Random Targets (13 page)

S
OMETHING
A
DDISON HAD
said played on Temple’s mind as he drove back along the M27 towards Southampton.

‘He was one of the regiment’s best snipers and killing seemed to come naturally to him.’

Did that mean Renner was a natural-born killer? Was he just as capable of committing cold-bloodied murder outside the theatre of war? These were questions that could probably only be answered with the benefit of hindsight. Right now the only thing that seemed certain was that Lance Corporal Cole Renner had some serious mental problems; Greg Savage, Ryan Addison and even Renner’s own mother had described him as a deeply disturbed man – a ‘lost soul’ filled with anger and resentment, and perhaps consumed by a warped sense of injustice.

Temple realized these were probably the same motivating factors that had turned Yousef Hussain into a terrorist.

Another obvious comparison between the two men was their education: Hussain had travelled to a terrorist training camp in Pakistan to learn how to commit mass murder and Renner
had, for several years, been used as a killing machine by the British army. Temple could visualize both men on a motorway embankment aiming a rifle at the traffic.

He called the incident room on his hands-free and spoke to DS Vaughan. He told him about his conversation with Addison.

‘See if you can track down a pregnant landlady,’ he said. ‘It’s a long shot, but it might pay off. She’s apparently renting out a flat to Renner in Southampton.’

‘Will do, guv. Are you on your way back?’

‘I’m about to phone Renner’s father. If he’s around I’ll head over to Romsey.’

‘Well, for your information the Chief Super was here a few minutes ago asking for you. There’s a task-force meeting in London at 4 p.m. this afternoon and he wants you to go.’

‘I’ve been expecting to be summoned at some point,’ Temple said. ‘Do you know where it’s taking place?’

‘The Yard.’

‘Then tell Beresford I’ll be there.’

Temple hung up and rang the number Mrs Renner had given him for her husband. It rang six times before it was answered.

‘Hello.’

‘Is that Mr Martin Renner?’ Temple asked.

‘Yeah. Who’s this?’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Temple of Hampshire police.’

‘I got your card. I was going to get in touch later today.’

‘Well, I’d like to talk to you about your son, Mr Renner.’

‘I figured as much. I saw you on the telly last night at that press conference.’

‘Then you know that because Cole is a trained sniper he’s on the list of people we need to interview.’

‘I told the Red Caps weeks ago that I don’t know where he is. I still don’t.’

‘Nevertheless anything you can tell us about him might be of assistance. You see we believe that your son may have obtained a firearm illegally and we’re therefore treating him as a serious suspect in the shootings.’

There was a long pause during which Temple could hear the
other man breathing into the phone.

‘If you have information about Cole then I need you to give it to me,’ Temple said. ‘People are being murdered at an alarming rate and if your son is responsible then he has to be stopped.’

After a moment, Renner cleared his throat and said, ‘I don’t believe for a minute that he is the person who’s doing this, Inspector, but I do know he stole a rifle from the army base in Wiltshire a while ago.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he told me.’

Temple felt his muscles go rigid.

‘Are you at home, Mr Renner?’

‘I am.’

‘Then stay put. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

M
ARTIN
R
ENNER’S FLAT
was small and shabby – the furniture was old and the carpets worn. Damp patches stainedthe walls.

The man himself was overweight and anaemic. His eyes were glazed and rheumy and there was a map of blood vessels in his cheeks.

Temple followed him into his tiny living room where Renner lit a cigarette. They sat opposite each other on armchairs. Temple noticed an open copy of the
Mail
on the coffee table. On the front page was a large picture of the carnage on the M27 and a smaller picture of the hooded man in the security video from the industrial unit. The image was blurred and no identifying features were visible.

Renner sucked so hard on his cigarette it made his cheekbones bulge. Then he coughed, rattling phlegm in his throat.

‘I gave up for a time,’ he said, as though he felt the need to explain himself. ‘But when I get stressed I light up. It’s hard not to.’

‘I know the feeling,’ Temple said. ‘I was a smoker for years. I still struggle at times to lay off them.’

‘But at least you’ve got a job. You don’t have to sit around all day with nothing to do but feel sorry for yourself. That’s when the nicotine beckons.’

‘I can imagine it does,’ Temple said.

Renner sat back in his chair and sucked in a tight breath. Temple noticed a fanged snakehead tattoo on his neck. It’s mouth seemed to open and close as Renner moved his head.

‘So, let’s get this over with, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Cole and I don’t get on, but he is my son and I’m not comfortable with grassing him up. And if this wasn’t such a serious business I wouldn’t.’

Temple fished out his notebook and rested it on his knee. He jotted down the date and time at the top of the page and then said, ‘The RMP told me that a rifle had gone missing from the army base. They suspected that your son might have stolen it. What do you know about this?’

Renner pressed his lips into a tight line that barely moved when he spoke.

‘I told Cole he was out of his mind to steal a rifle like that,’ he said. ‘I told him to get rid of it. But he ignored me.’

‘Did he show you the gun?’ Temple asked.

Renner shook his head. ‘He said he’d stashed it in a safe place.’

‘So why did he tell you about it?’

‘Because he thought I might know someone who’d buy it. A few years ago I got involved in that stuff. I sold a few stolen weapons. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I wasn’t the only one doing it. Nowadays it’s common practice.’

‘So what did you tell Cole when he mentioned it to you?’

Renner shrugged. ‘That I wasn’t into that anymore. I’d lost contact with the dealers and I didn’t want to get involved.’

Renner blew a plume of smoke to the right. The smell of burning tobacco made Temple yearn for a cigarette.

‘When was the last time you talked to your son?’ Temple asked.

Renner clenched the cigarette between his teeth, eyes screwed up against the smoke.

‘Not since we had a bust-up and he stormed out,’ he said. ‘After that things got bad at home and the missus told me to go. That’s why I’m in this dump, but you probably already know that.’

‘I saw your wife yesterday,’ Temple said. ‘She told me that Cole has psychiatric issues.’

Renner nodded. ‘Post-traumatic stress for sure. He’s badly fucked up. Like a lot of guys who’ve been through that shit. Me included.’

‘So would you say he’s capable of murdering people at random? After all, killing from a distance is what he spent his time doing in Afghanistan.’

‘That was different,’ Renner said. ‘It was war. Soldiers who kill in combat don’t always become addicted to it.’

Temple gestured towards the newspaper on the coffee table.

‘You must have seen the footage of the suspect caught on a CCTV camera,’ he said. ‘Could that guy be your son?’

Renner picked up the paper and stared at the picture for several seconds.

‘It’s impossible to tell,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the video a couple of times, but it’s blurred and the guy doesn’t turn towards the camera at any point. But I do know that Cole was never in the habit of wearing a hood.’

‘Does this man have the same height and build?’

Renner squinted at the picture. ‘I suppose so. Cole’s five eight and fairly slim.’

‘Did you ever see him with a rucksack like that?’

‘He did have a rucksack when he was living at home,’ Renner said. ‘But I’ve no idea if it’s the same type. It’s not at all clear.’

‘I spoke earlier to one of Cole’s old army pals,’ Temple said. ‘Guy named Addison.’

Renner nodded. ‘Ryan Addison. I met him once. He’d just lost his job and was miserable as sin.’

‘Well, Mr Addison has been talking to Cole on the phone. They even met for a drink.’

Renner shrugged. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. Cole doesn’t like his own company much. And he probably didn’t think there was much risk of being spotted by the police.’

‘Cole told Mr Addison that he’s renting a room in Southampton and that his landlady is pregnant. Does that ring any bells?’

Renner pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I don’t know any landladies and I don’t know anyone who’s pregnant.’

Temple looked at his watch and realized that he was pressed for time. It was almost noon. There was a train from the city centre station to Victoria at two and he had to be on it if he was to make the task-force meeting.

‘I’m afraid I have to go, Mr Renner,’ he said. ‘But please call me if you think of anything else that could be useful or if your son does contact you.’

As Temple got to his feet, Renner said, ‘I know my son better than anyone, Inspector. And I’m convinced he’s not the motorway sniper. There’s no way he would kill anyone outside a combat situation.’

Temple hurried back to police headquarters in Southampton. The incident room was buzzing. He quickly brought the team up to date on what he’d learned during the morning.

‘We now have confirmation that Cole Renner acquired a high-velocity rifle,’ he said. ‘This lends significant weight to the theory that he – and not Yousef Hussain – is the motorway sniper. So, this afternoon at the task-force meeting in London, I’ll urge DCS Vickery to reassess his approach to the investigation.’

He instructed the detectives to focus their efforts on finding Renner.

‘It seems likely he’s still in the Southampton area. According to his friend Addison, Renner is renting a room in a house and his landlady is pregnant. I want a trawl of all privately rented accommodation and estate agents. Make sure that every uniform patrol has a photo of him. And try to track down all his known associates just in case he’s staying with one of them.’

He listened briefly to what else had happened during the
morning. All the other army snipers on the list from the RMP had been ruled out as possible suspects. The M3 had finally reopened to traffic, but a two-mile section of the M25 remained closed, causing traffic chaos.

Finally, in the last hour, it had been announced that the reward pot for information leading to the sniper’s arrest had reached £1 million.

T
HE CENTRAL RAILWAY
station in Southampton is only a few minutes on foot from police headquarters. Temple arrived there just in time to catch the 2 p.m. train to Victoria.

There was plenty of room in the second-class carriage. He took off his overcoat, placed it on the empty seat next to him, and settled down for the eighty minute journey to London. He intended to make use of the time by reading through his notes and checking his emails, but first he phoned the hospital to speak to Angel.

Her bedside phone was answered by a nurse who told him that Angel was sleeping, but that he shouldn’t worry because she was making good progress. He left a message that he’d call later and then tapped the mail icon on his phone. He had two dozen emails, mainly from members of his team who had been told to copy him in on all correspondence. There were also messages from the Scientific Services Department with forensic reports attached.

The Chief Super had forwarded a note from Vickery about the task-force meeting and a list of the people who were going to attend. They included officers from Surrey Police and the Counter-Terrorism Command, as well as representatives from the Home Office and Highways Agency. Temple didn’t expect much to come of the meeting. It was no doubt aimed at bringing the relevant parties together so that Vickery could assign tasks
and make clear the various areas of responsibility. It would also give him an opportunity to stamp his authority on the operation.

As Temple started to surf the Web on his phone he saw how the story was dominating the news agenda. There were photographs and video clips of the crash scenes: chilling images of the devastation and banner headlines that were sure to instil fear in drivers.

Politicians were lining up to condemn the killings, along with some of the business leaders who’d contributed to the reward fund. The owner of one haulage company had ordered his drivers to stop using the motorways. Many of the stories focused on the victims. Friends and relatives of those who’d died spoke about their loss, while the injured told of their experiences from their hospital beds.

Temple found it freakish to think that another attack was probably imminent. Rush hour was rapidly approaching and traffic would then pour on to the motorways.

The message left by the sniper under the bridge on the M3 flashed in his mind.

This won’t stop until I’m dead.

It was dark by the time the train reached London. Temple climbed in a black cab outside the station and told the driver to take him to New Scotland Yard. It was a while since he’d been there. Two years in fact, but he knew it well enough from frequent visits over the years.

Traffic was heavy and there was a light drizzle. It took over twenty minutes to get to the Yard. He was directed to one of the many briefing rooms where ten people sat around a long glass conference table, their faces grim and strained. DCS Vickery was not among them and someone explained that he’d had to rush off to take a call.

Temple introduced himself to the others and as soon as he sat down Vickery came back into the room. He was out of breath, his face flushed.

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘But we have to postpone the meeting. A man carrying a rucksack has been spotted by a
motorist beneath a bridge on the M4 outside London. A chopper’s on its way along with vehicle patrols. I need to get out there right now.’

‘I’d like to come with you,’ Temple said, without thinking.

Vickery looked at him and considered the request for just a second before nodding. ‘Why not? We need to talk anyway. I gather you have new info on the runaway soldier.’

Temple got swiftly to his feet. ‘That’s right. We now know for certain that he stole a high-calibre rifle from the army base in Wiltshire. He told his father.’

Vickery raised his brow. ‘Well, grab your coat and let’s go. If luck is on our side we might soon know if the sniper is a soldier or a terrorist. Or someone else altogether.’