Nothing To Lose Read online

  “Well, he hasn’t said what time exactly, put he’d sent me several e-mails over the course of the evening, the last one was just after one in the morning.”

  Dixon smiled widely. “Well, I can only congratulate you on your excellent people-management skills Jo. I know you can manipulate your suspects in interviews like a genius. I’m not surprised that you can transfer the same skills to your new role in man management.” Dixon meant the compliment, but it sounded a little insincere and a bit too much like a forced conclusion to the discussion regarding Chapman. Instead of accepting the praise and the intended closure, the DS felt that she had no option but to press further.

  “Well, you see Sir, I have tried really hard with Bill, and I’ve also taken responsibility for my own conduct with regards to how difficult our relationship has been. But I made a deal with him, that we’d have no more bad vibes. And I’m absolutely blown away by how positively he has taken my offer of an olive branch.”

  “Yes, yes, as I say, this is very welcome news, and I congratulate you whole-heartedly.” Dixon looked as though he was becoming a little tired of this conversation.

  “I think the point that Jo is trying to make,” said Saunders, aware that Rudovsky was tying herself up in knots, “we feel that we need to reward Bill’s hard-work on this case. Show him that his positive contribution is being acknowledged.”

  Dixon leant forward and rested his chin on his hands. “I’m sorry, Keith, I’m not quite…”

  “No, no, sorry Sir, what I’m trying to say is that Bill Chapman has cracked the case. His determination to show Jo that he wants to commit to this new working relationship has resulted in him single-handedly solving the mystery surrounding Graham Hartley’s murder.

  “Ah, I see. Well, that is significantly good news!” It was clear from Dixon’s face that he was suddenly interested.

  “But if we are to follow your orders and hand our file over to Salford CID to make the arrests and bring the charges, well Jo and I are both concerned that this will have an extremely negative effect on Bill’s attitude going forward.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see that. How confident are you in the work that Bill’s done with this?” Dixon was staring directly at Saunders. The DI handled himself well.

  “Well, I think Jo is probably the best person to ask about that.” Saunders’ reply was good and his poker-face was strong. It sounded so much better than the truthful answer, ‘I don’t know, Sir, she won’t tell me!”

  Rudovsky spent the next five minutes explaining the facts and circumstances surrounding Hartley, his girlfriend, and her estranged husband.

  Dixon was impressed. This case had been a real pain for the police service, which had been bombarded daily by local journalists and news editors, who it seemed were absolutely determined to keep their fear-mongering about a random killer stalking Manchester’s streets on their front pages and in the top-of-the-hour news bulletins.

  “What I am asking you for, Sir, please, is to allow us to see this through to the end. I want to make it clear right now that I understand the logistical sense of handing this file on to Salford. But I fear that the short-term gains from that approach will be lost on the longer-term aims that I have for nurturing and developing a better work ethic from DC Chapman.”

  Dixon looked at Rudovsky and nodded. He stayed like that for several seconds, which made the DS uncomfortable, she was seriously starting to doubt her judgement as the silence hung ominously in that musty room.

  Finally, Dixon spoke. “Twenty-four-hours you say?”

  “Give or take.” Rudovsky’s typically cheeky reply was met with a raised eye-brow. She decided to keep digging the hole she felt she’d started. “I mean, I’m extremely confident that we can have him banged up this afternoon, interviews done and CPS reports filled out by tomorrow morning, based on what I currently know. But I’m sure you’ll appreciate that I can’t give you a cast-iron guarantee.”

  Another cringeworthy silence passed. It was Dixon doing his big-bollocks act. “Okay. Based on the circumstances you’ve explained, I think the benefits of letting Chapman make this arrest far outweigh the negatives. But I will not extend this any longer than end-of-play tomorrow.I hope you realise that this is a one-off, and that I’m not known for changing my mind. I must say that you are both extremely fortunate that you’ve caught me in an unusually pleasant mood today.”

  “Oh, thank you, Sir. I really appreciate your support.”

  “Thank you. Let me know the plans for the arrest and the tactical requirements you will need within the next half-an-hour.”

  “Sir.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  DCI Katy Green’s revelation about the vehicle on the M60 had come as great news, but Miller had soon learnt that he was in for a disappointment. Ideas of a fast conclusion to this investigation were to be dashed as DCI Green revealed further information.

  The vehicle involved, a dark silver Vauxhall Zafira had been found burnt out on wasteland close to the Peak Forest canal in Hyde. The car had been driven using false plates, DVLA checks revealed that the registration plates used on the vehicle which had been parked on the M60 corresponded to an identical vehicle which had been scrapped several months earlier.

  Miller scribbled some points down in his note-pad as he listened to the rest of DCI Green’s information. He was surprised to learn that the car which had been used, and subsequently burnt out, had been reported stolen one day before the fire, from a business address in Rochdale. The vehicle was owned by an Asian gentleman, and had been an MOT failure. It had been parked up outside the MOT garage for several days, whilst the mechanic tried to get some second-hand parts from eBay in a bid to save the owner some money. He’d arrived at work in the morning and noticed that the Zafira had gone. After ringing the owner to ask if he had taken the car, and learning that the owner had no knowledge of the car’s disappearance, it was reported to the police as stolen.

  “So, just let me get my head around this. Whoever started that fire had gone to the enormous trouble of nicking a car, then finding some fake-plates for a similar model at a scrap-yard, before burning it out, all within thirty-six hours?”

  “That’s how it appears.”

  “I can see how parking it on the motorway, pretending it’s broken down is a good cover for walking around with petrol cans…”

  “Yes.” DCI Green was listening intently.

  “But I’m struggling with the rest. Putting fake plates on from a car which has been scrapped is like something off Britain’s dumbest criminals. It’s the fastest way to get a traffic cop pulling you over. As soon as a traffic car’s ANPR camera saw that registration it would have flashed it up as scrap, and the traffic car would be on its tail and pulling it over faster than you can say Free Deidre Rashid.” Miller was tapping his pen against his head as he looked at his notes.

  “Yes, I agree that this detail is quite puzzling. I can only assume that the people responsible were unaware that the car had been scrapped.”

  “Which would rule out the suggestion that they’ve gone around the scrap yards looking for a similar coloured Zafira?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well let’s find out for sure. Find out which scrap-dealer signed the log book when it was scrapped and let’s see what they have to say about it.”

  “My officers are already on that, Sir.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s one thing on a long list of others.” DCI Green looked a little embarrassed as she realised that this should really have been at the top of the priority list.

  “Anything else to report at this moment in time?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’ve got my officers looking at the route that the car took after it set off on the motorway, in the moments after the fire started. I’ve got a strong suspicion that it will have come off the sixty at the next junction, which is Bredbury, and would have made its way to Hyde via Woodley.”

  “Stockport Road?”

  “Precisely, Sir. My officers
are currently looking through the CCTV cameras along that stretch. It’s a long-shot, but I’m hopeful that we might get a look at the occupants as they made their way to the waste-land where they burnt it out.”

  “Good call. Presumably, the waste-land has no CCTV anywhere near?”

  “No, Sir. Not really. It was the site of an old cotton mill, pulled down after a fire a few years ago. It’s in a very remote spot between the canal and the river, and only accessible by the old road to the mill which has become quite overgrown now. It’s a cracking little place to burn a car out, we see two, maybe three a month there.”

  “Okay, well, I doubt we’ll be able to get very much from the scene. But good luck with the CCTV, there’s every chance you’ll find something with that line of enquiry. Go and gee your detectives up with regards to finding the scrap yard. I think I should pay the owner a visit.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you mind if I stay in here?” Miller was mindful that he was taking over this DCI’s office and he wanted to be polite about it. It would do his head in if the shoe was on the other foot.

  “Of course not. Make yourself at home, Sir.”

  DCI Green headed off to talk to her officers as Miller picked up the map of Windmill Lane and the motorway. He thought that there was a lot more to this bizarre idea of the pretend break-down. Either the people involved were total fuck-wits, or they had been duped by a third-party into buying the fake plates. Whichever it was, Miller was pleased that he finally had something that he could look into. His gut feeling was that this group of individuals had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to cover themselves whilst burning down the betting shop. Too much trouble, if he was being honest. He smelled a rat, but his train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing. It was Saunders.

  “Hi Keith, alright?”

  “Yes, all good. Got some excellent news on the Hartley case.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, are you sitting down?”

  “I am as it happens. Why?”

  “Well, it’s shocking news. Bill Chapman has cracked it!”

  Saunders spent the next five minutes filling Miller in on the developments, and on Dixon’s decision to keep the SCIU team on the case for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Wow, well, that is a development. How did Jo manage to get Dixon to agree to that?”

  “Jo felt, well, we both felt it was worth making the case that Chapman should make the arrest.”

  “Seems fair enough.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s trying to make amends with him, and everything could back-fire if he had to hand his breakthrough over to another team.”

  “Yes, no, I totally support the move.”

  “So, it doesn’t cause too much disruption there?”

  “No, not at all, this DCI at Tameside is brilliant, she’s had some real developments. It’s all very positive.”

  “Right, good news. So, what about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Shall I stay and assist Jo with this lot, or come back to Ashton?”

  “Oh right!” Miller laughed loudly. “I thought you meant, what about you, as in, I’m replacing you with DCI Green!” He laughed again.

  “You can’t replace me. You might as well call it a day if you haven’t got me on your team, I’m the one who consistently makes you look good and we both know it. You’d be hopeless if you didn’t have me! Back in uniform within months!”

  “Alright, don’t get too giddy Keith. Fucking hell fire.”

  “So, what am I doing? Coming back or staying put?”

  Miller thought for a moment and the line went silent as he did so.

  “Well, if its just making the arrest, you don’t need to be there. It’ll do Jo good to oversee the whole operation.”

  “Okay…”

  “Thing is, I need your brains over here. Got a right head-scratcher on the table here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, so my thoughts are that you come and make me look good and leave Chapman to enjoy his moment. It sounds well deserved.”

  “Okay, understood, see you in about half an hour.”

  *****

  Miller was looking through his case-notes as he passed the time waiting for Saunders. He was feeling very positive as he plotted the sites of the previous betting shop attacks, checking the geography of each location with the help of Google maps. He was making reams of notes in his pad as he studied each incident. There was no solid consistency between the sites other than the fact that they were all located in the quieter parts of the town. None of the five shops were in the town centre or anywhere near the main streets and thus, weren’t covered by town centre CCTV systems.

  The location of each shop did share one similar characteristic in that they were all close to the edge of town and these remote locations offered several options for escape. Miller began plotting the locations on the map software, looking all around each shop for isolated places that a car could be stashed close by, or used as a meeting point should the perpetrators of the attacks find themselves being separated or chased.

  Every location, at Eccles, Romiley, Bolton, Middleton and the fatal fire in Denton shared similar characteristics in this regard. But that was all there was. This was where the similarities ended.

  Miller popped out of the office and across to DCI Katy Green, asking her to get one of her officers to print off a map of Greater Manchester. A couple of minutes later, Miller had an A3 print of the city. He went back into DCI Green’s office and started drawing dots on the map, each dot marked the locations of each shop.

  Miller began looking at each location’s proximity to major roads, police stations, town centre CCTV systems and also the motorway system. The WelcomeBet shop, near Heaton Park ticked every box, it was close to the main Middleton Road which led traffic from the M60 motorway straight into Manchester city centre. It was also close to Middleton police station, and there were plenty of CCTV cameras along that stretch of road. He made more notes in his pad, a wave of enthusiasm was rushing through him as he realised that he was making some long-awaited progress.

  Safe in the knowledge that DI Saunders was on his way back, the adrenaline was starting to pump and Miller allowed himself to imagine that some tangible progress was finally being made after the initial sense of confusion. It had been a frustrating and emotional first 24 hours on this case, but the DCI was starting to believe that there was still plenty of stuff to look at, whilst reminding himself that the people behind these crimes were pretty dim. Dim people were the best kind to investigate in Miller’s experience, due to the fact they leave lots of silly clues lying around. Investigating hardened, experienced criminals was a different kettle-of-fish altogether. Time-served cons knew all the tricks of the trade, from covering their tracks at a crime-scene, evading CCTV and other surveillance systems, to knowing exactly how to perform in the police station should they find themselves under arrest.

  But these characters, parking up on the motorway half-a-mile away from their crime scene, using fake-plates from a car which had been scrapped, combined with the way that they carried themselves on the CCTV told Miller that he was dealing with complete and utter fuck-wits on this one. They were evil, sadistic people who had committed one of the most appalling crimes imaginable. But they were fuck-witted imbeciles and this realisation brought with it a warm, fuzzy feeling to DCI Miller.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rudovsky had sent her arrest plan to DCS Dixon within fifteen minutes of getting the green light to pursue the operation. The plan was a simple one, an undercover officer was going to keep an eye on the address and as soon as the suspect was eye-balled, the address would be ambushed by tactical aid officers, front and back, doors smashed off and the full weight of the law would go in there, pin Billy Nolan down and then take him into custody. There would follow a full search of the address by SOCO, looking for any evidence of Nolan’s link to Hartley and if possible, but extremely unlikely, try to discover the murder weap
on and the Carrera bicycle at the address.

  Dixon approved the request and phoned Salford’s Inspector, instructing him to release two tactical aid teams to assist the operation. He then e-mailed Rudovsky to instruct her to proceed.

  “Okay guys, squeaky-bum time!” She briefed her team; DC Bill Chapman, DC Peter Kenyon, DC Mike Worthington and DC Helen Grant. She explained that the confrontational work would be carried out by tactical-aid, and that once Nolan was in cuffs, Chapman would go in and make the arrest. The mood in the SCIU was fever-pitch. These types of operations were always good for getting the blood pumping, but without Miller and Saunders here to oversee everything, there was an added sense of jeopardy and excitement.

  “Okay, listen, I’m prepared to bet next month’s wages that Billy Nolan is the man responsible for the brutal, sickening murder of Graham Hartley. But before we go out there and bring him in, we need to all agree that without Bill’s excellent work on this, we would still be sat here scratching our heads. So well done Bill!”

  “Yeah, nice one Bill, brilliant job.”

  “Top man Bill.”

  Chapman looked slightly embarrassed, but also very pleased. Rudovsky thought that she saw a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

  “Come on, let’s go and take this sick bastard off the streets.”

  *****

  Swinton is the civic hub of Salford, where the city council has its offices and where the main police station serving the city of 234,000 people is located.

  Worsley Road, at the rear of Swinton town hall, is well known for its traffic jams, as all of the traffic that attempts to leave the busy town ends up stuck here at the junction with the East Lancs road.

  Worsley Road is also well known in the area for being the childhood home of Ryan Giggs. Britain’s most successful footballer of all time grew up here, not far from the traffic lights that everybody knows so well. He still lived in his childhood home for several years after becoming a first-team Manchester United player at the age of 17. In the early days, fans young and old would tap on the door and ask for Ryan’s autograph. Some were stunned to see Paul Ince or Andy Cole answer the door once or twice, who would solemnly announce that Ryan wasn’t in, before closing the door in the stunned fan’s face. It’s rumoured that Bryan Robson and Alex Ferguson once answered the door together, playing the same trick. The United legends would then close the door on the uninvited callers and loud laughter would be heard coming from inside the modest little house where Ryan lived with his mum. It was the stuff of legend around Swinton, a fierce United supporting town well inside the red side of Manchester.