The Final Cut Read online

  Once again, Miller wanted to hammer home the message about the victims, Kath, Jason and Gary, and remind everybody of the fact that these were just ordinary folk. By all accounts, they were lovely, very kind and well-respected people.

  They were extremely nice folk whose lives had been changed beyond all recognition, through the horrendous injuries that had been inflicted onto them by a sick, evil bastard.

  Miller was absolutely determined that the promises he made to Kath, and to Jason, would be kept. He still hadn’t met with Gary Webster, as the third victim was far too poorly in Tameside Hospital’s high dependency unit.

  The discovery of the note was a game-changer, and the press were completely obsessed by the contents, and making assumptions about the attacker. In terms of the media coverage, it wasn’t really about the victims now, it was becoming more about the attacker, and Miller began to realise that it had probably been an error to release it, because now, the note had unintentionally become the story.

  But Miller was determined to turn-the-tables back. He was standing on the pavement outside Beech House’s staff entrance. The forensics tent was still in situ, so Miller made sure that this would be the back-drop to his press-conference. It was a wet, windy and grey day, and the press conference location looked just as dreary and depressing as the vulgar and distressing subject matter. It was like a scene from a Morrissey song.

  “Good afternoon, thanks for coming. You’ve all had our press release this morning, and you are all fully up-to-speed with the investigation so far. So, I have nothing further to add to that.” There were some bemused looks amongst the media employees stood before him. He was teasing them, and they soon caught on with his next sentence, “so I’ve come along here today to tell you about Gary Webster, the third victim of the individual that we are currently trying to locate. Gary Webster is an extremely well-known and well-liked lad around this side of Greater Manchester. He is currently in a very serious condition In Tameside Hospital. I’m pleased to report that his condition is no longer described as critical, so that is very positive progress that he has made overnight. However, he is still extremely poorly, and the very grim news is that he probably won’t be able to stand up again, as a result of the horrendous injuries that he sustained right here, yesterday afternoon.”

  Miller paused for dramatic effect, allowing the media representatives to take in the grim, depressing scene behind his shoulder. The only source of colour in that black, white and grey scene was the vivid yellow from the forensics tent.

  “Now, let me tell you a bit about Gary Webster. He is thirty-one years old, he grew up in Audenshaw, just a few miles up the road. After leaving school with excellent GCSE grades, he went to Ashton Sixth-Form College and did his A levels. Many of the tutors remember him well, and this morning, the principal wrote this message on the College’s Facebook page. It reads;

  “He may have left fourteen years ago, but Gary was such a memorable character, it doesn’t seem that long to those of us who enjoyed his presence here. Many of our staff remember Gary vividly, he was such a lively and amusing member of the college community. He was always happy, always positive, and always eager to lend a hand. Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family and loved-ones at this distressing time, and we wish Gary a fast and full recovery from this appalling and unbelievable attack.”

  Once again, Miller paused, he wanted the reporters to soak up every word. He wanted them to really care about this young bloke, and the horrific thing that had happened to him. Eventually, the DCI started talking again, aware that Sky News and BBC News were covering the press conference live, along with many radio stations.

  “Gary has worked in this building for almost ten years. I know that a lot of people from the local community of Hyde and Hattersley know Gary very well, and that he has been a positive force in a great many of their lives. I want to read you another statement, this was sent into this Jobcentre this morning, by a gentleman called Fred Barker, a local man who owes a great deal to Gary. The message reads, “I am so gutted to hear this news about Gary. That lad is a one-in-a-million, and he did so much for me when I was out of work. I got laid off from Wall’s after twenty-three years there, and I couldn’t get an interview anywhere, in two years. But Gary never gave up, he’d ring me up, telling me about jobs, even when I was down and I’d given up. I know he’s probably not supposed to, but he booked a morning off work once, so he could drive me to an interview, practising asking me questions and really boosting my confidence. He sat outside for about an hour, waiting for me to come out, asking me all about it. He really cared, and because of him, I got the job, and I’ve been here five years now. He didn’t have to do that, none of it. But he cared, and that was what you really felt like when he was talking to you. You couldn’t find a better lad than Gary, and I’ve been in tears all morning. I just wanted to write this, and tell you what a cracking lad he is.”

  Miller looked around the press people, and he was glad that this tactic was paying off. It was clear on the faces before him that his message was getting through.

  “Now I’m not exaggerating when I say that I could stand here all day, and read out similar messages about Gary, and about the other victims, Jason Brown and Kath Palmer. These people seem to be the most genuine, and kindest people around, and yet this unimaginable horror has happened to them. I really want you guys to make this your biggest story until we’ve taken the person responsible off the streets. I cannot bear the thought of hearing that another person has been attacked.”

  Miller paused again. He wanted these sections to stand alone, so they could be easily edited into news bulletins throughout the day, and hopefully into the evening too.

  “Okay, I’ve not got much more to add at this stage, but I’m sure you will all appreciate that we are flat-out working on this, I have fifty officers on this already, and I’ve asked for more. For the integrity of the work my officers are doing, I’m not prepared to discuss individual lines of enquiry. However, I am happy to try and answer any questions that you may have about this case, on the understanding that they will not jeopardise any ongoing investigations.”

  Suddenly, the press rabble became extremely excitable, arms were going up in the air and dozens of questions were being shouted in Miller’s direction.

  “Do you believe that all DWP staff are at risk of attack?”

  “I’m not in a position to rule that out. Of course, but I would advise everybody to try and stay calm. We are going to be communicating with the agencies involved regarding security measures, and naturally, those conversations will be confidential. The Chief Constable is in talks with central government this morning, and I am in a meeting this afternoon with the key decision makers from the police, the DWP and other security services.”

  “It all seems a bit of a U-turn DCI Miller! You were trying to deny this motive yesterday!”

  “No, I didn’t deny it, I just didn’t have enough evidence to pursue that line of enquiry. But obviously, that situation has changed now, quite tragically over the course of the past twenty-four hours.”

  “Have you got any more information about the attacker?”

  “Nothing concrete yet, but thanks to CCTV footage we recovered from the bus station, we have a gained lots of information about the attackers personal characteristics, and these are details which will be invaluable to this investigation.”

  “What is the advice to any DWP employees watching this?”

  “My advice is to stay calm, stay in groups, don’t panic. This is the biggest priority across the Manchester police force, and I know that colleagues in neighbouring forces are paying close attention to what is happening as well, with a view to implementing their own security procedures across Merseyside, Lancashire and Cheshire forces. We will have comprehensive news about our plans which will be communicated to all DWP staff, later on today.”

  “Is that definite DCI Miller?”

  “Yes, that’s definite. I can assure you all that this is a matter
of the most serious nature, and we will not stop until we are absolutely confident that we have the man behind these abhorrent crimes in our custody, but equally as important is the safety of DWP staff.”

  “What do you think about the reason for the attacks, as we understand them.”

  “I don’t want to get involved in that type of discussion.” Miller pointed to another reporter, but the man that he had just snubbed continued with the line of questioning.

  “You have to!” He shouted. Miller wasn’t sure what paper he was representing, but the man seemed extremely angry. “I’m sorry DCI Miller, but it’s important that we understand that as the leading detective, you are aware of the facts of the case, aware of the behaviour of the DWP over the past seven years. These attacks are horrendous, sure, but the person responsible for them must feel extremely strongly in order to do what he’s doing.”

  “What, maiming innocent people, just hacking at them from behind with weapons? Causing them injuries that mean they can’t walk, or work again? Sorry mate, but I’ll never understand that, and if you do, I suggest you go and have a word with your psychiatrist.” Miller looked absolutely furious, but his opponent wasn’t done yet.

  “I’m not agreeing with the attacker, I think he’s sick in the head. But I’m trying to point out that these DWP staff are not all sweetness and light. They are responsible for genocide against the weakest section of society. So please, take the rose-tinted spectacles off, and stop trying to paint them as lovely people.”

  “Sorry, but which newspaper are you representing?” asked Miller. He’d never known a reporter to behave so appallingly at a press-conference.

  “I’m not with a paper. I’m just a man, a man who has had my own benefits stopped by these cunts, it took thirteen weeks to get them back. For thirteen weeks I was left with fuck all, and I didn’t even get an apology when they realised they’d stopped them for no reason. Thirteen weeks without any money for food or electric, all because these arseholes who work in there have got to stop people’s benefits.”

  “I’m sorry, but this is completely ridiculous,” said Miller. His mouth was open, as though he was about to say something else, but the man in the press-pack still wasn’t done.

  “I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous, yeah, the fact that you and the media here are all acting so surprised by these attacks. This has been inevitable, for years. Keep kicking a dog, and then act surprised one day when he bites your nose off. There was always going to be a price to pay, the government knew that. Well, it looks like the fight-back has started, doesn’t it?”

  “I’ll tell you what mate, you can come down to the hospital with me later and say all this to Kath, and to Jason. I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here pal, but I’m this close to arresting you on the grounds of inciting hate.”

  “You won’t shut me up DCI Miller. It’s obvious what this man is doing, he’s trying to show you, and these who work in here, that anybody can suffer a disability. Let’s see these bastards stopping the payments for Kath, and Jason and Gary, stating some bullshit reason, like they need a reassessment. Look, these people have knowingly caused untold suffering to the people who need their help the most. It’s disgusting, they are responsible for some of the harshest, cruellest decisions against people who can’t fight back, and they know it. Every single one of them knows it. And, they’ve all done it because their boss told them to. I agree with what the attacker says, I don’t know how they can fucking sleep at night either!” The man looked up at the big, grey concrete building and shouted at the top of his voice, “SHAME ON YOU!”

  Miller turned and walked away from the TV cameras and reporters, heading for the DWP building’s fire-exit, which was being used as a temporary staff entrance. Miller was absolutely seething, he’d had to walk away, or he felt that he was going to punch that stupid bastard in the face. As he reached a uniformed officer, he turned and pointed at the man, who was still shouting “shame on you,” in the direction of the offices.

  “Here mate, go and arrest that guy who’s doing the shouting. He’s disturbing the peace, inciting hatred and if you don’t lock him in a van in the next two minutes, the staff out of here are going to murder the little prick.”

  “Sir.”

  Miller headed off, walking towards his car which was parked across the market, on Asda’s car park. He was so pissed off. The idea of that press conference had been to humanise the victims, and point out how lovely they all are. Thanks to that knob-head, the point had been totally lost. If anything, feared Miller, the reverse was done, and the victims had been made out as arseholes on the national TV.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Miller’s instinct about the press conference had been right. The media’s reporting angle had been altered from the point-of-view that the victims were all innocent, lovely members of the community.

  Suddenly, thanks exclusively to that one gob-shite standing in amongst the reporters and journalists outside Beech House, there was an unforgiving debate erupting about the DWP’s activities, and the debate was fierce. It was starting to become clear to Miller that there was a massive conversation going on, and he had had absolutely no idea that any of this stuff even existed before he had been handed this case.

  On radio, on TV news channels, on Facebook newspaper threads and across tables in pubs, the discussion was in full flow. Passions were flying high, as a shocked British public tried to make sense of what this attacker was trying to achieve.

  BBC Radio Five Live’s afternoon show was covering the topic.

  “John in Kettering, you’re on the air.”

  “Thanks, look, I just want to add my name to the growing list of people who are completely and utterly aghast at what this man is doing up in Manchester…”

  “But,”

  “Well, yes, there is a but, actually. The but is this, the man is using a disgusting, absolutely appalling way of getting his point across. But the fact is simple, as uncomfortable as it is, there is a point to me made.”

  “The point presumably, is that you can break a grandmother’s spine with an axe to create a conversation?” The BBC presenter was not in the mood for the direction that many of his callers wanted to take the conversation.

  “Okay, that’s a very fair point, and as I said at the start of the call. It’s disgusting. I’ve not phoned up to say anything in support of the attacker.”

  “So why have you phoned, John?”

  “I’ve phoned because the government are hung, drawn and quartered here, they have created this situation, and they

  need to make it stop, right now.”

  The presenter sounded exasperated, and he exhaled loudly. “Okay, John, you seem quite frustrated about this. Are you on benefits yourself?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I’m a support-worker.”

  “And how have you been affected by the actions of the DWP?”

  “I haven’t. Not directly, but I know plenty who have. Neighbours, friends, lots of my colleague’s relatives.”

  “Okay, and I have to ask you why you think that the government should change their policy because one mad-man has started attacking innocent people?”

  “With the greatest of respect, it’s not just me who is saying it. The UN are saying it, the United Nations mate! They have described the actions of the DWP as a ‘human catastrophe’ but this arrogant, malicious government just ignore them. Did you hear about the father-of-three who killed himself last year after his marriage broke down due to the utterly contemptible behaviour of the DWP?”

  “No, John, I didn’t. But before you go any further, I must warn you that you are responsible for any libel that your comments may contain.”

  “There is no libel. These are facts, and they are well documented. As a journalist yourself, I’m staggered that you aren’t very well informed on the matter.”

  “Okay, you can have that. Go on please John, I’m eager
to hear about how the Department for Work and Pensions, a government body is responsible for the death of a father-of-three.”

  “They are. It’s been to court, they admitted liability for causing unnecessary hardship, and for helping to create a situation that created his severe mental health incapacity.”

  There was a silence. Suddenly, the motor-mouth radio know-it-all had quietened down. John from Kettering continued. “The man was called Trevor North, he lived in Sheffield, worked as a steel-man all his working life. He was made redundant a few years ago when the foundry he worked at closed. His marriage broke down shortly after the DWP stopped his benefit payments. He lost his house, his income, his marriage. And in the end, it was too much. He took his own life.”

  “Well, that’s a very tragic story John, but how can you lay the blame with the DWP?”

  “I’m not enjoying your patronising tone of voice, but I’ll carry on, despite it.”

  “Please do.”

  “It’s not me who blames the DWP, it was the Coroner’s Court. The blame is laid at the DWP’s door because they stopped his money when he failed to show up at the Jobcentre to sign on.”

  “But what’s the point in having these rules, if you are not going to enforce them? Isn’t that the whole point of the rules? To carry out the deed which was being used as a consequence?”

  “Yes, of course it is. But since the DWP had sent him on a training course at a time which clashed with his signing on time, he assumed that he would be excused. He went to the training course, as he was instructed. But his benefits were stopped for thirteen weeks because he missed his Jobcentre appointment.”

  The silence was there again. It was as though the radio host had been caught unawares.

  “That’s… that can’t be true.”

  “It is true. Of course it is true. Put it into Google.”

  “Well, no, I’m sorry… that’s not…”