Greater Wessex Police almost exactly five months ago. Again, I stress this information does not imply any wrongdoing and I must tell you the officer’s name will not be released to you.’
He paused again, straightened a cufflink, knew he had the journalists waiting, exactly where he wanted them.
‘But I can disclose to you this,’ Whiting hissed. ‘The marksman who shot dead the man tonight is the same one who fired the fatal shots five months ago.’
It was just after midnight when Dan finally got home. He slid the key into the lock, softly opened the door and just managed to get his hands around Rutherford’s snout before the dog could start barking out his welcoming delight. The neighbours wouldn’t appreciate that, it was bad enough the antisocial hours he kept himself. He patted and stroked the Alsatian as he whirled mute around him, then pushed him off and watched him scrabble around the corner of the flat and down the concrete steps to the back garden.
He’d left a tape at the studios with the pictures they’d shot in Saltash, along with a voice track and script for the TV breakfast bulletins. Even now, back at home, he still couldn’t chase from his head what had happened. A great story was unfolding. Perhaps even a scandal. It’d certainly keep him busy for a few days.
Dan knew he was tired, but didn’t feel it. He’d have to be up early tomorrow, to get into the office to look up their coverage of the last shooting before setting off for Saltash and whatever developments the day would bring. He had to get some sleep, but there was little hope with these thoughts buzzing in his mind. They were giving him a false energy. He needed to release them.
Rutherford scrabbled back up the steps. ‘Fancy a quick run, dog?’ Dan whispered to the Alsatian, grabbing him around the neck. He threw his shirt and suit on the bed in the spare room, donned his trainers, rummaged in the hallway cupboard for Rutherford’s lead and they walked over the road to HartleyPark.
He released the dog and watched him sprint off along the line of lime and oak trees, then turn and dash back. Dan started jogging, Rutherford cantering beside him, stopping occasionally to sniff out a scent in the hedgerow. ‘Ten laps will do us,’ he called to the dog. ‘We’ve got to get some decent sleep tonight.’
By the end of the first circuit, he knew their midnight run was a good idea, could feel the tension leaving him, the thoughts quietening as he went through them.
So … a police marksman had shot dead two people in five months. It could be a coincidence of course, just a man doing his job. But experience had taught him not to believe in coincidence. The police were certainly suspicious, or why bring in the IPCA so quickly to investigate tonight’s shooting?
He’d managed a quick chat with Adam as he drove back to the office. ‘I can’t say anything, Dan, it’s an IPCA investigation. But, if I could … well, you can see what the talk in the force is, can’t you? There’s real concern at the highest level. Maybe a rogue officer got through the firearms selection. Maybe he’s just a little too keen on that gun he’s been given.’
El was relishing the story. Dan had left him fondly imagining ‘Police Killer’ headlines, with the pictures he’d taken splashed over the front pages.
‘Of course, what we really need to find out is the marksman’s name,’ Dan had said, trying not to make it sound like the suggestion he shouldn’t be making. ‘That, and get a picture of him. Then we could find out about his past and talk to people who know him, get them to tell us what he’s like. It’d be incredibly lucrative … if someone could get a picture of him.’
The photographer smiled in that sleazy way and stroked the long lens of his camera.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he sighed. ‘I think El has an important mission to undertake, one that may require some deep undercover work. It’ll be a tough one to crack, but
He paused again, straightened a cufflink, knew he had the journalists waiting, exactly where he wanted them.
‘But I can disclose to you this,’ Whiting hissed. ‘The marksman who shot dead the man tonight is the same one who fired the fatal shots five months ago.’
It was just after midnight when Dan finally got home. He slid the key into the lock, softly opened the door and just managed to get his hands around Rutherford’s snout before the dog could start barking out his welcoming delight. The neighbours wouldn’t appreciate that, it was bad enough the antisocial hours he kept himself. He patted and stroked the Alsatian as he whirled mute around him, then pushed him off and watched him scrabble around the corner of the flat and down the concrete steps to the back garden.
He’d left a tape at the studios with the pictures they’d shot in Saltash, along with a voice track and script for the TV breakfast bulletins. Even now, back at home, he still couldn’t chase from his head what had happened. A great story was unfolding. Perhaps even a scandal. It’d certainly keep him busy for a few days.
Dan knew he was tired, but didn’t feel it. He’d have to be up early tomorrow, to get into the office to look up their coverage of the last shooting before setting off for Saltash and whatever developments the day would bring. He had to get some sleep, but there was little hope with these thoughts buzzing in his mind. They were giving him a false energy. He needed to release them.
Rutherford scrabbled back up the steps. ‘Fancy a quick run, dog?’ Dan whispered to the Alsatian, grabbing him around the neck. He threw his shirt and suit on the bed in the spare room, donned his trainers, rummaged in the hallway cupboard for Rutherford’s lead and they walked over the road to HartleyPark.
He released the dog and watched him sprint off along the line of lime and oak trees, then turn and dash back. Dan started jogging, Rutherford cantering beside him, stopping occasionally to sniff out a scent in the hedgerow. ‘Ten laps will do us,’ he called to the dog. ‘We’ve got to get some decent sleep tonight.’
By the end of the first circuit, he knew their midnight run was a good idea, could feel the tension leaving him, the thoughts quietening as he went through them.
So … a police marksman had shot dead two people in five months. It could be a coincidence of course, just a man doing his job. But experience had taught him not to believe in coincidence. The police were certainly suspicious, or why bring in the IPCA so quickly to investigate tonight’s shooting?
He’d managed a quick chat with Adam as he drove back to the office. ‘I can’t say anything, Dan, it’s an IPCA investigation. But, if I could … well, you can see what the talk in the force is, can’t you? There’s real concern at the highest level. Maybe a rogue officer got through the firearms selection. Maybe he’s just a little too keen on that gun he’s been given.’
El was relishing the story. Dan had left him fondly imagining ‘Police Killer’ headlines, with the pictures he’d taken splashed over the front pages.
‘Of course, what we really need to find out is the marksman’s name,’ Dan had said, trying not to make it sound like the suggestion he shouldn’t be making. ‘That, and get a picture of him. Then we could find out about his past and talk to people who know him, get them to tell us what he’s like. It’d be incredibly lucrative … if someone could get a picture of him.’
The photographer smiled in that sleazy way and stroked the long lens of his camera.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he sighed. ‘I think El has an important mission to undertake, one that may require some deep undercover work. It’ll be a tough one to crack, but
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