But he had the opportunity of another look inside the basement flat, which was unlocked. Forensics had been through on the first day, so he didn’t expect to find a vital missing clue. Yet it was helpful to stroll through the rooms imagining how the killer could have passed several hours waiting to go into the garden and position the rifle for the shooting of Harry Tasker.
The garden, when he ventured outside, he found transformed. It had been levelled of those tall weeds, so he couldn’t easily picture the second phase of the crime, the attack on Ken Lockton. Somewhere here, or inside the flat, the carefully executed plan went wrong. The killer had almost been caught red-handed — or with the G36 in hand — when Lockton arrived with Sergeant Stillman. Then it was a case of lying low, waiting for an opportunity to escape. Lockton had dismissed Stillman and gone to the front door with him. The sniper had retrieved the rifle, skulked in the undergrowth until the chance came to make a dent in Lockton’s head with the stock. In the minutes that followed, nobody else came and the chance of escape was possible and ultimately simple.
Well-planned? There had been a plan, certainly, but luck must have played a part as well. He walked to the railings and looked down into Walcot Street, busy with the lunchtime crowd. Difficult to visualise the same street at 4 A.M. on Sunday morning with just a lone policeman almost at the end of his beat, passing under the lamplight.
Calculating and cold-blooded.
Diamond gave a soft sigh for the death of his brother officer and the way he’d been ambushed.
Back in the nick, the desk sergeant told him he was wanted in the interview suite.
‘Wanted who by?’
‘Mr. Gull. The interpreter arrived.’
He glanced at his watch. Not much time.
In interview room two, Gull greeted him with, ‘Been out to lunch? All I have time for is a fucking sandwich.’
‘Is that better than egg mayo?’
The joke was lost on Gull. ‘Pull up a chair.’
‘I may have to leave shortly. You can’t turn up late to a funeral.’
As usual, Gull was oblivious of Diamond’s needs. ‘This is Polly. She’s English.’
The reason he’d said so was because the young woman seated opposite was wearing the hijab. She looked young and confident.
‘Married to an Iranian living here,’ she explained.
Gull was impatient to begin. ‘I’ve filled her in on the background.’
The prisoner was brought in, his bored expression suggesting he was resigned to yet another unproductive session. But the hours in custody had improved his appearance. The red-raw look from living outdoors had toned down to a passably healthy glow and a few hours’ sleep had made his eyes brighter and less sunken. He looked younger, closer to twenty than twenty-five. The whole face lit up when he saw Polly and she said something to him in Persian.
Miracle of miracles, he spoke some words back.
‘He is Iranian,’ she said, ‘from Tehran.’
Jack Gull didn’t have the grace to acknowledge that Diamond and his team had done their homework and got it right. There wasn’t even a glance Diamond’s way. ‘We’d better issue the caution, then.’
Polly was well organised. She had a card ready in her hand with the words in the Persian language. Then she introduced Gull and Diamond.
‘And is he going to tell us his name?’ Diamond asked in the spirit of the Chinese proverb that when heaven drops a date, open your mouth.
She turned back to the prisoner and, wonder of wonders, got another response.
‘Hossain Farhadi, student,’ she was able to tell them.
Was this the breakthrough, tight lips willing to loosen up at last?
‘Student of which college?’
Polly listened to Farhadi’s answer and translated. ‘West Wiltshire Higher Education Institute, Bradford on Avon.’
Diamond felt the kind of lift you get from champagne.
‘As we already worked out,’ Gull said. ‘Does he know the college was closed down?’
Presently Polly was able to say, ‘Yes, and he and many other students who had come to England in good faith were left with nowhere to study. He tried other colleges and they wouldn’t consider him without a better knowledge of English.’
‘Tough tittie,’ Gull said.
Polly paused, while Farhadi said more.
‘He couldn’t return to Iran. He’d fled his homeland for political reasons. People disappear, are imprisoned, tortured and executed. The secret police took away two of his brothers and one of his friends three years ago and he hasn’t seen them since. He expected he would be safe in England.’
‘Pity England wasn’t safe from him,’ Gull muttered to Diamond.
The prisoner said some more and the translation followed.
‘He was on an official student visa and even though the college closed he intended to return to education later. So he was determined to stay at any cost. With the help of some other Iranians he obtained work as a casual labourer on farms mainly in West Wiltshire and Somerset. It was the kind of work he’d been doing as part of his education.’
‘Education, my arse,’ Gull said.
‘I don’t believe he knew it was a con,’ Polly said.
‘You’re being paid to translate, not give an opinion.’
Diamond said, ‘Be fair, Jack. She’s telling us the sense of what he’s said to her.’
Hossain Farhadi had started up again.
Polly translated. ‘He worked hard for many months and earned enough money to live. He gave up trying to find another course because he needed to put in the hours of work to pay for his food and rent. Then one day he was picking potatoes in the field and the police arrived. He and some others ran off and managed to hide, but several others were put in vans and driven away. He was told by his friends that they would be taken to something called — ’ She hesitated and looked across at Gull for help. ‘- an extermination centre?’
‘What the fuck …?’
‘Removal,’ Diamond said, ‘a removal centre.’
Polly shrugged. ‘In his country this means something more sinister. He was scared of being taken to such a place. He is still terrified you’ll take him there.’
‘Is he simple-minded?’ Gull asked her. ‘We don’t do that. Someone must have told him about deportation.’
‘That alarms him, too.’
‘He can forget about that,’ Gull said.
‘Can I tell him?’
‘Tell him we’ll hear what he’s got to say and then decide where to send him.’
The prisoner started speaking again and the English version followed.
‘The remaining students decided their best chance was to split up and go their separate ways. Some went to London, some to the Midlands. He decided to stay in the only part of the country he knew, the West, but on his own, survival was even more difficult. He’d lost his job and couldn’t communicate.’
‘He took to stealing?’ Diamond said.
‘The motorbike,’ Gull said. ‘Is he admitting to nicking that?’
‘Do you want me to ask him?’ Polly said, more to Diamond than Gull.
Diamond nodded. It could open the gate to the bigger charges.
They could see Farhadi frown as the question was put to him.
Gull took a photo of the bike from the folder in front of him and passed it across the table.
Farhadi took one glance and nodded. Then he continued speaking, but in shorter, more impassioned statements that Polly rendered into English in her even tone, as straightforwardly as if she were reading out instructions on assembling flat-pack furniture.
