Cop to Corpse Read Free Page A

‘There was a noise like an alarm down in the street a short time ago, or I think there was. It woke me. Then I drifted off again.’
    ‘How do we get into the basement?’
    ‘The what? Do you mean the garden flat? The stairs in the hall.’
    The two policemen find their way down. The door is locked.
    ‘Force it, Steve.’
    Sergeant Stillman aims a kick at the lock. The door gives at the second try. ‘Shouldn’t we get armed assistance?’
    Lockton doesn’t listen. ‘Give me your torch.’
    He’s already inside, still living his dream of instant fame. The place has the smell of long disuse and the lights don’t work. He senses that the sniper isn’t here. Through what must be the living room – though the place is unfurnished – he can see a small sunroom, too poky to call a conservatory. Beyond is the garden, overgrown, a fine crop of stinging nettles waist-high and bedraggled with the overnight dew.
    He steps through the sunroom and notes that the door isn’t bolted from inside. Not a huge security risk, but any landlord worthy of the name would surely take the trouble to secure an empty flat.
    If nothing else, he’ll get a view of Walcot Street from the end of the garden. Parting the nettles, he moves on, following the torch beam, and then stops.
    ‘Jesus.’
    Ahead, resting against the railing, is an assault rifle.

2
    ‘D on’t touch it.’
    Sergeant Stillman knows his crime scene drill. You don’t handle evidence. You don’t even go near it.
    Like a kid caught at the fridge door, Lockton swings around and shows the palms of his hands. He has stopped short of handling the gun, but only just. This is his find. The excitement is all over his features. He tries to sound cool. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Steve.’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘Quite some find.’
    As if by mutual consent, they stand for a moment, in awe that the sniper was here in this small overgrown garden.
    Stillman says, ‘We’d better report this.’
    ‘Quit telling me my job.’
    There’s tension between these two. They were sergeants together for a long time. Stillman is experienced, steady, able and, if truth were told, more savvy than Lockton. He just didn’t bother to go for the promotion exam.
    Rank must count here, rank and procedure.
    ‘Our first duty,’ Lockton says as if he’s lecturing recruits at Peel Centre, ‘is to assess the scene. The sniper obviously left without his weapon. But why? All the action was down in the street. He should have felt secure up here.’
    ‘That shop alarm went off.’
    Bloody obvious. The thing must have been loud even this far off. It was ear-splitting at the scene and Lockton has already dismissed it from his mind. He says a grudging, ‘Okay.’ And tries to gloss overhis lapse. ‘When you’re in charge of an operation this big, taking decisions, your thoughts are all about what happens next. Getting back to the sniper, he hears the alarm and leaves in a hurry, not wanting to be seen with the weapon.’
    Stillman says nothing.
    ‘That’s the way I see it,’ Lockton adds.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘You don’t sound convinced.’
    ‘I’m thinking if it was me, I wouldn’t leave the gun here. Maybe he means to come back for it.’
    This is another thought that hasn’t dawned on Lockton. ‘Just what I was about to say.’ A gleam comes into his eye. ‘We could trap him.’
    ‘Just you and me? I don’t think so. We need back-up.’
    Lockton ploughs on as if he hasn’t heard. ‘To come and go, he’d need a key to the front door. He must have got hold of one to let himself in.’
    Stillman shakes his head, disturbed by what is being proposed.
    Lockton thinks the issue in doubt must be his theory about the key. ‘Or he could have walked in when one of the residents was coming or going. Or a friend of a resident. In places like this people don’t necessarily know each other. You hold the door open for someone else thinking they must be from one of the other flats.’
    ‘Someone else with a