been there, you told me, for ever. You know people, Max. How they work, what makes them tick. I’d like your expertise on this one.’
He nodded, the remote still idling. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Hamlyn.’
‘Neil Thomas Hamlyn,’ she began, once Maxwell was sitting comfortably. ‘Corporal, SAS.’
‘Cool,’ said Maxwell, in his best Bart Simpson.
‘Are you impressed by that?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Fashionable things, regiments. And fashions come and go. No one had heard of the SAS before the Iranian Embassy siege, when you were a mere slip of a gel. Now suddenly they’re everybody’s idea of hard men. Then there was Two Para in the Falklands. No, I’ll take the Light Brigade any time, thanks. Three feet of cold steel and three bloody miles of nerve.’
‘Well, the point is, we don’t know if he’s kosher even there.’
‘Won’t the SAS talk to you?’
‘Let’s say they’re evasive.’ Jacquie gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘Working with the army is never easy.’
Maxwell chuckled. ‘That’s what’s so marvellous about this great country of ours, isn’t it? We know the name of the chappie who runs MI5 – he even advertises in the paper; “Spies Wanted – For a Dangerous Time, Ring Whitehall 12345”. But you try to find out any info on a serving soldier, a serving policeman or even Rudolf Bloody Hess and you’re wasting your time.’
She nodded. ‘So at the moment, we only have his word. We’ve been over his flat, though. His dogtags, his uniform, such paperwork as he’s got seems genuine. And he appears to be a marksman.’
‘Does he say what he used?’
‘A Ruger Mini 14. He even brought it to show us.’
‘I thought those things were illegal in private hands.’
‘So’s murder,’ Jacquie told him. ‘But it happens anyway. And if he is SAS, it’s a moot point whether it’s private hands or not.’
‘Run the film,’ Maxwell said.
‘Tell me about Larry Warner,’ Bartlett was saying on the screen, his right hand cradling a polystyrene coffee cup.
‘He was a target,’ Hamlyn shrugged.
‘Is that all?’
‘What more is there?’
‘Why him?’ Bartlett persisted. ‘Why not me? DCI Hall? Your next-door neighbour?’
Hamlyn shrugged again. ‘He was as good as any.’
‘You followed him to the park?’
‘Yes.’
‘From his house?’
‘No.’
‘You saw him outside the park and you followed him in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did you fire from?’
‘The Wild Water Ride. In the rocks.’
‘Go back,’ Maxwell interrupted the documentary unfolding like bad drama before him. He’d passed the remote to Jacquie so that he could concentrate. The heads jerked at high speed.
‘You followed him to the park?’
‘Yes.’
‘From his house?’
‘No.’
‘No,’ Maxwell repeated. ‘Freeze it there.’
Jacquie stopped the action.
‘Let me get this straight. He gets to the theme park, to Magicworld, how?’
‘Car,’ Jacquie told him. ‘Hamlyn drives a clapped out Cavalier.’
‘He’s carrying the gun,’ Maxwell was trying to get a handle on the whole thing.
‘In a holdall. Apparently, the rifle strips down. It can be assembled and disassembled in minutes.’
‘Seconds.’
‘What?’
‘If he’s SAS,’ Maxwell explained, ‘and if he wants to get away from a murder scene, he’s got to move quicker than that.’
‘All right, then,’ she conceded. ‘Seconds.’
‘So,’ Maxwell went on, ‘He’s waiting outside the gates of Magicworld, carrying a holdall, when he spots Warner.
‘At random,’ Jacquie added.
‘Run it back again.’
She did and they heard the conversation for a third time. ‘He was a target,’ Hamlyn said.
‘Is that all?’ Bartlett asked.
‘What more is there?’
‘Freeze.’ Maxwell was in full Dragnet mode now. He might as well have added ‘Sucker’. But he didn’t. ‘A Hell of a lot, I suspect. “What more is there?” This Hamlyn,’ Maxwell had turned away from the screen
He nodded, the remote still idling. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Hamlyn.’
‘Neil Thomas Hamlyn,’ she began, once Maxwell was sitting comfortably. ‘Corporal, SAS.’
‘Cool,’ said Maxwell, in his best Bart Simpson.
‘Are you impressed by that?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Fashionable things, regiments. And fashions come and go. No one had heard of the SAS before the Iranian Embassy siege, when you were a mere slip of a gel. Now suddenly they’re everybody’s idea of hard men. Then there was Two Para in the Falklands. No, I’ll take the Light Brigade any time, thanks. Three feet of cold steel and three bloody miles of nerve.’
‘Well, the point is, we don’t know if he’s kosher even there.’
‘Won’t the SAS talk to you?’
‘Let’s say they’re evasive.’ Jacquie gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘Working with the army is never easy.’
Maxwell chuckled. ‘That’s what’s so marvellous about this great country of ours, isn’t it? We know the name of the chappie who runs MI5 – he even advertises in the paper; “Spies Wanted – For a Dangerous Time, Ring Whitehall 12345”. But you try to find out any info on a serving soldier, a serving policeman or even Rudolf Bloody Hess and you’re wasting your time.’
She nodded. ‘So at the moment, we only have his word. We’ve been over his flat, though. His dogtags, his uniform, such paperwork as he’s got seems genuine. And he appears to be a marksman.’
‘Does he say what he used?’
‘A Ruger Mini 14. He even brought it to show us.’
‘I thought those things were illegal in private hands.’
‘So’s murder,’ Jacquie told him. ‘But it happens anyway. And if he is SAS, it’s a moot point whether it’s private hands or not.’
‘Run the film,’ Maxwell said.
‘Tell me about Larry Warner,’ Bartlett was saying on the screen, his right hand cradling a polystyrene coffee cup.
‘He was a target,’ Hamlyn shrugged.
‘Is that all?’
‘What more is there?’
‘Why him?’ Bartlett persisted. ‘Why not me? DCI Hall? Your next-door neighbour?’
Hamlyn shrugged again. ‘He was as good as any.’
‘You followed him to the park?’
‘Yes.’
‘From his house?’
‘No.’
‘You saw him outside the park and you followed him in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did you fire from?’
‘The Wild Water Ride. In the rocks.’
‘Go back,’ Maxwell interrupted the documentary unfolding like bad drama before him. He’d passed the remote to Jacquie so that he could concentrate. The heads jerked at high speed.
‘You followed him to the park?’
‘Yes.’
‘From his house?’
‘No.’
‘No,’ Maxwell repeated. ‘Freeze it there.’
Jacquie stopped the action.
‘Let me get this straight. He gets to the theme park, to Magicworld, how?’
‘Car,’ Jacquie told him. ‘Hamlyn drives a clapped out Cavalier.’
‘He’s carrying the gun,’ Maxwell was trying to get a handle on the whole thing.
‘In a holdall. Apparently, the rifle strips down. It can be assembled and disassembled in minutes.’
‘Seconds.’
‘What?’
‘If he’s SAS,’ Maxwell explained, ‘and if he wants to get away from a murder scene, he’s got to move quicker than that.’
‘All right, then,’ she conceded. ‘Seconds.’
‘So,’ Maxwell went on, ‘He’s waiting outside the gates of Magicworld, carrying a holdall, when he spots Warner.
‘At random,’ Jacquie added.
‘Run it back again.’
She did and they heard the conversation for a third time. ‘He was a target,’ Hamlyn said.
‘Is that all?’ Bartlett asked.
‘What more is there?’
‘Freeze.’ Maxwell was in full Dragnet mode now. He might as well have added ‘Sucker’. But he didn’t. ‘A Hell of a lot, I suspect. “What more is there?” This Hamlyn,’ Maxwell had turned away from the screen
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