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then?’
    ‘Nothing. When I looked out the back again, the boss man wasn’t in sight.’
    Inwardly, he was cursing. She’d missed being a key witness to the assault on Ken Lockton. ‘What did you do – go back to bed?’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t have got to sleep again after an experience like that. I showered and got dressed.’
    He’d coaxed about as much as he was likely to get from Sherry Meredith. ‘Who lives above you?’
    ‘Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. They’re old.’
    ‘And above them?’
    ‘Mr. Willis, some kind of civil servant.’
    ‘How long have the old people lived here?’
    ‘Since it was built, I reckon.’
    ‘About 1800?’
    She giggled. ‘I could be wrong about that. A long time, for sure. They know everything about the place. They’re lovely, the sweetest people you could hope to have as neighbours. They take things in for me when I’m at work.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, no, I’ve just remembered.’
    ‘Something important?’
    ‘I have a Sunday job at Waitrose. Will I be allowed to go soon?’
    ‘A job doing what?’ He couldn’t picture her coping with the checkout.
    ‘Round the back, preparing chickens for the spit.’
    ‘And what do you do in the week?’
    ‘Cosmetics – in Jolly’s.’
    Out in the street in front of the Paragon, he briefed the scene-of-crime team who had just arrived and were getting into their blue protective suits. The vacant flat had to be gone over in case the sniper had spent time there. And there were two possible incidents in the garden to investigate. First, he suspected the sniper had been there and fired from the railing at the end. The spent cartridge cases might well be waiting to be found. In addition, he hoped for powder residue that might be used in evidence. Second, some time after the shooting, Ken Lockton had been hit over the head and there ought to be traces of his attacker and possibly the implement he’d used.
    The CSI team leader was confident of results until he saw the state of the garden. He commented that it looked as if a tank regiment had been through pursued by a herd of buffalo.
    Diamond wasn’t in a mood to smile. ‘Come on – it’s no size. It’s a postage stamp.’
    ‘A well-franked postage stamp.’
    He turned away, shaking his head.
    Keith Halliwell came down from interviewing the sweet old couple, the Murphys. They’d slept through everything until the firearms unit went through their flat. Hadn’t heard the shooting, or the sirens. The presence of four heavily armed men at their door had come as a strong surprise. The armed officers had failed to get across the reason for their visit. Sweet old Mr. Murphy kept a shillelagh behind the door. He’d bruised a few legs, he claimed. Probably the firearms lads were ashamed to admit to the assault.
    The old couple could be ruled out as principal witnesses, but they had intriguing information about the civil servant who lived above them. Sean Willis had occupied the top flat for two years He worked in the Ministry of Defence and belonged to a gun club in Devizes.
    This had to be followed up fast.
    ‘We’ll see him together,’ Diamond told Halliwell.
    They marched straight into Willis’s flat. There was splintered wood where the door had been forced. ‘Anyone about?’
    The tenant was slow in answering and when he did he was unwelcoming. ‘Who do you think you are, invading my home?’ Thirtyish, tall, lean, tanned, and with a black ponytail, Sean Willis wasn’t the popular image of a civil servant. Sunday gear for him was a sleeveless black top and matching chinos.
    Diamond told him who they were.
    ‘That doesn’t give you the right to walk in here without so much as a by your leave. I’ve taken photos.’
    ‘Of what?’ Diamond asked.
    ‘The evidence.’
    ‘Are you telling us you have evidence in here?’
    ‘Of the wreckage after your heavy mob went through my flat.’
    Diamond said in a few sharp words that a police officer had been murdered and he was making no