by Nigel Cooper
I tiptoed lightly across the roof so as not to alert anybody in the offices below, stopping about three meters from the edge so nobody down on Chesterton Road below would see me.
I’d researched sniping techniques online as well as learning from Peter and staying as far back as possible was vital. My position, just under three meters from the edge was as far back as I could get, any further back and the edge of the roof would get in the way of my line of sight to the bench across the park. If I were taking this shot from a room in a building, the offices below for example, I’d be at the very back of the room with the lights out and the blinds or curtains closed, as far back from the window as possible and I’d be firing through a calculated chink in the curtain, which would act as a ‘loop hole’. I worked fast and got the rifle out of my backpack, attached the barrel and tactical suppressor, lay it out and adjusted the bi-pod and the small sandbag at the butt end in less than a minute. I’d adjusted the settings on the scope in advance having already worked out the ballistics for the shot, distance, elevation, temperature, and even the wind by checking out my weather app the night before, though the latter would need fine-tuning once I checked my Tesco wind indicator and the wind on the roof.
The magazine, with ten loaded rounds, was already in the rifle, with the safety on. I pushed the two malleable foam earplugs into my ears, lay down and got into position. I wasn’t confident that the budget Boots-bought earplugs would do as good as job as the larger ear muffs that I’d used with Peter, but they’d have to do and I was using the tactical suppressor which reduces the volume of the blast considerably.
I lined up the scopes with the mango, approximately 368 meters away, wedged in the branches just behind the bench. I adjusted the focus and checked the carrier bag, which was blowing ever so slightly to the right, I checked the angle and direction it was blowing at and did the math. It turned out that the wind speed and direction predicted on my weather app the evening before was pretty accurate, only one click of compensation needed to be dialled into the scope from that which I’d dialled in the previous evening.
I released the safety lever and relaxed my breathing and got into the ‘bubble’. Directly beyond the mango was a small patch of grass, somebody’s front garden on Lower Park Street, so if I was to miss slightly – or even if I didn’t, the bullet would go straight through the mango anyway – the bullet would bury itself deep into the lawn, raising no suspicion. I placed my finger against the trigger and calmed myself as much as possible, my breathing relaxed. I squeezed the sandbag under the butt of the rifle to lower the scopes onto the ‘sweet spot’, the mango lined up smack in the middle of the crosshairs of the Schmidt and Bender PM2. There were some people walking along the footpath through the park, but they were not in my line of sight, not even close. It was 10:15 a.m. so Stanton would not be around for a good while yet. I didn’t want him to be either as this was simply a test exercise, a dress rehearsal – the real thing would come soon, very soon. I checked the wind speed one more time using the carrier bag at the target end and the wind on my cheek for my end, all was good. I breathed in and out three times, gently and controlled. As I let out my third breath – slowly, deflating my lungs – I held it and counted to three then gently pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack, at least it sounded loud with my head only inches away from the chamber. I worried that everybody in the area would have heard the shot, even though Peter had explained that the suppressor not only reduced the volume by about 50 per cent, but it also changed the characteristics of the sound – the timbre – too. He said that in an urban environment the shot would sound like a muted bang, like you’d hear on a building site or roadworks, to members of the public in the vicinity the sound could be any number of things, and on top of that, it would be almost impossible to decipher the direction of the muted bang anyway. People would hear it for sure, but it shouldn’t raise any alarms, as it would not sound like a typical gunshot.
The rifle’s bi-pod jumped to the left a few millimetres, enough for the target, the mango, to jump to the right and almost out of vision of the scope. I nudged the rifle back to the right again to bring the target, or what was left of it, back centre. The mango had practically vaporised, a direct hit – time to leave. I quickly flicked the safety on, folded the stock and bi-pod, removed the tactical suppressor and barrel and put them back in the backpack then tiptoed back across the roof. I re-fitted the Yale lock with the two screws and locked it behind me and made my way back down the narrow stairs. When I reached the door that led into the top floor corridor I peeked through the small square glass window, there was nobody in sight. I quietly opened it and stuck my head around the corner, as before, still all clear, just some slight office noise coming from the other end of the corridor. I closed the door behind me and quickly, but quietly, walked along the corridor, through the door and down the two flights of stairs. As I exited the building the security guard was chatting with somebody else, he barely noticed me leave. I’d noted the time on my watch just as I was about to enter the building, it had taken me a tad under 9 minutes to get in, up onto the roof, deal with the Yale lock, assemble the rifle, get into possession, take a wind reading, set the scope, take the shot, pack the gun away, screw the Yale lock back on and get out of there. It would be easy to replicate again when I came back to do the job for real. Perhaps there was a small element of risk being in the building (or rather on the roof) for that amount of time, but the reward would far outweigh this risk. Besides, I was beginning to get the impression that there wasn’t much activity in the offices up on the top floor, the staff up there probably only used the corridor when they needed the toilet, or to go for lunch perhaps.
I crossed Chesterton Road and stood by the bridge for a moment and looked around. Everything seemed peaceful; people went about their business as if nothing had happened.
I walked back across the park to check out my handiwork. The mango was obliterated; just a few juicy remains clung to the branches. I then headed back to my little Suzuki Swift, put the backpack in the boot and drove back up to Darren’s house in Ely thinking a job well done and next time it would be for real.
Chapter 34
Rhodes and Sakki arrived at Jesus Green in the pool car; Sakki had driven, as she knew exactly how to get to Park Parade by car – not easy with all the rising bollards and windy streets, even for locals. Rhodes, still learning the layout of the city, would have struggled. Sakki parked the pool car on a double yellow line where Lower Park Street became a dead end. They got out to check out the bench and area.
‘Ok, so what exactly are we doing here?’ said Sakki.
‘I’m not entirely sure yet, I just want to check something out,’ said Rhodes, walking into the park towards the bench where DC Dempsey of the day shift stakeout team had told him Stanton came each day at noon. It was 11 a.m. exactly so they were not going to go bumping into Stanton, as he wasn’t due here for another hour, if was as prompt as Dempsey made him out to be.
Rhodes studied the bench and the houses behind it on Park Parade and to the left on Lower Park Street, too close, he thought.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked Sakki.
Rhodes ignored her for a moment while he scanned the park. He looked right across to the north side of the park and then turned to Sakki. ‘Do you know what that building is over there?’ he said, pointing.
‘Which one?’
‘Right over there, beyond the park, in the distance.’
‘No, it’s too far away, but I’m pretty sure that’s Chesterton Road.’
Rhodes heard something rustling every so slightly behind him. He turned around and saw a discarded Tesco carrier bag caught up in the tree behind the bench. He looked at the bins – all five of them – near the entrance to the spotless park and wondered why idiots didn’t use them. He turned around to say something to Sakki, then paused and turned around again to look a little more closely at the discarded carrier bag caught in the tree. May be it wasn’t discarded; maybe the wind di
dn’t carry it up there by chance.
‘What is it? What are we doing here?’ said Sakki.
Rhodes didn’t answer; he walked over to the tree and looked at the bag gently flapping in the wind.
‘This carrier bag.’
‘What about it?’ said Sakki, walking over to join him.
‘Someone’s tied it up there, look at the handles, they’re tied together around the branch.’
‘Ok, detective, should I call it in, get a team on the case to catch the new Phantom Litterer of Jesus Green,’ she said, smiling.
‘No, you don’t understand, I think it’s a wind indicator,’ said Rhodes, turning around and looking back across the park towards the far building.
‘A what?’
‘A wind indicator, snipers use them to determine wind speed and direction.’
‘Ok, now I’m totally lost.’
‘I’m going to walk across the park to check out that building, I want to know what it is. Can you drive the car around and meet me over there?’
‘Why don’t I just walk over there with you?’
‘We’re parked on a double-yellow. I’m still quite new here and I don’t want to go upsetting my boss by picking up parking tickets.’
‘Ok, but you realise I’ll have to drive around half the damn city to get over there.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll wait,’ he said, striding off along the footpath.
‘And when I get there I want to know what all this is about,’ she shouted after him.
When he crossed the footbridge over the river Cam he could see it was a Job Centre, he could also see that it had a flat roof and that it was the highest building in the area. He entered the building and showed his warrant card to the security man just inside the door, a different security man to the one who’d called the caretaker to show the woman up there, the woman who was researching a novel.
‘I need to get up onto the roof,’ said Rhodes.
‘I’ll have to call the landlord of the building, he’s not working today,’ said the security man.
‘Well, if he’s not working today what’s the point in phoning him?’
‘He’ll have to escort you up there, health and safety, nobody else is allowed up on the roof.’
‘This is police business and it’s urgent, I need to get up on that roof right away.’
‘Ok, hold on, I’ll go and ask somebody else if they can help,’ he said, walking away. He came back a few moments later with a middle-aged woman.
‘Can I help you?’ she said.
‘Yes, I’m detective sergeant Rhodes, Cambridgeshire CID, I need to get up onto the roof of this building,’ he said, showing her his warrant card.
‘I’m sorry, we’ll have to call the caretaker and see if he can come in to escort you up there. We’re not allowed up onto the roof, health and safety.’
‘Ma’am, this is urgent; I need to get up there right now. I’ll accept full responsibility, but I need access to that roof immediately.’
‘Oh, ok, but this is most unorthodox, we really aren’t supposed to let anyone up there, especially members of the public.’
‘Ma’am, I’m a police detective and it’s a matter of urgency.’
‘Ok, follow me,’ she said, leading the way up the stairs. She reached the top floor, punched in 1689 on the security keypad and led Rhodes through to the door that led up to the roof. She punched in the same number again and opened the door and went through first. At the top she opened the Yale lock and pushed the door open, the bright sunlight suddenly hitting them as it reflected off the bright white flat roof. Rhodes stepped out.
‘What do you need to see up here, officer?’ she enquired.
‘Just give me a minute, ma’am. Could you be kind enough to wait here, I’ll only be a minute,’ he said.
‘Of course,’ she said, holding the door open as she watched him.
Rhodes walked across the flat roof to get a better view across the park. He stopped a few meters from the edge and looked across the park, a perfect line of sight to the bench where Stanton sits on a daily basis. He scanned around the immediate location and noticed that there were no other buildings overlooking this one, which made it quite perfect for a sniper shot, as the pigeons in flight above would be able to see you.
If it was Helen Kramer who’d stolen Peter Jackson’s rifle, under the name of Natalie, and if it was her who’d tied that carrier bag to the tree and if she was planning on taking a shot from up here then she was going to be doing it pretty soon – she might have already been up here to do a recce.
Rhodes looked around for clues, but there were no obvious signs that Helen Kramer had been up here, but wait, he noticed some scuffing on the roof about three meters from the edge, perhaps it was nothing. He made his way back over to the door, where the woman was still holding it for him.
‘Did you find what you were looking for, officer?’
Rhodes stopped just before going through the door and looked down. He noticed some fresh drag marks on the flat roof, about five feet long. They started at the door and stopped at a rusty old hunk of steel, as if somebody had dragged it to the door then dragged it back again. ‘Maybe,’ said Rhodes, ‘I appreciate you letting me up here.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Rhodes headed outside and waited on the pavement for Sakki to arrive, which she did, about five minutes later.
‘What kept you?’ said Rhodes.
‘I told you; you’ve got to drive half way around the city go get over here. There’s no such thing as “as the crow flies” in Cambridge,’ she said, through the open window of the car.
‘Ok, park the car, I’ll buy you an ice cream,’ he said.
‘An ice cream?’
‘You want to know why we’re here right?’
Sakki parked up and followed Rhodes across the footbridge to the ice cream parlour. Rhodes bought himself a double 99 while Sakki opted for a white Magnum.
‘Ok, wanna tell me what’s going on?’ she said, as they sat down on a nearby bench.
‘Yeah, I think it was Helen Kramer who stole that rifle off Peter Jackson. I think she’s changed her appearance by dying her hair and I think she lied to him about her name so she could get close to him. I think she might have set this whole thing up as a means of getting her hands on a rifle and the training to use it and I think she’s going to use Jackson’s rifle to assassinate Derek Stanton by taking a shot from that very rooftop,’ he said, pointing up to the flat roof of the Job Centre building across the road.
‘Wow, that’s one hell of a theory, Damon. Good luck explaining it to Carver. Anyway, how do you know so much about it? Wind indicators and sniper shots from rooftops?’
‘I did a bit of firearms training in the Met.’
‘What, as a sniper?’
‘No, nothing like that, but I was friends with a firearms guy who was and I picked up a few things from him. He sometimes practiced at Bisley Camp rifle range, the same range where Peter Jackson instructs snipers, where he instructed this Natalie woman.’
‘The woman you think might actually be Helen Kramer?’
‘The very one. I know it’s just a gut feeling, but it all adds up when you think about it.’
‘You’re serious, you really believe that Helen Kramer befriended Peter Jackson, to the point of having an affair with him, just so she could get him to show her how to shoot, and so she could steal his gun?’
Rhodes just looked at her, he didn’t say anything, his eyes said it all.
‘Well, like I said, I’d like to be a fly on the wall when you have that conversation with Carver,’ she said, taking a bite from her Magnum. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure,’ said Rhodes.
‘What made you transfer up here to Cambridgeshire from the Met? If you don’t mind me asking?’ said Sakki.
‘I don’t mind you asking. I was actually born here in Cambridge, but my parents moved to London when I was twelve. Anyway, in answer to your question, that c
onversation’s for another day,’ he said, biting the last bit of flake out of his ice cream. The faint change in his expression told Sakki to leave it, for now at least.
* * *
Rhodes spotted his DI on the other side of the canteen, right where DC Walcott said he’d be.
‘Good afternoon, sir, sorry to bother you while you’re having lunch, but this can’t wait,’ said Rhodes.
‘Have a seat, Damon,’ said Carver, before shovelling a large forkful of lasagne into his mouth, ‘Ok, what’s so urgent?’ he said, chomping away.
‘Sir, I believe Helen Kramer is definitely planning to take revenge on Derek Stanton, I think she’s planning to assassinate him, sir.’
‘Continue.’
‘I think it was Helen Kramer who stole that sniper rifle from Peter Jackson.’
‘Oh really, how do you figure?’
‘It’s just a hunch, sir. I think she lied about her name, I think she just told Mr Jackson that her name was Natalie as part of her facade. I also believe she’s gone out of her way to change her appearance, including dying her hair black.’
‘Ok, let’s say you're right for a moment, and I’m not saying you are, but are you suggesting that Helen Kramer’s planning to go to Stanton’s house and blow his brains out with this stolen rifle?’
‘No, well, not like that anyway. If this Natalie woman really is Helen Kramer, then Peter Jackson’s been giving her lessons in the art of sniping, long range shooting. I’ve spoken to Mr Jackson at great length about this and he told me that she was an amazing shot.’