by James Raven
‘There are reports that a witness saw a man on the bridge just before the shootings,’ someone asked. ‘Can you confirm that?’
‘That’s one of many lines of inquiry we’re following,’ Temple said. ‘And I’d like to say now that if anyone watching believes he or she might have information that will help us they should come forward without delay.’
‘When will the motorway re-open?’ asked an ITN reporter.
‘Later today we hope,’ Temple said. ‘It’s still a crime scene and there’s a lot of debris that needs to be cleared before it’s safe to use.’
Temple was then asked if the police thought the killer was a trained marksman. He said it was highly likely. Next he was asked if they were going to release the traffic camera footage. He said that this was still being considered. The questions continued for another fifteen minutes and
Temple and Beresford took turns to answer them, but just as they were about to draw the conference to a close the woman from the BBC raised her arm and said, ‘Can you tell us about the warning the sniper left under the bridge?’
The room suddenly went quiet and Temple’s jaw dropped.
‘Where did you hear that?’ he asked.
‘Our newsroom has just received an anonymous phone call,’ she said. ‘A man told us the sniper wrote that the attack was just the start and that he intended to kill more people. Is that true?’
Temple swore under his breath. He should have known it’d get out. Too many people at the scene had been made aware of it.
He drew a long breath and suppressed the urge to tell the woman that she was an irresponsible moron.
‘We did find a message,’ he said. ‘It was scrawled in paint and is now undergoing forensic analysis. As soon as we’re satisfied it was left by the killer we’ll release the details.’
‘We already have the details, Inspector,’ the woman said, with a smug grin.
She then proceeded to read aloud exactly what had been written in paint on the paving stones under the bridge.
There was pandemonium. Cameras flashed and reporters started waving their arms and leaping to their feet to attract attention.
Temple suddenly faced a barrage of new questions.
Are you taking the message seriously?
Where exactly was it left?
What could be his motive?
Have you got a suspect?
The press conference suddenly descended into a raucous free-for-all. Beresford and Ron Williams appealed for everyone to calm down, but it was a couple of minutes before order was restored. Then Temple started to answer each new question as best he could.
There was one question he struggled with and it was asked several times.
‘What are the authorities doing to protect those people who use the motorways?’
He didn’t know the answer and instead of saying so he waffled on about traffic police being put on high alert and more patrols being sent out. But his response was vague and unconvincing and it was obvious that no one swallowed it.
He didn’t blame them. The truth was there was very little they could do to protect motorway drivers from a madman with a rifle.
CHAPTER 13
TEMPLE WAS IMMENSELY relieved when the press conference finally ended and he was able to get away. He felt bleary-eyed and dyspeptic from the experience. And he knew it wasn’t going to get any easier. The pressure was going to build on this investigation unless they were able to bring it to a speedy conclusion. And right now that seemed highly unlikely.
He decided to go by himself to interview the woman who’d reported seeing a man on the bridge. She lived near the motorway and he wanted to return there anyway to have a look at the scene in daylight.
DC Marsh approached him on the way out. She looked knackered. Curtains of red hair were drawn back from her forehead and the strain showed in her young, pretty face.
‘I plan to visit Angel in the hospital on my way home,’ she said. ‘Is that OK with you, guv?’
‘Of course it is. Give her my love and tell her I’ll pop by again this afternoon.’
Marsh and Angel were good friends and he knew that Angel would be pleased to see her. The pair occasionally went for drinks together or to see a girlie movie. He was glad Marsh was going to the hospital, partly because it made him feel less guilty about not being there himself.
As he drove across the city his eyes ached with tiredness. Outside the sky was the colour of dirty chalk and the air thick with invisible rain. The weather just about matched his mood. He knew that the pressure would really be on him now that the sniper’s message was in the public domain. The powers-that-be would want a quick result. Beresford would be leaned on by the Chief Constable. The Chief Constable would be leaned on by the Home Secretary. And the Home Secretary would be leaned on by the Prime Minister.
It was that big a deal now for sure. A media firestorm was underway and it would gather momentum in the days ahead. Temple had a sneaking suspicion that it was the sniper himself who’d tipped off the BBC about the scrawled message. He wanted to spread fear and panic. It was a classic terrorist tactic, but that didn’t mean he was a terrorist in the accepted sense of the word.
Temple’s intuition told him the guy was a loner who’d flipped. Maybe he’d decided to vent some pent-up rage by going on a killing spree.
Or maybe he woke up one morning and simply decided to join the ranks of the world’s most notorious mass murderers.
Penny Larkin lived in a modern semi a few hundred yards from the M27. To get to it Temple drove over the Allington Lane bridge, which had been opened again to traffic.
Flowers had been laid along the east-facing pavement as a shrine to those who’d been killed on the motorway below. Temple planned to stop and have a look around on the way back.
But first he wanted a first-hand account from Mrs Larkin of what she saw the previous evening. So far she’d only spoken to a PC whose notes on the conversation were lacking in detail.
Temple had phoned ahead so Mrs Larkin was expecting him. She appeared the moment he parked his Mazda at the kerb outside her front door. Middle-aged, plump, with a bun of auburn hair curled tight on her head. Her eyes were blue, almost turquoise.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more notice.’
She smiled, revealing mint-white teeth. ‘That’s all right. My husband and I run a shop close by. He can manage without me for a few hours.’
She waved him in and closed the door. It was a clean, bright house with tasteful furniture and a warm feel. He followed her through to the kitchen where she invited him to sit down and asked if he wanted a tea or coffee.
‘I won’t, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve had more than enough already this morning.’
She sat opposite him at the table and said, ‘I saw you on the news just now. This is such a terrible business. Is it true that whoever did it is threatening to do it again?’
‘There has been a threat,’ Temple said. ‘But he might just be trying to scare people.’
‘Well, he’s scared me. I don’t plan on using the motorway until he’s caught.’
Temple’s instinct was to tell her there was no need to overreact, that the chance of her becoming a target were infinitesimal. But he held back because he knew he’d be wasting his time. He took out his notebook and pen and placed them on the table in front of him.
‘As discussed on the phone, Mrs Larkin, I’d like you to tell me what you told the officer. About the man you saw on the bridge. And take your time. Try to remember every detail.’
‘Do you think he was the sniper, Inspector?’
Temple shrugged. ‘It’s possible, but we won’t know for sure until we trace him.’
She sat back and cleared her throat.
‘It was just after five,’ she said. ‘As my husband started preparing to close up the shop I took the car to fill it with petrol ready for the morning. The petrol station is on the other side of the bridge.’
‘Was there much traffic around?’
‘A fair bit, but no more than usual. That road doesn’t get busy until around half five.’
‘So where did you see this man?’
‘He was crossing the road. When he saw me driving towards him he stopped in the middle. I slowed down so he could get all the way across.’
‘Did you get a good look at his face?’
‘I’m afraid not. It was dark and when my headlights were on him he turned away and raised his arm to acknowledge me. He was also wearing a hood.’
‘What kind of coat did he have on?’
‘It was a parka, I think. Green or khaki. I can’t be sure.’
‘You told the officer that the man was carrying some kind of bag.’
She nodded. ‘That’s right. It was on his back, like a big rucksack.’
‘What do you mean by big? Aren’t rucksacks all about the same size?’
She shrugged. ‘They usually are, but this one seemed to be bigger. Not bulky but long. I remember thinking that maybe he was carrying a musical instrument or a snooker cue.’
Or maybe it was a rifle, Temple thought.
‘So what happened then?’ he asked.
She gave a lopsided grin. ‘Well, I drove on after letting him cross, but when I got to the station I realized I’d forgotten my purse. So I had to turn around and head back to the shop.’
‘And that’s when you saw him again?’
‘Yes. I noticed him because he was standing on the bridge looking down at the motorway. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time.’
‘Was he still there when you went back to the petrol station?’
‘I didn’t go back straight away. I decided to help close up the shop first. But then we heard the sirens and everything went crazy. The road outside was suddenly blocked with traffic and it wasn’t long before we learned about what had happened. Then a few hours later a policeman came to the house and asked us if we’d seen anything suspicious, so I told him about the man. Not long after that a reporter phoned here. God knows how he got my number.’
Temple made some notes and then asked her if she could draw a diagram showing exactly where the man crossed the road.
‘I can do better than that,’ she said. ‘I can show you if you like.’
Five minutes later they were approaching the bridge over the motorway.
‘It was about here.’ Mrs Larkin said suddenly and Temple pulled over to the kerb. ‘He was standing in the middle of the road having got half way across.’
Both sides of the road were lined with deep foliage all the way to the bridge about thirty yards ahead. The pavements were narrow and deserted. There were no walkers, joggers or people with dogs.
He twisted round in his seat to look back the way they’d come. Mrs Larkin’s small housing estate was about a quarter of a mile away and there was nothing but trees and bushes between there and here. So where the hell had the guy walked from and how far had he come? And why did he cross the road at this particular point?
Then Temple spotted a small side road about twenty yards back. It was half hidden by bushes and he hadn’t noticed it when they drove past.
‘What’s through there?’ he asked.
Mrs Larkin turned and followed his gaze.
‘It leads to a small industrial estate,’ she said. ‘Most of the units are vacant, though.’
Temple wondered if maybe it was a good place to leave a car or bike. It was just a short walk from the bridge and hidden away from the passing traffic. Definitely worth checking out, he thought. He shoved the car into gear and said, ‘Can you show me exactly where you next saw the man?’
He drove on to the bridge. A bunch of people had gathered to look at the flowers and stare down at the motorway. The westbound carriageway was still littered with debris and groups of people in high visibility jackets were busy clearing up. He saw three police cars and a fire engine, plus a tow truck.
Mrs Larkin told him she saw the man standing at about the centre of the bridge looking over the railings at the oncoming traffic.
‘He was by himself,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see any other pedestrians.’
Temple stayed on the bridge just long enough to take in the surroundings. The embankment was still cordoned off and SOC officers were carrying out a fingertip search around the bushes in the hope that daylight would undercover some vital evidence. The embankment was steeper than Temple thought and there was much more vegetation. But there was nothing unusual about the spot. It was just an ordinary motorway overpass, like hundreds of others across the country. He wondered why the shooter had decided to come here. Was it a random choice or was the location significant? Had he planned it weeks in advance or was it a spur of the moment decision?
He took Mrs Larkin back to her house, thanked her and gave her one of his cards.
‘If you remember anything else about the guy then please give me a call on my mobile, day or night.’
He drove straight back to the little lane leading to the industrial estate. The tarmac surface looked almost unused. So did the units. He reached them after about twenty yards. The prefabricated buildings were small and squat and windowless. There were six of them in all and four had ‘to let’ signs out front. Only one seemed to be in use and the sign above the entrance read Global Imports. There were two small vans parked outside with the Global Imports logo on the sides.
Temple stopped the car in a small parking area on the other side of the road and took out his phone. He called the incident room and got someone to run a quick check for him. He wanted to know if the estate had been visited by either a detective or a uniform.
After a short wait he was told that armed officers had searched the grounds last night during their sweep of the area and hadn’t found anything. A uniformed officer also went there later but all the units were locked up. However, the officer noted that the buildings all had video surveillance cameras. It was therefore on their list of places to visit today.
‘Well, I’ve beaten them to it,’ Temple said. ‘Tell them I’ll check it out and report back.’
He switched off his phone and got out of the car. The security camera on the Global Imports unit wasn’t that easy to spot. It was positioned in one corner just below the roof and angled so that it covered the front of the building and part of the approach road.
Temple had a quick look round and saw that there was no activity at any of the other units. Then he walked across the road to Global Imports. He tried the front door and as it opened a bell rang somewhere inside.
He stepped into a small reception area with a desk and a couple of cheap looking armchairs. There was a pile of cardboard boxes in one corner. An inside door opened and a man stepped through, short, thin and somewhere in his thirties. He wore jeans and a purple T-shirt and his arms were covered in tattoos.
‘Hello, there. Can I help you? I’m Michael.’
Temple waved his warrant card and introduced himself.
‘Is this about what happened on the motorway?’ Michael said. ‘I saw all the police as I drove in this morning.’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ Temple said. ‘Are you here by yourself?’
Michael frowned. ‘No. My partner’s out back packing boxes. We import domestic cleaning products. There’s just the two of us.’
‘And is this the only unit that’s occupied?’
Michael nodded. ‘It is now. Two were vacated last year and the others have been empty since the estate opened.’
‘Were you or your partner here around five last evening?’
Michael shook his head. ‘No way. We always knock off at three. Times are tough so we both have second jobs.’
‘What about the security camera out front? Is it on?’
‘It should be. We never turn it off.’
‘Does it record?’
‘For sure. Wouldn’t be much use to us if it didn’t.’
‘In that case I need a favour,’ Temple said.
A fe
w minutes later he was in a small storeroom out the back where the camera’s digital video recorder was kept. Michael’s partner Barry had to be called on to work the equipment. He was an overweight nerdy type with rimless glasses, a tan sweater and wild curly hair. He seemed to relish the opportunity to show off his skills. He explained that the camera was in record mode day and night and footage was stored on a hard drive for a week.
‘I’m curious to know if anyone came on to the estate around five o’clock yesterday afternoon,’ Temple said. ‘Either on foot or in a car.’
Barry raised his brows. ‘You think maybe the sniper did?’
‘Let’s find out, shall we?’
Barry took the tape back to three o’clock to show Temple when he and Michael had left the unit in their vans. The high-resolution picture was surprisingly clear and in colour. They watched as the vans pulled away from the building and disappeared down the lane.
Barry then spun slowly through the tape and as darkness descended the infrared facility kicked in. Nothing happened until just before five. Then a car appeared briefly on the lane as it came on to the estate. It drove straight past the camera. It looked to Temple like a Ford Fiesta, but the figure beyond the windscreen was just a dark shape. The three of them continued staring at the screen until someone walked into shot.
A man.
With what looked like a rucksack on his back.
‘Jesus, I don’t believe it,’ Michael said. ‘Is that the bloke?’
The guy had his back to them so they couldn’t see his face. He looked to be of average height and build and was wearing some kind of parka, just as Mrs Larkin had said.
They watched, transfixed, as he walked along the lane and out of shot.
‘Spin forward again,’ Temple said. ‘Let’s see if he comes back.’
It was no surprise to Temple when the guy reappeared. The time code on the tape read 18.02, which was just after the motorway shootings.
To the detective’s immense frustration they still couldn’t see his face because he kept his head down without once looking up. But when the Fiesta drove into shot again on its way off the estate they had better luck. Temple got Barry to freeze a frame and zoom in on the rear number plate.
