Nothing To Lose

by Steven Suttie

  “Why not? Sometimes, the cold, hard truth is all we need to hear! Cruel to be kind may be an old-fashioned phrase, but it still works.”

  “Well, in my experience Piers, you’ve not taken a blind bit of notice to any of the cold hard truths that people have put to you, cruelly but kindly.”

  “Nice reply. Very good. But it’s my show Gareth, I’ll make the jokes.”

  “Thank you. But let’s try and be a little more pragmatic about the situation. I seriously doubt that you would tell an anorexia sufferer to just have a cake and stop messing about. I doubt that you would suggest that a drug addict just stops injecting heroin and get on with their lives, nor would you tell an alcoholic to buy a can of Vimto and everything will work itself out.”

  “Well, no, I wouldn’t actually. But those are entirely different things, Gareth. Let’s try and keep a sense of perspective.”

  “I’m afraid that you are fundamentally wrong Piers. What we are talking about here is a very serious addiction. It doesn’t matter if you are addicted to sex or drugs or cigarettes or brown sauce, it is still addiction, and you will still face the same barriers as any addict in trying to break the cycle of addiction.”

  “I’m sorry Gareth, but this is quite ridiculous…”

  Gareth ignored the baiting and continued talking over his adversary. “And what we find, time and time again with problem gamblers is that the problem is usually well out of control before the person suffering from it realises that they have become addicted. And then a cycle of denial starts, where the gambler begins to hide their activities, they often tell lies and become deceitful, many of them begin stealing or selling their belongings to feed the habit. It happens at a time when the one thing that they really need to be doing is telling a loved one, coming clean about what’s been going on. But sadly, what happens is quite the reverse, and those people very quickly find themselves isolated and confused and more often than not, finding the only salvation they can, in gambling. It’s a vicious circle which has the most devastating effect on the people who find themselves in this situation.”

  “Okay, well, that’s the plug done for your charity… what do you think is happening in Britain this morning, where bookmakers and their staff are arriving at work to find their shops in ruins and their jobs have been lost for the foreseeable future?”

  “That’s a great question, Piers. I like how you are somehow trying to imply that I am in support of the activities last night.”

  “Are you not?”

  “Well, again, that’s a very good question. I’m not in favour of this kind of activity…”

  “But?”

  “But, well, let’s just slow down, I’m beginning to feel as though you are attempting to put words into my mouth…”

  “I’m not. I just want to know what you think it’s all about?”

  “I think that it is quite simple really Piers. It’s about anger, about anguish, about revenge, about loss, and not loss of money, I’m talking about the loss of family, friends, loved ones, jobs, homes. I imagine that the people who carried out these crimes last night will feel that they are justified in their reasons. There’s every chance that these attacks were carried out by the silent victims of gambling addiction, the brothers, sisters, mums and dads of people who have found the only way out of their problem is to kill themselves.”

  “So, let’s get down to the basic facts. You are coming on here, on national breakfast TV, as a trustee of the Gamblers Support Network, and you are saying that you can understand why these hooligans have caused millions of pounds worth of damage, and you are refusing to condemn them! Well shame on you Mr Barker, shame on you.”

  “That’s not what I said at all…”

  “Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Would you like to take this opportunity to condemn the raving lunatics who carried out last night’s attacks?”

  “I feel that you are deliberately using extremely emotive language, Piers…”

  “I am not. I am speaking on behalf of those viewers who were woken up by this madness last night, who were terrified in their beds, and for all the police officers who had their shifts wasted last night, and on behalf of all of the people who needed a police officer last night but couldn’t get one. But most of all, I’m speaking on behalf of the thousands of staff who will be facing a very uncertain future this morning, when the shop that they work at has been destroyed by a bunch of imbeciles who are angry with the wrong thing.”

  “Angry with the wrong thing?” asked Gareth Barker, his pleasant mood visibly slipping.

  “Listen. I don’t see fat people smashing up McDonalds.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gareth’s smile was gone now and his relaxed body language was visibly sharper.

  “Well, smashing up bookies shops because they lost their money in them. The world’s finally gone mad. Here’s Sandy with the news.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Miller was in an early morning meeting with DCS Dixon. Reports were still coming in about betting shops which had been wrecked, as the shop’s staff arrived at work and discovered the carnage.

  “This is a major incident, Andy. We still have no idea how many shops were done last night, but the national picture looks like two-hundred plus.”

  “Fucking Norah. Two hundred?”

  “Could be more.”

  “I just can’t get my head around it. Seriously, that’s insane. We’ll be talking about two hundred gangs.”

  “Well, not quite, there is growing intelligence that each gang did several shops. But even so, we are talking about a huge number of gangs who have co-ordinated this attack, very professionally as well, it has to be said.”

  “It’s a fucking nightmare is what it is.”

  Dixon didn’t respond, he just looked down at his desk-top.

  “Where does this leave me then, with the investigation I mean?”

  “That’s the six-million-dollar question now Andy. I’ve got a meeting with the top team, being chaired by the Chief Constable. I’ll know more after that.”

  “When?”

  “Late morning is all I know. I think they’ll be waiting for whatever reaction comes from the government. But whichever way this goes, it’s going to be taken over by the NCA. There are no two ways about it. So, I’d prepare yourself for that news.” Dixon was talking about the national crime agency, the nationwide police service which has significantly better resources for investigating organised crime, specifically when the criminals are covering numerous police force’s geographical areas. In this particular case, it looked likely that at least one betting shop had come under attack within every single constabulary on the British mainland.

  “Well, I’m not exactly gutted Sir. Wouldn’t honestly fancy trying to co-ordinate an investigation of this magnitude.”

  “Yes, but don’t completely resign yourself from the task! NCA might want to borrow you.”

  “Sir, that’s out of the question!”

  Dixon held his hand up to mute his DCI. “I’ll know more later. So, in the meantime, where is your investigation up to?”

  “Which one?”

  “The betting shops.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, we’ve got the small matter of not being one hundred per-cent sure if the people who are co-ordinating the shop attacks are the same people who killed the Ozols family.”

  “Yes. What are your thoughts on that?”

  “I’m pretty convinced that the fire is unconnected to the betting shops. I think it’s just a bizarre coincidence that they family lived above a bookies.”

  “A bizarre coincidence?” Dixon had one of his bushy white eye-brows raised high on his forehead as he held Miller’s gaze, his contempt for such theories was well documented.

  “Yes Sir. I know you don’t believe coincidences exist. But let me remind you, for the umpteenth time, that Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in his car, and this event kicked-off World War One. The model was called a WW1 and the registratio
n plate was A111 118. The war ended on the eleventh of the eleventh, eighteen and it is widely recognised as WW1. The A probably stands for Armistice, as well.”

  “Yes, Andy, I’m quite aware of this.”

  “But you still don’t believe in coincidences?”

  Dixon ignored the question, he wasn’t in the mood for debating with Miller. Not today.

  “What physical reasoning do you have to back the theory up that the fire was unconnected with the other shop attacks?”

  “I’m still working on that, but there’s a stack of evidence that this was a local issue. The car was stolen from Rochdale, it had fake plates which belonged to a local car. The stolen vehicle was found burned out in Hyde. So everything points back to the local area. I strongly believe that it’s isolated, and I’m going to have a deeper look and find something conclusive.”

  “But what makes you so sure that the events at the other betting shops you’ve been investigating, are unrelated?”

  “Well for a kick off, this was a completely different event. Nothing was smashed up, they just poured petrol through the letterbox and chucked a match in. I can see no plausible link to any of the other shops, other than the sign above the front door!”

  Dixon considered what Miller was saying. A long moment of silence passed.

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m swayed by the Tweet that was sent out yesterday. I was already considering that the incidents were unconnected, and that Tweet has pretty much confirmed my suspicions.”

  “Okay, well, don’t always trust everything you read on the internet Andy. That’s a well-known quote from William Shakespeare.”

  Miller ignored the joke, he wasn’t in the mood for mucking about.

  “Right, well, I’ll wait and see what the top brass have to say about our involvement in last night’s eventualities. In the meantime, I suggest you drop the betting shops from your to-do list for the time being and focus all of the team’s attention on the fire.”

  “Sir.”

  “I hope you’re right about this Andy. Could really do with something solid to take into my meeting. If you could manage to come up with some compelling evidence, I think they will be able to break the investigation into two.”

  “Okay, well I’m pretty sure we have a couple of lines to chase up this morning, so I’ll keep you posted.”

  “See that you do.”

  “Sir.”

  Miller stood and left his superior’s office. He was still in a daze at the sheer magnitude of the previous night’s vandalism, he couldn’t think of anything that this nationwide night of civil disobedience could compare to.

  As he reached the SCIU floor, he could see that his officers were also struggling to make sense of the event. They were all standing around Saunders’ desk and watching the BBC News live-stream on his PC.

  “Caught you!” Said Miller humourlessly as he approached.

  “What the eff is going on, Sir?” asked Rudovsky.

  “Search me.” Said Miller, shrugging.

  “What was Dixon saying?” asked Saunders.

  “Not a lot, really. It’s panic stations at the minute, I think the big cheeses are waiting for some instruction from the top.”

  “The top?” asked Grant. “As in the Home Office?”

  “Precisely. Right anyway, shall we get started with this morning’s team brief?”

  Miller stepped across to the front of the office, standing before the incident room wall which was used as the noticeboard for every detail that the team had so far.

  “All set?”

  Miller’s colleagues all nodded as they made themselves comfy.

  “Right. Hands up if you think that the fire in Denton,” Miller pointed at the photographs of the Ozols, and then at the photograph of their burnt-out home. “…is connected with these events.” Miller stepped across a few paces to the pictures of the vandalised betting shops.

  He seemed surprised to see that no hands were raised.

  “Not one of you?” he asked. Nobody spoke. “Is this anything to do with your inner-detectiveness, or is it more to do with those tweets yesterday morning?” asked Miller.

  “Well, in my case Sir,” said Rudovsky sticking her arm high in the air, “It’s more to do with the nature of the attack in Denton. I’m not trying to say I agree with folk smashing up shops. But I can appreciate the fact that these betting shop attacks are against shops, fixtures and fittings, the biggest victim is the insurance companies. Nobody has been hurt, that we know of. If anything, the fact that last night’s activities haven’t involved a single fire that we know of, or a single injury against anybody tells me that we are looking at two separate crimes.”

  “Anybody want to add to that?”

  “I agree one hundred and eighty-one per cent with Jo.” DC Mike Worthington continued, “I can see why we all thought that the attackers had changed their tactics at that one,” he pointed at the burnt-out shell on the photograph. “But, I’m of the opinion that this was just a very freaky coincidence. The news this morning sounds like these have been identical crimes to the first four shops. Jo’s right, there wasn’t a single fire last night, the BBC news reporters have been desperate to hear of one.”

  “Anybody disagree with that?” asked Miller.

  “No.”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Well, let’s throw in a curve-ball,” said Chapman. “For the record, I’m in agreement that I don’t believe the fire was started by the people who have trashed all these shops. But, I think it would be unwise to add weight to the fact that there were no fires last night. If this group are keen to distance themselves from the fire, sending out Twitter messages to that effect… well, they’re not going to start any others are they?”

  “Yes, that’s a good point Bill. I don’t think we should use that as the thrust of our argument.” DC Mike Worthington agreed with his partner.

  “I agree Bill. But to be honest, I’m not very concerned about the other shops right now. Dixon reckons we are going to be taken off this case any minute now, he’s confident that the NCA will take it over.”

  Nobody looked surprised, and Miller assumed that they had all discussed this while he was with Dixon and had arrived at the same conclusion.

  “It wouldn’t be a justifiable use of resources for forty-odd separate CID departments to try and make any sense out of all this, so it would be sensible that the NCA run it.” Miller’s team were nodding and seemed glad to sense that a but was coming.

  “But! I want to keep this case.” He pointed again at the Ozols family. “I want us to send the bastards who did this to jail. So we have until eleven o’clock, that’s two and a half hours, to come up with some compelling evidence, Dixon’s words, some compelling evidence that this crime was committed by people who are unconnected to the betting shops carry-on.”

  “You think we’ll keep this case, if we can convince Dixon?” asked Rudovsky.

  “Yeah, I think he’s almost there, we just need to give him something good that he can take to the Chief Constable. That’s all we need. So, come on team, what have we got?” Miller grabbed a marker pen and opened a fresh sheet on the giant A1 notepad which stood on an A frame beside the inquiry wall.

  “The car on the motorway.” Suggested DC Bill Chapman. Miller scribbled ‘car M60’ on the pad.

  “The CCTV from the factories on Windmill Lane.” Offered DC Peter Kenyon.

  “There’s the CCTV of the car being driven back towards Hyde, which Ashton CID got.” Said Saunders. “Plus, the fact that it was burnt-out at a known location for this type of activity, suggesting a level of local knowledge.”

  “Brilliant!” Said Miller, as he scribbled the points onto the pad. “We need to take the argument to Dixon that whoever burnt that building down, did so because of an issue with either the Ozols, or another individual connected with that address. We need to come up with something that links these fucking psychopaths,” Miller smacked the photograph of the four individuals on
the motorway camera. “To this family. Or this address.”

  Miller’s team had the usual look of enthusiasm and determination about them and he could see that they were keen to get cracking.

  “Now I know we are doing this arse about face. Under normal circumstances, we’d have started the investigation at this point. But as we all know, the circumstances of this are very unique, so I don’t want anybody feeling stupid or embarrassed that we are today starting this investigation afresh. We need to know everything about this man,” Miller touched the photograph of the man who was killed in the fire. “We need to know absolutely everything, his friends, his associates, any links to any dodgy people. He’s the number one line-of-enquiry. Number two is this lady,” Miller tapped the photograph of Marija, who was still lay in a medically-induced coma in hospital. “Same goes for mum. Let’s leave no stone unturned as we try to work out why this family was targeted by these four people. Okay?”

  “Sir!”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “On it!”

  “You’ve got two hours. Off you go. Jo, can you co-ordinate what everybody is doing, I need a quick catch-up with Keith.” Miller tapped Saunders’ shoulder and set off walking across to his office on the other side of the SCIU floor.

  “Bank stuff is the top priority, Jo. I think Tameside have requested the details so we’ve got a head start there.” Said Saunders as he stood and followed his boss.

  “Right, Keith, shut the door and sit down.”

  Saunders followed the instruction.

  “We’re going to lose all of this if we don’t come up with a strong case.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, you said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, but it’s a bit awkward now, if we’re coming off the bookies shops.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not going to believe this…”

  “Oh, give me a bit of credit mate. You come up with unbelievable stuff every case! What is it this time?”

  “Well… I’ve managed to get on the mailing list for the people who are trashing the bookies.”

  Miller laughed loudly. Even by Saunders’ standards, this was fucking incredible.