touch before?’
‘Two reasons, sir.’
Diamond raised his palms. ‘No one “sirs” me. “Guv,” if you must. What are your two reasons?’
‘At the start I didn’t want him to overhear me.’
‘You got as close as that?’
‘You told me to go in pursuit and I did. Reason two: towards the end I lost him, so I couldn’t report his position. I was hoping I’d catch up again.’
‘And be able to report something positive?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Understandable.’ It was easy to grasp what had run through PC Shilling’s mind while he was legging it along the towpath in pursuit. Diamond would have felt the same, torn between confessing to failure and trying to reverse it. ‘But you’re still the main player.’
‘How come?’
‘The only sighting of this killer. If you don’t hold the ace of trumps I don’t know who does. What can you tell me about him?’
A troubled look surfaced on PC Shilling’s features. ‘I didn’t see much.’
‘Even when you were so close it wasn’t safe to use the radio?’
‘The light wasn’t good.’
‘Think back. Get him in your mind’s eye again. What’s he wearing?’ There was a touch of the hypnotist in Diamond’s manner, but it was only a surface effect. He couldn’t get anyone to relax if he tried.
‘Like I told you. Baseball cap and dark clothes.’
‘Jacket or shirt?’
‘Tight-fitting jacket. He’s slim. Moves like a fit man. I think he was in jeans and trainers. And he carried the gun.’
‘Ah, the gun. What type?’
‘Short-barrelled, chunky, like our own lads use, and with extra bits.’
‘Extra bits such as?’
‘I don’t know much about firearms, guv.’
‘I gathered that. You know what a telescopic sight is?’
‘There was one of them, yes. Some kind of folding stand under the barrel. And a holder for the bullets.’
‘A box magazine. How did he carry the gun?’
‘In his right hand, the barrel towards the ground. But he stopped once and drew it to his chest and gripped it with both hands. He turned round. I think he heard me kick a stone.’
‘Scary.’
‘Very.’
‘You took evasive action?’
A grin. ‘Flat on my stomach in the long grass. He didn’t see me, I think.’
‘You wouldn’t be telling the tale if he had. Where did this happen?’
‘About a hundred yards after we crossed the swing bridge.’
‘We’ll take a look in daylight. We should be able to find where you were lying. Let’s get back to him. What height would you say?’
‘About the same as me. I’m five nine.’
‘Anything memorable about the way he moves?’
‘A bit of a stoop, but that could be the weight of the weapon. It looked heavy to me.’
‘Six pounds or more, probably. You wouldn’t want to carry it for a mile or two, as he did. Did you see his face at any stage?’
‘Not enough to tell you anything about it.’
‘Clean-shaven?’
‘Hard to tell. If he had a beard it wasn’t bushy.’
‘And he kept the baseball cap on all the time?’
‘All the time.’
‘Where did he give you the slip?’
‘If I knew that, I’d have called in when it happened. I went on for quite some way, thinking he was still ahead of me. What with the poor light and the bends in the path I was losing sight of him every now and then. Thinking back, it must have happened about halfway between the swing bridge and here. Maybe he did spot me following him.’
Diamond shook his head. ‘You’d be dead meat if he had. It’s possible he heard you and decided to go back. He knows this area, that’s for sure. He was taking a calculated risk approaching the town by way of the park. For about half a mile he was on a narrow strip with the river to his left and the canal to his right. We could have trapped him there. I think he came that way thinking we hadn’t had time to prepare an ambush, then lost his nerve or more likely changed his mind and doubled back. He could still be lying up somewhere.’
‘Is it worth making a search?’
‘Until daybreak our chance of locating him is nil. We’ll organise what we can at first light, but I’m not optimistic.’
‘Should I rejoin my unit in Becky Addy Wood, guv?’
‘No. Take off your shoes.’
PC Shilling gave Diamond a long look. He’d gleaned that he couldn’t take everything at face value from the man from Bath. ‘My shoes?’
‘I want forensics to look at them. Unfortunately I can’t offer you a replacement pair. You’ll just have to tiptoe to one of the minibuses in your socks and curl up on a seat and get some shuteye. I’m going to need you later.’
The hour before dawn — not the time you want to be awake — was when it fully sank in with Diamond that a unique opportunity was lost. The best that could now be hoped was that forensics would pick up some traces. Helpful as Shilling had tried to be, his description of the suspect was of negligible value. People’s estimates of heights were unreliable and a change of clothing would negate all the rest.
Was this the moment to hand the whole sorry case back to Jack Gull, who was still officially running the show? The Serial Crimes Unit had the firepower, all the expertise, and was better equipped for action than a middle-aged detective with a beer belly and a limp.
I don’t think so, he told himself.
The latest killing was on his patch. Harry Tasker was Manvers Street family and the family cared. No one — least of all Diamond — was going to back off. And if Gull or any other jobsworth wanted to argue they would come up against the fact that the sniper had demonstrated local knowledge, set up camp in Becky Addy and dominated the terrain like a territorial jackal.
‘I’ll need more of your foot-soldiers than we had overnight,’ he told the inspector in charge of the Wiltshire contingent. ‘This lot did all I could have asked and deserve their sleep, but replacements must be here before they go off duty. There’s a search to get under way. And in case you’re about to ask, I’m bussing in more from Avon and Somerset.’
‘What I was about to ask is who is funding this,’ the inspector said. ‘It seems to be your operation with our manpower. I’m seriously overrunning my budget.’
‘In the interests of cross-border harmony, I won’t tell you where to stuff your budget. Don’t push me, chum. It’s been a long night.’
Various duty officers, at forensics, headquarters and Manvers Street, had to be called. There was a certain satisfaction in reminding them that even at this hour he was on the case and requiring back-up and expecting results. Finally he called Supergull and updated him.
‘You seem to have a lot of energy,’ the head of the SCU commented.
‘I grabbed some shuteye earlier, quality shuteye. How about you?’
‘Knackered.’ So utterly knackered that Gull had forgotten to preface it with a strong adjective.
‘Better get your head down, Jack. It’s under control.’
‘Right, I’ll do just that.’
