The Final Cut Read online

  “Before I finish up here, I just want to let you know that these crimes have made it to the very top of the list of cases that Manchester City Police are currently looking into. My department, the Serious Crimes Unit have been ordered to drop everything we were working on, and focus on this specifically. We will throw absolutely everything into this investigation, and I want you all to know that we will get this person locked away as soon as we possibly can. Until then, I want you all to take extra care, and try not to do any activities by yourselves, such as jogging, or walking your dogs. I’m not saying lock yourselves away, but if you need to walk the dog, or go down the shops, take your husband or your wife along with you. Just remember what I have said about safety in numbers. The man behind these attacks is the archetype of cowardly, and cowards don’t attack people in groups. This loser is going to know that you lot have got the biggest gang in the UK covering your backs, that’s us, the police. So, I want to split the room in two now, everybody who walks or takes public transport home, come and stand on the left here.”

  Around fifteen people got to their feet and made their way towards Miller, standing where he’d suggested. The others remained where they were seated.

  “Right, the TV cameras are outside, because somebody has tipped the press off about this. Somebody in here… so, all you guys who normally leave here on foot are getting on our big police coach, and we’ll drive you all home. That’ll send a bloody strong message to this coward, when he watches it on the news.”

  This remark brought about the first smiles and luke-warm laughs of the afternoon as the staff started to feel the sense of terror easing slightly.

  “Alright, you lot over there, are you all driving?” Miller looked at them as they nodded. “And are your vehicles all here, in the car park?” The nodding continued. “Right, well my advice to you is to go home an unusual way, just for the time being, and keep your eyes peeled for any cars following. The best trick is to go around a block, left, left, left and if there’s still a car behind you, it’s time to hit 999 on your mobile. Come on guys, we can beat this person, whoever he is. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said everybody in the room, though it lacked much passion. It sounded like a church congregation saying “amen” after a particularly long and uninspiring prayer.

  “Right, here we go, let’s get you all off home, and thanks for your time.”

  Chapter Five

  The extraordinary numbers of police officers filing out of the DWP building was remarkable to watch. It made gripping TV footage for the local Granada Reports news crew, who were filming as the officers and the staff were led onto the coach.

  “If you use that, I want the faces blurring out,” said Miller as he reached the crew.

  “Yes of course, no problem.” Said the cameraman.

  “Can we get a few words?” asked the presenter.

  “You can, after I’ve spoken to your editor. You cannot show those people’s faces on the news, and I want it confirmed by your editor before I’ll say anything to your camera. Okay?”

  The news presenter nodded enthusiastically as he dialled his boss on his mobile. “Gaffer, its Tony, I’ve got DCI Miller with me, he wants a word.” The Granada man handed his phone across to Miller. The deal was done in a matter of seconds, after Miller explained the position. Within moments of ending the call, Miller was doing an interview to camera, with the DWP Jobcentre logo just behind his shoulder.

  “DCI Miller, how many attacks are you investigating against people who work in the building behind you?”

  “At this moment in time, we have two very vicious, very serious attacks, that we know of. But this investigation is at a very early stage.”

  “What do you think is behind the attacks?”

  “We don’t know, as I say, it’s too early to make any sensible comments about things like that.”

  “How are the staff coping with this news?”

  “Well, they’re very shocked, very angry, very upset. But we’re working with them, trying our best to support them, and help them to cope with the shock. Listen, I’ll have to get off now, I’ve a lot to do. Cheers.” Miller stepped onto the coach, and closed the doors behind him. “Right, do we know which way we’re going, dropping all these off?”

  *****

  An hour or so later, the DWP staff had been dropped home, and the temporary police officers who had been so useful for this unusual mass-interview, had been taken back to HQ and dismissed.

  Miller and his team were in the incident room, starting a fresh inquiry wall. The huge sheets of white paper covered the cases that had been live until just a few hours earlier. Now, the wall was a big, blank space, with just two photographs on either side. Kath Palmer and Jason Brown’s security mug-shots, from their door-passes.

  “I’m shocked that there wasn’t one weirdo in there today, out of what, forty people?” said Miller, to himself mainly, but everybody heard him.

  “There were a few weirdos Sir… to be fair. Just not weird enough to stalk their workmates and bludgeon them.” It was Rudovsky who spoke.

  “I’m with you Sir,” said DC Mike Worthington. “I was convinced our attacker would have been in that place today.”

  “And we definitely checked that no staff were off work today?” Miller was looking at Saunders, who nodded, looking quite embarrassed that such an obvious question was being asked. But Saunders knew as well as the rest of the team that Miller didn’t believe in taking things for granted. It was a stupid question, sure, but it was absolutely necessary in the grand scheme of things.

  Miller wrote STOCKPORT DWP ATTACKS in capital letters across the top of the fresh, empty incident wall. He exhaled loudly as he stepped back and considered how little information they had to pin on there.

  “Okay guys, over to you… what are you thinking?” Miller walked away from the wall, and sat down with his team.

  Rudovsky spoke first. “Well, from what I’ve heard today, these two have never crossed anybody in the work place, they’ve never stepped a foot wrong. So, I’m of the opinion that the attacks are random, and that it’s just a mad coincidence of them both working in the same place, on the same floor.”

  “Bollocks!” said Chapman, with more scorn than good-humour. Rudovsky shot him an icy stare.

  “Fuck off Bill. Weirder things have happened, look at Donald Trump becoming President.”

  Chapman ignored Rudovsky. He just sat there, shaking his head dismissively.

  “Go on then, Bill. What’s your theory?” asked Miller.

  “Well I haven’t really got a theory as such Sir, but I’m not buying this random attack bollocks. The odds on this being unconnected would be a lot higher than the odds of winning the lottery.”

  “Go on…”

  “Right, well for a start, if it was random, then the person responsible would be mental, and as a result, they’d have been doing some bat-shit crazy things before, during and after the attack. For example, if there’s ever a lunatic out on the streets, attacking people at random, there is always a trail of activity… an attempted attack, or a big argument or some event, before and after the incident we’re called to attend. But that’s not been the case in either of these attacks. He’s slipped in silently, and slipped away silently on both occasions. That’s not random, that’s ice-cold, hit-man style behaviour. Organised, calm, composed.”

  The team were nodding, agreeing with the points that Chapman was making. He had more to say. “So, let’s consider random attacks. Always, about ninety-nine per-cent of random violence is committed by people under the influence of alcohol or drugs. There’s no suggestion that our attacker was under the influence. Both attacks took place at tea-time, again, not a particularly common time for seeing these types of violent attacks. And as I say, we can rule out any theory that this guy is mentally ill. It would take great control and discipline standing there behind Kath Palmer, silently, calmly waiting several minutes until the coast was clear to attack her, then sliding off into the shadows.
It’s not random, it’s definitely, one-hundred per-cent connected with the attack on Jason Brown, yesterday.”

  Chapman stopped talking to take a sip of his brew, before concluding his point. “I don’t know why it’s happened, I don’t know if it’s over now, or if there’s likely to be another attack. But one thing I do know, there is no way on God’s earth that its random. So clear your fucking locker out Rudovsky, you’re sacked!”

  Chapman’s quip got a big laugh from everybody in the team, including Rudovsky.

  “Interesting stuff Bill, cheers.” Said Miller, he’d stood and started jotting a couple of notes onto the wall. “Anyone else want to share their thoughts?”

  “Not if it’s going to get me sacked!” said Kenyon, mocking his partner.

  “Well, I had a thought this afternoon, on the way over to Stockport,” said DC Grant. “It could be somebody who has been given a sanction or something. It’s in some of the newspapers all the time, the DWP have been stopping people’s benefits for all sorts of petty reasons. Who’s to say that the person responsible isn’t somebody that its happened to?”

  “Fair point,” said Miller, “but it’s a none-starter I’m afraid Helen. It’s just a call centre and admin hub, the staff in Wellesley House are not “customer facing” so there’s no way that it can be personal, down to something like that. If they worked in the Jobcentre, or the DSS I could see your point. In fact, it would make perfect sense and I’d make it our strongest line of enquiry. But as these people are totally incognito, I’m not convinced.” Despite shooting Grant’s theory down, Miller did turn around and write “Sanctioned?” on the white paper with his thick black marker pen.

  “Any other thoughts?”

  “What are you thinking, boss?” asked Worthington.

  Miller thought about the question for a few seconds. Eventually, he answered. “Not really got a theory yet Mike. I was playing around with the idea that whoever attacked Kath Palmer may not have intended to cause such appalling injuries, and might have come up with the idea of attacking one of her colleagues, in an attempt to throw the investigation into chaos. I thought that the change of weapon might be significant, the axe used against Kath Palmer might be in the bottom of the River Irwell. Then I thought, you can buy another axe from B&M Bargains for four-ninety-nine. Trying to get hold of an axe isn’t like trying to get hold of a gun, is it? It’s pretty easy. But other than that, I’m just keeping an open mind.”

  There was a blank expression on all of the detectives faces. This was the frustrating part of any investigation, when there was just too little information available to make any informed suggestions or theories. It was all supposition, and it was bloody annoying for detectives.

  Miller felt the familiar sense of low-mood in the room, so decided to try and end this on a positive note. “Okay, well, get yourselves off home, sleep on it. I’m off to visit the victims, hopefully I’ll be able to learn something new tonight. See you in the morning, and we’ll all start again with fresh heads and new information.”

  Chapter Six

  Miller hadn’t managed to shake Rudovsky off his tail, she’d insisted on coming along to the hospital and meeting the victims. Miller was becoming more and more impressed by Rudovsky. Over the past few cases, he felt that she was really starting to mature, and probably had an eye on promotion. He was glad, she was an excellent detective with an incredible intuition, but more than that, her people skills were legendary. He didn’t admit it to her, but he was glad that she wanted to come along.

  It took a couple of minutes of negotiating with the hospital staff before they would allow the detectives into the critical-care unit where Kath Palmer was being treated. Both Miller and Rudovsky were shocked by the sight which greeted them. Kath Palmer was clearly very unwell, the colour of her face was disturbingly pale. She was attached to lots of different machines, by lots of different wires and tubes. Her bed was unusual in that she was lay perfectly flat, staring up at the ceiling. Her head was being held straight in a kind of helmet which looked to be attached to something much bigger which went right underneath her back. Her eyes were moist, as though there were tears forming, but unable to roll down her face just yet.

  “Hello Kath, I’m DCI Miller, this is DC Rudovsky. We’re here to see how you are, and ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?”

  Kath tried to smile, and very faintly she said “hiya.”

  “Are you on lots of pain-relief?” asked Rudovsky, adopting her most tender voice.

  “Oh yeah,” croaked Kath. “Off my tits!” she smiled faintly, and one of the tears had built up enough momentum to roll down her cheek. Miller and Rudovsky smiled politely at Kath’s hospitable attempt at making a joke, but they both felt desperately sorry for the woman. These kind of visits, as unpleasant and upsetting as they were might not unlock any new leads, but they certainly hammered home the distressing nature of the attack, and always filled the investigating officers with renewed determination to catch the person responsible.

  Miller and Rudovsky were at that stage already, they wanted to get the bastard that had done this awful thing to this kind-hearted lady.

  “We’ve read through the reports that we’ve got. We’re just really struggling for a description of the man…”

  “I didn’t see him.” Kath was struggling to get her words out, it sounded as though she was thirsty, her voice was croaking. “He was just a shape at the bus stop, I couldn’t tell you if he was black or white, if he was wearing a tracksuit or jeans… nothing. I was just reading my kindle, and I was standing up because I’ve got a bad back. Mind you, it’s a lot worse now…”

  Again, the two detectives were touched by the generosity of this poor woman trying to make jokes. This was not a laughing matter, and the bravery that she was showing was extremely moving.

  “I know this sounds really stupid Kath, but you’ve not had any altercations with anybody recently?”

  “No, I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something I might have done. I’ve even been thinking of things going back to when I was at school. My mind has been racing all week, since its happened. I honestly can’t think of anything.”

  “Well, things have moved on significantly today. I suppose you’ve heard about Jason Brown?” Rudovsky was talking calmly and softly.

  A new tear began forming in Kath’s eye. “Yes, my husband was here, he’s only just left actually. He told me about it. I can’t believe it.”

  “Have you got any thoughts about it? Any idea why you would both be attacked?”

  “No. None. He’s a lovely lad Jason, do anything for anyone. It doesn’t make sense.” Kath’s chin was quivering and tears were rolling much quicker now. She was genuinely upset, but what was most endearing to Miller and Rudovsky was the fact that Kath Palmer was only upset for Jason. She’d been making jokes about her own situation. They could both see quite clearly why she was such a popular and well-respected lady.

  “Is it alright if we pop back in again and see you Kath?

  Tomorrow at some stage?”

  “Yes, of course, no problem.”

  “Can we bring you anything?”

  “A new back, please.”

  *****

  Visiting Jason Brown was not quite as distressing as the previous visit had been. Jason was on a ward in a different part of the hospital, it had taken almost five minutes to get there from critical care, where Kath Palmer was being kept.

  Jason looked like he kept himself fit, and his up-to-date Manc-band hairstyle suggested that he took his image quite seriously. He looked like a pleasant enough bloke, under the circumstances. He was sat up in his bed, he seemed sad and confused, but his injuries were practically invisible compared to those of his colleague’s, on the other side of Stepping Hill hospital.

  “Hi Jason, we’re sorry to intrude, but we just wanted a chat while things are fresh in your mind.” Miller realised that Jason was a little bit out of it, and clocked a morphine drip was attached to his wrist. Tha
t explained the vacant expression, and relaxed manner.

  “I can’t remember anything.” He was talking slowly, just like a heroin addict in the middle of a big hit. Miller was glad that the patient was getting excellent pain-relief, but it wasn’t particularly helpful for his enquiries. “All I remember is leaving work, heading off up the road, not a care in the world. I was thinking about what to make for tea, trying to remember what we had in the fridge at home and then nothing, can’t remember nowt after that. Next thing I knew, I was in here. Waking up after theatre.”

  “What are they saying about your arm?” asked Rudovsky.

  “They say its paralysed. Useless. They might have to take it off, depends whether there’s a healthy blood supply getting through.” Jason glanced away, focusing his eyes on the bed opposite as tears began to form in his eyes.

  These words were like bombs. It really was an unimaginable horror that this man was going through, but he looked fine really, in a physical sense at least. Once again, Miller and Rudovsky were hammered by the nasty, personal implications of these mysterious attacks. Rudovsky explained the situation as it was understood. She told him that the investigation is currently focused on trying to establish the link between the attacker and himself and Kath Palmer, other than the fact that they work in the same office. She ended her explanation with a couple of questions.

  “So, what we are doing at the moment is trying to find out who the attacker is. We don’t want to see another person injured. We started our search at your office, this afternoon. We interviewed everybody in there, they all have a solid alibi, none of them have anything negative to say about you or Kath. So, we’re stumped, mainly because everybody says you and Kath are the loveliest people in the place!” Rudovsky smiled widely, and it forced a big grin from Jason, one which quickly became emotional, and his eyes filled up again.