’re a smart girl. We need to know. He must have had some questions for you.’

The flattery worked. ‘He asked me who lived in the flat downstairs.’

‘And?’

‘He called it the basement. I told him it’s the garden flat.’

‘Go on.’

‘I said it was empty, been empty for years. He goes: have you heard any sounds from down there and I’m, like, no, nothing.
Then he asks me the way down and I tell him about the stairs in the hall. That was it. Oh, and he said to lock my door.’

‘I expect you watched what was happening from your back window.’

She blushed and ran the tip of her tongue around her lips.

‘Understandable,’ he said to relax her. ‘Anyone would.’

‘They pushed through the weeds to the far end where you can see down into the street.’

‘And then?’

‘They were talking.’

‘For long?’

‘Not long. They seemed to be arguing. The sergeant looked kind of, well, miffed, if you know what I mean. He came back through the flat and drove off in the police car.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure? Did you actually see him get in the car and drive off?’

Her cheeks reddened again. ‘From my front room.’

‘So you moved from the back of the house to the front to see what was going on? And then?’

‘Nothing. When I looked out the back again, the boss man wasn’t in sight.’

Inwardly, he was cursing. She’d missed being a key witness to the assault on Ken Lockton. ‘What did you do – go back to bed?’

‘No, I wouldn’t have got to sleep again after an experience like that. I showered and got dressed.’

He’d coaxed about as much as he was likely to get from Sherry Meredith. ‘Who lives above you?’

‘Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. They’re old.’

‘And above them?’

‘Mr. Willis, some kind of civil servant.’

‘How long have the old people lived here?’

‘Since it was built, I reckon.’

‘About 1800?’

She giggled. ‘I could be wrong about that. A long time, for sure. They know everything about the place. They’re lovely, the sweetest people you could hope to have as neighbours. They take things in for me when I’m at work.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, no, I’ve just remembered.’

‘Something important?’

‘I have a Sunday job at Waitrose. Will I be allowed to go soon?’

‘A job doing what?’ He couldn’t picture her coping with the checkout.

‘Round the back, preparing chickens for the spit.’

‘And what do you do in the week?’

‘Cosmetics – in Jolly’s.’

Out in the street in front of the Paragon, he briefed the scene-of-crime team who had just arrived and were getting into their blue protective suits. The vacant flat had to be gone over in case the sniper had spent time there. And there were two possible incidents in the garden to investigate. First, he suspected the sniper had been there and fired from the railing at the end. The spent cartridge cases might well be waiting to be found. In addition, he hoped for powder residue that might be used in evidence. Second, some time after the shooting, Ken Lockton had been hit over the head and there ought to be traces of his attacker and possibly the implement he’d used.

The CSI team leader was confident of results until he saw the state of the garden. He commented that it looked as if a tank regiment had been through pursued by a herd of buffalo.

Diamond wasn’t in a mood to smile. ‘Come on – it’s no size. It’s a postage stamp.’

‘A well-franked postage stamp.’

He turned away, shaking his head.

Keith Halliwell came down from interviewing the sweet old couple, the Murphys. They’d slept through everything until the firearms unit went through their flat. Hadn’t heard the shooting, or the sirens. The presence of four heavily armed men at their door had come as a strong surprise. The armed officers had failed to get across the reason for their visit. Sweet old Mr. Murphy kept a shillelagh behind the door. He’d bruised a few legs, he claimed. Probably the firearms lads were ashamed to admit to the assault.

The old couple could be ruled out as principal witnesses, but they had intriguing information about the civil servant who lived above them. Sean Willis had occupied the top flat for two years He worked in the Ministry of Defence and belonged to a gun club in Devizes.

This had to be followed up fast.

‘We’ll see him together,’ Diamond told Halliwell.

They marched straight into Willis’s flat. There was splintered wood where the door had been forced. ‘Anyone about?’

The tenant was slow in answering and when he did he was unwelcoming. ‘Who do you think you are, invading my home?’ Thirtyish, tall, lean, tanned, and with a black ponytail, Sean Willis wasn’t the popular image of a civil servant. Sunday gear for him was a sleeveless black top and matching chinos.

Diamond told him who they were.

‘That doesn’t give you the right to walk in here without so much as a by your leave. I’ve taken photos.’

‘Of what?’ Diamond asked.

‘The evidence.’

‘Are you telling us you have evidence in here?’

‘Of the wreckage after your heavy mob went through my flat.’

Diamond said in a few sharp words that a police officer had been murdered and he was making no apologies for the armed search. ‘For all we knew, the killer could have been in here with a gun at your head.’

‘In which case, I’d be dead by now,’ Willis said. ‘Your people weren’t exactly subtle. The way they burst in would put the frighteners on anyone.’

‘Leave it,’ Diamond said through his teeth. ‘We’ve work to do. I’d like to see the view from the back of the flat.’

‘And I’d like you to witness the damage they did, because I fully intend to sue.’

Inside, the reason for Willis’s outrage became more clear. He was a compulsive personality. The place was tidy to the point of obsession. It would have been immaculate before the armed response unit went through. Pictures and mirrors shone. Books were displayed according to size and colour, magazines stacked like a deck of playing cards on a shining glass table. The carpets must have been vacuumed the previous evening. All this made the open cupboards and their avalanche of contents spread across the floor, clearly dragged out by the gun team searching for the sniper or his weapon, look more of an outrage than it was.

Diamond wasn’t being sidetracked. The windows that interested him were at the back of the house, with original sash frames, two in the sitting room and one in the bedroom. All three would provide a direct line of sight to the stretch of Walcot Street where Harry Tasker had been shot. He checked the sitting room windows and
– as you would expect with such a fastidious owner – each moved so well it could be raised with one finger on the brass fitting.

The bedroom looked like a hotel room after the maid had been through, everything folded and in place. Except that the lower section of the window was pushed up.

‘Why is this open?’

Willis said as if to a child, ‘Airing the room.’

‘Anyone airing the room would pull the top window down. You were watching what was going on.’

‘That’s no crime.’

‘Did you hear the shooting?’

‘I’m a heavy sleeper. The first I knew was all the sirens going. Shops, ambulance, police cars. They’d have woken anybody.’

‘Were you conscious at any time of other people in the house?’

Willis rolled his eyes upwards. ‘These are apartments. Other people live here.’

‘Unusual sounds?’

‘No.’

‘You’re a marksman, I heard.’

He hesitated. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Is it true?’

‘Shooting is a hobby of mine, yes. Competition shooting.’

‘What are we talking here – a rifle?’

‘Mainly.’

‘So you own one?’

‘Three, in point of fact.’

Diamond kept the same even tone of voice. ‘Where do you keep them?’

‘Not here. That would really play into the hands of you people wanting a quick arrest.’

‘I’m ignoring that remark,’ Diamond said. ‘Answer my question, please.’

‘Under lock and key in my club at Devizes, twenty miles’ drive, whichever route you choose.’

Keep the pressure on, Diamond decided. This man isn’t as calm as he wants to appear. ‘You have a car, then? Where is it?’

‘Where I left it, I hope, in Beehive Yard.’

‘Key, please.’

‘I don’t think you have the right.’

‘If we aren’t given the key, Mr. Willis, I’ll tell you what we do
have – a small spring-loaded device that smashes car windows.’