Cop to Corpse

18

On the drive back, he had a Eureka moment. Ask for another list.

So had he finally flipped?

Not at all. The list would contain the names of all officers from Wells, Radstock and Bath who had completed a firearms course. If the sniper was, indeed, a policeman, he must have been trained to use a gun.

Neat. If this worked, the thousand-odd names in those earlier lists could go to the shredder.

Back in the 1980s when Diamond had joined the Met, as many as fifteen per cent of the force had gone though a five-day course at the range and were dubbed authorised firearms officers. After certain well-publicised fiascos in the last decades of the twentieth century arising from under-trained armed police, the policy had changed. Since 2004 the National Police Firearms Training Curriculum ensured that the training was much more rigorous and intensive. An initial course lasted thirty-five days and those who passed were required to complete two days’ training every month and requalify four times a year.

An AFO was now a specialist. And they were all on record.

Better start on home ground, he decided. Back in Manvers Street, he asked for the Bath Central names. Fourteen in all.

He didn’t know them all personally. Even after serving here for so long, he couldn’t keep up with the staff changes outside CID. But he knew who to ask, the key people in each section.

The problem wasn’t who to ask, it was what. ‘Has PC Plod the firearms officer been acting strangely of late? Talking to himself? Looking over his shoulder? Writing two-word notes on slips of paper?’ Questions of this sort could rapidly turn the whole place into a hotbed of rumour and recrimination. The word witch-hunt had already been used in CID.

His enquiries had to continue alone. He couldn’t even risk asking for help from the civilian staff. Face it, Diamond, he told himself, you’ll have to exercise the mouse.

He started by accessing the duty rosters for the last twelve weeks. You’d think old stuff like that was over and forgotten, but in the computer age everything can be retrieved. Straight away he eliminated eight of the fourteen AFOs. Two had been on protection duty for some minor royal in Bristol at the time of the Wells shooting and three on the night shift in Bath. Another three couldn’t possibly have been in Radstock when Stan Richmond was shot because they were at Portishead on the two-day rifle refresher course.

Down to six already.

He turned to the rosters for last Saturday night. Of those remaining, one had been off sick all week with a broken arm and three more on night duty and accounted for as part of the armed response unit which had actually attended the scene in Walcot Street when the shout came.

That left two from the original fourteen: a Sergeant Stillman and a PC Gaunt. Theoretically, either could have been at all three scenes.

The first name was familiar.

He didn’t have to dredge deeply in his memory. Stillman was the sergeant who had accompanied Ken Lockton on the morning after the shooting. He’d driven Lockton from Walcot Street to the Paragon and gone through the house to the garden where they’d found the rifle resting against the railing overlooking the scene of the shooting.

If Stillman had been with Lockton that night he couldn’t have shot Harry Tasker.

Or could he?

Assumptions sometimes need to be challenged. Diamond sat back in the chair and closed his eyes in concentration. This was the kind of problem he had a knack of unravelling.

The only version of the events in the garden was Stillman’s. The sergeant had surprised everyone by turning up two hours after the shooting saying he’d fallen asleep in his patrol car after being told to move it out of sight by Ken Lockton. But what if Stillman had been lying? Could he have clobbered Lockton himself? And done it to cover up the fact that he’d earlier shot Harry Tasker?

Hair-raising possibilities. They had to be explored. Stillman’s whole story was odd. He’d apparently been on patrol in his car, heard the shout about the shooting in Walcot Street and driven there. Was he alone then? The usual arrangement was that patrolling officers at night worked in pairs.

Then — according to his story — he’d been spotted by Lockton and ordered to drive him up to the Paragon, which in itself was strange, because it would have been quicker to use the steps. The pair had been admitted to the house by the blonde, Sherry Meredith. That much was true. She’d testified to it.

There was only Stillman’s word for the rest of what happened. The next undeniable event was that the firearms unit broke into the garden and found Lockton face down and unconscious from a serious head injury. The sniper’s gun was gone.

Sergeant Stillman needed to be questioned, and soon. He was on duty, Diamond learned from the control room, but in a patrol car north of the city on Lansdown. His shift was due to end within the hour.

‘Shall I tell him to report to you, sir?’ the operator asked.

‘Absolutely not.’ There were ways of doing things and Diamond’s way was not to announce them ahead of time.

He turned his attention to the other authorised firearms officer of potential interest, PC Gaunt. But it turned out that Gaunt couldn’t possibly have murdered Harry Tasker. On Saturday afternoon his wife had gone into labour and at 3:20 P.M. in the Royal United Hospital he’d become the proud father of twin girls. Under the Partners Staying Overnight scheme, he’d taken up night duty of another kind, in the maternity unit until 9 A.M. on Sunday.

Diamond was waiting for Stillman when he drove into the yard where the police vehicles parked.

The sergeant turned as pale as his shirt. ‘Something up, sir?’

‘It is if you insist on calling me “sir”. A few things need clearing up. We can do it in one of the interview rooms. Saves going upstairs to my office.’

The eyes showed Stillman didn’t fancy being treated like a suspect. ‘I don’t mind the stairs.’

‘But I do,’ Diamond said, pointing to the stick. He could be informal and still assert his authority.

They used interview room 2. No caution, no tape running, but not lacking in tension, and Diamond’s first question didn’t lessen it.

‘How well did you know Harry Tasker?’

Stillman blinked rapidly several times. ‘Quite well, I suppose. He’d been around a long time and so had I.’

‘What did you make of him? Nice guy?’

‘He was okay.’ Not a thumping endorsement.

‘You can be frank,’ Diamond said, picking up on the lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’s not easy to speak ill of the dead, especially after what happened, but we’re on a murder investigation here. I’m looking for honest impressions of the man.’

‘There isn’t much I can say. We didn’t have a lot in common.’

‘Was he good at the job?’

Stillman hesitated. ‘He put in the hours all right.’

‘Not always the same thing.’

‘I meant he didn’t skive off, like some do.’

‘This isn’t a test of your loyalty, sergeant. If there was a problem with the man, I need to know. I’m sensing something wasn’t right.’

‘I wouldn’t call it a problem.’

‘What did it amount to?’

‘Nothing more than gossip, really.’

‘From him?’

‘About him.’ Stillman had an expressive face, and the mental anguish was spreading over his features like spilt paint.

‘Come on.’

‘Harry didn’t take kindly to change. If someone called in sick and the beats had to be rearranged, he wasn’t at all happy. He liked to be given his duties for the week and stick to them. He kicked up so much that we tended to ask other people to switch.’

‘What was the gossip you mentioned?’

A downward look. He drew a line along the table with his finger as if to tell himself that he’d already said too much about his dead colleague.

Diamond wasn’t stopping there. Tittle-tattle it may be, but it was going to come out. The stakes were too serious for reticence. He sat back with arms folded and insisted with his eyes.

In a battle of wills, Stillman was always going to lose. ‘No one ever proved it, but they said he made arrangements.’

‘Arrangements?’

‘Meeting certain people.’ Stillman looked away. ‘This is all speculation.’

‘He was on the take?’

‘That’s what the whisper was, but we weren’t sure how, or who was involved, or how much.’

If true, this was a new and depressing sidelight on the murder victim. Every police force has its bad apples. How galling if Harry Tasker, hailed everywhere as the brave victim of the sniper, had been rotten to the core.

‘Let me try and get this clear,’ Diamond said as if he wasn’t used to plumbing depths like this. ‘You’re saying some of his fellow officers suspected he was using his official position to solicit bribes.’

The last word was too strong for Stillman. ‘I wouldn’t go as far as that. Like I said, it was only talk. There wasn’t any proof.’

‘Didn’t anyone investigate while he was alive?’

‘It never got that serious. I mean, it could have been nothing more than turning a blind eye to under-age drinking in return for an occasional pint.’

‘Equally it could have been taking backhanders from drug dealers.’

‘Or nothing at all, Mr. Diamond. It could be just innuendo. I’m uncomfortable with this.’

‘So am I. Let’s continue.’ For the present, he chose to say nothing about someone of sergeant rank who knew of the gossip and failed to act on it. ‘We’ll turn to the events of last Sunday morning. You were on patrol in your car when the all-units call came that there was a shooting in Walcot Street. Is that right?’

Stillman’s voice showed he was relieved to move on, even at the cost of having his own conduct examined. ‘I was keeping an eye on a group of youths in Corn Street. It didn’t take me long to answer the shout. I wasn’t the first, but I was at the scene before the first ambulance.’

‘You were alone in the car?’

The spasm of blinking afflicted him again. ‘Er, that’s correct.’

‘Didn’t you have an oppo?’

‘I did not.’

‘That’s the norm on patrol. Why were you alone?’

‘My partner had to finish early. A domestic problem. I’m experienced. I can cope with most situations.’

‘Who was he?’

‘My partner? I’d rather not say.’

‘You’re not getting the option, sergeant.’

He shook his head.

‘The name,’ Diamond said.

Stillman fingered the back of his neck. ‘He’s a good guy. We’ve done a lot together. I really don’t want to drop him in it. It has no bearing on what happened after.’

‘I can easily find out.’

He sighed. ‘His name is Charlie Hunt. He was with me most of the night. We did the usual Saturday night stuff around the clubs and pubs. After the nightclubs emptied it went quiet like it always does. The thing is, Charlie’s a married man and his wife is disabled. She has one of those horrible wasting diseases. She needs a lot of attention and doesn’t like being alone in the house at night. I dropped him off somewhere near and I was aiming to finish the turn alone.’

‘Have you done this before?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not right, I know, guv, but can you overlook it on this occasion?’

‘I’ll still need to speak to him.’

‘Why?’

‘To verify what you just told me. It’s for your benefit. You see, until and unless Ken Lockton comes out of his coma, there’s no corroboration for your version of events.’

Stillman said after a long pause, ‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘You’re an authorised firearms officer. Is that correct?’

More frantic blinking. ‘You don’t seriously think I’m the sniper?’

‘I have a duty to keep an open mind about everyone, even a serving officer with a blameless record.’

Abruptly the eyes opened wide in a horrified stare. ‘I couldn’t have shot him. I was in Corn Street when it happened.’

‘And because you were alone, I’ve only got your word for it. Any other patrol officer attending the scene would have someone to back his version of events.’

Stillman shook his head, apparently in disbelief.

‘From what you told me the morning of the shooting, Ken Lockton saw you at the scene in Walcot Street and told you to drive him up to the Paragon.’

‘That was after he worked out where the shots came from. He was the duty inspector that night so he became the SIO. He knew me quite well.’

‘Why did he need the car? Why not use the steps?’

‘I, em, can’t say.’

‘But you have a theory.’

A sigh. ‘What difference does my opinion make?’

‘Come off it, sergeant. You’re uniquely placed to say what was going on.’

‘Well, I got the idea Ken felt important. He wanted to be driven. He and I were sergeants together for quite some time before he got promoted.’

‘He was lording it over you?’

‘I wouldn’t put it in those terms. There was more to it. I think he wanted company in case the sniper was still up there in the garden.’

‘Sensible. But then you say he sent you away.’

‘That was after we found the gun and decided the sniper might be coming back for it.’

‘Two of you would have been better at making the arrest.’

‘Yes, but Ken wanted the car moved away from the front of the house. It would have alerted the sniper.’

‘True.’

‘And he made it very clear to me that I wasn’t to come back’

‘Why was that?’

‘He thought he could make the arrest on his own.’

‘Big mistake,’ Diamond said. ‘Do you think the sniper was hiding in the garden all the time?’

‘That’s possible. You saw the height of those weeds.’

For all his jumpiness, Stillman had been pretty convincing. His nervousness at the beginning could have been down to fear of being found out after he gave his partner unofficial time off.

‘Let’s fast forward,’ Diamond said. ‘You slept in the car for a couple of hours and then woke up and found out about Lockton being clobbered and taken to hospital. Must have been a hairy moment for you.’

‘Extremely.’

‘You did the right thing reporting to me and telling all. If I remember correctly, I advised you to go home and get some proper sleep. Is that what you did?’

He nodded.

‘So you weren’t among the AFOs who were present in Becky Addy Wood the same day?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Or on the night shift?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Diamond said in his bull-in-a-china-shop mode, ‘but doesn’t the training of an AFO include some orienteering and living rough?’

The man may have been punch drunk by this stage. He showed no sign of alarm. ‘It does, but I’ve never had cause to put any of that into practice in real life.’

‘I should hope not, because the sniper is an expert at both.’

Now Stillman blushed deeply. A blush is not necessarily proof of guilt, Diamond knew. It could have been caused by the sergeant’s realisation that he was firmly in the frame.

DC Paul Gilbert came into the incident room as wide-eyed as if he’d spotted the Loch Ness monster in the Roman Bath. ‘Guess what the boss is up to.’

It was mid-afternoon and most of the team were present, collating information and dealing with witness statements.

Everyone looked up. Not enough had been happening in CID since that uncomfortable meeting yesterday. They’d not seen much of Peter Diamond. They wouldn’t have admitted it, but some were actually missing him.

Halliwell spoke first. ‘Fill us in, then.’

‘He’s downstairs with that sergeant who fell asleep in his car.’

‘Steve Stillman? What’s so special about that?’ John Leaman asked.

‘Using interview room 2?’ Gilbert said, refusing to be downed. ‘The word from Jenny in the control room is that he was waiting in the yard to meet Stillman’s patrol car when he came off duty. They went in looking as if World War III had broken out, both of them.’

‘Going over his story again, I expect,’ Leaman said.

Halliwell said in support, ‘It’s no big deal, using an interview room to talk to a fellow officer. My guess is he didn’t want us to hear about it in case we get the idea he’s picking us off one by one. It would have looked bad if he’d come up here with Stillman in tow.’

‘He’s made up his mind the sniper is in-house,’ Gilbert said.

‘He’d better think again, then,’ Ingeborg said from her side of the room. ‘In-house he is not. The report has come in from forensics. It’s on my screen now. The guy living rough in the woods is definitely the sniper.’

‘How do they know?’

‘Matching shoe prints. There was a good set in the pillbox at Avoncliff. They’re a perfect match with another set taken from the tree-house at the Wells shooting.’

‘That’s it, then,’ Leaman said. ‘Who’s going to tell the boss?’

‘What’s more, there were more of the same along the countryside walk where the sniper was almost caught last night.’

‘Shoe prints aren’t as reliable as fingerprints,’ Halliwell said. ‘I’ve heard of mistakes being made with shoe evidence.’

Gilbert said, ‘He’s bright enough not to have touched anything except the gun.’

‘It’s not just the make of shoe he was wearing,’ Ingeborg said. ‘It’s the wear on the shoes, all those little grooves and nicks. They’re in no doubt.’

‘Pity we don’t have a national database for shoe prints, like we do for fingerprints,’ Halliwell said.

‘Now you’re being facetious,’ Ingeborg said. ‘This is good evidence. No way is he in-house, as Paul suggested, not in any sense. He’s very much out in the open and he can’t be one of ours, living rough like that. There’s no reason for a cop to go on the run.’

‘Are you going to tell the guv’nor?’ Leaman asked her.

‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’

‘I’d like to see his face.’

‘We’ll all see it when he comes upstairs.’

He did, several minutes later, all smiles. ‘Afternoon, people,’ he said, and before Ingeborg or anyone else could speak he told them he’d just had a profitable session with Sergeant Stillman. The word ‘session’ made it sound like a chat over a glass of beer. He was more buoyant than he’d been all week. ‘Things are starting to emerge,’ he said, ‘things some of us may find difficult to deal with. Keep this strictly to yourselves for the present. There was gossip — and it may be no more than that — about Harry Tasker, to the effect that he was on the take.’

Ingeborg took a sharp, indignant breath. ‘That’s so mean, regardless of whether it’s true. The poor man is dead and his own fellow officers are slagging him off?’

‘Which is why we’re going to deal with it discreetly.’

‘I don’t think we should deal with it at all.’

‘Worthy sentiments, Inge, but you’re wrong. It’s got to be investigated. We may have found the motive for Harry’s murder. If he was demanding pay-offs from people up to no good, he was playing with fire.’

‘You said it’s only gossip.’

‘And sometimes gossip is true. Harry was one of the longest-serving beat constables and he thought he was entitled to special treatment. He was very protective of his own beat, unwilling to switch with anyone else.’

‘That’s to be expected. He knew it better.’

‘Agreed, but there is another construction.’

Halliwell said, ‘He didn’t want anyone else finding out?’

‘Correct. Well, Harry’s dead, and he can’t object any more. I want two of you on that beat tonight, meeting people, finding what they know.’

‘Tonight?’ Ingeborg said.

‘Around ten, when the low lives come up to feed. I’ll tee it up with the beat manager. This is a job for you, Paul. And Inge.’

‘Me?’ she said. She obviously had other plans for the evening. In Diamond’s murder squad, you could never count on anything.

‘You’re quick to spot evasion. Walk the same beat Harry did, call at the same pubs and clubs and get a sense of whether he ever demanded backhanders in return for protection, or silence or information.’

‘What if Jack Gull makes an arrest before then? Some forensic results are in that I think you ought to see.’

‘We’ll still be stumped for a motive. This could be it. Meanwhile I’ll talk to our contacts at Wells and Radstock and see if by any chance the earlier victims were on the take.’

A little later, Keith Halliwell stepped into Diamond’s office. The big man was studying yet another list, this time of officers who had served with Harry Tasker in the past and also had firearms experience. Guiltily, he turned it face down.

‘Do you seriously rate Sergeant Stillman as a suspect, guv?’

‘Why? Is there something else I should know about him?’

‘He’s a good guy. If a volunteer is wanted, he puts up his hand. Doesn’t mind doing an extra shift to help out. They’re saying in uniform that he was dog tired on Sunday morning when he fell asleep in the car.’

‘It’s no excuse, as you and I know, Keith.’

‘No one thinks he could have shot Harry.’

‘He’s an AFO. He knows how to handle an assault rifle. I want to find out next if he was issued with one recently.’

Halliwell sighed softly. ‘He’d need a motive.’

‘He wasn’t Harry’s best pal, I can tell you that.’

‘Harry was an awkward cuss, guv. Didn’t get along too well with anyone in uniform. You can’t blame Stillman for being cool about him.’

‘I’m not blaming anyone at this stage,’ Diamond said. ‘There’s more to come out, I’m sure. This is in confidence, Keith. I’ve been going over lists of firearms officers from way back, people who served with Harry and the other victims. Prior to 2004, as we know, you could do a five-day course and plenty did. It looked good on your record. So there’s a fair number of names.’

‘Anyone we know?’

‘Harry, for one.’

‘Harry did the course?’

‘When he was based at Helston. One of twenty-three names supplied by Devon and Cornwall Constabulary, PC Tasker. He could have upgraded here and done the five-week course at Portishead, but he never did. He wasn’t ambitious any more.’

‘Unlike certain other people?’

Diamond gave him a sharp look. ‘Who do you mean?’

‘Ken Lockton, for one. If he hadn’t gone it alone, we might have caught the sniper.’

‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

‘Guv, did Ingeborg show you that forensic report?’

‘On the shoe marks found at Avoncliff? She handed me a copy, true. She didn’t have much to say. She’s not a happy bunny.’

‘But this new evidence seems to wrap it up.’

‘Yes?’ He couldn’t have made the word sound any more negative. ‘We still don’t know who the sniper is.’

‘True, but this is a definite link with the killing at Wells.’

‘Keith, I’ve been in this game too long to use the word “definite” about anything. It’s new information, I grant you.’

Sensing that Diamond’s pride was on the line, Halliwell didn’t push the argument any further. He cleared his throat. ‘About tonight, guv.’

‘All these years and I thought you’d never ask.’

Halliwell did his best to humour the boss by smiling. ‘I’m thinking about young Gilbert and Ingeborg walking Harry Tasker’s beat. They said nothing to me about this, but is it safe, do you think?’

Diamond frowned. ‘They’re grown-ups. They’re cops.’

‘I know, but Harry was murdered on that beat.’

‘He was in uniform and so were the other victims. If the sniper wants more blood, he’s not going to kill coppers in plain clothes. He’ll move on to some other town and target another poor blighter on the beat. That’s the pattern, Keith. He doesn’t vary it. To come back to your question. Yes, those babes are going to be safe.’