Walking into the Ocean Read Online Free PDF Page A

right?”
    â€œThanks. I wonder if you could do me a favour. Is there a standard package of public material, even if only press material already in the can, on the recent assaults on the Devon cliffs?”
    â€œOh, yes, that’s available.” Hamm showed no surprise at the request. Had Maris not been clear with his staff about Peter’s narrow duties? “By the way, the papers up in Devon have dubbed him ‘the Rover.’” Hamm turned sombre and lowered his voice. “Tough case.”
    â€œHaving a tough time with it?” It wasn’t exactly a question. He was feeling mischievous. He hoped Hamm would expound further.
    â€œThey call him the Rover because he works up and down the coast. UNESCO has designated the Jurassic Coast a World Heritage Site. Some people figure that the Rover will stop once he reaches the end of it.”
    Even Hamm seemed to realize the silliness of this speculation, which was born of the need of every investigator to put some kind of frame around a rampaging killer. Peter guessed that the Task Force hadn’t made a lot of progress. As far as he knew, there had been three killings that appeared to be linked. Already the media had slapped a misleading label on the perp. J.J. McElroy would hate it and would forbid his officers using it, but Peter guessed that the name would stick. Throughout his career Peter had avoided the press, and he still saw no virtue in courting them. That was one advantage in letting Maris run both shows, he supposed.
    â€œWould that material be available now?” he asked.
    â€œOh, sure! I’ll need to have Services photocopy a package. I have to go up to the Kingsway, that’s a suburb north of town, to pin down a sighting reported by an old man. If you’re free about five, we could meet for a drink. Which hotel are you at?”
    â€œThe Delphine.”
    â€œThere’s a pub, the Crown, up the street from you. Let’s meet there at 5:00 p.m.”
    Peter nodded. He convinced himself that his end run around Maris was, at worst, a venial sin. If he had time later, he would find a Net feed and Google “The Rover.”

CHAPTER 3
    Peter left Hamm and tracked down Constable Willet in a cubicle by the south wall of the sprawling station. Willet was just finishing his lunch and preparing to head out on his afternoon beat. His massive proportions made it likely that it had been a large lunch. Unfortunately, his surplus fat tended to settle around his belly and across his shoulders, so that when he stood he loomed over Peter like an iceberg. He was just over fifty but in some ways seemed older than Peter. Management indulged him, allowing him to grow his yellow-grey hair to the collar and sport a thick, Teutonic moustache. Willet would die of a heart attack on the upward slope of a cobblestone Whittlesun street somewhere along his beat, and Maris would deliver a eulogy praising another workhorse Peeler who had died in harness.
    Peter understood why Maris had partnered Willet with him. He was the local constable, the man known and trusted in the neighbourhoods. Every police force had these characters. Willet could introduce Peter to the residents along the street where the Laskers had lived, and he would know the driving and walking routes to the Whittlesun beach fronts. And he would report every detail back to Maris.
    â€œGood morning, Guv’nor,” Willet said, even though it was after twelve. “I’m the one in charge of the Lasker house.”
    Ah, Peter thought, that’s the other reason I’m being hooked up with the constable. The Lasker residence was in his patrol area. He had taken the first call and he considered the crime scene his personal domain.
    Overweight though he was, Constable Willet raised no objection when Peter suggested they walk. The house keys jangled in Willet’s pocket as they made their way down the cobbled road one street over from the high street. Peter was