Without even a murmur of protest.
Actually Diamond was feeling chipper. The sleep he’d fitted in before midnight had set him up nicely. He’d probably experience something akin to jet lag later. For the present he was Mr. Motivator.
Soon after the first flush of daylight, he took a walk with PC Shilling (in borrowed shoes) and a scene-of-crime team through the countryside park to look for the place where Shilling had lain prone in long grass. The dawn chorus was exhilarating and the sudden shafts of light through the trees made a show better than anything Walt Disney had ever put on film. For one fleeting moment he persuaded himself he should rise earlier more often. Then he remembered why he was here.
Distances can be difficult to judge in stress situations and Shilling’s first estimate of where he’d hit the ground was wrong by almost fifty yards. One of the team walked on and found the place eventually, enough grass still flattened to leave no doubt.
‘Do you want this taped off, sir?’
‘No need. I’m more interested in where the suspect was.’
Henry Shilling pointed. ‘Twenty to twenty-five yards in that direction, no more.’
‘Let’s see.’ Diamond’s faith in Shilling’s judgement of distances was draining away. However, the ground conditions gave rise to hope that the search was worthwhile. This stretch was close enough to the Avon to get flooded from time to time. Marsh flowers like the creeping buttercup thrived here and so did riverside trees such as sallow, willow and alder. The ground dried hard in warm weather, but a stretch of the path was still moist from recent high water.
He started forward.
‘Watch how you go, Mr. Diamond.’ This urgent shout came from one of the forensic team and it wasn’t Diamond’s limping gait that concerned him, but the possibility of shoeprints being stepped over and ruined.
He stopped. ‘One of you lot had better go ahead.’
The process took fifteen minutes longer than it would have with Diamond leading the way, but it produced a result: a number of clean prints in an area of light mud. The marks showed the sort of intricate patterning typical of rubber-soled running shoes. And yes, they were measured at twenty-three yards from where PC Shilling had hidden in the grass. The direction and positioning suggested that the wearer of the shoes had stood there and half turned before moving on.
‘These are stunning. I couldn’t ask for better,’ the forensics team leader said as if he were judging a flower show. ‘Tape off this area and we’ll get some photos first and then do the casts.’
‘You’ll be able to identify the make of shoe?’ Diamond asked.
‘No question. We keep a database of all the makes. Better still, there’s evidence of wear noticeable even to the naked eye, so we should be able to match them to the actual pair of shoes. You get little cuts, nicks and scratches that can be just as helpful as fingerprint ridge patterns.’
‘We still have to find the shoes.’
‘True, but you can also look for matching prints elsewhere. Were any found at the crime scenes?’
‘I believe they were.’
‘A word of warning. I wouldn’t get too excited,’ the man from forensics added, having stoked up a heap of excitement himself. ‘Prints found on a public pathway won’t stand up in court, even with your police witness. A competent defence lawyer will eat you alive on what we have so far.’
‘It’s a beginning,’ Diamond said. ‘Up to now all we have is a worthless sighting of the suspect on a motorbike.’
‘Why worthless?’
‘Because the witness is a dumb cluck who can’t tell one bike from another.’
He and PC Shilling left them to it.
The systematic search of the area had been under way almost two hours with no new finds when Diamond took a call on his mobile from Keith Halliwell.
‘How are you holding up, guv?’
‘Okay.’
‘And how is the pain in the — ’
‘Jack Gull? He’s gone to bed.’
‘I meant
‘Not a problem. Hasn’t hampered me one bit. Where are you?’
‘The incident room. Remember you asked me to look for fingerprints for Willis, the guy living on the top floor in the Paragon house?’
‘From his car, yes. And you got a good set. Any news yet?’
‘He isn’t in the system. Seems he’s a law-abiding citizen.’
‘Pity.’
‘Also a call came in from Harry Tasker’s widow. She’d like to see you as soon as possible.’
‘See
‘She wouldn’t say. Wouldn’t leave a message. Wouldn’t want anyone else to go there. She had a female officer with her yesterday, but she soon sent her packing. I didn’t press her for information, in view of her sad loss. I promised you’d try and get there later today.’
‘I’d better. Did it sound urgent?’
‘Hard to tell. The voice is kind of flat. The shock has kicked in, I guess.’
‘It kicked in with a vengeance while I was with her. If she’s calmed down, that’s a help. Maybe it’s about getting the body released for the funeral. When’s the autopsy?’
‘This afternoon.’ A pause from Halliwell. ‘You’d like me to be there?’
Diamond disliked being predictable. ‘Who else is about?’
‘Nobody much. Half the station are up at Westwood on a door-to-door round in case anyone witnessed the suspect in the last few days. John Leaman is catching up on sleep. Ingeborg is in Radstock.’
‘Radstock?’
‘You may remember sending her there to get the dope on their murdered officer.’
‘So I did.’ It seemed a month ago.
‘Looks as if it’s me for the post mortem, then.’ Halliwell refrained from adding ‘as usual’.
‘You’re a tower of strength, Keith. If it weren’t for my dodgy leg …’
‘… which you said hasn’t hampered you one bit.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Okay, guv. I’ll head off to the mortuary. No one is better placed than you to handle Mrs. Tasker.’
Open to debate, Diamond thought.
More shoeprints were found matching the set discovered earlier. They were in a stand of larch at the eastern edge of Becky Addy Wood, where PC Shilling had first seen the suspect. The finds might not impress a court of law, but they were encouraging to Diamond. He was satisfied they had been made by the suspect. They could be compared with any shoeprints found at the murder scenes in Wells and Radstock. Photos and fresh casts were taken.
Towards midday John Leaman returned to duty and took over. ‘You deserve a siesta, guv,’ he said.
‘A black coffee will have to do,’ Diamond said. ‘I’ll go home and feed the cat and then visit Emma Tasker. She’s asking to see me. God knows why.’
The gasholder at the Windsor Bridge works loomed and he stopped the car as close as he could to Onega Terrace, opposite a row of houses called Park View. Grimly appropriate, he thought. In theory, there was a park across the street, but any view was masked by a solid mass of tall conifers, so the residents had to settle for parked cars.
A large woman, much larger than the widow, opened the door. Diamond explained who he was.
The woman looked him up and down with suspicion, probably taking him for a pressman, in spite of who he claimed to be. She was evidently a neighbour doing her best to shield Emma from unwanted callers.
He told her he’d been invited to call.
‘What did you say your name is?’
He heard Emma’s voice from deeper inside the house. ‘If he’s the big thug who was here yesterday, send him
