by Nigel Cooper
‘It’s about the Kramer twins’ case, sir.’
‘Go on,’ said Carver.
‘Well, I was reading through the interview transcripts with Stanton and there’s some inconsistencies, well, not exactly inconsistencies, but during his interviews there were parts where his answers were a little sketchy, vague, if you will. Especially when he was being questioned about the boys’ abduction from Priory Park, sir.’
‘I’m still listening.’
‘The thing is, I don’t think Stanton acted alone, I think there was someone else involved, maybe even two or three.’
‘Oh, what makes you say that?’
‘Well, I can’t quite put my finger on it, sir, but his caginess and what seemed like a lack of detail when he was asked about the abduction, especially the time of abduction. In a nutshell, I don’t think Stanton was the one who physically took the Kramer twins from the park, sir?’
‘Do you have any evidence of this?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I’m going to need something tangible, sergeant.’
‘There’s also the ransom money, sir.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, Stanton always maintained that there never was any ransom money, he denied it.’
‘Well, of course he would, he’s hardly going to be happy about handing over £200,000 cash is he, would you if you were in his shoes?’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really don’t think Stanton has the money, or ever knew anything about it. I mean, why would he walk into Parkside police station and put his hands up to the murder of the boys, but deny any knowledge of the ransom money?’
‘For a start, he walked into Parkside and put his hands up to the kidnapping and murder of the two boys, but you think he didn’t actually kidnap them. So, my question to you, sergeant, is why would Stanton lie about kidnapping them? You see, if you’re right and Stanton did lie about that, then it would be fair to assume that he probably lied about the ransom money too.’ Rhodes thought about the phrase, ‘Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups,’ but he wasn’t about to say it out loud.
‘It doesn’t add up, sir … I just have a very strong feeling in my gut about this.’
‘Look, Damon, I want your transition here to be an easy one. Now, I’m aware that they probably do things a little different in the Met, but I’m afraid I’m going to need a lot more to go on than a gut feeling, do you understand?
‘Yes, sir, of course.’
‘Ok, then,’ he said, picking up his pen and getting back to his papers.
‘Sir, with your permission I’d like to spend a little time going through the case file, in more detail.’
‘Sergeant, I’m sorry, but you already have two other cases you’re supposed to be working on and we simply can’t afford the overtime just because you have a gut feeling. We’ve been down every avenue in the Kramer twins’ case and have hit brick walls each and every time. I doubt you’ll be able to find anything that the team hasn’t been able to – we have very thorough MCU here, Damon, believe it or not, we do actually know what we’re doing.’
‘Of course, sir, I wasn’t suggesting that for one second.’
‘Ok, then,’ he said, his tone suggesting that the conversation was over.
Rhodes turned to walk away, but stopped with his hand on the door handle. ‘How about if I look into it in my own time?’
DI Carver sighed, put his pen down and looked up at Rhodes. ‘Ok, I’m going to agree to that, against my better judgment, and on one condition, you don’t let this distract you from your current cases, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir, crystal.’
‘Good, now, if there’s nothing else, sergeant, I’ve got a lot to get through here.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Chapter 22
Helen
From my iPad I did a Google search for ‘sniper long range shot’ and one of the first results to appear near the top of the page was a link to a Wikipedia page entitled ‘Longest recorded sniper kills’. I read the page with interest, especially when I got to the part about an English man called Craig Harrison, who is a former Corporal of Horse (CoH) in a cavalry regiment of the British army. But more importantly, Corporal Harrison holds the current record for the longest recorded sniper kill. I Googled ‘Corporal Craig Harrison’ and the various resulting articles about him and his long-range record kill made for impressive reading. If anything, the stuff I saw in the movie, Shooter, was not quite as impressive as the real life achievements of Harrison. In 2009 Harrison killed two Taliban machine gunners in Afghanistan from a range of 2,475 meters, that’s a distance of over one and a half miles. The gun he used was a L115A3 model rifle made by a British company called Accuracy International, who just happened to be based in Portsmouth, Hampshire.
Then it came to me, all at once, a brilliant idea that just might work. I hadn’t thought it all the way through to the end, but after juggling with the various stages of the idea in my head and compartmentalising them, I figured there was a chance my idea could work. To find out, I’d have to contact Accuracy International, so I Googled ‘Accuracy International, Portsmouth’ and a few mouse clicks later, I had their telephone number.
I dialled the number from my pay-as-you-go mobile and chose the option for the operator.
‘Good morning, Accuracy International,’ said a lady.
‘Good morning, I’m phoning with something of an unorthodox request. I’m an author of fiction, working on a novel about a sniper, and I was wondering if you could possibly put me in touch with an expert in the field of sniping, somebody who might be kind enough to help me with my research for the book?’ I said. Well, I figured I’d read so many crime novels over the years, pretending to be an author of fiction seemed like a logical thing to say and it would be an easy pretence to keep up until I got what I wanted: a rifle, some ammunition and the training to use it.
‘Yes, that might be possible,’ said the receptionist, ‘If you put it in an email we’ll see what we can do.’
‘Of course,’ I said.
She gave me an email address. The second I hung up the phone I logged into my Yahoo email account.
I composed an email, outlining my request, pretending to be an author researching my debut novel. Naturally I didn’t want to puff myself up as an author too much in case anybody at Accuracy International Googled me, and found nothing.
I’d been doing lots of other research online, for about two hours, when I got a notification of a new email on my iPad; it was from Accuracy International. A gentleman from AI had been kind enough to respond, and with great news. He’d forwarded my email to an ex Para called Peter Jackson. Peter had worked for AI as a consultant for a short while after leaving the army and now worked as a sniper trainer and consultant on all thing sniping.
A few hours after receiving the email from AI, I also received an email from Peter. He said he would be more than happy to help me with the research for my novel and he’d put his mobile number in the email and told me to give him a call.
Not at one point did I stop to think what I was doing, that I was a monster for even considering this. No, he was the monster, Father Derek Stanton. What he’d done was beyond unforgivable, what he’d done was a whole new level of sick, evil horror, and he’d got away with it. Well, some crimes should not go unpunished, and Stanton’s crimes fell firmly into that camp. The fact is, I am not a monster, I’m simply avenging the death of my beloved boys'. I can’t imagine there is a single mother on the face of the planet who would be happy with what happened, Stanton getting off on some bullshit legal technicalities, and that he was walking around, free as a bird. Any parent would want justice, or revenge, or both. Stanton was an evil man of the worse kind and, for all I knew, he might even do the same thing again at some point in the future. The way I saw it was simple, I was going to get justice on my own terms and rid the world of an evil man in the process. I was strangely comfortable with this notion and I didn’t have a problem with mora
l dilemma. My chosen method of killing Stanton was going to take a little time to plan and set up, but as the saying goes, revenge is a dish best served cold.
‘Hello, Peter?’ I said.
‘Yes, speaking,’ said the man on the other end of the line.
‘Hello, it’s Natalie, you kindly emailed me back about my book research,’ I said, retaining the fake name of Natalie that I’d started to go by.
‘Ah, yes, hello, Natalie. So, you’re an author?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wow, that sounds rather glamorous.’
‘Well, this is my first novel so I’m not quite there yet.’
‘So you’re writing a book about a sniper?’
‘Yes, but for authenticity I need somebody with your expertise who can help and advise me during the writing process. Just to make sure that I have all the technical sniper stuff accurate.’
‘Of course, I’d love to help, it sounds fascinating. I’ve got an excellent idea, how about this. I’m going to be at Bisley shooting range next week. How about you come along and I’ll answer any question you might have and you can even take a few shots,’ he said. I could hardly believe my ears, perfect, this couldn’t have worked out better. I had a foot in the door.
‘Wow, that would be brilliant, you mean I can actually fire a rifle?’
‘Why not, if you’re going to be writing a book about a sniper it might help to know what it feels like to take some shots at a target. The range I’m going to be on is 600 yards (Bisley Camp range still used yards instead of meters because the old range is pre WW1), I can show you the basics and let you shoot off a few rounds at the 600-yard target.’
‘Wow, that would be amazing, thank you so much. Where is this shooting range exactly?’
‘Bisley, it’s in Surrey. I’m going to be there on Tuesday. I’ll be there from ten a.m. so perhaps you could arrive at noon?’
‘Yes, that sounds perfect.’
‘Ok, I’ll email you the address and directions.’
‘Great, thank you so much, Peter, I really appreciate your offering to help me.’
‘You’re more than welcome, I’ll look forward to meeting you.’
Chapter 23
Helen
I arrived at Bisley and drove through the entrance in my new used Honda Civic. The place was huge, so many ranges. Peter had given me directions to the range, but I couldn’t find it. I got out of my car and could hear gun shots in the distance, but it was difficult to pin-point exactly where they were coming from so I called his mobile and he talked me in. I parked my car and walked, Peter still giving me directions on my mobile. It was absolutely lashing down with rain and I was finding it hard to hold onto my umbrella and my mobile at the same time, the wind didn’t help either. Then I saw him and he waved.
‘Hello, Natalie,’ he said, extending his hand for me to shake.
‘Hello, Peter, thanks so much for this, I really appreciate it,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome; I’m actually quite excited to be helping you out with your research. Let’s get out of the rain,’ he said, leading me to what looked like a very long hut with no front. As I walked alongside him I was surprised at how short he was, for an ex military man. He was well built with muscles in abundance and not an ounce of fat, even though I suspected he was in his forties. He’d obviously looked after his body and probably still spent time in a gym.
There were about five or six guys lying down in sniper position shooting at targets that I could hardly make out because of the rain and mist. They were all wearing green waterproof clothing. A couple of other guys were under the shelter with Peter and I, chatting about shooting stuff I presumed, but it was hard to hear because of the rain pelting down on the tin roof.
‘So, what exactly is it that you do?’ I said.
‘Well, after I left the army I spent a short while working for AI, but now I work as a sniper trainer and consultant.’
‘Is there much work in that field?’
‘Oh, yeah, loads. I spend quite a lot of time in the Far East training people. I travel all over the world. Next month I’m up in Scotland doing some training for two weeks. You’d be surprised,’ he said. As he spoke I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring – great. ‘So what’s the book about?’
I suspected I might get asked this at some point, so I’d prepared. ‘It’s one of those vigilante revenge thrillers, about a man who decides to kill the two men who raped and beat up his wife. Their lawyer got them off on a technicality so the man decides to dish out his own brand of justice.’
‘Oh, wow, that sounds great. Well, I’m happy to help out in any way I can.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind me emailing you random questions during the writing stage, that would be great.’
‘Sure, you can even phone me if you like, whatever works for you.’
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not, I’d be happy to,’ he said, smiling.
Peter seemed like a genuinely nice guy and I wondered if he had a nice wife or girlfriend. Not that I was interested in him in that way, but if he had a wife it could hinder my plan somewhat.
‘Sorry about the rain,’ he said, which was still lashing down, almost sideways now. The marker flags along the shooting range were flapping about like crazy. I wondered how the hell these guys took such wild wind into the equation while working out the ballistics of a shot.
‘Don’t worry, so what’s your background?’ I said.
‘I’m an ex Para. I served in the British Army with the Parachute Regiment for twenty years. I did tours in Northern Ireland, Africa, Iraq and Afghanistan,’ he said.
‘Sounds scary.’
‘Ha, at times. Look, we could wait all afternoon for this rain to stop. It seems to be slowing a bit and there are breaks in the wind, so would you like to have a few shots?’ he said, gesturing to his rifle, which was set up in position on the ground fifty feet in front of us. I was surprised he’d left it there in the pouring rain. But then all the other guys were shooting in the rain so I suspected that these rifles were designed to shoot and continue working just fine in extreme weather conditions.
‘Yes, that would be great.’
‘Do you have any waterproofs?’
‘No, I didn’t expect it to be raining,’ I said, which I hadn’t, it started to pour down as I drove down here. ‘Don’t worry about me, I don’t mind getting a little wet,’ I said. I had my black beret hat, which was something. Though I suspected my jeans and jacket would get soaked.
‘Ok, come on then.’
I followed him, nervously, to the rifle. He handed me a set of ear mufflers, kind of like those things that pneumatic drill operators wore to protect their hearing while working on the road. I followed his lead and put them on.
‘What rifle is this?’ I asked.
‘It’s an Accuracy International AX308,’ he said, he sounded quite muted and his voice was all bass and no treble due to the ear protectors I was wearing. That, coupled with the rain made it a little difficult to hear what he was saying.
‘Is this like the one Craig Harrison used for his record kill?’ I said, raising my voice a little.
‘It’s similar, I think Craig used a L115A3, it has a longer range than this one.’
‘What’s the affective range of this one,’ I said, pointing to the AX308 on the padded rubber-coated ground sheet.
‘Accurately, about six or seven hundred meters. But the rifle Craig used only had a range of up to a mile, but he hit a target of a mile and a half away, so anything’s possible. But I’m assuming in your novel your character’s going to be shooting in an urban environment?’
‘Yes, in a city.’
‘Well these targets here are 600 yards away, which might not look much here, but in an urban environment 600 yards is a very long way,’ he said.
I looked down and a few feet to the right of the rifle and noticed a scattering of brass bullet shells. From Peter’s morning practice I pre
sumed.
‘Is there much of a kick from these things?’ I said, looking across to another shooter and noticing how his shoulder kicked back a few inches during a shot.
‘No, hardly any, the recoil on this weapon is hardly noticeable,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘Ok, so what you’re going to do is get down like this and wrap your left arm under here, like this,’ he said, demonstrating. ‘Your right arm comes around this side so your finger can rest here on the trigger, then you rest your cheek up against the cheek pad so you can see through the scope,’ he said, getting up. ‘Ok, let’s get you into position.’ Christ, I was nervous as hell as I knelt down to get into position.
I laid down on the green ground sheet, which had little pools of water on it, which immediately soaked into my jeans. Sod it, I didn’t care, I resigned myself to getting absolutely soaked to the skin. I lay flat with my legs straight out behind me and placed my arms the way Peter had showed me. This didn’t feel comfortable at all; wrapping myself around this metal instrument of death evoked feelings at the opposite end of the spectrum to those that you got when you wrapped your arms around somebody you loved. There was no magnetism, no connection, it felt wrong, like I was hugging a vicious rabid raccoon.
‘That’s it, you look like a natural. Now, the gun is already pointing directly at the target so you’ll only need to make a few tiny corrections. Ok, if you look through the scope you should be able to see the target,’ he said.
I could, the target was a white piece of paper, about a meter square, according to Peter. In the middle of which was a solid black circle.
‘Ok, the black circle you see is about the size of my fist,’ he said, gesturing as I looked up at him. Wow, that’s a pretty small target for me to hit from 600 yards away. I figured I probably wouldn’t even hit the meter square white piece of paper from all the way back here. Perhaps a large bright yellow lorry might be a more suitable target for a beginner like me, I thought. This was going to be awful, I was going to miss by a bloody mile. I just lay there, trying to follow Peter’s instructions, all the while feeling like the rifle was going to bite me on the neck.