“Thank you, Chief Constable, but given the number of shooting incidents—fatal shooting incidents—I’m sure you understand only too well how concerned we are.”
“Of course I do.”
Royal Protection coughed. “There hasn’t been a lot of, er, progress, has there?”
“If you mean there hasn’t been an arrest yet, no. That doesn’t mean lack of progress.”
Royal Protection’s face was a mask of politeness.
“It isn’t,” the Lord Lieutenant said quickly, “as if we don’t quite often have royal visitors to the county. We’ve always looked after them well and kept them safe, I think.”
“You haven’t always had a sniper in your midst,” Royal Protection said.
“So what do you propose?” Paula Devenish spoke sharply. When her force was under attack from outside she defended it aggressively, no matter what she might say in private. It was one of the things Simon Serrailler liked about her.
“I propose that Their Royal Highnesses do not attend.”
“Oh but you can’t!” The Lord Lieutenant’s face was puce. “My daughter will be so upset. The Prince of Wales is her godfather, and a very attentive one. He came to her confirmation.”
“Well, perhaps he will not be coming to her wedding. I’m sorry, but this is what I will be recommending to His Royal Highness’s office.”
“Well, I will be speaking to His Royal Highness himself, never mind his bloody office, and I think I know what he’ll say. He’d be appalled if he thought he was seen to run away. Good God, man, the royal family face a possible sniper’s bullet, to name but one threat, every time they appear in public. It’s thanks to the police that they have all remained safe to do their jobs among us and I deplore your suggestion that our own force cannot continue to guarantee their safety. This c gunman has made no specific threat to the royal guests—not so far as I am aware.” He looked at the Chief Constable, who shook her head.
The Dean had been silent, biting the side of his finger occasionally. Now, he sighed. “I do hope this is not going to cause a falling-out amongst us,” he said unhappily. “Do please reconsider.”
Royal Protection frowned. “I have to act as I see fit, and I do see a problem here, frankly. But let’s look at the updated plan and the proposed arrangement of armed officers.”
Gold Command stood and unrolled a map smoothly, laying it on the table and securing it with brass paperweights and a candlestick.
“ARVs will be parked here, here and here. An armed officer will be positioned here, here, on the tower here, on top of the New Song School building here, in the organ loft, and in the roof space above the fan vaulting. There will also be armed officers at the east door, here—”
“Just a moment,” said the Lord Lieutenant. “I can’t say I like the idea of our guests arriving and there being officers with machine guns clearly visible.”
“Most of them will be concealed, sir c”
“I hope and trust you’re not allowing the public into the close, are you, Chief Constable?” said Royal Protection.
“We were planning to allow a cordoned-off area opposite the east door c the public would like to be able to have some sight of the wedding.”
Royal Protection shook his head vigorously. “Out of the question.”
“But only yesterday I was watching the Queen doing a walkabout among a crowd in Southampton—”
“Southampton doesn’t have a killer on the loose—or at least not as far as we know. As far as I am concerned this area of yours is a no-go zone for the royal family until you catch him.”
He stood up. “If you will excuse me, I have a meeting in the next county in an hour and a half. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Lord Lieutenant, but I will recommend that Their Royal Highnesses do not attend your family wedding. Unless there is an arrest, of course.”
Royal Protection glanced across at the Chief Constable, who barely met his eye.
Fifty-five
“Candyfloss!”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am perfectly serious. I love candyfloss.”
“But it tastes like sugar-coated wire wool.”
“Does it? I’ve never eaten sugar-coated wire wool.”
Helen exploded with laughter and let Phil pull her by the hand towards the candyfloss stall. The smell of burnt sugar mingled with the diesel fumes of the generators and the burning oil from the burger stalls on the smoky night air. It was eight o’clock and the Jug Fair was packed. Helen looked up at the Sky-Dyve plunging giddily down and at the sparks and crackles from the bumper cars and felt like one of the kids.
The candyfloss queue snaked round and back and mingled with the queue for hot dogs and another for toffee apples.
“God, this is fun. I haven’t been since Tom and Lizzie were in single figures.”
“Place is knee-deep in cops.”
“Not surprised. This is just the sort of event where a gunman could run amok. Look around c all those points a sniper could stand.”
Helen’s eyes were drawn to the Sky-Dyve. If a man c at the top of the helter-skelter. If c”
A gun cracked loudly not far away.
Phil put a reassuring hand on her arm. “Shooting ducks. He wouldn’t take the chance. Here.” He handed her a shocking-pink cloud of candyfloss. “Flowers for the lady.”
He put his arm round her and they wandered off in the direction of the rides.
Sam Deerbon steadied himself and waited for the row of ducks to bob past him four times.
“Hurry up, Sam. What’s wrong with you? Can’t you do it or something? I could do it easy-peasy, they don’t go very fast, hurry up.”
He ignored his sister. The ducks bobbed by again. He steadied himself again.
“Sam, are you still there?”
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Three ducks out of five went down.
Hannah turned away in disgust.
“Well done, Sam!” Judith said.
Sam smiled a small, satisfied smile and chose a pink porcelain piggy bank from the prizes on the stand.
“What do you want that for? What a stupid prize. You could have had that big blue elephant and given it to Felix, you could have had a mega box of sweets, what do you want a stupid piggy bank for?”
“To save money in.”
“What do you want to save money for?”
“To leave home with.”
Hannah’s eyes widened slightly and she looked up at Judith.
“So I won’t have to live with you, stupid.” Sam turned towards the fish-hooking game, examined it and came away.
“Too easy,” he said.
Cat returned carrying four paper cones of chips.
“God, I hate this fair. It’s packed, they rip you off, it hurts your ears and it smells.”
“It’s GREAT.”
“I knew you’d say that, Sam. Have some chips.”
“Think what the men are missing.” Judith Connolly bit into a hot chip and winced.
Chris was at Hallam House with Richard. He had felt like a change of scene and the radiotherapy had begun to bite, giving him better days. Judith would pick up pizzas from the Italian restaurant, on her way back from the fair.
“I just saw Si on the far side of the square talking with a couple of CID. Never seen so many in one place.”
“Makes it safe. I hear they’re not letting the royals come to the cathedral wedding though. Seems a pity.”
“They daren’t risk it at the moment c only think.”
“I suppose so. But you shouldn’t let this madman change the way you behave. Some people thought this fair ought to have been cancelled.”
“Mummy, can we go on the dodgems, please, please?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll go in a car with me, I’ll drive and I’ll bang you into so many other cars you’ll puke up all your chips and all your ice cream and—”
“Sam!”
Sam smiled and folded his empty chip cone into smaller and smaller triangles.
The sky above St Michael’s Square was orange. AR Bronze Command stood in shadow looking round, up, down, to one side, to the other side. He had assumed that the sniper wouldn’t fire from anywhere not providing him with a clear escape route. What if he had been wrong? They had discussed and dismissed several times the idea that he might now be on a suicide mission and therefore be trigger-happy at the fair, unconcerned if he was caught at last. He looked up at the top of the helter-skelter. Someone could have climbed the spiral stairs and be hanging about at the top. No. Only a kamikaze shooter would do that. The direction of the shots would be easy to see and there was no way down other than by sliding on a mat. And if he did that, they would be waiting for him at the bottom.