The Kill by Jane Casey

high-powered rifles, I managed not to point out. ‘I still don’t know how you worked out this was the place.’
    ‘Experience and angles. Same as good sex.’ He turned to check my reaction, which was a waste of time because I’d worked with him for long enough not to betray any emotion at all.
    ‘So why here?’
    ‘This is the best place to see the front of the car. Have a look.’ He handed me the sight. ‘You’ll need to lie down, obviously, to see it as the shooter saw it. Just over here where the ground is lower. I’m not going to lie, it’s a bit soft.’
    ‘That’s fine.’ I knew Derwent was watching me for signs of reluctance to lie down in the dirt. I ignored him. I was actually too interested in seeing the sniper’s line of sight to care about my clothes. I knelt, feeling the ground give slightly as moisture seeped through the fabric of my trousers. I stretched out so I was resting on my elbows and held the sight up to one eye. ‘Oh, I see.’
    ‘Do you?’ He lay down beside me, his shoulder nudging mine. ‘What do you see?’
    ‘Because of the way the earth is built up in front of here and the bushes around either side there’s no way anyone would see him, but he has a good line on where the car was.’ The SOCOs had marked its location with white tape before the car was recovered and I had a clear view towards it.
    ‘Know much about rifles, Kerrigan?’
    ‘Not a thing.’
    ‘Well, the gun we’re looking for will be an illegally held firearm. The only long-barrelled guns that are legal in this country are shotguns and .22 rifles. There’s no way that was .22 ammunition. Terence Hammond was blown apart.’
    ‘So we’re not going to be able to check the register of firearms licences to find this weapon.’
    ‘Not as such. But it’s not a bad place to start, and neither are the gun clubs. The thing is that people who like guns like all kinds of guns, legal and otherwise. They like other people who like guns. They like spending time with them at places like gun clubs, and they like to talk about their collections.’ Derwent took the sight out of my hand and peered through it. ‘Someone will know who owns the gun we’re looking for. If we appeal for information, we’ll get a call or two, I promise you.’
    ‘I didn’t think people who liked guns necessarily liked us.’
    ‘They don’t. But there are some who like to pretend they could be police, and there are others who don’t like rule-breakers. It spoils the fun for everyone.’
    ‘Fun?’
    Derwent shrugged. ‘It’s not your thing, but don’t judge them. A lot of them take it seriously. There’ve been two big incidents that had legal repercussion for the firearms fans in this country. There was Hungerford in 1987, when sixteen people were shot dead in the streets, and Dunblane in 1996. Eighteen people died here, including the gunman.’
    Dunblane. The name made me shiver. Sixteen small children and their teacher had died at the hands of a middle-aged man armed with a collection of handguns, for no apparent reason. ‘I know handguns were made illegal after Dunblane.’
    ‘You’re right. And Hungerford did for semi-automatic rifles. Every weapon Michael Ryan used in Hungerford was licensed and legally held by him. Thomas Hamilton was the same in Dunblane. The law-abiding gun lovers are scared of another incident, not that they have much left to lose. You know the politicians don’t care about shooting as a sport. It’s up there with hunting. They’re happy to swap the chance of a few Olympic shooting medals for a public perception they’ve done something about mass murder.’
    ‘So bitter,’ I said.
    ‘I’d ban the lot of them. I hate guns.’
    ‘But you liked shooting.’
    ‘I did.’ He slid the sight into his jacket pocket. ‘A bit too much.’
    Derwent never, ever talked about the army, or shooting, or anything else about his past unless he had no choice. I hesitated, wondering if I should ask him to explain