Cop to Corpse

32

The Hop Pole, Emma’s choice for the refreshments after the funeral, was only a few hundred yards along the Upper Bristol Road from Onega Terrace. It was her local, and she couldn’t have found a better one. The dark-panelled bar was Victorian in style, comfortable and not noisy. From there you moved through a restaurant created out of a skittle alley to the real glory of the place, a secluded beer garden ideal for summer drinking, with vines around the perimeter and threading upwards into well-placed gazebos. This was where the mourners had gathered in sunshine, becoming relaxed by the minute as the more formal part of the day became a memory.

Diamond pocketed his phone and helped himself to a warm sausage roll. The business end of the investigation was working out as he had expected, some compensation for his wrong assumptions earlier. Royston had surfaced at the Tasker house while the funeral was in progress. The murder weapon was now in police hands. It could be test-fired and used in evidence. Sean Willis had declared his intent by arriving at the house with a key. He’d always seemed a character with a secret.

The family member who was acting as host appeared with a plate of sandwiches. ‘You know it’s a free bar?’

‘I do,’ Diamond said, ‘but I’m limiting myself.’

‘Diet?’

‘Duty, actually.’

‘But you’ll have a sandwich?’

‘Thanks.’ He took two. ‘Are you related to Harry?’

‘I’m Gordon, married to one of his sisters, Agnes — going round with the spring rolls. Sad occasion. I believe you caught the son of a bitch who did this.’

‘Not yet.’ Diamond said.

‘Oh?’ Gordon’s eyebrows popped up. ‘I heard he was in the cells. Some foreigner shooting you chaps more or less at random, just because you represent law and order.’

‘He shot the other two, not Harry.’

Gordon almost dropped the sandwiches. ‘How on earth can that be?’

‘Everyone assumed all three crimes were by the same hand, me included, for a time. It’s what we were meant to think, that the so-called Somerset Sniper shot Harry as well. Harry wasn’t shot at random. It was deliberate.’

‘And you know who did this?’

‘We do. And an arrest is expected shortly.’ He turned his head to check who was still there. ‘Have you seen my colleagues, the three guys in uniform?’

‘They had to leave, unfortunately. Something about duties.’

‘Ah.’ A little of Diamond’s laid-back manner ebbed away.

‘They had a drink and a bite to eat. You’re not rushing off too, I hope?’

‘Not yet, but I must make a phone call.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ Gordon appeared glad he had the plate in his hand as a reason to move away. You meet some strange people at funerals.

A minute later, Diamond spotted the neighbour Betty’s enormous black hat and went over to where she was standing with Emma. ‘Excellent choice of pub,’ he said. ‘Do you use it much?’

The question was addressed more to Emma than Betty. ‘Not often. Harry wasn’t one for going out, as I told you.’

Betty then used what was becoming her catch-phrase. ‘I’m off.’

Emma said quickly, ‘There’s no need.’

‘There is, dear,’ Betty told her. ‘A pressing need, to put it delicately.’ She left at speed.

With Emma to himself, Diamond said, ‘Nearly over, then.’

She remained in control. ‘Just about.’ Then she gave him an opening for a polite leave-taking. ‘It was good of you to come.’

Leaving wasn’t in his plans. ‘I wondered why you invited me. Aside from the obvious fact that I’m charming enough to make a success of any occasion, however sad, what could I possibly contribute? I’ve worked it out.’

‘You’d better tell me,’ she said, but her gaze was elsewhere.

‘As I’m here, I can’t possibly be somewhere else — keeping watch on your house.’

‘Is that so?’ she said with only a slight show of interest.

‘In the force we look after our own, as I don’t have to tell you’ he said. ‘It’s one of those sad reflections on humanity that people’s homes sometimes get broken into while they are out at events such as this. I couldn’t keep an eye on your place myself, so I sent a few of my team.’

She frowned slightly. ‘To my house?’

‘You needn’t worry,’ he said. ‘All’s well. They’ve been in touch. You had a visitor, but apparently he was expected. He knew where to find the front door key. Under the mat, right? Young Royston let himself in, picked up something belonging to him and left.’

Emma didn’t comment.

‘One of the many items Harry confiscated in the course of duty. Your husband had his own unofficial way of keeping the streets safe.’

She appeared unmoved.

‘You made an arrangement with the boy, didn’t you?’ Diamond went on. ‘Royston had been pestering you ever since he knew Harry was no more. I saw him near your house on Tuesday when you asked me over. He almost knocked me down making his escape on the motorbike. Decent of you to put his mind at rest. His father is a scary man and of course the rifle belonged to his father. And it suited you to send it back to where it belonged. A neat solution.’

Now Emma said with more of her old thrust, ‘This is neither the time nor the place.’

‘There’s never a time or place,’ he said, matching her steel. ‘The funeral’s over. We’ve taken leave of Harry in a civilised way. You’re ex-police yourself. You know I have a job to do.’

But Emma wasn’t interested in hearing any more. She shook her head so violently that the thick, black hair briefly covered her face. Then she took a sidestep and darted past him at a rate he hadn’t expected, around a table of startled mourners and out through the gate at the bottom of the garden.

Diamond could have used those three officers who had left early. Alone, he wasn’t sure he could cope. Pursuing Emma would be next to impossible. There wasn’t time to get on the phone for reinforcements. He’d already lost sight of her.

But it struck him that one thing was in his favour. She’d get no further than the river. Wide and deep, it flowed parallel to the road. Going after her might, after all, be worth it. A few hundred yards, no more.

He crossed the garden at the best speed he could, followed through the gate, across rough ground below the Argos car park, and saw her veer towards the right.

Why that direction?

He’d miscalculated.

The iron bridge.

A narrow, one-way track called Midland Road snaked down to the river and provided a crossing. It was used mainly by vehicles heading south to the Lower Bristol Road.

To chase, or not to chase? For the present his damaged leg was holding him up. He couldn’t rely on it.

Ahead, Emma had reached the brick wall that separated the open ground from Midland Road. It looked high for her, but she was agile. At the second attempt she drew herself up, clambered over and dropped out of sight.

Diamond lumbered after her, taking shallow breaths. He actually caught up a little while she was scaling the wall. Being taller, he reckoned he’d find it less of a barrier. He attacked it at his best speed, grabbed the top, hauled himself up and over, making sure as he dropped that he didn’t land on the sore leg.

She’d already put more space between them and she was still running strongly. Catching her would be a lost cause once she was across the river. The iron bridge came up sooner than he expected. Dry-mouthed and gasping, he watched her dash under the first arched strut without looking back, her dark hair rising and falling.

What now? Phone for reinforcements? Wave down a car? Any more delay and she’d be out of sight again. The Lower Bristol Road gave her options of side streets that made any pursuit pointless. He was forced to flog himself harder and try and keep her in sight.

He reached the bridge and trudged across at the best speed he could. He remembered that on the opposite side of the river the road made a sharp left turn. She was about to vanish from view.

Then chance threw in a different possibility. A silver van ahead of Emma braked and signalled as if to go right.

Right? The turn was left. What was going on?

Emma hesitated, and at first Diamond thought the driver was stopping to pick her up. He was wrong. On the right side, a gate had opened in the tall metal fence at the angle of the bend and the van was driving through. Emma had seen the opportunity of following it off the road and into the large yard beyond.

That was her choice. She nipped through that gate faster than the van.

As Diamond approached, someone was in the act of slamming it shut.

‘Leave it,’ he shouted with as much voice as he had left.

He came to a juddering halt when the gate slammed in his face. It was a barrier built with security in mind, set into ten-foot fencing and topped with barbed wire. The man on the other side was threading through a chain and padlock.

‘Police,’ Diamond said in a gasp. ‘Open up again.’ He felt for his ID and shoved it at the mesh barrier.

After an unendurable pause for thought, the gatekeeper allowed Diamond through.

By this time, Emma was not in sight.

He stood in uncertainty, wondering if she had turned sharp right and doubled back to the river. From there she could scramble down the steep bank to a narrow footpath.

He covered the few yards to check. No one was down there. She hadn’t chosen this escape route. So where was she?

Again he took stock of his surroundings. Then his heart pumped in his chest as if it was ready to burst out. So intent had he been on watching Emma run away from him that he’d missed the biggest thing in view inside this compound, the thing nobody could fail to miss: the gasholder. The enormous buff-coloured cylinder in its rusty iron framework dominated the scene this side of the Avon. In the heyday of the Bath Gas, Light and Coke Company, the fuel had been brought up the river in barges and three gasholders had stood expanding and contracting to meet the demands of the entire city.

He had spotted a movement near the base. A small figure in black was on the lowest section of the iron surround moving up a diagonal traverse that was evidently a set of steps.

He broke into a stiff-legged run again, powered by the knowledge that this was the end of the line for Emma, She had trapped herself. He would catch her now.

Then his confidence plunged again. The yard containing the gasholder and some brick buildings was enclosed by yet more metal fencing. So much security. How the hell had she got through? As he got closer he saw the gate open to admit the same silver van that had passed through the other entrance. Gratefully he hobbled through.

At the base of the gasholder steps, he took out his phone.

John Leaman answered.

‘Emma Tasker is climbing up the gasholder in Twerton. Don’t ask. Get a patrol here fast.’

He grasped the hand-rail and looked up. She had already scaled the first level and was on the narrow landing staring down at him.

‘It’s all over, Emma,’ he shouted up. ‘Better come down.’

Her response was to run to the next staircase and start on the next set of steps. What was she thinking of?

With a chilling certainty, he knew. She meant to throw herself off.

He had no other choice than to follow, if only to reason with her. The steps were a severe test for his knees after all the running. He toiled upwards to the first landing.

‘Emma, this is crazy,’ he yelled. ‘You’re going nowhere.’

Altogether there were four staircases and three landings. She stopped halfway up and turned again to watch him.

He continued upwards. And so did Emma. She made it to the second landing and dashed straight to the next staircase.

Soon she would reach the exposed section above the top tier of the great metal cylinder. The gasholder itself was about one-third below capacity. The supporting framework rose much higher, into space.

And she was still climbing.

Far from certain if he had a head for heights like this, Diamond continued to mount the steps, even when he could only see daylight instead of solid metal through the spaces between. Three landings up, he gripped the handrail and drew breath. She was about to go up the final set of steps. No doubt there was a panoramic view of Bath from up here. He didn’t care to see it. He tried to focus on what his feet were doing.

There came a point more than a hundred feet up when even Emma sensed that this ascent was finite. A few steps short of the crown of the entire structure, she came to a halt. Diamond was following slowly now and he hadn’t faltered, but he made sure he stopped a safe distance from her feet.

Down at ground level he hadn’t been conscious of any wind at all. Up here, it tugged at his clothes and rasped his face.

Even with the rushing in his eardrums, he thought it possible to exchange words, extraordinary as the situation would be. He needed to get his breath first, and find a way of keeping Emma from panicking.

No threat. No confrontation. Get her talking.

Finally he managed to say, ‘You should have brought the three sleuths up here.’

‘I didn’t think of it,’ she said.

He was encouraged that she was willing to speak at all.

‘You read the blog, then?’ she said. ‘Someone told you about it?’

‘They did.’

‘What do you think?’ She was keen to get an opinion on her imaginative effort. She wanted praise.

‘Compulsive reading once I got into it,’ he said. ‘You must have started writing it some time before Harry was shot.’

‘At least a week.’

Which left no question that the murder was premeditated, but he chose not to say so at this juncture. ‘You’ve got a lively imagination. It was clever, the way you wove in the clues about Bath and Wells and Radstock towards the end. I soon cottoned on that the real story you wanted to get across was about Tim, pointing the finger at a fictitious man.’

‘He wasn’t entirely fiction,’ she said.

‘All right, there were elements of Harry in the character, the non-communication and so on, but Harry wasn’t ex-army and the only outings he had at night were when he was on beat duty. You wanted us to read the blog and think Tim was the Somerset Sniper.’

‘Did I?’

How bizarre is this? he thought, trying to analyse a work of fiction on a rusty old staircase a hundred feet off the ground. But his show of interest seemed to be working. She’d invested a lot in the blog and this was her chance to find out how well she’d succeeded. Keep talking, he told himself. Pitch it calmly and she may not think about jumping.

‘So let’s sum up the real situation. When we first met and I informed you Harry was dead, you were straight with me, remarkably straight. You let me know it was a failed marriage. He was a non-communicator with no ambition and when he was off work he slumped in front of the telly or went fishing. You convinced me you were an honest, hard-done-by woman. It didn’t cross my mind that you had a lover, not until much later. I only twigged when I spoke to one of his neighbours, the blonde on the ground floor. She told me Sean Willis had a night visitor sometimes. Was that while Harry was on the night shift?’

After he’d spoken, he knew it sounded a cheap remark. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t answer.

A huge flock of starlings was spiralling just a short way off in the flat, grey sky. They twisted into the shape of an hour-glass.

He tried again. ‘You wanted an escape from Harry and when you started seeing Willis, your home life seemed even more pointless. You’re not going to deny the affair? Only a short while ago I was told by my team that he called at your house.’

She said, ‘Sean? You’re bluffing.’

‘To comfort you after the funeral, I guess. Obviously he couldn’t be there at your side in front of everyone, so he waited for it to be over. He let himself in with his own key.’

‘He didn’t!’ Her voice piped in disapproval.

‘And if he had a key to your place, it’s reasonable to assume you have a key to his — the house in the Paragon. Where did you first meet him — at the rifle range in Devizes?’

She said, ‘Let’s get one thing clear. Sean had nothing to do with Harry’s death.’

‘But that’s how you met?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’d learned to shoot when you served in the police. In those days it was a five-day course to get qualified as a firearms officer and lots of us did it.’

She snapped, ‘How do you know that?’

‘It’s listed. You know what the police are like. Everything goes on record. I asked for the list of firearms officers at Helston while you were on the strength. It said PC Tasker, which at first I took to be Harry. That’s the sort of sexist I am, assuming only men are interested in using guns.’

‘Harry’s sport was fishing, not shooting,’ she said, as good as admitting she’d done the course. She was proud of her skill with the rifle.

‘After leaving the police, you had a less adventurous life teaching infants. Harry had his own hobby at the weekends, so you went back to shooting at targets and found a new friend as well. You were keen, keen enough to make trips all the way to Devizes.’

‘There’s no gun club in Bath.’

‘How did you get there? Not on your pushbike?’

‘Other people offered me lifts. Several came from Bath.’

‘Including Willis?’

‘He was one of them, yes. Sean knows nothing about any of this,’ she insisted.

‘I’m not suggesting he does. Let’s talk about Harry. He had his own way of controlling youth crime. Confiscation, as one of our sources put it. He’d take away illegal goods and demand hush money. Did you know about that?’

She shrugged. ‘Make a guess.’

‘We haven’t searched your house, but I’m sure we’ll find a stash in the loft or under the floorboards. Harry’s biggest prize was Soldier Nuttall’s sniper rifle, unwisely borrowed by his son Royston to impress his friends. You found the gun and the temptation was too much. Harry had supplied you with the means of your freedom, the same make of rifle the Somerset Sniper was known to use.’

‘It wasn’t as cold-blooded as that,’ she said. ‘Several things came on top of each other.’

He waited for her to expand on this, but she chose not to. ‘I know what some of them are,’ he said. ‘There was all the stuff in the media about the sniper shooting policemen. Wives of policemen all over the West Country worried sick that their men would get the next bullet. You, I imagine, thought along different lines.’

Her mouth twitched into a quick, faint smile.

‘You knew Harry’s beat took him along Walcot Street, below the Paragon. Last Saturday night you let yourself into the house with the gun and waited in the empty garden flat and most of what happened went according to plan. You picked off Harry with your second shot. You meant to make your getaway at once, but there was a delay.’

‘That damned alarm went off,’ she said. ‘I was afraid someone in the house would look out and see me in the garden, so I crouched down among the weeds. I lost one of the cartridge cases and panicked a bit. The sniper never leaves them behind. It would give you the chance to prove I used a different rifle. I don’t know how long I was scrabbling around, trying to find it. Then I noticed Sean’s blinds were raised. He had no idea I was there. I couldn’t go back through the basement flat and risk running into him. I had to give him time to go back to bed. I hadn’t reckoned on some of your lot getting there so soon. I was hiding behind the nettles. The police noticed the gun where I’d left it, but then they went away for a minute and only one came back.’

‘You picked up the gun and cracked him over the head with it. Almost a double murder.’

‘He’ll be all right, won’t he?’ she asked without much concern.

‘Decent of you to enquire. He’ll survive. Whether he’s brain-damaged, I don’t know. How did you eventually make your escape?’

‘The way I came. On my pushbike.’

He was in awe. ‘Where was it?’

‘In the street opposite.’

‘You cycled through the streets at night with the murder weapon?’

‘It’s a short ride, under a mile, even taking the quiet route along Royal Avenue, and the gun folds up and fits into the saddlebag.’

‘After which you played the angry widow, sat back and watched events unfold.’

‘More or less,’ Emma said.

‘Right. “More or less” means you weren’t as passive as it appeared. You still did what you could to influence things. Top marks for the fake blog, inventing a whole different explanation.’

‘So you were taken in?’

‘Almost. Something didn’t ring true. I felt this was an educated woman trying too hard to sound streetwise and trendy.’

‘In what way?’

‘Some of the conversations and how you handled them. “She was like …” and “She went …” I bet you don’t say stuff like that to your own friends. It didn’t chime in with the rest, the university degree, teaching the piano and so forth.’

‘It’s the modern vernacular.’

‘And only an educated woman would use a phrase like that. But I did fall for the “You’re next” threats. They reinforced the idea of a series of shootings. I really thought someone in the police must have threatened Harry. I suppose you added the note to his card-case after it was returned to you.’

‘Anything to deflect suspicion,’ she said.

‘Including the one you sent me?’

‘That was meant,’ she said in the same calm tone of acceptance and then without warning switched to a shrill note of frenzy. ‘Because you’re next, Detective bloody Diamond, of course you’re next, else why would I have brought you all the way up here?’

With that, she braced herself and leapt off.

Directly below her, Diamond had the split-second warning of what she was about to do, but there was no escape.

The full weight of her body hurtled towards him.

Her feet caught his left shoulder and swung him to the right. In that infinitesimal moment of grace the instinct for self-preservation had made him grip the handrail hard and pull himself closer. Even so, his left arm was jerked off the rail and he careered backwards and lost his footing. He dangled in space, only the fingers of one hand stopping him falling to his death. By kicking out frantically he got his left foot between two steps and hauled himself back to connect with the staircase and hold on.

Only Emma knew whether her leap was intended to be suicidal. Certainly she meant to take Diamond with her. She fell no further than the landing, hitting it with a thud that sounded hideous and final, but was not. She lay groaning on the narrow platform.

Diamond was fortunate. His only injury was to his dignity. His trousers had ripped wide open at the back.

The rescue effort was not long in coming. Emma, with both legs broken, had to be winched down on a stretcher. She was still conscious when Diamond was helped off the steps. She saw him and said, ‘You think you’re lucky, and you are, bloody lucky, but when this comes to court I’m denying everything. You’ve got it all to prove.’

English law has its unique way of dealing with offenders. When the cases finally came to court, Soldier Nuttall was given a suspended sentence of six months for possession of an unlicensed weapon. Emma Tasker was found guilty of murder and given the mandatory life sentence, but at the lowest end of the scale thanks to a spirited defence. She would be out some years before the expiry of the fifteen year term. Hossain Farhadi, the Somerset Sniper, was also found guilty of murder and told that the life sentence in his case meant at least thirty years. He seemed to regard this as salvation. Jack Gull hailed it as a triumph for the Serial Crimes Unit.

The bruises healed in Bath CID. Diamond was soon back on good terms with his team. One afternoon he was called to Georgina’s office. She was looking benevolent for once. ‘I have good news, Peter. This is in confidence. Ingeborg’s promotion to sergeant is approved.’

‘That is good,’ he said, delighted, ‘and not before time.’

But where there’s good news, there is usually bad as well.

‘Headquarters have been looking at your budget report. I’m afraid you’ve overspent again.’

‘I don’t think so, ma’am,’ he said.

‘I had to bump up the figures a bit before they went in.’

‘Oh?’

‘We were sent the invoice for a replacement suit.’

‘Not by me,’ he said. ‘I ripped a perfectly good pair of trousers on that gasholder thing, and I can’t wear the jacket without them. I’ve never claimed for clothing.’

‘You wouldn’t get it,’ Georgina said.

‘Who’s got the nerve to claim for a suit?’

‘Mr. Anderson Jakes. He said one of your officers was responsible. I didn’t want it itemised for the accountants to question, so it’s gone through as extra overtime.’

‘How was it damaged?’

‘Unfortunately it came apart at the shoulder seam.’

‘That’s repairable, ma’am.’

‘Apparently not. The more expensive the suit, the less likely it is that a repair will pass muster. This is a bespoke Savile Row suit costing over a thousand pounds.’

He was outraged. ‘A grand? My suits cost a hundred and forty-nine.’

Georgina passed no comment.