by James Raven
‘It’s a fucking mess,’ Beresford said as he arrived on the scene. ‘What the hell are we….’
But he didn’t get to finish the sentence because just then another shot rang out.
This time Renner did not fire through a window. The shot was confined to the inside of the house. It immediately gave rise to speculation that Renner had taken his own life. It was a common enough scenario. An armed felon is cornered and sees no way out other than suicide. But, of course, they couldn’t be sure. Maybe he had fired the shot to make them think that’s what had happened, so that he could get them to break cover and take down more police.
Temple grabbed the megaphone and moved along the pavement towards the house at a half-crouch. He made sure he remained screened by garden hedges and when he was close enough he put the megaphone to his mouth and spoke into it in a flat voice devoid of intonation. ‘Come out of the house, Mr Renner. There’s no escape. Disarm yourself and open the door.’
There was no response.
Temple took out his mobile and called Megan Trent’s home number. He let it ring for a full thirty seconds, but there was no answer. He retreated back along the pavement and spoke to Beresford and the head of the Tactical Firearms Unit. They decided to fire tear gas shells into the house through the windows. Then follow through with a frontal assault.
The signal was given a few minutes later. Guns popped and windows caved in. Smoke started to fill the inside of the house.
There was a lot of shouting and screaming as cops in masks charged forward. The front door was smashed in with a battering ram and men poured into the house.
It took them five minutes to announce that there was no longer a threat. But it was another ten minutes before Temple was able to enter the house.
CHAPTER 50
COLE RENNER WAS in the living room slumped on a leather sofa. There was no mistaking him even though his head was virtually severed from his shoulders.
His right hand still clutched the rifle he’d used to shoot himself in the throat. It was lying next to him on the sofa and Temple saw immediately that it was the same model as the one the sniper had been using.
Dark-coloured blood had exploded out of the gaping wound along with shreds of bone and dark gristle. His eyes stared ahead, glazed and expressionless. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out. The blood was everywhere: on his face, his clothes, the wall, the sofa, the carpet. He was wearing a white T-shirt, black jeans and a pair of casual brown shoes. There was stubble on his chin and it looked as though he hadn’t shaved in ages.
Temple stood in the small, grim room taking in the scene, his eyes smarting from what remained of the tear gas. The firearms officers had ascertained that there were no other persons in the house. And a quick search had determined that there were no explosive devices waiting to go off.
The room smelled strongly of blood and cordite. In one corner a large flat-screen television was switched on and showing BBC rolling news. They were still reporting on the sniper attack on the M4 and no doubt Renner would have seen the photograph of himself and realized the game was up.
Temple’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He was glad it was all over and that Lance Corporal Cole Renner no longer posed a threat to the public. But at the same time it was a shame he was dead as now they wouldn’t be able to question him and might never know why he’d done it.
The house was gradually filling up with SOCOs. Temple and Beresford decided to explore before the forensic work got under way in earnest. They went into the downstairs kitchen which was small and drab, with fading lino on the floor and a back door to the overgrown garden. The downstairs bedroom, where Megan Trent presumably slept, was clean and tidy and the bed had been made. The fitted wardrobe was crammed with women’s clothes.
There was a landing at the top of the stairs. The loft hatch in the ceiling was open and an aluminium ladder had been lowered. A police officer was up there checking it out.
‘It’s a shared loft space with the house next door,’ he said when he appeared through the opening and saw Temple and Beresford looking up at him. ‘But it’s virtually empty and there’s nothing up here but a few boxes of junk.’
‘Leave them be,’ Temple said. ‘Forensics will need to go through them.’
To the left of the landing was a bathroom and to the right a door that gave access to the studio flat that Renner had been renting. The flat was pretty basic and consisted of a tiny living room with a built-in kitchenette and a bedroom. In the bedroom they found a treasure trove of evidence linking Renner to the sniper attacks.
A rucksack similar to the one being carried by the man in the CCTV footage was hanging off the back of a chair. Inside was a box of .338 cartridges and a can of red spray paint. In one of the bedside drawers they discovered a fold-away map of Britain’s motorway network and the locations of the four sniper attacks were marked with red felt-tip pen. There was also a fifth mark around a spot on the M40 near Bicester.
‘There are no more after that,’ Temple said. ‘I wonder why he decided to stop there.’
Beresford shrugged. ‘Maybe he just hadn’t got around to selecting any more targets.’
In the free-standing wardrobe they came across an anorak with a hood, a few shirts and three pairs of shoes. Under the bed was a battered suitcase filled with documents and photograph albums and a range of personal belongings such as old watches and books. But there wasn’t much else in the flat. No laptop computer, no diary, no journal containing an explanation of his motives.
In that respect it was a disappointing outcome. But Temple wasn’t going to let that spoil the fact that they had finally brought Cole Renner’s reign of terror to an end.
Crowds quickly gathered at either end of Purbeck Road. A police officer with a video camera was recording the scene while another was taking photographs. This was now routine on major incidents.
Other officers started calling at every house in the street to reassure frightened residents and explain to them what was going on.
Dr Frank Matherson, the pathologist, arrived to examine the body and formally pronounce Renner dead.
‘He probably pulled the trigger with his thumb,’ he told Temple. ‘It’s an awkward way to kill yourself but usually does the trick.’
He said he would carry out a post-mortem first thing the following morning, but did not expect to come up with any surprises.
Before long the area was packed with newspaper reporters and television camera crews. DCS Vickery turned up late morning and made a beeline for Temple who was standing outside the house briefing a couple of his detectives.
‘So I missed all the fun,’ Vickery said with a broad grin before he went on to congratulate Temple on bringing the case to an end.
‘It could have gone better,’ Temple said. ‘Renner’s dead and an officer was shot.’
‘Well, I’ve just been told the officer’s condition is not serious,’ Vickery said. ‘He suffered a shoulder wound. A couple of inches to the right and it would have been a different story. As for Renner, well I never expected him to give himself up anyway.’
Temple gave Vickery an account of how it had all come about.
‘Megan Trent is at the station,’ he said. ‘We need to get a formal statement from her and explain that she needs to find alternative accommodation for a while.’
‘I suppose she’s in line for the reward then,’ Vickery said. ‘Last I heard it had reached just over two and a half million.’
‘She’s already asked me about that.’
Vickery shrugged. ‘Who can blame her? I for one won’t begrudge her a penny of it. Christ only knows how many more people would have been killed if Renner had survived beyond today.’
CHAPTER 51
TEMPLE WENT BACK to the station at noon, leaving Vickery and Beresford to stage an impromptu press conference in Purbeck Road. He was happy to shun the limelight in favour of getting his team together so that he could bring them up to date and thank them for all the work they
’d put in.
The mood in the incident room was buoyant. Someone had even cracked open a bottle of champagne. Temple accepted a glass and answered questions from those detectives who hadn’t been to the scene. He was told that DC Marsh had gone earlier to break the news of Renner’s death to his mother and father. The mother had taken it very badly apparently, but Renner senior had given the impression that he intended to cash in on his son’s notoriety.
Temple then called the hospital to check if Angel had heard the news. She had, of course, along with virtually everyone else in the country by that time.
‘I’m proud of you,’ she told him.
‘I’ll be in as soon as I can,’ he said.
‘Well, there’s no need to hurry. I’m actually feeling a bit better. And I’ve had a long chat with the doctor. He’s confident that I will eventually be able to go back to work.’
‘Of course you will. There’s never been any doubt in my mind.’
He told her he’d visit the hospital later and went to find Megan Trent, who’d spent the morning in one of the hospitality rooms. He told her what had happened and explained that for the foreseeable future her house would be a crime scene and she wouldn’t be able to live there. He expected her to be upset, but she wasn’t.
‘I’m glad the bastard is dead,’ she said. ‘I only wish I could have been there to see it.’
‘I’ll arrange for some of your belongings to be brought to you,’ Temple said. ‘Do you have any friends or relatives you can stay with?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t have any family. I was an only child. My dad’s dead and I lost touch with my mum years ago.’
‘What about friends?’
‘Most of my pals are living in flats the size of cardboard boxes. None of them can put me up.’
‘In that case we’ll sort out accommodation at a local hotel for you,’ Temple said. ‘We’ll want you to stay in Southampton in the short term.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ she said.
‘Are you sure there isn’t someone we can call? Someone who could come and stay with you.’
‘I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being by myself.’
‘I’m afraid you can expect a lot of attention from the media,’ he said. ‘Your name is already out there as the owner of the house. And it won’t take them long to find out that it was your information that led us to the motorway sniper and so you’re entitled to the reward.’
She stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘Is it really over two million pounds?’
He smiled. ‘Two and half million at the last count.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. It’s so much money’
‘Not in this context,’ he said. ‘Thanks to you, Cole Renner won’t be killing any more people on our motorways.’
He left her then and got a junior detective named Royce to get a formal statement from her.
‘Get her a room at one of the better hotels,’ he said. ‘I think she deserves it.’
Temple divided the rest of the afternoon between paperwork, meetings and liaising with forensics. At least there was no need to prepare for a major trial. In that respect Renner’s death was a good result.
It would have taken weeks to get the evidence together to ensure that the bastard went down for life. The task now was to make sure they hadn’t missed anything and to get the answers to some of the big questions – like why a young squaddie in the British army had suddenly turned into a homicidal maniac.
The team retreated to the pub at six after Vickery and Beresford announced that they were buying. Temple agreed to go along for a quick one before visiting the hospital.
He found it strange to be back in the pub where this nightmare week had started. It was still uncomfortably fresh in his mind – the news that there had been a bad crash on the M27 and then the call from Beresford telling him to go to the scene.
‘Cheer up, Jeff,’ Vickery said as he sidled up to him at the bar. ‘It’s over. Your life can get back to normal.’
Temple held up his pint. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘And just so you know the task force will be officially dismantled tomorrow,’ Vickery said. ‘It’ll be up to you guys to sort things out down here.’
‘What about you?’
‘They want me to oversee the Hussain case. There’s a hell of a lot of work to be done on it.’
‘Makes sense,’ Temple said. Then he held out his hand for Vickery to shake. ‘Until the next time then.’
Vickery grinned. ‘Until the next time.’
Temple left the pub half an hour later and went straight to the hospital. Angel was excited to see him and she wanted to know everything that had happened during the day. He settled into the chair and told her. It wasn’t until he’d finished that she shared her good news with him.
‘I had more tests this afternoon,’ she said. ‘And guess what? The clot’s shrunk slightly. The thinners appear to be working.’
Temple beamed a smile. ‘That’s terrific news.’
‘I know. And the doctor reckons that at this rate it could be gone completely in a few weeks.’
Temple could hardly believe it. It felt as though a ten-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was the perfect end to a horrible week and that night when Temple got home he treated himself to a large whisky before going to bed. He slept like a log for the first time since Monday.
But that was only because he had no inkling of what was going to happen the next day.
CHAPTER 52
Temple woke up early. By 7 a.m. he was shaved and showered and on his second cup of coffee.
Outside it was a bright Sunday morning. The sun had made its first appearance of the week and the sky was pristine blue. The weather perfectly reflected the mood of the nation.
The death of the motorway sniper was getting the full treatment on TV and in the newspapers. There was joy and relief that the nightmare was finally over. People living in Purbeck Road were interviewed and they described how the police had descended on their street. Megan Trent was frequently mentioned, but no one had yet spoken to her. Her neighbours described her as a quiet woman who kept to herself and none of them knew much about her.
Beresford popped up on every television channel along with Hampshire’s Chief Constable. They announced that ballistics experts had confirmed that the rifle Renner had used to kill himself was the same one used in the sniper attacks. And that he had stolen it from an army base in Wiltshire. They also revealed that shells and motorway maps had been found in his bedroom. And they mentioned for the first time that Renner’s motorbike had turned up at the scene of the last attack on the M4.
Some serious questions were also being asked, though. An MP had demanded an investigation into security at military armouries. He wanted to know how Renner had managed to steal a high-velocity rifle so easily and how often such things happened. Two newspapers focused on the problem of disaffected and battle-scarred soldiers. They pointed out that Cole Renner was not the first soldier to go on a deadly rampage and that ex-servicemen formed the largest group in Britain’s prisons. The vast majority had been convicted of violent crimes.
Temple knew that Renner would be written about and analysed for years to come. He had earned himself the dubious distinction of being one of the country’s most notorious mass-murderers.
After a cereal breakfast, Temple set out for the office. He spent a couple of hours answering emails and pulling together his report. Then at lunchtime he went to Purbeck Road to check on the progress being made by the SOCOs.
People were still gathered behind the police cordons at either end of the street and the media were very much in evidence.
The technicians continued to pore over every inch of the house. In Renner’s bedroom they’d found a writing pad containing scribbled notes about each of the attack locations. There were references to bridges, escape routes and the distances from motorway embankments to places he could leave his car or motorbike.
>
‘There’s something I want to show you,’ said John Samuels, the officer in charge of the crime scene. He was a surly, muscular guy with jug-handle ears. He gestured for Temple to follow him out on to the upstairs landing.
‘Take a look at that,’ he said, pointing to a tiny dark stain on the grey carpet about half the size of a 5p coin. ‘We spotted it this morning. It’s blood and it matches Renner’s. There’s another one on the stairs that’s barely visible to the naked eye and another on the loft ladder. What I can’t figure out is how they got there. We know that Renner wouldn’t have been able to move after he shot himself. And the spray from the impact was confined to the living room.’
‘Is it fresh blood?’ Temple asked.
Samuels nodded. ‘No older than yesterday.’
‘So maybe he cut himself shaving and the blood dripped from his chin,’ Temple said.
‘I put that to Matherson. He says there are no cuts on Renner’s face or body.’
‘That’s strange,’ Temple said. ‘What about a nosebleed or something?’
‘Maybe, but it seems unlikely.’
‘So can you explain it?’
Samuels shrugged. ‘Well, it could be that someone was standing close to him when he shot himself. Whoever it was would have got blood on their clothes from the spray. Then some of the blood could have dripped on to the floor when that person went upstairs.’
‘But Renner was alone in the house at the time,’ Temple said. ‘Or at least that’s what we assumed. And the front and back doors were locked so there was no way out.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ Samuels said.
Temple wrinkled his brow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve probably been told already that this property shares loft space with the house next door. The one to the left. There’s no partition wall in between. It’s not uncommon in terraced houses built in the sixties and seventies.’