Rope Enough - The Romney and Marsh Files #1 Page 21

  ‘That would make it not a fake weapon then,’ said Grimes.

  Romney nodded as he cracked his window and lit a cigarette. The wind howled in the narrow opening as the smoke was whipped away. ‘If Park is as guilty as I’m sure he is that makes him a particularly nasty piece of work. And particularly nasty pieces of work don’t get rid of that sort of hardware once they’ve got it, especially as it was probably hard to come by.’

  ‘Where the hell would he have got a real gun from?’

  ‘I hope to be able to ask him that, but first I need it.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s up here somewhere?’

  ‘It’s just a hunch. A long shot. I think that they might have spent the time we were looking for them hiding out up here in one of the old gun-emplacements.’ Grimes nodded. ‘If I’m right and Park did see Roper off the cliff at the point of the gun, why not keep it hidden up here? If it does get found so long as it’s clean, Park’s got nothing to worry about. It can’t be connected to him. If he’s hidden it well enough then it’ll be secure for him for when he needs it next.’

  Grimes thought it through, ‘But if you find it and it’s clean, how can you tie it to Park?’

  Romney smiled. ‘Let’s find it first.’

  Romney produced and opened up a detailed OS map of the area. He spread what he needed of it on the dashboard between them.

  ‘Roper went off here,’ he said, indicating a crude red ink cross. ‘This is the closest structure marked on the map.’ He pointed to a symbol that indicated the location was an historic monument. ‘You know it?’

  Grimes studied it for a moment. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll try there first.’

  ‘It’s a needle in a haystack, guv. I mean, if it is up here, it doesn’t have to be in one of the derelict structures. He could have buried it anywhere.’

  ‘I know,’ said Romney. ‘But Roper went off about midnight. It would have been dark and wet and cold up here. And lonely. My guess is that Park wouldn’t have had the tools to go digging a hole. And he probably wouldn’t have wanted to hang about in the weather and the dark. He would have wanted to find somewhere recognisable, somewhere that he could easily find his way back to in a day or so. I doubt he’d have imagined the police would be up here looking for it less than forty-eight hours later.’

  ‘With respect, guv, that’s a lot of what ifs and maybes. Then again,’ he added with a resigned tone, ‘that’s police work for you. Don’t you think that we could have done with a few more in the search party?’

  Romney shook his head. ‘If we find it, we’re leaving it.’ Grimes gave Romney a questioning look. ‘At the moment I don’t have anything to convict him with. We find the gun, we leave it here and let our boy go. Keep an eye on him, and sooner or later he’ll be back, especially if he’s worried that he didn’t hide it very well in his rush.’

  ‘And we’ll be waiting?’

  ‘Someone will be. That’s why there’s only you and me. Wherever we look, I don’t want the ground ending up looking like someone’s been herding coppers. We’ve got to be careful. I don’t want to leave a trace.’

  ‘You want him badly don’t you, guv?’

  ‘Yes, I do. He’s a serial rapist and a murderer. He is depraved, and he has no conscience for his actions. He’s a sociopath, and he’s only twenty-one. He has to go away before he wrecks other lives, which he will. I’ve no doubt whatsoever. It’s in his eyes.’

  An icy wind cut an unimpeded swathe across the top of the cliffs, bullying the scattered low gorse bushes and throwing gulls around, like discarded shopping bags. The men stood at the rear of the car pulling on wellington boots and fastening coats. Grimes looked up into the low cloud and picked out an umbrella.

  ‘In this wind?’ said Romney. ‘You saw what happened to Mary Poppins?’

  ‘It’s going to rain.’

  ‘Then we’re going to get wet,’ said Romney.

  Grimes waited and watched as Romney pulled on a thick waterproof coat, matching waterproof trousers, hat and gloves thinking that he would have liked a bit more notice to kit himself out for a bracing stroll on the top of the world in winter. He stuffed his hands into the thin pockets of his flimsy and aged waterproof jacket and they set off, bending into the stiff breeze.

  They were soon off the tarmac of the car park and heading single file along a narrow muddy footpath. The well-worn track followed a curved outcrop – a perilously long drop just feet away – and then descended steeply before rising at a similar angle to level out for some distance.

  Romney set a pace that Grimes found difficult to maintain between wiping at the dew-drops from his nose and his watering eyes. The surface beneath their feet was both slippery and sucking. It was as though the elements and the geography were making sport of them. Not another living soul could be seen other than a few hardy ponies sheltering together. Grimes was soon wishing he’d been on the inside detail pulling apart a bath panel or going through a chest of drawers. The wind and terrain made conversation impossible as they pushed on to the first possibility.

  The concrete and brick squat structure, incongruous in the surrounding greenery, sat jutting out from the contour of the land – a sentry of the last war that had been mercilessly battered by the elements since. A thick, reinforced flat concrete roof overhung the gaping viewing aperture beneath. Seventy years ago men sheltered here, their eyes and binoculars trained on the skies for airborne enemies.

  The concrete shell was pitted and chipped as rain and frost had penetrated and combined to blow the surface layers away. Rusting iron-work carved up the grass: tracks that the anti-aircraft guns would have swung around on. The only sign of the twenty-first century was the Graffiti of a modern disrespectful youth.

  It was completely open to the elements, which blew in unchecked from the continent, people and any stray grazing animals. The evidence of all three was there for all to see. Weathering, rubbish, more graffiti – who was supposed to see this urban scrawl up here? Didn’t it miss the point of graffiti? – and the ubiquitous sheep shit that characterised abandoned country wartime installations.

  They began by scouting around the outside, investigating any loose masonry and any likely concealed pockets in the soil, but there was nothing. Inside they used torches to peek into the darkest recesses. They kicked beer cans and scattered detritus of unhealthy picnics. In the shadows, Grimes stood in something soft that released a foul odour. He shone his torchlight down at his boot and was disgusted to see the brown excrement of what looked like human faeces smeared up his instep.

  They rooted around for several minutes before Romney broke the silence. ‘It’s not here.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it, guv,’ said Grimes, preoccupied with wiping his boot on the turf that had sprouted to carpet the inside.

  ‘Christ what’s that stink?’ said Romney.

  ‘Some dirty bugger parked his breakfast in the shadows and I stood in it.’

  ‘That could be evidence,’ said Romney.

  ‘It’s evidence that whoever it was should see a doctor. Must have been blocked up for weeks.’

  Romney took advantage of the shelter to smoke, but the smell from Grimes’ boot was overpowering and nauseating and they soon moved off in search of the next structure, a similar but smaller building some half a mile further along.

  Grimes dragged behind trying to get the faeces out from the tread of his boots. His mood was not improved when he felt the light smattering of rain on his already frozen face.

  Romney entered the narrow opening of the structure as Grimes came alongside one of the small apertures that served as a window. A pair of sheltering pigeons, startled by Romney’s entrance, exploded in a mass of thumping wings and feathers through the unglazed opening. Grimes reared up, slipped and fell backwards to land on his backside on the sodden earth with an angry cry. Romney hurried out of the structure believing that Grimes had found something only to find the man struggling to right himself. Romney was fa
ced with a full view of Grimes’ mired backside.

  ‘Everything all right?’ called Romney, over the noise of the wind.

  ‘Fine, guv,’ shouted Grimes. ‘Lost my footing that’s all.’

  They scoured the building inside and out, worrying any stone or surface that looked unstable or loose. But again, they were forced to accept that no weapon was hidden there.

  They found some temporary shelter out of the worst of the weather.

  ‘Shit,’ said Romney. ‘I felt certain we’d turn it up.’ He retrieved the folded map from his inside pocket and wrestled with it as the wind played around them. Grimes pulled at his sodden backside. ‘The next one is about a mile along the cliff,’ said Romney, ‘although we’ll be getting further and further from where Roper went off. I’m not sure that Park would have gone so far that way in the dark.’

  Grimes took the map from Romney. ‘It’s not just war emplacements up here, guv. This here,’ he said, jabbing at a symbol on the map with a digit as cold as a frozen fish finger, ‘is an ancient holy site. It’s just a pile of rocks now, but it’s somewhere you could easily conceal a pistol and it would be simple to find the place again.’

  Romney checked his watch. ‘All right, we’ll have a quick look before we try the other gun-emplacement.’

  They traipsed the forty or so metres in land, away from the cliff edge. Grimes description of the site was accurate, although he could have mentioned the brambles and weeds that made what was little more than a small rockery almost invisible. Even before they arrived, Romney was wondering if they should abandon the idea in favour of more likely places. He doubted that Park would have known about this place.

  The rain had gone from negligible to determined and wetter. It came at them at forty-five degrees. The air around them resembled the falling to earth of a volley of arrows. It cascaded off their clothing and sought out openings in the seams.

  Feeling responsible for the detour, Grimes strode diligently around the jumble of stones intent on exploring it completely, or at least giving that impression. Romney was looking over thinking about the time and light that they were wasting when Grimes beckoned.

  ***

  38

  Romney left Grimes in the station locker room drying off, changing and feeling understandably pleased with himself for his discovery. Romney took the stairs feeling justifiably smug that his theories and predictions had borne fruit. Their find would provide him with a position of strength from which to negotiate with his senior officer over what to do next. It might also offer a means with which to attract and potentially snare Park.

  Romney also keenly felt the satisfaction that can only be gained when a wealth of experience and professional judgement combines to provide an instinct that delivers – like a trader who sells the day before the market collapses.

  Before letting Superintendent Falkner know he was back he gave Marsh another call. She and her team had been at their diversionary task for a good few hours. As expected, they’d found nothing. Romney told her to call it a day.

  Falkner welcomed a short-notice consultation with Romney. He’d sensed from his inspector’s voice on the phone that he had some good news at last.

  Falkner listened intently as Romney, his hair and clothing still damp from his soaking, provided details about the discovery. When Romney had finished, Falkner sat back with his arms on the rests of his executive chair. A frown creased his forehead.

  ‘For a start, well done,’ he said. ‘That’s a good find.’

  ‘Peter deserves the credit for that, sir.’

  Falkner nodded. ‘I’m not happy about you leaving it there, though. You should have discussed that with me first, while you were there. Imagine how we will look if that disappears. I don’t like it, Tom.’

  ‘Hear me out, sir, please. That’s all I’m asking. If you still don’t like it, I’ll go straight back up there and get it myself.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Yesterday, I knew Park was guilty, but I had nothing on him, nothing that would get him to court. Now I have something – something that can tie him to Peter Roper’s death, possibly also implicate him in the rapes.’

  ‘That’s stretching things. You don’t yet, do you? What you have is a weapon lying under a rock somewhere. You cannot be a hundred percent certain that it was Park and not Roper who put it there, can you?’

  ‘That’s why it needs to stay there. If we remove it we also remove our only hope of success, our only chance of linking Park to anything. As soon as we release him, Park will believe we found nothing to hold him with. He’ll go home and find out that we’ve taken his place apart and found nothing. He’ll feel smug. He’ll feel he’s won. Sooner or later, he’ll go back for the weapon. I can read him.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t go back for it?’

  ‘Give me a week. Authorise the surveillance. If he hasn’t been tempted back in that time, we’ll review things.’

  Falkner drummed his fingers on the armrests as the cogs in his mind did the maths, and he compared the rough figure against a possible result. ‘You’ve had a good run on this, Tom. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done a good job.’

  ‘With respect, sir, that will all amount to nothing if we don’t make an arrest, if we let him get away with it.’

  ‘Could we replace the weapon with something else?’

  Romney shook his head. ‘I need him to get it in his hands. I need him to be caught with it. Say we sneak up on him, arrest him, just as he uncovers a toy. The CPS would never even see it to court. I can hear him now. I was just walking on the cliffs with my grief when I saw the package buried under some stones. I uncovered it and the police jumped out from behind the bushes and arrested me for finding a water pistol. That would be our last bite at that cherry.’

  ‘What surveillance do you propose?’

  Romney sensed that Falkner was warming to his idea. ‘We station a pair of watchers up on the cliffs. There’s plenty of good cover. Not only will they be looking out for Park, but they can keep an eye on the pistol as well. We’ll also have someone at all times keeping an eye on his flat. The moment he is sighted, day or night, I’ll be there.’

  ‘And if he gets his hands on a loaded gun with you in his way, what do you think will happen?’

  ‘All he could do is throw it at me. If it’ll swing it, sir, I’m owed a couple of days leave. I don’t mind taking it to use for this.’

  Falkner smiled broadly. ‘That won’t be necessary, Tom. If this works you might want a couple of days off to celebrate.’

  ‘You’ll agree to it then?’

  ‘I’ll authorise the overtime till Friday. If he’s made no move for the gun by then we pick it up and go with the Roper text confession. Leave Park for another day. At least we’ll have tried, and we’ll have tidied things up for the bureaucrats. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Romney. All things considered, he thought that Falkner, ever stingy with the company purse, was being quite generous. The show of support gave Romney confidence in his plan.

  *

  Marsh returned with her search party early afternoon. Apart from her – the only one who knew the probable futility and real purpose of their excursion before they left – they looked a defeated and dispirited lot. Romney gave them time to eat and drink something, and then called a meeting in the squad room. As protocol dictated Falkner had been invited.

  Being the station chief, Falkner was able to pick and choose the meetings to grace with his presence. Given the high profile nature of this particular case and the promise of some overtime, he was certain to attend. He knew some of the troops would be enthusiastic for the chance of a few hours overtime, and he wanted them to see and hear that he had authorised it. Ever the political animal, thought Romney.

  When everyone was settled, Romney said, ‘I want to start by thanking everyone for their efforts and all the good police work that’s been done so far. It’s that that’s got us to this point. But it’s all goin
g to count for nothing if we don’t get a result. As I’m sure most of you understand, we’ve got what will eventually turn into a high-profile serial-rape case on our patch. At least it will be when the press get hold of it. I would like us, as I’m sure you all would, to be remembered as a station that solved it and apprehended the perpetrator.’ There were nods all round and noises of agreement.

  ‘All the evidence points to this being a very unusual case. Recent developments suggest that the rapes were carried out by two individuals working together to help each other fulfil their fantasies. One of those individuals is dead: Peter Roper. The other is Carl Park. I have good reason to believe that Park is not only guilty of the rape of Claire Stamp and is an accessory in the rape of Jane Goddard, but that he is also responsible for the death of Roper. With Claire Stamp dead, we can’t touch him. With Roper dead there is no one to testify against him. Our only hope of getting him is if we can lull his ego into a sense of false security. To that end, Superintendent Falkner has agreed to sanction some overtime in a surveillance operation.’ Heads turned towards Falkner, and he basked for a moment in their appreciation.

  Romney said, ‘Park is in custody, but in two hours I’m going to release him. I have to release him. And then we have six days – six days in which we give him enough rope to hang himself.’

  Romney spent the next fifteen minutes detailing his proposals, taking suggestions and fielding questions. He was both pleased and proud that, to an individual, his team were apparently united in the common purpose.

  Marsh and Romney worked together to organise a surveillance rota. At the appointed time they went together to the holding cells to oversee the release of Park.

  When Park was brought out to sign for his things, Romney was waiting for him. Park’s eyes were sunken and rimmed with black circles. He moved like someone dog-tired, someone who hadn’t slept for a long time.

  When he saw Romney, he said, ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘You’re free to go that’s what.’

  Park found the energy for a shallow smile. Taking advantage of his little audience, he said, ‘I told you. I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent.’