Cop to Corpse

by Peter Lovesey

  Then he heard a sound that wasn’t from the radio.

  An explosive burst from the wood startled him so much that he tipped the chair backwards and almost fell. He couldn’t tell the precise direction. It was followed by another, surely a rifle shot.

  Not an echo, but a second bang.

  Immediately, the radio came alive with a babble of voices. ‘Jesus!’

  ‘I heard shots.’

  ‘That’s got to be him.’

  ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘Gunfire, close by the quarry end. Delta Three going in.’

  Gull’s voice. ‘This is control calling all units. Will someone give me a fucking grid reference?’

  ‘Delta Three again. Our best estimate is 598807. Over.’

  Gull: ‘Did everyone get that? 598807. All SFOs, repeat SFOs, close in on the target area. And now I’m ordering radio silence.’

  His heart thumping, Diamond came to a rapid decision. If Gull was running the show, calling himself ‘control’ again, leave him to it. Two men in charge could lead to disaster. He didn’t need to do anything in this emergency except stay tuned. The wise thing was to follow what was going on in case he needed to take over. But what was going on? The shots had sounded close, definitely from this end of the wood. He had to assume the first, if not both, had come from the sniper. None of the firearms officers had reported preparing to shoot.

  When the sniper used his gun, he aimed to kill. Up to now, he hadn’t been known to miss.

  There followed a petrifying period of silence. Diamond pictured the armed police homing in on the place where the shots had been heard. They were coming from all parts of the wood. The sniper would be surrounded, but at what cost?

  Three minutes went by.

  No more sound.

  This was becoming unbearable.

  Diamond flicked on the little torch and tried to find the location on the map. A grid reference — someone’s estimate of a grid reference — wasn’t the number of a house or a car registration. It was an informed guess, no more. In the digital age we treat strings of numbers with all the respect accorded by ancient philosophers to the four elements. 598807 sounded like a combination that would open a vault. It was only a stab in the dark.

  Tracing his finger up and across, he stopped it over nothing of interest. He estimated that the firing had come from about two hundred yards northwest of where he was now, somewhere close to the place where he’d encountered the badger. There wasn’t a lot of cover there, more bushes than trees. There was no certainty which bush might be hiding the killer. Sending men in was a huge risk, even when they were in body armour. It only wanted a cloud to move away from the moon and a crack shot like the sniper could take out three or four before his fire was answered. And knowing the wood as he did, he might still have an escape plan.

  Diamond released a long, shaky breath.

  Then he heard a soft sound nearby. It could have been a falling twig. There was a lot of dead, dry wood outside. Or it might have been the wildlife again.

  He switched off the torch and stood up.

  Picked up the only weapon to hand, his crutch. Made from light alloy for ease of handling, it was no weapon at all in reality.

  More sounds from outside, heavier and regular. Someone was stepping fast towards the holly bush.

  Diamond raised the crutch and held it in front of him like a fencer. Instinctive, but futile. It might stop a paper bag in the wind. Not much more. Balanced on one good leg and one dodgy one, he’d fall over if anyone grabbed it.

  The steps got louder. No question that they were human.

  It crossed Diamond’s mind that the sniper, being familiar with Becky Addy Wood, very likely knew of this hideout.

  The steps stopped.

  He held his breath and waited, watching the narrow space between the laurels and the holly, straining to see anything.

  A metallic gleam appeared. He was certain it was a gun, a black automatic, and it was levelled at his chest.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘I’m not armed.’

  ‘Fucking better not be,’ Jack Gull said, stepping in and returning the Glock to its holster. ‘Careful with that crutch. You could hurt someone. You were so quiet here I had to be careful. Could have been him, lying in wait. He’s at this end of the wood.’

  ‘And it’s gone quiet again,’ Diamond said.

  ‘I don’t mind that. By now we’ve got the rat encircled.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. What next?’

  ‘They’ve all had time to get in position and find cover. I’m going on air again.’ Over the radio Gull asked all SFOs — the Specialist Firearms Officers — to report their positions.

  Back came a mind-numbing series of numbers. Gull got them into a notebook and said to Diamond, ‘That’s all units accounted for. He must have missed with his two shots.’

  ‘We haven’t checked the unarmed men.’

  ‘We’d have heard. Be positive, for Christ’s sake.’ He broadcast another message to his little army. ‘Hang fire, everyone. Bravo here, and I’m about to join you.’ Then he stooped under the laurel branches and came up with a loudhailer and a full length shield. ‘I’m doing this the civilised way,’ he told Diamond.

  ‘Bravo, Bravo,’ Diamond said, being positive.

  A few minutes later, there had been no more firing. He heard Jack Gull’s amplified voice say, ‘Armed police. We have you surrounded. Put down your weapons, step out with your hands on your head and lie face down. It’s the only way you’ll survive the next two minutes.’

  Silence.

  Diamond was strongly tempted to watch what was happening.

  Perhaps another minute passed.

  ‘Okay,’ Gull radioed, ‘let’s get some light working for us. Delta Three, toss in a mothball.’

  The temptation was too strong now. Diamond stepped to a position partly shielded by the holly bush yet with enough view of the area brilliantly lit by the magnesium pyrotechnic. The dazzle lasted long enough for him to see every yard of the terrain, each bush, each tree, each slab of rock.

  But no movement.

  A single taller bush of hawthorn looked large enough to be hiding someone.

  The firework fizzled and darkness returned abruptly.

  ‘This is your last chance,’ Gull said through the loudhailer. ‘I’m not bluffing. Armed police. We’re about to come in with our MP5s blazing.’ Over the radio he ordered another mothball. ‘Stand by, everyone. Delta Two, you go in first. Delta One, covering fire. Wait for the order.’

  A tense few seconds.

  The ground fizzed into brilliant light again.

  ‘Go, go, go!’

  Four armed policemen dashed forward and took up positions behind whatever the terrain offered in the way of cover. The nearest man was about twenty yards from the hawthorn bush.

  Another magnesium ball was thrown in. There was a burst of gunfire. Smoke rose from the MP5s and the smell of cordite invaded Diamond’s nostrils.

  No answering shot.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ Gull yelled.

  The gunmen sprinted forward and hurled themselves at the hawthorn. More gunfire.

  More smoke.

  But it was police gunfire and police smoke.

  One of the men was crawling behind the bush. A moment of panicky silence followed before he shouted, ‘Negative.’

  Complete anticlimax. Everything went dark again.

  ‘Don’t anyone move,’ Gull ordered through the radio. ‘He’s not gone away.’

  How do you know, Jack? Diamond thought to himself. But he’d probably have said the same. It was basic good sense not to present the sniper with an easy target.

  A good five minutes went by. The only movement was overhead, a cloud clearing away from the moon. In the improved light, a few front line officers squirmed to different positions and one of them made a discovery.

  The radio spluttered and this time the voice wasn’t Gull’s. ‘Delta Two to Bravo. Something here. Looks like a bu
rnt-out length of fuse and it’s attached to a piece of cardboard casing. Could be the remains of a mini ground-burst.’

  ‘There’s another one here,’ a second voice said. ‘That’ll be the two shots we heard. Ever been had, guys? He treated us to a fireworks display. A slow fuse on a banger. The tosser was out of here before we even turned up.’

  A simple distraction device.

  Jack Gull was lost for words.

  Torches were switched on. The Delta Two officers got up from their crouching positions and stood beside the hawthorn, at a loss. Others came out of hiding and joined them. Diamond left the cover of the holly bush and limped over. Disappointments such as this were all too familiar. One thing he’d learned was not to let it show to the men who’d taken the main risk. Their bravery wasn’t in any way diminished.

  ‘Don’t trample the ground,’ he said. ‘We’re treating this as a crime scene.’

  ‘That’s a vain hope,’ Gull said, cradling his loudhailer like a comforter. ‘He’s done us again.’

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ Diamond said. ‘No one died this time. When I heard the bangs I was thinking we’d lost someone, maybe two.’

  ‘How did he get here without being spotted? We’ve been here all fucking night.’

  ‘He’s smart, that’s why, and he has local knowledge.’

  ‘He’s drawn all our firepower to this end of the wood and he’s away.’

  ‘We still have pockets of men observing all over,’ Diamond said. ‘They could spot him yet.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

  Then, as if on cue, a radio voice broke in. ‘Oscar One calling. Oscar One calling. He’s back and this time he’s got his gun.’

  11

  Oscar One’s position was about three-quarters of a mile off. With the sniper on the move, it wasn’t feasible to get the firearms officers there fast enough to stop him and it was out of the question to ask unarmed observers to tackle a killer carrying a rapid fire assault rifle.

  ‘Can you keep him under observation?’ Diamond asked.

  ‘From here, sir?’ Oscar One said over the radio.

  A small sigh from Diamond. ‘Leave your present position and get after him. Take care he doesn’t see you, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘We need a fucking chopper for a job like that,’ Jack Gull said.

  Diamond ignored the comment. There was no way the police helicopter could be brought into use in time to make a difference. ‘Where is he heading?’ he asked Oscar One.

  ‘Downhill. sir.’

  ‘Towards Bradford?’

  ‘Towards the canal, anyway.’

  The Kennet and Avon Canal ran through the bottom of the Limpley Stoke valley parallel to the river and the railway. At the town of Bradford on Avon it diverted south. The sniper had apparently escaped this way yesterday. In the planning for tonight, Diamond had predicted he would use the Westwood route.

  Big mistake.

  He held out his hand. ‘Map.’ One was provided. ‘How will he do it? He’ll need to cross the canal.’

  ‘And the river,’ Gull said, as if pursuit would be impossible. ‘And the railway.’ He was increasingly negative about the whole operation.

  ‘Okay, let’s deal with this,’ Diamond said, studying the map. ‘The nearest crossing point is the aqueduct at Avoncliff where the canal crosses the river and the railway. I know it. I’ve been there. It’s a footbridge as well. Once across, he can pick up a footpath heading into Winsley and he’s away if we don’t stop him.’ He turned to Gull. ‘Let’s get men down there and block it.’

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t we do this already?’

  ‘It wasn’t my call, was it?’

  ‘You had a voice in the planning.’

  ‘Yes, and I thought he’d come by way of Westwood and I was wrong. Slap my wrist if you want, Jack. This is spilt milk.’

  Gull rolled his eyes and said nothing.

  ‘But we’ve got to be careful here,’ Diamond resumed. ‘A small team of armed officers for the aqueduct, yes, but the main force may be needed elsewhere. Actually, it doesn’t look as if he’s making for Avoncliff. He’s at the far end of the wood, the eastern edge. Would he trek all that way and then double back? I don’t think so. He seems to be heading along the side of the canal.’

  ‘Where there’s no crossing point.’

  ‘There is. Look here.’ Diamond tapped the map. ‘The swing bridge by the sewage farm.’

  Gull wasn’t used to being corrected. He took a brief, disbelieving glance and had to admit he was wrong. ‘But that only gets him across the canal. He won’t get over the river without swimming for it.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to. If he follows the towpath all the way through this green bit — the countryside park — he’ll reach the Frome Road eventually. Or if he doesn’t use the swing bridge and stays this side of the canal he can come through Grip Wood, rough going, no towpath, but better cover.’

  Grip Wood, on the south bank, looked about as long as Becky Addy and would be just as dense. The strips of woodland must have been linked in ancient times when most of the valley was forested.

  ‘What we do,’ Diamond said, ‘is transfer our main firepower to this side of the Frome Road south of Bradford. We put stops on the towpath and all points east of the country park.’

  ‘If he’s armed with his sniper rifle now it’s going to be a bloodbath.’

  ‘AFOs are trained to deal with exactly this kind of situation.’

  ‘All of this depends on him taking the canal route.’

  ‘True. I’m relying on Oscar One to keep us updated.’

  The downside was that Oscar One had gone silent, presumably already doing his covert surveillance.

  Gull marched over to the senior firearms officer to pass on the new orders. He had virtually ceded control to Diamond. The trickery over the fireworks had deflated him. Although both men had been guilty of errors, Supergull with his loudhailer had insisted on the high profile and made a public fool of himself.

  A small team was dispatched down to the Avoncliff Aqueduct, but the main firepower would be posted to the opposite end, where Diamond had predicted the sniper would be heading, this side of the Frome Road. The men would be driven there in their minibuses and they should have time to find cover. It would take the sniper on foot at least another twenty minutes.

  Diamond thought about getting in radio contact with John Leaman and telling him to divert most of the men in Westwood to the new point of ambush. Unarmed as they were, they could be useful as observers, but their presence would complicate the operation. Best keep it simple, he decided.

  ‘Do you want a piece of the action?’ he asked Gull.

  ‘You mean by the road?’

  ‘You’re armed.’

  ‘It’s only a sodding handgun. I’ll be of more use at the aqueduct.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  So it was Diamond armed only with a crutch who joined the firearms team heading for the minibuses. He was too hyped up to care about personal safety. All this could soon be over if he got the sniper’s thinking right this time. What he needed was an update from Oscar One. Frustratingly, nothing was coming through on the radio.

  Two buses had been driven down from Upper Westwood to the rendezvous at the bend of the road. When the first had filled, he clambered aboard and took the single seat across from the driver. In their body armour laden with radios, tasers, plasticuffs and cutters, torches and handguns, the men needed two seats each. Tension was high. No one, however well trained and experienced, could feel confident being transported to a new, unseen location. Little was said as the wheels bumped over the rough ground and back onto the more even surface.

  Getting impatient, Diamond checked that his radio was still switched on, the volume turned high. To be fair, he hadn’t instructed Oscar One to make regular reports on the sniper’s movements. Maybe that was another error on his part. He shouldn’t have assumed it would happen. After all, who was Oscar One? Not one of thes
e macho AFOs, but some young bobby who spent most of his duty time behind a desk. Pure chance had catapulted him into this crucial role. He couldn’t be expected to know what to do in pursuit of a killer. It was enough to hope he had the savvy to remain unseen.

  A voice could be heard over the heavy drone of the engine in low gear powering them up the steep incline. Not from Diamond’s radio. One of the firearms officers was speaking at the back of the bus. ‘He’s scum. He’s totalled three of our lads, doing their job.’

  Diamond turned around. ‘I don’t know who was speaking just then. What you said is fair comment, but getting angry won’t help any of us do the job. We have standards, right?’

  ‘You don’t need to tell us, guv,’ another voice said. ‘We’ve done the training.’

  Someone else spoke. ‘Angry or not, we’re still supposed to take him out.’

  ‘Out of action, yes,’ Diamond said. ‘Get this straight, all of you. The object is to take the man alive, disable him if need be, but not to kill him. A corpse full of bullets will be a failure. Do that and we’ll all find ourselves on a public enquiry being ripped to shreds by some lawyer. We’re police officers in pursuit of an armed suspect. Doesn’t mean we shoot to kill. Too many deadly mistakes have been made by armed officers in the past. It’s not our aim to add to them.’

  More was probably said that he didn’t hear. He understood the strength of feeling against the sniper, but he wanted an arrest, not a revenge killing. The pressure of a shootout, the real thing, would test these young officers to a degree no amount of training had prepared them for. Mishandled, this operation could turn into a nightmare.

  They were driven fast through Upper Westwood. With his acute discomfort at any speed over forty, Diamond now regretted choosing the front seat, the more so when they swung left and started down the ultra-narrow Jones Hill. Tall hedgerows caught in the headlights accentuated the velocity. Occasionally an overgrown bramble scraped the side of the bus. He put a hand to his face as if scratching his head and peered through the slits between his fingers.