Free Random Targets by James Raven Page B

couldn’t see his face because he kept his head down without once looking up. But when the Fiesta drove into shot again on its way off the estate they had better luck. Temple got Barry to freeze a frame and zoom in on the rear number plate.
    ‘Well, what do you know?’ he said, barely able to contain his excitement.
    The vehicle registration was clearly visible.

CHAPTER 14
    T EMPLE PHONED IN the registration on his way back to the incident room. By the time he got there the team had discovered that the vehicle – a six-year-old Fiesta – had been reported stolen three days earlier from a street in Eastleigh near Southampton.
    Two detectives were on their way to talk to the owner who, according to the DVLA, was a 50-year-old woman named Susan Kline. A nationwide alert for the car was triggered and Temple told the press office to put out a news release. He also wanted to know immediately if it turned up on other CCTV footage in the area.
    Then he got the team together for another briefing and asked Chief Superintendent Beresford to attend. He told them about his meeting with Mrs Larkin. Then he showed them the footage from the Global Imports security camera which Barry had obligingly transferred to a memory stick.
    ‘This has to be our man,’ Temple said. ‘He parked the car as near to the bridge as he could. He must have known the industrial estate would be deserted. Look at the rucksack he’s carrying. It’s big enough to accommodate one of those rifles that fold up.’
    It was the kind of breakthrough that detectives hope for on any investigation and it generated an enthusiastic buzz in the room.
    ‘I can’t believe he didn’t spot the camera,’ Beresford said.
    ‘Maybe he did,’ Temple said. ‘He knew we wouldn’t be able to identify him from the footage. Showing himself like this might be part of his game. He’s playing with us.’
    Beresford nodded. ‘He’s obviously an attention-seeker. Why else leave the message under the bridge?’
    ‘Well, he’s about to get a bucket-load of attention,’ Temple said. ‘I want this footage on every TV channel. And I want images from it plastered all over tomorrow’s papers.’
    The security footage was a big boost to morale. There’d been no other significant developments during the morning. If theywere lucky someone might recognize the man from his walk. Or maybe the rucksack would jog a memory. What they really needed was a shot of the bastard’s face.
    Nevertheless Temple told the team they had good reason to be pleased. Only eighteen hours after the shootings and they already had CCTV footage of a likely suspect. That was in addition to the forensic evidence – the bullets and the shoe prints. It didn’t amount to much, but it was more than they often had this early on in a major inquiry.
    He listened to various updates. Provisional postmortem reports confirmed that only two of the drivers had died from bullet wounds, the others from injuries caused by the crash. There appeared to be no link between any of the victims. They were just ordinary people: random targets. Two had lived in Southampton, one in the New Forest, one in Winchester and one along the coast in Bournemouth. A total of eight children had become orphans as a result of the crash. Calls had been flooding in from members of the public. Some were claiming they knew the identity of the shooter, others asking whether it was safe to use the motorways. This came as no surprise to Temple. A crime on this scale was bound to encourage people to pick up the phone. Most would feel they had something important to pass on. But a sick minority would be intent on wasting police time. All the calls had to be followed up because you never knew which of them would turn into a credible lead.
    When the meeting broke up, Temple returned to his shoebox of an office which had a view over the docks. There were no personal affects other than a framed photograph of his daughter Tanya. She was living in London now,