The target started towards him along the narrow pavement.
‘Coming this way,’ Pete said quietly into the radio. ‘Jane, be alert. Dave, come on round. Gently does it. No rush.’ He paused, waiting. Watching from low in the seat, hidden by the headrest.
Petrosyan turned at the junction.
‘Jane, target approaching you.’
‘Got him, boss.’
‘Dave, you’re up.’
‘Roger that.’
The man in the leather jacket had now gone from Pete’s view. He knew that Jane would have eyes on him until he turned another corner or, if not, for a good two hundred yards, so there was no rush for Dave to take up the pursuit.
Behind him, headlights showed, coming up around the junction beyond the target house as Dick Feeney drove slowly up into view.
‘Steady, Dick. Jane’s got him for a minute or two unless she says different.’
‘He’s in sight,’ she confirmed. Then, ‘Hang on. He’s gone behind a van.’ A pause. ‘There. He’s crossing over. Continuing down the street.’
They waited.
Then the radio hissed again. ‘He’s turned. Right, right, right. Gone from view.’
‘OK, Dick. Drive straight down the hill. Try and spot him on the way past the road he’s turned into, but don’t slow down. I’ll go down the next one along and come in from the far end so he can’t suspect anything.’
‘Affirmative.’
Pete saw the headlights of Feeney’s car moving towards him in his mirror as he switched on the ignition. ‘Which cross-street, Jane?’
‘Third one down from here. That’s the third one.’
‘Roger that.’ He pulled out as Dick turned down towards Jane’s position, heading further along the road to take the next left. He was approaching the second cross-street down the hill when the radio crackled again.
‘Target sighted,’ said Dave. ‘Right side of the street, still walking.’
Pete relaxed slightly. As he’d suspected, the Armenian was heading for the small group of shops along there. A newsagent’s cum post office, a fish and chip shop and a small independent pet shop were set back slightly from the 1950s houses to either side so that three or four cars could park in front of them.
‘OK, Dick,’ he said into the radio. ‘Turn around where you can. He’ll be going to the newsagent’s. Jane, you can come on down, too.’
He made the turn and spotted Petrosyan walking towards him, about a hundred and fifty yards away. Like the other streets around here, the houses had no drives or garages. It was parallel parking on the street, wherever you could find a space. Pete spotted one and stopped to reverse into it. Ahead of him, Petrosyan turned into the newsagent’s, as expected. Pete keyed the radio mike again. ‘Heads up. He’s in the shop. Move in, move in.’
He finished parking and switched off the engine as two cars turned into the junction ahead of him, one from the left, one from the right. Taking the radio with him, he stepped out of the car.
‘Jane, leave your car back a bit. Dick, come in and stop outside the shops,’ he ordered, then tucked the radio into his pocket as he headed in on foot. He was just turning into the narrow forecourt of the shops when the door of the newsagent’s opened, bell tinkling, and the Armenian stepped out, a newspaper folded under his arm, hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.
‘Morning,’ Pete said with a nod.
Petrosyan glanced at him. His small eyes narrowed.
A car pulled up to Pete’s right. ‘Good thing I bumped into you, Gagik,’ he said. ‘I need a word.’
Petrosyan’s frown turned instantly to a snarl. ‘You’re a cop.’
Pete held his calm expression. ‘I am, but you’re not under arrest.’ He heard the door of the car to his right open and close. Jane’s footsteps were echoing along the pavement behind Petrosyan. ‘Somebody in Exeter is going around killing people. His latest victim, he used what I’m told is very likely your product in the process, so you might be able to help me identify him.’
‘Why should I help you?’
‘I’ve got two officers to your right and another one behind you.’
Despite himself, Petrosyan glanced over his shoulder.
‘If we wanted you in custody, you would be by now,’ Pete went on. ‘We just need to talk. The guy we’re after is busy reducing your alleged customer base as we speak, so it would be good for business for you to help us.’
‘What business?’
‘We know exactly what business you’re in, Gagik. But, like I said, we don’t care. Not this morning. All we need is to find out who’s been buying suxamethonium recently.’
Petrosyan stepped in close to Pete. Although he was a good five inches shorter, his bulk and his attitude were enough to intimidate most people and he relied on them now as he tried to stare Pete out. ‘Why would I tell you, even if I knew? What would it do to my reputation if I did that?’
‘Depends if anyone knew about it, doesn’t it?’ Pete said, unfazed. ‘The way I see it, we’ve got two choices here. You talk to me or I put out an appeal to the public for information on whoever might have supplied our man with the sux he used on his latest victim. What do you think he’s going to do then, eh? If I were him, I’d be coming after the supplier straight away. One, to shut him up and, two, because he fits the profile of the victims we’re looking at. So, two for the price of one.’
Petrosyan’s thick lip curled. ‘You think I’m scared of some college punk? I could have him for dinner and spit out the bones.’
‘Oh, I doubt you’re scared much of anybody, Gagik. But, looking at his previous victims, I think maybe you should be. He’s clever as well as vicious. The last one, he burned alive. That’s what the sux was for. To keep him conscious while he burned.’
The sneer had died on Petrosyan’s face. Now it twitched in what could have been disgust. ‘I don’t know who this guy is that you’re talking about.’
‘But you know he’s a college punk.’
‘Aren’t they all?’
Pete shook his head slowly. ‘Not serial killers like this one.’
Petrosyan grunted.
‘So, what do you know, if not his name?’
‘What, you think I’m some sort of street dealer? I don’t know him. I never seen him.’
‘But you know who does know him, who has seen him.’
‘You want me to give you a dealer?’
‘We both know they’re ten a penny. You’d just replace him with another. Allegedly.’
‘I am not the man you think I am,’ Petrosyan said stubbornly.
‘OK. I’ll just go back to the station and get onto that press release then. Let our killer help us clean up the streets a bit more before we take him off them. Have a good day, Mr Petrosyan.’ He saw the doubt flash in the Armenian’s eyes as he nodded to the others to back off, let him go. But Petrosyan had face to save. Scowling, he walked doggedly away.
Pete and his crew came together on the narrow forecourt behind the retreating figure.
‘He knows,’ Dave said.
‘Of course he does,’ Pete agreed. ‘But he can’t be seen to back down to us, can he? His reputation could get ruined. And then his hold on his organisation would be gone.’