One Man Crusade : DCI Miller 1: The Serial Killer Nobody Wants Caught Page 3

  “Cheeky bastard. He’s a got a positive ID on his next victim by ringing him up, he did the same on the second if you remember?”

  Saunders did remember. “Yeah, he shouted him over his back fence, because he had a few friends around. You’re right, he is a cheeky bastard.”

  “Have Forensics found anything yet?” Miller was keen to hear if the gunman had finally left a clue behind.

  “They’re on it now, they’ve got a few lines to chase, couple of foot prints, a hair hanging from a branch. Dixon’s turned up as well.

  Saunders announced the presence of Detective Chief Superintendent Dixon with a hint of surprise in his voice. Miller wasn’t surprised - he’d spoken to Dixon about the case at great length the previous day. He was quite impressed that Dixon was out of bed though. The DCS was well known for the strictly nine ‘til five approach to his work.

  “Who rang him?” Miller asked.

  “No idea, Sir. It wasn’t any of us. Probably switchboard.”

  “Right, that’s fine. Listen, ring BT, get the phone number of our gunman for me, it’s obviously a mobile. He might just have shopped himself there, we might have this one cracked!” Miller had an energy burst when details like this one emerged.

  “Sir, I’m already on it.” Saunders was on top form at present.

  “Right. Good stuff Keith. Keep me up to date. I’ll speak to you soon.” Miller ended the call and snapped shut his phone wallet. He got out of his car and went into the garage for a drink. Inside, he spent longer than a glance at the cigarette racking, his urge for a quick smoke after almost eighteen months as a non-smoker had been stronger than ever just recently. It had been his promise to Clare that when the twins arrived, he’d quit. He’d kept his word but he was finding that it really didn’t get any easier. He resisted the cigarettes and just bought the can of Lilt.

  Miller rang DCI Blake on his direct number - it rang a couple of times before he answered.

  “Blake,” his greeting was gruff and abrupt, not dissimilar to Miller’s own tetchy welcoming to Saunders earlier.

  “Good morning, my name is DCI Andrew Miller, Manchester City Police.” He tried to sound chirpy, although he felt far from it. The voice at the other end of the line perked up noticeably.

  “Ah, yes, thanks for calling. I was going to try and get hold of you again at some point today.” The harshness of his salutation had softened, he sounded friendly, and genuinely pleased that Miller had got back to him.

  Miller was happy with Blake’s bearing; he hated having to work with opposite numbers who tried supremacy or competitive tactics. He’d worked with a DCI in Merseyside who was constantly trying to disrupt his leads and was endlessly hindering the case by bitching and swiping at everything he did, simply to earn points and gain dominance with his own officers. He could tell straight off that this Blake guy wasn’t in for any of that nonsense.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest, There’s quite a lot we need to discuss.” Miller had decided on the way over that he was going to play this one right down the line.

  “Oh?” Blake was intrigued.

  “Yeah, ‘fraid so. I’m in Sheffield now. Can we meet up?”

  “Bloody hell! We must need to talk. Yeah, whereabouts are you?”

  “I’m at a filling station just on the A6101 near Stannington.”

  “The BP one is it?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Okay, listen, stay there, I’ll send a patrol car and you can follow it back here.” Miller was impressed with Blake.

  “That’s terrific, thanks a lot.”

  “No problems, it’ll not be long.”

  “Cheers.”

  Miller used the waiting time productively. He went over all of the paperwork on the case, revising facts, checking his log and looking for gaps. He had to exude efficiency in front of another DCI. As far as he could see, everything was there, of course up until the previous night’s activities. Miller stared out of the windscreen at the main road, which was beginning to show signs of the upcoming rush hour. He got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as a thought popped into his head.

  “You’re not going to catch this one…”

  The thought troubled him, spooked him almost. He had never had a thought like that before, not about any case. Miller put his negativity down to tiredness.

  The police car arrived and escorted Miller to his destination. Trying to keep up with the vehicle took his mind off the case. Upon arrival at Sheffield Central Police Station, Miller was greeted at the reception doors by a large, tubby man in a tight fitting pink shirt. He was enjoying a cigarette, which only added more pressure onto Miller’s recent cravings.

  “Ah, Detective Chief Inspector Miller I presume,” It was a big, booming voice. He was a big man, with a great big friendly face. Miller stepped over to him, extending his hand. Blake didn’t seem to be displaying the usual contempt for Miller because he looked young for the rank. There were not many equals that had imagined Miller to be worthy of such a rank at his age. They had all written him off on the first encounter. Each of them had been proved wrong quickly, too. Blake obviously took people as he found them, which came as a welcome change to Miller.

  “Pleased to meet you Detective Chief Inspector Blake.” Miller liked this guy already.

  “I’ve been quite worried, I can’t imagine what revelations demand such an impromptu drive across the Pennines.” He released Miller’s hand. His eyes were alive, busy and attentive, but had huge bags underneath them that confirmed that Blake had been at it all night. He took a last puff at his cigarette and threw the butt down a grid.

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s imperative that I discuss a case with you.”

  Blake nodded while staring at Miller’s mouth as he spoke.

  “Then you’d better come in here then, hadn’t you?” Blake gestured Miller through into the station, and set off with a quick stride through the corridors, up a staircase and through to Blake’s CID office.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yeah, please. That’d be great,” replied Miller as he sat down in a chair opposite Blake’s desk. Blake closed the door then sat down and requested a coffee from somebody on the telephone.

  “Okay, I’ll get straight into it, no point trying to break this gently,” said Miller as he opened his file.

  Through the huge windows, Blake’s team spent the next ten minutes watching their boss’s expressions with interest.

  “What’s going on? He looks like he’s going to have a stroke!” asked one of the detectives, who had never seen his boss looking so distressed and startled.

  Chapter Three

  Porta Delco Factory, Denton

  It was turning out to be a beautiful day on both sides of the Pennines, a glorious heat was coming from the sunshine, the bright blue sky had barely a cloud in sight and it was only nine-thirty. This fine weather was an early treat for everybody in the north of England, who wouldn’t usually see any of the fine weather in any prolonged spells until June or July. The good weather had already been around for the past fortnight, and forecasters were promising plenty more.

  The industrial estate where Porta Delco was situated had a little white tow-away “butty van,” that had produced the finest bacon and egg with red sauce that DS Keith Saunders had ever tasted. He was sitting in his car with DC Bill Chapman and DC Mike Worthington - his enthusiasm for the sandwich was evident with each mouthful.

  “Keith, will you shut up with all that mmming and slurping, you’re putting me off mine,” said Chapman who was sitting next to him in the front.

  “It is a good butty though, you’ve got to say,” offered Worthington from the back, who was enjoying his with about as much fervour, though less audibly.

  “I’m sorry Bill, but that is the finest bacon and egg butty in the whole of Greater Manchester, and as you know, I’m well qualified to make that assessment. In fact, it’s so good, I am going back to that cabin and I’m going to pass on my compliments to the lass
who created it, with a twenty pound tip.” Saunders threw the last bit into his mouth and chewed it as his two colleagues laughed loudly, in more of a bewildered way than a genuinely amused manner.

  “You twat!” said Chapman, with more meaning than humour.

  “You’re taking the piss, Keith, you can’t tip a butty van twenty quid because you enjoyed the butty. It’s a good butty, fair comment, but that’s insane. She’ll think you’re an absolute bell end!” Offered Worthington. But the pleas fell on deaf-ears. Saunders was resolute, he opened his wallet and pulled out a crisp new twenty-pound note as he spoke.

  “If you two tight fisted gets are happy to eat such a good sandwich which is so evidently under priced, then good luck to you. But personally, I am not going to leave this car park without giving that lass a fee that her fine sandwich deserves. I don’t know how you two sleep at night!”

  Worthington scoffed loudly at Saunders’ ridiculous justification.

  “You want to shag her! It’s as simple as that, so quit bullshitting about the sandwich,” quipped Chapman, to Worthington’s delight.

  Saunders winked as he got out of the car and walked over towards the cabin, his twenty pound note clenched between his thumb and forefinger. He could hear the two DC’s laughing at him from the car, but he didn’t care.

  At the cabin, there were a couple of the more ardent factory workers still hanging around. They had arrived for work at six, but hadn’t been allowed onto the premises because of the investigation. The shrewder workers had seen the situation for what it was, and raced home as soon as they’d found out. Only a moron or a supervisor would stand around on the off-chance of the firm re-opening before the end of the shift. Saunders stood behind the workers as they queued for their food. He overheard a little fat bloke with Porta Delco overalls explaining what had been happening to a younger colleague.

  “The dibble are crawling all over the place, looking for clues. It sounds like one of the nightshift workers got shot. It sounds like he were arguing with one of the other nightshift lads, when the bloke that got shot pulled a gun out of his coat and threatened the other bloke. I think they were arguing about a car what somebody had ripped somebody off with or something like that and the other bloke - it sounds like it was probably Frank Jones that pulled the gun off him and shot him in the balls - but it’s killed him. Probably lost too much blood.”

  The young lad looked enthralled. Saunders tried to stifle a chuckle. It never ceased to amaze him how ridiculous the story became once a few gossips started adding their own “shite” to the scraps of truth that always escape. He fought hard the temptation to introduce himself to the fat guy and ask for a statement from him, explaining that he had no idea that that was what had happened at all. He would have done normally, for a laugh - but he was far too busy today.

  Saunders pushed past the workers before him in the queue and introduced himself to the young lass who looked as though she was struggling to cook, serve and take orders on her own. Probably can’t afford to employ somebody else at the prices she’s charging, he thought.

  “Hello, I’m terribly sorry to bother you. I can see you are really busy, but I’ve just had a bacon and egg with red sauce.” The girl had a lovely round face, a friendly look in her eyes. She looked down at Saunders.

  “Was everything okay?” she asked.

  “Oh, better than that. I eat these butties everyday, but I’ve never had one from here before…”

  “Get on with it you fucking half-wit!” muttered the fat guy from behind him, loudly enough to be heard, obviously trying to impress his younger associate. Saunders looked round at him and held his gaze for a second until the fat bloke looked down at the floor. He turned his eyes back to the girl.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to say, that was an absolutely superb sandwich and I’d be delighted if I could offer you this tip as a sign of my appreciation?” He held out the twenty. The girl was over the moon.

  “Aw, thanks very much love, that’s really kind.” He held out his card for her to take.

  “It’s only fair, I would have paid about ten quid for that butty at Maxwell’s, and I’ll bet it wouldn’t be in nearly the same league as yours! Listen, here’s my card. If you ever want me to take you to Maxwell’s and show you what I’m talking about, just ring the number.”

  Saunders smiled and turned away heading back to the car, giving the fat bloke a sly wink as he passed. He could hear the girl as he walked.

  “Do you see that lads? I want to see more of that kind of thing from now on!” Everybody in the queue laughed.

  Chapman and Worthington were perplexed at the deed, and as Saunders sat himself in the driver’s seat, they made it clear that they thought he was being too flamboyant, even by his standards.

  “What a prize prick, you should have given that money to me, my phone bill’s just landed. One hundred and eighty quid for the month.” Chapman was beginning to aggravate Saunders.

  “Well stop phoning Bang-Babes then, you sad bastard. Now shut your yap and let’s get back to work. You two are like a pair old biddies, clacking away.”

  “Yes Siiirr” said Worthington, deliberately emphasising the “Sir.”

  “Right, statements. Where are we up to?” The question wasn’t aimed at anybody in particular. Chapman spoke first.

  “Well, we’ve still not got a single lead. We’ve interviewed the four lads that were there at the time of the shooting. They’re all agreed that there was nothing strange that happened prior to the gun going off, apart from the fact that they all agree that they heard some kind of activity in the woods a few minutes before the paedophile’s head got made into ratatouille.”

  “Victim’s head.” Saunders gave a severe look to the DC before continuing.

  “This activity, what did it sound like. Was it an outdoor activity like skateboarding? Or an indoor one, like table tennis? Come on Bill, what sound did they hear?” Saunders was trying to regain any slapstick ground lost during the sandwich tip discussion. Chapman turned to Worthington and rolled his eyes like an over-the-top camp actor might when emphasising his hopelessness, which made his partner laugh from the back seat.

  “A sound consistent with walking through shrubbery, I think might be the activity they refer to.”

  Saunders turned the ignition and drove out of the car park, waving at the butty van as they drove past. He drove through the identical roads, turning left and right until he saw the roadblock of Panda cars up ahead.

  Saunders parked up on the factory car park. He faced the vehicle towards the woods, which looked a lot less dense in the daylight. He spotted Miller’s car further down.

  “Gaffer’s back, so let’s make sure everything’s tight. I’m making the assumption that because the activity has aroused their attention, it’s unusual for them to hear anything from those woods at two o’ clock in the morning?”

  Worthington spoke this time. “Yeah, they actually stopped their conversation and listened intently, they seemed quite alarmed by it. But as soon as they started listening, the sound stopped and the next sound they heard came later, which was the gun firing the two shots.”

  “So when they say that nothing strange happened, they are actually saying that something really strange happened?” Saunders was pressing the DC.

  “Well, I think they mean that they didn’t see a bloke taking an AK47 or whatever out of his glove compartment while they were having their brew.” Chapman was on the defensive, which pleased Saunders. It meant he was sharp.

  “Anything else of significance from this lot?”

  “Apart from that ugly bastard, Matthew, he wants to know if he can get compensation for the distress of seeing one of his best mates shot!” quipped Worthington. Chapman just looked at Saunders and nodded, confirming that one of the workers had actually said it. He answered Saunders earlier question.

  “Not really anything of any significance, plenty of personal opinions about the victim. They thought he was a wrong ‘un, they didn’t really l
ike him - but as far as leads go, jack shit.” Chapman was annoyed that he and his partner had failed to find anything of substance from the four witnesses.

  “Don’t worry about it men. This guy isn’t about to leave ridiculous leads behind. He’s good, he’s meticulously organised, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we get nothing at all from this crime scene. Wait ‘til Miller hears about the phone. This character’s not pissing about, and I’ll tell you this, he’s gonna’ take some catching.” Saunders’ radio abruptly burst into life with a stark tone.

  “Saunders, it’s Miller. Where are you? Over.” He sounded pissed off.

  “Hello Sir, just pulled up on the car park. I’ve been with Chapman and Worthington for a brew and a butty. Over.”

  “Right, I’ll come down there. Over.” Chapman looked round at Worthington, who was staring at Saunders via the rear view mirror.

  “He sounds a little vexed!” said Chapman. Saunders was nodding.

  “Well, think about it. This case, if it continues at the pace it’s set off at, is probably going to turn into the biggest murder investigation this force has ever had to undertake, and make no mistake, Miller’s balls are well and truly on the line. He will be the public’s “face” in this enquiry. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes one little bit.”

  Worthington was in agreement, but didn’t have time to comment as the rear door opened and Miller sat down on the backseat next to him.

  “Sir” said the three officers. Miller looked uncharacteristically weary. His usual olive skinned complexion looked alarmingly pale. He looked grey.

  “What a morning. Jesus!” He spoke to nobody in particular.

  “How was Sheffield Sir?” asked Saunders.

  “Not bad, traffic was light. This DCI Blake was a good bloke to be honest, nice guy, old school.” He was rubbing his eyes as he spoke. He then stared out of the window at nothing in particular. “Any developments? I mean anything new to go on?”

  Saunders was about to speak but Miller continued. “Oh just a sec, there was a massive detail that Blake picked up on when I went through the other cases, which I honestly can’t believe we’ve missed.” The three officers stared intently at their superior - Miller let his statement hang in the air a second before indulging them.