The Sound Of Crying

by Nigel Cooper

  ‘A female sniper huh? And you think she’s going to take a long-range shot at Stanton?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and I think I know where she’s going to take the shot from.’

  ‘Please, enlighten me.’

  ‘Ok, bear with me on this. The detectives who were put on the stakeout to watch Stanton told me that the only place he goes with any regularity is to a park near his house, Jesus Green. He goes there every day at noon on the dot, with a packed lunch and a flask of coffee. He sits on this same park bench every day at exactly the same time. I went over there and took a look at the location myself this morning and I think Helen Kramer’s going to attempt to assassinate Stanton with a long-range shot from a building on the other side of the park.’

  ‘Oh this just gets better, from the other side of the park you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir, from the Job Centre roof on Chesterton Road.’

  DI Carver nearly choked on a mouthful of lasagne at this. ‘Really, exactly how far away is this Job Centre building from the park bench?’

  ‘I’ve checked using the Google Earth, sir, it’s approximately 365 meters.’

  Carver laughed out loud. ‘Damon, this isn’t the Met, where I’m sure all sorts of weird and wonderful things go down, including female snipers on rooftops, this is Cambridgeshire. What you’re describing sounds like something out of a Jason Statham movie.’

  ‘Sir, I’d like to request that we put a man up there, on the job centre roof.’

  ‘What, another stakeout? Sergeant, as you’re well aware, the force doesn’t have money coming out of its ears for extravagances like this. Putting men on stakeouts means overstretching our already overstretched resources, it also means overtime, which means overtime money. And besides, as of two hours ago Stanton’s stakeout teams have been pulled.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because my boss thinks it’s a waste of time.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, Damon, that order came right from the top, end of. The money it was costing to have four detectives watching Stanton would be better spent elsewhere. I’m sorry sergeant, but I really don’t believe that Helen Kramer has gone and disguised herself, changed her name and started an affair with an ex military Para just so she can get sniper lessons and nick his rifle to assassinate Derek Stanton. She’s a woman for crying out loud, you honestly expect me to believe that she could be capable of shooting a man from over, what was it?’

  ‘365 meters, sir.’

  ‘365 meters. Come on, really?’

  ‘Sir, snipers have made kills from a mile out, the—’

  ‘Yes, and they’re all men, sergeant,’ he said. Rhodes had noted that his DI had gone from calling him Damon to sergeant. Damon was friendly, but sergeant is now official, authoritative, now Rhodes felt like he was being put in his place.

  ‘Sir, there are plenty of women sni—’

  ‘Sergeant, you’re stepping too far over the line now. Look, I’m not going to waste money putting a man on the bloody Job Centre roof just because you think Helen Kramer’s going to shoot Derek Stanton from the other side of the park Hollywood movie style. You have a hunch, that’s all, or do you have any actual proof of this wild theory?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Ok then, well until you do, I’d like to get back to my lunch now.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Rhodes, knowing damn well that if he said another word Carver would more than likely throw the rest of his lasagne at him. He turned and left the canteen, sensing Carver shaking his head behind him.

  Shit, he was on his own on this one.

  Chapter 35

  Sakki pulled the handbrake on and killed the engine outside the Kramer residence in Abbotsley. ‘Ok, let’s do this,’ said Rhodes, getting out the passenger side.

  They didn’t have to ring the bell; John Kramer had seen them pull onto his drive and had opened the door as they strode up to his front door.

  ‘Detective,’ said John.

  ‘Mr Kramer, you remember my colleague, DC Sakurai?’

  ‘Of course, hello again. Please, come in.’

  ‘I appreciate you seeing us at such short notice,’ said Rhodes.

  ‘That’s quite alright, whatever it is, you made it sound pretty urgent on the phone.’

  ‘It is, potentially, but this visit’s multifaceted, Mr Kramer.’

  ‘Well don’t beat around the bush, detective, what is it?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure where to start, there’s quite a lot I have to say and there’s a few things I need to ask you. But feel free to interrupt any time if you have any questions.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘I’m afraid that Dean Fairhead was involved in the kidnapping of your boys and the ransom demand.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand, I mean, he’s a little shit, but he’d never do such an evil thing, why would he do that, why would he kill them? No, you’re wrong about that.’

  ‘You’re right, he didn’t kill them, bear with me for a moment, we know that he wasn’t responsible for their deaths and we also know that he had no idea that they were being kept locked away in the basement beneath that church.’

  ‘I don’t understand, detective, you just said that he was involved in the kidnapping.’

  ‘And he was, let me clarify. We’ve arrested his housemate, Brandon Clifford. I started to have my suspicions when I went through the transcripts of Derek Stanton’s interviews, so I investigated further. Mr Clifford ran away to Newcastle just over a year ago, on the same day you dropped the ransom money in that bin in Cambridge. The police up in Newcastle picked him recently after I flagged him up as “Wanted” on the police computer. They found a bag full of cash under his bed, it’s the ransom money. Mr Fairhead and Brandon Clifford were the ones who abducted your boys from the park in St Neots. Mr Fairhead knew all about your inheritance and, because he was desperate for the money, he arranged to kidnap your children with the help of Brandon Clifford and hold them until you paid up. The thing is, Mr Clifford explained to us during his interview at the station that they’d taken the boys to a vacant bungalow in Cambridge, which is just on the perimeter of the church grounds on Histon Road. It’s beginning to look like Father Derek Stanton stumbled upon them and took them to his church.’

  ‘Oh my god!’ said John, pondering. ‘It makes sense, that little shit. He was always poncing money off Helen, making excuses, when all he really wanted money for was to feed his bloody drug habits.’

  ‘Mr Clifford told us that Dean needed the money because he owed his drug dealer a substantial amount of money.’

  ‘Christ, how can you owe that much, for drugs?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have all the exact details to hand, but apparently his drug dealer loaned him some money and added interest, a lot of interest.’

  ‘That little fucking lowlife piece of shit, I’ll kill him, just wait ’till I get my hands on the little bas—’

  ‘Mr Kramer, I’m afraid there’s more. Dean’s run away and we don’t know where he is, but we have something a little more pressing that we need your help with.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We think your wife’s going to try to kill Derek Stanton, and we think she’s going to do it soon, maybe even today, so we need to find her fast before she does something she regrets.’

  ‘Wait, what’s brought this on, do you have some new information about my wife?’

  ‘Yes, well, perhaps. We can’t be certain, in fact my colleagues are sceptical about this, which is why I wanted to come and see you personally, to get your thoughts.’

  ‘Ok, I’m listening.’

  ‘I’ll try and keep this as short as possible. Recently a woman going by the name of Natalie stole a long-range sniper rifle, complete with ammunition, off an ex military sniper, he’s retired from the army now, but he still instructs and does consultant work regarding snipers, rifles and ballistics. This Natalie woman befriended him, she told him she was researching a crime novel that she was writing and needed informatio
n about snipers and long-range shots. This man invited her down to a shooting range in Surrey, so he could answer all her questions for the alleged research she was doing, he even let her take some shots on the range, she was really good at it, apparently. Anyway, he continued to teach her in the art of sniping and educated her on the subject. She started an affair with him and they went out to dinner a few times and then, eventually, she spent the night at his place. During the night she stole his rifle and some ammunition and left in the early hours before he woke up. When he realised she’d left and that his rifle and some ammunition was missing he phoned her. Our technical guys checked the cell mast data for her mobile number and its location when she received the call, she was in Cambridge at the time.’

  ‘And you actually think this woman’s my wife?’

  ‘She fits the physical description, except for her hair, but we think she might have dyed it black. Mr Kramer, if my suspicions are correct then we need to find your wife as soon as possible, before she does something stupid.’

  ‘What, like shoot that evil son of a bitch that murdered our children?’

  ‘Mr Kramer, I know your emotions must be all over the place at the moment and you probably think that Derek Stanton deserves to die.’

  ‘Damn right I do.’

  ‘But, if your wife kills him she’ll be caught and she’ll go to jail for a long time. We don’t want that to happen any more than you do.’

  ‘Wait, you said she had an affair with this … ex military man?’

  ‘Yes, but we suspect she only did this as a means to an ends, to get close to him, just a part of her plan, that’s all. When we spoke to the man he said, in hindsight, that she played him, flirted a little and put him in a position where she knew he’d ask her out on a date, which he did. But, like I said, she probably only did it to get the training she required and of course the rifle.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Mr Kramer, I need to ask you, can you see your wife doing this?’

  ‘Killing Stanton you mean?’

  ‘Well, yes, but not only that. Could she have done everything I’ve just explained: dying her hair, the fake name, befriending a sniper trainer under the pretence of being an author doing research for a book, and starting an affair with him just so she can steal his rifle? Can you envisage her going through all that effort?’

  John pondered for a moment, deep in thought. ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Yeah, actually, I can see her doing that. She loves crime novels, she devours a new one every week so I can understand why she’d use being a writer as a front.’

  ‘What about the name, Natalie, or dying her hair black, any reason she’d choose Natalie that you can think of?’ said Sakki, chipping in in the hope of some insight, a clue to her whereabouts perhaps.

  ‘No, not really … well, she was always a big fan of Natalie Imbruglia, you know, the singer from the late 90’s.’

  ‘Yes, I’m familiar with her,’ said Sakki.

  ‘Mr Kramer, do you have any idea, any idea at all where your wife might be right now, where she might be staying?’

  ‘No, I’ve been looking for her myself, I’ve phoned all her friends, even been to some of their houses, I’ve checked everywhere and I can’t think of anywhere else she might be staying. Trust me on this, I’ve tried everything I can to find her, I’ve looked everywhere.’

  ‘What about your wife’s brother, Mr Fairhead, any idea where he might be hiding out?’ said Sakki.

  ‘No, but I hope the little shit’s crawled into a corner somewhere and died of a drug overdose.’

  ‘Mr Kramer, here’s my card with my mobile number. If you think of anything at all, no matter how irrelevant you think it might be, call me right away,’ said Rhodes.

  ‘Ok,’ said John, taking the card.

  * * *

  There you are, you son of a bitch, thought Dean, seeing Derek Stanton come to his door to sign for a package. It didn’t take much to find out where Derek Stanton lived, even for somebody as uneducated as Dean Fairhead, with all the exposure in the news a bit of Googling around soon put Dean on the same street, then it was just a case of figuring out what number Stanton lived at. Thompsons Lane wasn’t very long so Dean had picked a spot to sit on a wall about half way along, looking up and down the street, watching, waiting. He figured he’d wait all day and all evening if he had to, until Stanton showed himself. He had to come out at some point, if he was in there, which he was, and he did. Dean had been sitting there since about 9 a.m. waiting for Stanton to exit one of the terraced houses, he eventually emerged to answer the door for the delivery guy at 11:15 a.m. before taking his package back inside.

  Dean lowered his hand and touched the Baikal pistol that was jammed into the waistband of his jeans, hidden under his shirt and jacket. He knew it was there, but he kept touching it anyway, for reassurance. It was loaded and ready to go, ready to blow Derek Stanton’s fucking brains out.

  He looked at the house, or more specifically, the door, where Stanton had appeared to sign for the parcel just a moment earlier. He thought for a moment, what to do, how to approach the situation. Should he just walk up to his front door and shoot him in the face when he answered? Now that the time had come and he had a loaded handgun and knew exactly where Stanton was it wasn’t quite so simple. Sure, Dean didn’t have a problem with shooting Stanton, at least at this moment, once he had the gun stuck in his face, well, that was up for debate, time would tell. But Dean had thought about it long and hard, he’d pictured shooting Stanton in the head and questioned his ability to actually go through with it. But then he’d pictured his sister’s poor boys, Jamie and Edward, his own nephews – the horrific 12-month ordeal that Stanton had put them though before killing them – and decided he wouldn’t have any problem blowing the fucker straight to hell. So, that wasn’t really the issue here; the issue was the consequences of his actions. He’d almost certainly get caught, which would mean jail time, a lot of jail time. But he’d thought about that too and, being riddled with guilt and desperate to fix the situation somewhat, he figured it was no less than he deserved – he actually wanted to be judged, punished, and if that meant a life sentence for the murder of Derek Stanton, so be it. As it was the evil child-killer Derek Stanton that he’d be killing, he figured he would have a sympathetic jury and an equally sympathetic board at the parole hearing after, what, fifteen years perhaps? He’d be in his early forties when he got out, still enough time to live a life. He’d researched the sentencing for such a crime by typing ‘How long is a life sentence for murder in the UK,’ into Google. He’d read that a ‘life’ sentence in the UK can be as much as 17 to 25 years, but he figured the judge would be sympathetic and understand why he’d killed his own nephews’ murderer. Stanton had a seriously bad reputation now, a reputation of an evil child killer who, somehow, had evaded the justice system. Everybody knew who he was and everybody was outraged by what had happened, Stanton getting off like that after the evil, unthinkable, crimes that he’d committed. There was no judge in the country that would give Dean a life sentence of more than 15 years, possibly even less. He could handle it, he deserved it, and he knew it. Besides, he’d be off the drugs once and for all and, who knows (though maybe this was pushing it a little), maybe he’d even study something while inside, get his head down, get his shit together so when he did get out he could be somebody, make a difference. It was decided, no cold feet, he was going to kill Stanton.

  * * *

  ‘Where are you off to in such a rush?’ said Sakki, noticing Rhodes run over to his desk and grab his jacket.

  ‘I’ve got to go somewhere,’ said Rhodes, hurrying past Sakki.

  ‘Want me to come with you?’

  ‘No, if DI Carver knew what I was up to he’d go mental, I don’t wanna drag you into this.’

  ‘Is this about that gut feeling you’ve got?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, then was out the door before she could say anything else.

&n
bsp; Ruddock and Walcott looked across at Sakki, questioningly. ‘Don’t ask,’ she said.

  Rhodes jumped into his car and drove out of the FHQ car park, calmly, in case his DI was looking out of the window. But as soon as he was out onto the main road he floored it down to the B1514, skirted around the edge of Huntingdon and along the B1044 before joining the A14 for the 17-mile drive down to Cambridge. He’d been stuck in DI Carver’s office for over half an hour updating his DI on a tedious job he’d given him that morning, a job he could not get out of. Rhodes really wanted to be in Cambridge this morning, or more to the point, up on the Job Centre roof on Chesterton Road, waiting for Helen Kramer to show up, which he was convinced she would, if not today, tomorrow maybe, the day after at the latest. Right now, as the speedo hit 90mph, he prayed that his gut instinct was not going to let him down, not that he wanted to prove his DI wrong, but being the new guy in town he wanted some brownie points to help make his transition from the Met to Cambridgeshire constabulary a smoother one. Rhodes hoped he wouldn’t arrive at the Job Centre late, but he couldn’t get out of the job he’d been allocated, nor could he get out of going to see his DI in his office. He could hardly tell Carver that he was busy following up on his gut instinct about Helen Kramer. Carver had already made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want to hear any more talk of Helen Kramer suddenly becoming a professional assassin. If Carver knew that Rhodes was heading down to Cambridge to the Job Centre right now he’d be in for the biggest bollocking in the history of bollockings. If Rhodes was wrong about this, nobody need ever know he was there.

  He glanced at the clock on the dash, 11:50 a.m. Shit, he was never going to get there by noon. It was a 22-minute journey, and that was when the A14 was clear. Then he had to park up and get up onto the roof. Rhodes did a quick calculation and figured it was going to be at least 12:15 by the time he got up on the roof, probably a few minutes later than that by the time the security man on the door found a suitable member of staff to punch in the security codes on the two doors up on the top floor.