“When isn’t it?”

“True. Right, heads down and take a long look, at your own map, at the map on the wall. I want everyone more familiar with the fair site than with the proverbial back of. I know some forces do this with fancy PowerPoint presentations but I haven’t the know-how and in my experience the old-fashioned way is the best—it gets it engraved on your minds which is what I want. This has to be as familiar to you by Friday afternoon as the layout of your own houses. I want you to be able to go in there blindfold and find your way about. This is Map One—we’ll look at Map Two in a mo—which gives us the position of every fairground ride and stall c it’s always laid out to exactly the same plan as any of you who went to the fair when you were five and went again last year will know. But here you’ve got the area as it is today. It will be like this from midnight on Thursday—i.e. there will be no parked cars, in fact no vehicles at all.”

They looked down at the familiar street names in the Old Town area. The Jug Fair was mainly centred on St Michael’s Square and a couple of the lanes which rayed out from it in the direction leading away from the cathedral towards the town. The wide pedestrian-only New Moon Street led to and from the fair.

“If our marksman tries to take a vehicle down there he’ll be stopped by the barriers.”

“If he has a vehicle.”

“Well, it’s probable. He needs to conceal his rifle, get away quickly c he can’t walk through the streets carrying it without being spotted. Right, the square is sealed off here and here—those two lanes are only ever pedestrians and cyclists anyway. This is the layout of the rides and the stalls c the big Ferris wheel at this end, the merry-go-round at this.”

“I used to love them Jinny horses when I was a kid. Couldn’t go on them enough times.”

“Bag of chips in your hand.”

“Or a hot dog.”

“Nah, candyfloss. You have to ride on them with your candyfloss.”

“No wonder the square’s awash with puke by midnight.”

“Shut up, Clive.”

“The kiddies’ rides are all out of the main square, up here. Teacups. Peter Rabbit ride. Ribbon Lane is all stalls—here up this way and here. Coconut shies, bobbing ducks, that stuff.

“Ghost train and the scary rides this side. Along here, more stalls c plus your food stands. We are going in down New Moon Street and parking up—here. And the second ARV is at the other side, here.”

“Bit prominent, aren’t we?”

“That’s the plan. High-profile armed response.”

“Ah, public reassurance.”

“Don’t sneer, Rowley.”

“Wasn’t sneering, sir.”

Houlish looked at him. Clive Rowley’s face was blank.

“Right, well, don’t. Like I said, high profile. These shootings have made the public very jittery, as well they might, and as you may possibly have heard we have caught a lot of flak from our friends in the media, so there’s uniform crawling all over the fair, there’s plain clothes, there’s us. Nothing is going to go wrong. We’re at the ready from the minute we’re in position. OK, let’s look on the screen again please. From the shooting of the two young women outside the Seven Acesclub we’re sure this is a skilled and cunning marksman. He knows what he’s doing. The guy who shot Melanie Drew and Bethan Doyle confronted them at close range from their front doors with a handgun. It may not be the same guy as the Seven Aceskiller and it’s the latter we’re worrying about here. If he’s going to target the Jug Fair for whatever perverted reason he’s unlikely to be confronting members of the public at close quarters with a handgun. He’ll be using a rifle—he’s a sniper. Right, let’s have some guesses here. Westleton, Rowley, be the sniper, where do you fire from?”

“Top of the helter-skelter.”

“How do you get up there with a rifle without being spotted? When? How do you stay up there out of sight when there’s a queue of people climbing up and flying down? Think again.”

“He has to get into position unnoticed,” Clive Rowley said, speaking slowly and with concentration. “There’s always a load of people setting up, no way could he lurk in the fairground without being seen c so it’s got to be buildings around. Empty buildings? That’s where he was when he shot the girls outside the Seven Aces—either in the empty granary building or in the office block. So I reckon we’ve got to look at what’s aroundthe fairground site, not at the temporary structures.”

“Right, let’s think along those lines. What have we got?” Houlish took the pointer. “Let’s take the square first. East side. High wall. Iron gate. Nothing there. North side. The courthouse building. Victorian. Six storeys. What do we think?”

“Good view—unobstructed.”

“Roof’s hidden behind that crenellation. Not sure if it’s flat or not.”

“It’s not.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” Tim said.

“Access c building’s in use during the day. Various offices. We’ll sweep the whole thing at the end of the day.”

“What’d be his exit route?”

“Rooftops,” said someone. “Or he’d hole up till morning.”

Clive Rowley was silent. He was known to work things out before speaking. “Is there a security guard?” he asked.

“No. CCTV and that’s it.”

“Better get them to check it actually works.”

“Why don’t we get in there ourselves, guv? Stake it out. Great vantage point.”

“Because this isn’t an ambush. Too many people around, too dangerous.”

“What? We’re sitting doing cat’s cradle in the vehicle all night?”

“I didn’t say that. Next door to the courthouse building we’ve the run of terraced cottages, half a dozen of them, all offices, then the war memorial, then there’s two four-storey buildings which are being renovated.”

“There’s scaffolding and the frontage is covered in plastic. He could hole out there without much trouble.”

“He’s probably got a rifle with telescopics—he doesn’t need to be that close.”

“What if he isn’t using his rifle? He could be walking about with a handgun. Very difficult to suss that out in the sort of crowds we get at the fair, especially after dark,” Clive Rowley said.

Bronze Command shook his head. “He’d have no chance of getting away. This guy’s not a nutter who shoots to give himself up. He’s cunning. His close-range killings have been in places where he’s made pretty sure there’d be no witnesses and he could make an easy getaway. That just wouldn’t be possible here even without all of us. OK, let’s go back to the plan. There will be our two ARVs and Bevham are lending us one for backup. Here c”

Clive sat back and watched the pointer go over this entrance and that exit, this danger point and that. Steve Mason had slipped down into his seat and looked as if he was asleep with his eyes open.

“That’s it. We’ll have another briefing in here nine a.m. on Friday. Until then, don’t shove it out of the way, get that plan in your head. Brood on it. Come up with a bright idea, shout. You’re the sniper. Think like him. He’s clever. We’ve got to be cleverer.”

Ten minutes later they were filing out for refs. In an hour they would be on the way to the airfield for a training session. It was drizzling outside.

“What do you reckon?” Steve said, standing in the queue.

“Nothing’ll happen. Too obvious.”

“I’m not so sure. He could cause mayhem in five seconds c he’d love that, shooting at random,” Clive said.

“No, he’s got a reason for these killings. I reckon they’re personal.”

“Large tea, bacon and tomato bap, thanks. He must be a bloke with a hell of a lot of grudges then. Don’t think forensics have established any links, have they?”

“Come on,” Ian Dean said, piling four warm sausage rolls onto his plate, “no way are these random. There has to be links.”

“I don’t see it. I don’t see any of it, to be honest. I can’t get a handle on this guy.” Clive set his tray down and moved the sauce bottles out of the way. “I just think—putting half the county force onto the Jug Fair is a waste of resources. He’s not going to show.”