Random Targets (10 page)

T
HE DAY WAS
still grey and washed out as Temple and Fiona Marsh headed north in a pool car.

Marsh checked the internet via her mobile phone for
information on the Royal Military Police HQ in Bulford.

‘It’s on Salisbury Plain, close to Bulford Army Camp,’ she said. ‘About forty miles from Southampton.’

The RMP were more commonly known as the Red Caps. Their responsibility was the policing of service personnel in the UK and abroad. The Special Investigations Branch dealt with serious crimes and operated in a similar way to the mainstream CID.

‘Who’s the guy we’re going to see?’ Temple asked.

‘His name is Greg Savage. He’s one of their senior investigators.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘No. I took the call from the MOD in London.’

‘So you don’t know what he’s going to tell us.’

‘They just said that he’s the officer who’s been assigned to respond to our questions.’

‘Well, let’s hope he’s not going to waste our time. It’s a long way to go for no good reason.’

They discussed various ideas and theories. She told him that the view among the team was that the sniper was probably not a terrorist. He was more likely a lone psychopath who was either ex-military or an amateur gun fanatic. Someone with a grudge. Or a very loose screw.

‘It’s amazingly easy for any nutter to lay his hands on a high-calibre rifle,’ Marsh said. ‘I did a quick search of the internet after the briefing and found three of those army sniper rifles for sale within a few minutes.’

That didn’t surprise Temple. Anything could be bought on the highly encrypted section of the internet known as the ‘Dark Web’. Thousands of illegal and untraceable transactions took place every day. A whole new dynamic had been added to the business of buying and selling firearms.

‘I also didn’t realize just how many guns are stolen from the British army,’ she said. ‘According to one official report more than four hundred weapons have gone missing since 2006 from barracks and depots.’

‘What kind of weapons?’

‘Mostly rifles and machine guns. Squaddies sell them on the black market.’

It was a frightening statistic, but Temple wondered just how accurate it was. Whenever figures were released that reflected badly on the armed forces you could be sure they’d been doctored by the MOD.

The true number of missing weapons was probably much higher.

RMP headquarters. A squat L-shaped building just south of the Bulford Army Base in Wiltshire. Temple and Marsh were met at the gate and escorted to Greg Savage’s office.

There they were greeted by a curvy, middle-aged woman with a hint of blush on the apples of her cheeks. Her name was Gaynor and she wore large horn-rimmed glasses that gave her an erudite look.

‘Mr Savage is expecting you,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring in coffee and tea so you can take your pick.’

Senior Investigator Greg Savage was sitting behind his desk in an office that looked too small for him. As he stood up to introduce himself Temple saw that he was built like a rugby scrum half. Broad shouldered and heavy chested. He was fortyish with a shaved head and a florid face. Temple was surprised he was wearing a sombre grey suit and not a uniform.

He shook their hands and invited them to sit across the desk from him. The office smelled of wax polish and dried flowers. There were photographs on the walls of Red Caps on parade and in combat situations.

‘Let me start by thanking you for travelling up from Southampton,’ Savage said as he straightened his tie. ‘I would have driven down, but I have to attend a court martial at the base in a little while.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Temple said. ‘I just hope that what you have to tell us will be helpful to the investigation.’

‘I hope so too,’ Savage said. ‘This really is a bad business. And I’m sure you must be dreading the prospect of further attacks.’

‘Damn right we are,’ Temple said. ‘And since the killer
appears to be good at what he’s doing we suspect he’s a proficient marksman. Which is why we need information on military personnel past and present who’ve had sniper training.’

‘I completely understand,’ Savage said. ‘But as you can probably appreciate there are scores of people who fall into that category.’

‘Well, you can rule out anyone who’s overseas at the moment,’ Marsh said.

Savage nodded. ‘Even so the list of names is pretty daunting. But we’ve had a team working on it throughout the night to come up with a shortlist. I asked them to start with men who live or are based in the south of England. Having seen the security footage you released of the man with the rucksack I told them to forget about women. I also told them to flag up guys whom we know have psychological issues, including those who’ve served time in prison for any reason.’

He tapped a buff-coloured folder on his desk.

‘So far they’ve come up with eight names. I was given the list earlier and I’ve spent the last two hours going through it. They’ve done a good job and drew my attention to one man in particular who stands out.’

Temple felt a spurt of adrenaline and wanted to leap up from the chair and grab the folder.

‘Who is he?’ he asked.

‘His name is Cole Renner,’ Savage said. ‘Lance Corporal Cole Renner. He’s a sniper with Four Battalion, the Rifles, which happens to be based here at Bulford.’

‘So why does he stand out?’ Temple said.

Savage leaned forward across his desk. His breath reeked of peppermint. ‘Renner has gone AWOL,’ he said. ‘He was supposed to report back here for pre-deployment training nearly two months ago. But he didn’t show up and we’ve no idea where he is. Plus I discovered a note that was put on his file three weeks ago. It refers to a phone call we received from one of his former colleagues, a guy named Ryan Addison. Addison wanted us to know that Renner phoned him out of the blue whilst apparently off his head on drink or drugs. Anyway, he told Addison that
he was pissed off with the world and wanted to take it out on someone. Addison felt duty bound to report it.’

‘So what was done about it?’

‘We renewed our efforts to find him, but to no avail.’

‘Well, it sounds promising,’ Temple said.

Savage sucked in a breath. ‘But there’s more. Renner was last stationed here in November before he went on leave. That same month one of our large calibre sniper rifles went missing. And it still hasn’t turned up.’

S
AVAGE STOPPED SPEAKING
when his office door opened and Gaynor wheeled in a trolley with flasks of tea and coffee.

‘No need to pour them,’ Savage said. ‘I can do that.’

As Gaynor stepped back out of the office, Savage got up and asked Temple and Marsh what they wanted. They both opted for coffee and while he filled their cups, Temple said, ‘The rifle that went missing. Was it an L115A3?’

Savage nodded. ‘Indeed it was.’

‘We believe the motorway sniper is using one,’ Temple said.

Savage raised his eyebrows. ‘Then that makes Lance Corporal Cole Renner even more interesting, doesn’t it?’

Savage served up the coffee and sat back behind his desk.

‘So what can you tell us about him?’ Temple said.

Savage stretched out a kink in his neck and picked up the folder. He took out eight sheets of paper, each with a colour photograph attached. He selected one and unclipped the photo, which he passed across the desk to Temple.

‘That’s him,’ Savage said. ‘Twenty-eight and single. His parents live in Romsey near Southampton and his father is an army veteran who also served as a rifleman.’

It was a head and shoulders photo of Cole Renner. He had a military-style buzz haircut and a hard face with a thick neck.
His eyes were set close together and his nose looked as though it had been broken at some time in the past. His skin was fair and there was a shadow of stubble along his jaw.

Is this the bastard who put Angel in hospital?
Temple wondered, feeling the blood stiffen in his veins.

‘He’s been a sniper for the past four years and is highly rated,’ Savage said, reading from the sheet of paper. ‘In Afghanistan he killed no less than thirty insurgents. But he’s been disciplined twice for fighting and according to his commanding officer he’s recently been showing early signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.’

‘What signs are those?’ Marsh asked.

‘Nightmares, flashbacks, difficulty sleeping. He’d been to see a medical officer and was referred to a trauma risk management specialist, but he went AWOL before the meeting took place.’

‘So was he considered dangerous?’ Temple asked.

‘Not at all. PTSD is pretty common in the Forces. Very few people actually flip and become dangerous to themselves and others.’

‘But I know from experience that it happens.’

‘Of course it does. That’s why there are programmes in place to help those who are having problems.’

‘And was Renner going to be put on one of those programmes?’

‘That would have depended on his assessment.’

Temple thought about it for a moment and became aware that his heart was beating a little faster. But then why wouldn’t it? This was a significant development. He sipped at his coffee and felt the pleasing warmth of its passage down his throat.

Then he said, ‘Does Cole Renner have an address?’

‘He was living with his parents until November,’ Savage said. ‘He left there after an argument with his dad and that was when he disappeared. Our investigator went to see the couple when Renner failed to show up for training. They insisted they had no idea where he was. The father told us he’d fallen out with his son. Turns out he himself was medically discharged from the army nine years ago because of depression and emotional
difficulties. If you want to go and see the parents I can give you their address.’

‘Thanks. We’d like to talk to this bloke Addison as well.’

‘He lives in Portsmouth. I’ve got his address too and his file complete with a photo.’

‘Is he a close friend of Renner?’

‘At one time maybe. But Addison was made redundant from the army eighteen months ago. I’m not sure if they stayed in touch.’

‘Have you talked to Addison?’

‘No. I dug out his contact details, but I thought you’d probably want to interview him yourselves.’

‘And what have you done to find Renner?’ Marsh asked.

Savage played with the knot in his tie. ‘What we always do with absentees and deserters. We’ve liaised with the police, circulated his picture, red-flagged his credit card and bank account. He was withdrawing money from his account at ATMs in Southampton until very recently so we think he’s probably still in the area. You have to bear in mind that there are scores of deserters out there and we can only do so much with limited resources.’

Savage then ran through the other names on the list his team had come up with and Temple and Marsh looked at the photographs.

‘I’d like you to fax this lot over to our incident room,’ Temple said. ‘The team can get to work on it while DC Marsh and I follow up on Renner.’

‘Consider it done,’ Savage said. ‘Just give me the number.’

Temple gave him the fax number and told him to mark it for the attention of Detective Sergeant Vaughan.

‘We have all their prints and DNA on file,’ Savage said. ‘I’ll send those over as well.’

‘I appreciate your help,’ Temple said, getting to his feet. ‘If Renner turns out to be our man, I’ll make sure the RMP get the credit.’

‘That won’t be necessary, but feel free to involve my team if you need more bodies on the ground.’

‘I might have to take you up on that offer,’ Temple said.

When they got back in the car Temple phoned DS Vaughan and told him about their conversation with Savage.

‘You’ll get a fax shortly,’ he said. ‘Start checking the names. And tell Beresford what’s going on.’

‘What about you, guv? Where will you be?’

‘DC Marsh and I will drive to Romsey to talk to Renner’s parents. See what they know.’

‘You really think this Renner might be the sniper?’ Vaughan said.

‘It’s no more than a credible lead at this stage, Dave. For all we know the guy could be out of the country and he may have had nothing to do with the rifle that went missing from the camp.’

‘Well, at least we’ve got something to get our teeth into at last. There’s fuck all else happening.’

‘Has there been much response to the press conference appeal?’

‘We’ve been inundated with calls,’ Vaughan said. ‘We’re sifting through them as fast as we can, but it’s already obvious that a lot of them are from time-wasters.’

‘Any updates on the COBRA meeting in London?’

‘Not yet, guv, but it’s added fuel to the media firestorm, that’s for sure. There’s blanket coverage now. Every TV news channel is reporting on the sniper attacks and speculating on whether there’ll be another one this evening. And a big haulage company has put up the first reward. One of its drivers was among those badly injured.’

‘What are they offering?’ Temple asked.

‘A £100,000.’

‘Well, let’s hope it provokes a response,’ Temple said.

‘I’m sure it will, guv. And if there are more attacks I reckon we’ll see even bigger sums put forward by companies who stand to lose business. Did you know that more than two million tons of freight are transported every day on UK motorways?’

‘No I didn’t,’ Temple said.

‘Well, that’s just one of the statistics being quoted by talking heads on TV. And it’s all adding to the hysteria that’s being
whipped up ahead of this evening’s rush hour.’

Temple felt a tightening in his gut.

‘If the sniper’s objective is to cause panic then he’s doing a bloody good job of it,’ Vaughn said.

R
OMSEY IS A
small market town about eight miles northwest of Southampton and two miles from junction three of the M27.

Temple knew it well. In fact it was where he and his wife Erin spent their last day out together before the cancer confined her to a bed. The memory surfaced as he drove past the town’s famous Norman Abbey where on that day they attended the Sunday service. He remembered how the tears welled in his eyes when Erin knelt before the altar to say a silent prayer. It was a long time ago, but still painfully vivid in his mind.

Dawn and Martin Renner lived half a mile from the Abbey in an end-of-terrace council house with a shabby front garden. There were no cars on the concrete drive which was stained with oil and sprouting weeds. The rundown street was narrow and backed on to wintry skeletal woodland.

Temple parked with two wheels on the pavement. As he and DC Marsh got out of the car he was struck by the sudden drop in temperature. It now felt quite cold. Bruised clouds hung low and fat above the estate.

They walked up the path and rang the bell. The door was opened almost immediately by a skinny woman wearing a short, black skirt and an off-white cardigan. She was somewhere in her early fifties with lack-lustre blonde hair and a harelip.

In one hand she held a mug of something hot and a lighted cigarette.

‘Mrs Renner?’ Temple said.

She frowned at him, eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.

‘Who wants to know?’ she said, her voice reedy and high.

He showed his card. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Temple and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Marsh. We’d like to talk to you about your son.’

‘Does that mean you’ve finally caught up with him?’

‘I’m afraid not. May we come in? We need to ask you some questions.’

She sighed and a tremor passed over her lower lip.

‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘But you’ll have to excuse the state of the place. I’ve just finished work and haven’t had time to clear up.’

She turned and gestured for them to follow her along the hallway. She led them into the living room where the walls were painted a morose shade of grey and the carpet was old and faded. But the sofa looked fairly new and so did the flat-screen television which was showing some confessional talk show, the sound barely above a whisper.

Mrs Renner sat on one of two armchairs and invited them to sit on the sofa. She took a pull on her cigarette and let smoke out in thin jets between her teeth. The smell of tobacco pervaded the room and Temple felt it pinch the back of his throat.

‘If you’ve come to ask me whether I’ve seen or heard from Cole the answer’s no,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t phoned or written to me since he buggered off.’

‘Have you tried to call him?’

‘I did at first, but then the line was dead so he must have changed his phone and number.’

‘Then you have no idea where he is?’

‘Not a clue. A couple of people have told me they’ve seen him around, but that’s all.’

‘Did those people speak to him?’

‘I doubt it. If they did they didn’t say.’

‘When was the last sighting?’

‘I can’t remember. Couple of weeks ago maybe. One of the neighbours told me her son saw him in a pub in Southampton.’

She switched her gaze from Temple to DC Marsh and back again. ‘So come on,’ she said. ‘What’s all this about? Why the sudden interest again in Cole? Has something happened?’

‘We’d like to speak to your husband as well, Mrs Renner?’ Temple said. ‘Is he around?’

She gave a mirthless grin, showing teeth that were small and sharp.

‘I sent him packing just before Christmas,’ she said. ‘The bastard hit me once too often. Decided I wasn’t gonna take any more.’

Temple and Marsh exchanged glances. Temple said, ‘Do you know where he is?’

She took another drag on the cigarette and it sparked a phlegmy cough that lasted all of fifteen seconds.

‘He’s renting some shitty flat across town,’ she said. ‘But I can tell you now that he’s the last person Cole would get in touch with. They fell out big time.’

‘Why?’

She turned down the corners of her mouth and shrugged. ‘Martin came home drunk as usual. He started slapping me around and Cole tried to stop him. There was a fight and Cole was given a hiding. He’s never been a match for his dad. Anyway, that night Cole packed up all his belongings, told me he’d had enough and moved out. That’s the last I saw of him. I didn’t know he’d done a runner from the army until the military police came here. But it didn’t surprise me.’

‘Why’s that?’ Temple said.

‘He was stressed out and dreading going back to the base,’ she said. ‘He was also drinking too much and having mood swings. I sometimes heard him crying in his bedroom. He was never the same after his last tour of duty in Afghanistan. It fucked up his mind.’

‘Did he tell you what happened over there?’

‘No. He would never talk about it. I tried to help him but he pushed me away.’

‘Did he become violent?’ Temple asked.

‘He was far more aggressive than he’d ever been. And that was a shame because I’d hoped he wouldn’t take after his father.’

‘Do you think your son is capable of killing anyone, Mrs Renner?’

The question surprised her. Her eyes narrowed as she thought about it. Then she shook her head. ‘The honest answer is I don’t know. I sometimes thought he was a ticking time bomb. That at any minute he could explode.’

‘Were you told that he might have been suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder?’ Marsh asked.

Mrs Renner nodded. ‘That’s what his dad reckoned was wrong with him. Martin was in the army too before they kicked him out.’

Temple found himself feeling a little sorry for her. She was probably a decent woman whose life had been indirectly ravaged by senseless wars in far-flung places.

‘Could your son be staying with a relative?’ he asked her. ‘Or a friend perhaps?’

‘He’s got no relatives other than me and his dad. And I don’t know any of his friends. Truth is I hardly know my son. He’s spent most of the past few years away from home.’

Temple knew it to be a familiar story where a son or daughter served in the Forces. Thousands of young men and women were sent to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan and many of them came back injured. The official Army advice to soldiers was to ‘communicate’ their feelings, but many of them chose to suffer in silence, thus creating within society a volcano of suppressed emotions.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Mrs Renner said. ‘Why the renewed interest in Cole?’

‘We never lost interest in him,’ Temple said. ‘But we now want to ask him what he’s been doing since he went AWOL. We believe he may be involved in a criminal activity.’

She furrowed her brow. ‘What’s he supposed to have done then?’

‘I’m not at liberty to go into details,’ he said. ‘But it’s important that we find him.’

‘Well, as I said, I haven’t seen him and I don’t know where he’s staying.’

Temple stood up and took out one of his cards, which he handed to Mrs Renner. She scrunched up her eyes and
examined it closely.

‘If you hear from him or you find out where he is will you please call me?’ he said.

She dropped her cigarette butt into an ashtray on the floor next to the armchair and got to her feet.

‘Are you going to talk to Martin?’ she asked.

Temple nodded. ‘Have you got his new address and phone number?’

‘They’re in the kitchen. I have a terrible memory so I have to write everything down.’

‘I’ll make a note of them if I may. Does your husband work?’

‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘In addition to being a wife beater he’s also a lazy bastard.’

‘Is this the first time you’ve lived apart?’ Temple asked as he followed her into the kitchen.

‘It most certainly is,’ she said. ‘After twenty-eight years of marriage I finally came to my senses.’