‘Radstock?’
His lip curled and he looked away, as if the question didn’t even merit an answer.
‘You’re not being very open, Royston. Should we ask your father?’
‘He ain’t interested.’ Said swiftly, and without any sign of alarm.
‘In that case we’ll have to look more closely at PC Tasker’s notes.’ In the same even tone, Diamond expanded on this white lie. ‘Did you know he kept a detailed record of everything he observed on his beat?’
‘I bet,’ he said with scorn, but there was a frisson of concern.
‘How do you think we got onto you?’
Royston shifted in the chair again. ‘You can’t do me for anything. I could blow the whistle on your lot.’
‘Really?’ Diamond said. ‘Why haven’t you done it already?’
No answer.
‘I think PC Tasker was wise to everything you get up to, Royston, and you were scared shitless. He could have nicked you whenever he wanted, but he chose to hold off. I want you to tell me why.’
‘You’ve got it wrong.’
‘Was it because of who you are?’
‘What are you talking about — my old man? No way.’
‘You’re not short of money.’
‘Which I earn,’ Royston put in quickly.
‘Around the pubs and clubs?’
‘It’s legit. Like I said, I sell at a profit. It’s investment. I make money, buy more stuff and sell it on. That’s called trading, right? I’m a trader.’
‘Trading in what?’
‘All kinds of stuff. It changes. You need to know what’s hightone, right? Could be some flash new mobile one week, a bit of bling the next. The trick is to stay ahead of the game.’
‘Mobiles and bits of bling aren’t going to make you all that rich. I was told you’re in a bigger league than that. Larger items.’
He almost purred. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Never mind. Is it true?’
‘I’ve put a few things people’s way.’
‘Don’t piss me about, Royston. What items?’
‘Guitars. I can clear a good profit on a Japanese acoustic and still save money for my customer.’
The terminology tripped off his tongue slickly enough to carry conviction. Diamond followed up at once. ‘Ever traded in firearms?’
Royston shook his head, almost too quickly. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘You know about guns. Your father trains people to use them.’
‘And I know about the law, and all.’
‘How does your business go down with your father?’
‘I told you. Doesn’t give a toss.’
‘Are you a paid-up member of Fight for Britain?’
He flicked the ends of the long hair upwards. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘I dare say you’ve used the firing range at some time. We were looking at it earlier. Impressive.’
‘I’ve had a go, yeah. Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Any good, are you?’
‘Average.’
‘Got your own gun?’
‘I know what you’re on about,’ Royston said. ‘Just because my old man has a firing range, it doesn’t mean I shot the copper. No, I’m not interested in shooting. I wouldn’t want one of my own.’
‘There are plenty on the premises here.’
‘So?’ He stayed nonchalant.
‘So it’s important for you to convince us you didn’t borrow one of those guns on the night of the shooting. Were you in Bath on Saturday night?’
‘It doesn’t mean shit if I was.’
‘Were you?’
‘Sure — and so were hundreds of other kids.’
‘In the Walcot area?’
‘Some of the time. I was on the move. I don’t stay in one place long. I’m doing business, in case you forgot.’
‘Where were you at four on Sunday morning?’
‘Back here. It’s all gone quiet by then.’
‘Is there any way you can prove that? How did you travel — taxi?’
A shake of the head. ‘Used my bike. I leave it in Beehive Yard.’
‘Off Walcot Street? So that’s where you ended up, close to where the shooting happened?’
He was unmoved. ‘There was no shooting when I was there.’
‘When you got home, was your father still up?’
‘No.’
‘Did you make any phone calls, use the computer? Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to help you prove what you’re saying.’
‘I crashed out.’
‘Until when?’
Now his voice rose. The pressure was getting to him. ‘Jesus, I don’t know. Late.’
‘Next day — Sunday — what did you do?’
‘It’s a blur, man. Sundays always are.’
‘Think carefully, Royston. This is important. Did you go out at any time on Sunday?’
He squeezed his eyes as if trying to see through that morning-after blur. ‘I might’ve.’
‘Not good enough,’ Diamond said. ‘Did you use your motorbike?’
‘I always use the bike to get about.’
‘Try and remember. Did you drive out to Bradford on Avon?’
‘Why would I go there?’
‘You tell me. There was a sighting of a motorcyclist in Becky Addy Wood, near Bradford, on Sunday. Could that have been you?’
‘No chance,’ he said at once and with finality.
‘It’s well known to motorcyclists. They do motorcross there. Scrambling. Do you do that?’ It was a trick question from Diamond, the offer of an explanation for being there.
Royston wasn’t buying. ‘With my machine? You’re crazy.’
‘Recently cleaned, by the look of it,’ Diamond said.
‘That’s no crime. If you had a bike like that, you’d take a pride in it.’
This had not been as productive as Diamond would have liked. The boy had flinched a few times, when told (untruthfully) that Harry Tasker kept a written record of his beat patrols, when asked where he acquired his items for trading, and whether he’d ever dealt in firearms, but he’d put up an able defence.
They left the official way. The front gate opened for them.
‘What did you make of him?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg when they were on the road again.
‘Royston? Smart for seventeen. Cool, but scared underneath. There’s definitely something he doesn’t want us to find out, but I’m not sure if it’s as serious as murder.’
‘How about the father?’
‘He’s capable of killing. I’m sure of that.’
‘He’s got the firepower, as we now know,’ Diamond said. ‘The underground armoury has got to be reported. I’m afraid it’s going to look as if the boy blew the whistle on his father.’
‘Won’t Nuttall get arrested and put away before he can do anything about it?’
‘You can put someone like him away, but you can’t stop ugly things from happening. He has plenty of
