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

by Steven Suttie

  From the early seventies, as the builders began to gradually move out, the estate had been on a downward spiral, urban decay had set in early and the neat avenues and roads with their smart new houses and the large gardens that had excited people so much in those early days, had been reduced to a dilapidated, abused, rundown ghetto where few people even bothered to look for work - subdued by the knowledge that their application would be viewed unfavourably, simply because of the address at the top of the form.

  Nowadays, as a consequence of the socially ignorant planners who threw a gigantic estate together with little thought about social matters, the place was impoverished. The community didn’t even have a shop in the beginning, residents had to wait for the mobile shop van to come around. This fact alone helped to foster a feeling of isolation from the outside world.

  Since the seventies, drugs, violence and crime were what the area was principally known for and police presence on the estate was a familiar sight. However, today’s profound and sudden presence was extremely unusual.

  Miller had given officers at Wythenshawe station strict instructions to close the road, evict all neighbours within ten doors on either side of, and across the road from the house, before leaving the property undisturbed for his team. He explained that he would need a detailed drawing of the interior of the house from a neighbour, which was being done as Miller arrived at the scene, just six minutes after Jerry Phillips at Sky had given him the address. He’d been fortunate that the force’s helicopter India Nine-Nine had been sitting at base waiting for a job when he’d enquired about its availability. He got the green light from Air Support Control straight away, which had saved him a twenty five minute car journey to the district at the start of the rush hour.

  As India Nine-Nine touched down on the nearby Oldwood Junior school playing field, the police presence was gradually becoming considerable. Units had been despatched from Longsight, Sale and Didsbury stations. Miller was pleased with the work of the local officers as he arrived at the cordon line, which had a fair crowd growing at each end. He introduced himself to the first sergeant he encountered. He pointed back at the dozen or more police units that were blocking the road on either side. He had to shout to be heard above the excited chattering of the growing crowd of spectators.

  “Listen, I’ve an ambulance on the way, plus an Armed Response Unit. I’ve got forensics on the way, as well as my own officers. Can you get these vehicles moved so they can get through?” The sergeant reacted to Miller’s request immediately.

  In the ever-increasing crowd, the gossip and speculation had begun with passion. A young mum who was standing with her pram, gazing at the situation against blue and white POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS tape. She had obviously been watching Sky News and announced her theory to the rest of the crowd.

  “Hey, this is where that serial killer has done another nonce!” Many of the onlookers were intrigued and quickly the crowd began edging around the girl to hear the story proper. Miller just stood by the cordon. He was waiting for DI Ellis and DS Saunders to arrive from Dane Bank where they where finishing their interviews. He also needed to wait for the Armed Response Unit to arrive, which was mandatory procedure. He’d contacted forensics, the FME and his other DC’s while he was in the helicopter.

  Miller thought that he saw the top of an ambulance flying around the corner at the top of the street, but it was a TV Outside Broadcast van. As it neared the crowd, Miller saw the famous “Sky News” logo, which was boldly emblazoned above the cab. He looked at his watch and wondered whether he had been the first person Jerry had contacted with this address. The regional reporter, Phil Mitchell burst out of the van and climbed a ladder to a platform on the roof of the vehicle, his swift movements were followed by a cameraman and a sound technician’s equally hasty clamber. They hurriedly set up their camera shot to cover the house in the background and the police vehicles and crowd in the foreground, before Phil began talking breathlessly into the microphone. Miller was impressed. They’d managed to get to the scene quicker than the ambulance, and particularly surprising, the A.R.U.

  Miller went over to the van and slid open the side door. Inside sat a twenty-something girl in front of some monitor screens and some very complicated looking banks of computer and sound equipment. At first she looked as though she was about to bark at the intruder, but quickly refrained, as she realised who he was. Miller wanted to find something out.

  “Hi. How’s it going?” he asked in his friendliest manner.

  “Oh, great. This has to be the biggest news story ever!” She seemed very enthusiastic. Miller offered his hand, she shook it with delight.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Miller” he announced.

  “Yeah, I saw you yesterday on the show. I’m Lisa Warrington, I’m a director.” She was obviously excited by this unexpected chat. Miller was bemused that yesterday’s announcement was being hailed as a “show.”

  He decided that her friendliness was purely in the hope of an exclusive interview with him.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’d had some reservations about this whole situation, but I’m hoping that we’ll find enough evidence from the call to nail him.” He was deliberately trying to lead her on. She was about to speak but he interrupted.

  “That was a stroke of luck wasn’t it? I mean you must have been pretty close by to get down here that quick.”

  Lisa knew he was fishing. She bluffed it well. “Yeah, we were just cruising around Cheadle when Jerry rang. I think it was a classic case of being in the right place at the right time!” she added a false laugh at the end of her line. Miller didn’t believe her. There was no way, he thought, that they were in Cheadle when Jerry rang. They must have been in a more central location. After all, if the address had been in, say Rochdale or Bolton - then from Cheadle you’d be looking at a fifty minute drive at least. No, there was something untoward happening here and Miller wasn’t happy.

  Miller had waited a good few minutes for the call from Jerry, which came after the call from Pop had ended. Pop gave the address a good five minutes before the end of the call. It would probably have given these vultures a good ten minute head start, he deduced. There was no harm done, but it seemed a bit cheeky, considering that Miller had given these people permission to broadcast the greatest news scoop of all time, and they were showing their gratitude by taking the piss.

  Through a blackened out window at the back of the van, Miller noticed the A.R.U. Range Rover struggling to get through the crowd, which had grown rapidly.

  “Well, keep up the good work!” he said as he dived out of the van. He called to the sergeant who had dealt with his earlier request.

  “Hey. Can you organise your officers to control this crowd? We need this road available for our vehicles.” Miller couldn’t fault the sergeant, who dealt with it straight away. He waved to the A.R.U, whose driver spotted him amid the chaos. Miller lifted the cordon tape to allow the Range Rover through. He opened the passenger side door as it parked, and spoke to the four massive officers who were sat inside - their guns lay ominously across their chests.

  “Hi lads. Routine one this, it’s unlikely that anybody is in there, but this guy’s a fucking fruitcake so don’t take anything for granted.” He handed the officers the drawing of the interior.

  “I need the place leaving exactly the way you find it, there’s got to be valuable forensics in there, so take as much care as possible, if you can.” The officers nodded.

  “Hey, DCI Miller, we were listening to that phone call back as base. The guy sounded pretty straight to me,” said the biggest of the officers from the backseat.

  Miller didn’t return a reply. The siren of the ambulance, which had finally arrived, grabbed his attention.

  “Give us a shout when the place is secure. Thanks lads.” The armed officers sat in the Range Rover for a few minutes, looking at the unsophisticated plan of the house and working out their tactical procedure.

  When they eventually emerged, a sudden
hush came over the crowds that were gathered at each end, the combined number must have climbed to over two hundred and fifty already, the word was spreading across the estate on Facebook. They watched with fascination as the armed officers stood at the back of their vehicle, putting their helmets and various munitions packs on.

  Once they were prepared, two of them set off walking slowly towards the crowd at the bottom of the street. They were heading for the ginnel that would give them access to the back of the house. They found their passageway and disappeared through it, creating some powerful images for the TV camera which was beaming the live pictures around the globe.

  The two officers who remained on the front of the street had begun their fifty-foot advance on the property where supposedly the dead body of a child molester lay. They moved silently and surreptitiously, their backs brushed against the front walls of the neighbouring houses as they edged closer, their firearms poised for any surprises. As they neared the front door, the leading officer began speaking into his headset radio, and then raised his hand to the trailing officer, signalling him to stop. They waited for a moment, before the second man scuttled past and positioned himself opposite his colleague on the other side of the door.

  A further pause passed, before the sound of gunfire at the back of the house initiated the officers at the front to fire shots at the door lock. The crowd gasped as they watched the two officers - with their guns held evocatively before them, storm into the pebble-fronted council house.

  There was no further sound from the house for a few minutes until the four officers reappeared to the resonance of rapturous applause and cheers from the crowd. They walked casually away from the address - their guns now resting in the holsters across their chests, their helmets held calmly beneath their arms. Miller was stood by the Range Rover as they approached.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you can see where he’s gone in through the window. The body’s in an armchair. The ligature is still wrapped around his neck.” Announced the first officer as he approached Miller.

  “He’s well dead, then?”

  “Oh yeah, no more kiddie fiddling for him!” The other armed officers laughed wildly at the remark, while Miller cast a disapproving look.

  “Cheers lads,” he said as he walked over towards the house. The A.R.U. officers looked searchingly at each other, confused by Miller’s lack of humour.

  “Who’s side is he on?” said the black officer, loud enough to be heard. Miller ignored the comment and continued walking. He didn’t have any desire to debate his views with fellow officers, but he knew that soon, he would have to discuss them with the press. His mobile rang. It was Ellis.

  “Sir, we’re just coming through Sharston, we’ll be on the estate in a few minutes. Where’re we headed?” Her voice sounded full of enthusiasm, she’d obviously missed her job, thought the DCI.

  “As you turn into Woodhouse Park, it’s your first right. You can’t miss us, hundreds have turned out.” Miller hung up. He looked back down the road to see if there was any sign of the forensics team yet, but was dismayed to see that they still hadn’t arrived. He was about to step into the house when he decided to wait for Ellis and Saunders. He thought it best to warn them that forensics hadn’t arrived yet, before they came bounding into the place.

  Miller didn’t have to wait too long, as he stepped away from the door; he heard the intermittent blare as they blasted the horn of their car. He ordered the crowd back and lifted the cordon tape once more.

  “What’s the situation?” asked Ellis urgently as she twisted herself out of the car. Miller realised at that moment just how much the team had missed her positive and proficient approach. At the same time though, Miller was concerned about her being back at work so soon, knowing how unrelenting she became when there was a major case on the go.

  “Listen Karen, you know I appreciate your help, but I want you to take it easy, okay. You’ve just had a baby…”

  “You’re joking!” she interrupted with a shocked expression, holding her hand to her mouth. “I had no idea!”

  Miller couldn’t help but laugh, in spite of the tension he was feeling. Ellis patted his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about me, Sir. I’m fine - I’m taking it steady. Now where’s all this come from?” She nodded at the frenzied scene. Saunders was just as impatient to hear about this massive development. Miller told them all about the call to Sky News.

  “And this pantomime is just so he can prove that he is the killer?” Saunders looked angry. He glanced at Miller.

  “He’s taking us for a bunch of knob-heads.”

  Miller began walking once again toward the house. Ellis and Saunders followed eagerly.

  “It’s a pretty ostentatious way of proving your identity, isn’t it?” It was Ellis who asked the question as they neared the front door. Miller looked back, still no sign of forensics.

  “Well, he’s going to keep killing anyway, so it kills two birds with one stone. Difference is this time - he’s given us a murder scene that’s bound to hold some forensics. Besides, he seems to believe that the more outrageous he becomes, the better. I reckon the guy is nothing more than a well articulated sociopath.”

  They stopped at the door.

  “Tread carefully, make sure you stay well away from the corpse,” urged Miller as he went in first. The inside of the house wasn’t at all what he’d expected. The décor was definitely dreamed up by a woman - pink and burgundy dominated the entrance. On entering, the three senior detectives were hit by the overwhelming stench of pot pourri. They edged slowly into the living room, where the door was situated on their immediate left. The TV was spookily talking away in the corner, which unnerved all three of the experienced officers.

  The body was the first thing you could see on entering, sitting upright in an armchair facing the door. But for the strained expression on its face, the deathly grey coloured flesh, and the length of what appeared to be clothes line tied around its neck, you could be forgiven for thinking that this was just a man casually watching TV, such was the relaxed posture. There was a half-filled cup of tea on a small table next to the corpse. The scene baffled Miller.

  “How the hell has he done that?” He was staring at the portrait that had been created. Miller thought hard for a couple of minutes, surveying the scene like a hawk. “Okay, here’s what’s happened. This Pop dick-head has broken in while the victim was out. Pop has waited for his victim to arrive home, sit down and chill out before striking from behind. He’s a coward. I said that, and this is the proof.”

  Miller was fumbling in his pocket for his phone. Once he found it, he dialled and held it to his ear.

  “Yeah, it’s Miller. Can you get in touch with forensics and ask them where they are? Tell them that their un-inspired attitude hasn’t gone un-noticed.” He ended the call. Ellis and Saunders stole a look from each other. Ellis spoke, still unsure what had been going on while she had been away.

  “What’s up?”

  “Them over paid, lazy bastards are arriving at the scene too casually for my liking, and when they do get here, they never seem to find anything,” replied Miller. Saunders averted his gaze from the corpse and locked his eyes on the DCI. Miller guessed what Saunders was thinking and responded. “Well, maybe you had a point the other day. They’re not exactly trying to convince anybody otherwise, are they?”

  Saunders was surprised by the outburst. Ellis was simply confused.

  “Listen, when they get here, I want one of you to stay, keep an eye on the work they do. Ask questions, make them feel the pressure. I know Gray of old, the devious bastard might just be telling his officers that this paedophile deserves it.”

  The look of disorientation from his fellow officers gave Miller the excuse he needed to get out. As Miller turned to leave, Ellis looked apprehensive.

  “You alright, Sir?” she asked, motivated to ask the question by the sudden change in Miller’s mind set.

  He appreciated her con
cern. “Yeah.” He exhaled deeply. “Yeah, I’m alright, I’m fine. It’s just, Keith’ll tell you, we’re on our Jack Jones with this shitty case. Nobody gives a shit, and it seems that whoever nobody is, has told forensics not to give a shit either.” Miller could tell by the look on Ellis’s face that she didn’t have a clue what her boss was talking about.

  “We need a pint. After work, yeah?”

  Saunders was well up for it, Ellis seemed impartial.

  “Look, I know you’ve got little James to get home to, but let’s be honest. We always sort stuff out in the Queen’s, and at this moment in time, there’s definitely stuff to sort out.”

  Miller was telling the truth. The prospect of discussing a case over a pint, as opposed to a computer, or database or witness statement or any other “I’ll just go and check the records” kind of distraction, remained the unit’s best progress initiative. Many cases had been settled during these ad-hoc “brainstorm-over-a-pint” sessions.

  About two weeks before Ellis went off on maternity leave, they had spent a couple of hours discussing the murder of eighteen year old Gary Stewart, who had been found stabbed sixteen times on his own doorstep one wet Tuesday night.

  After almost six weeks, the investigation had pulled up no leads. The victim was not into drugs or alcohol, he wasn’t a regular face on the social circuit of Gorton where he lived. He wasn’t an aggressive or particularly objectionable character. He had a poorly paid apprenticeship in car mechanics, which he turned up for on time, every day, and his pitiable wage went mostly towards paying his disabled mother’s bills.

  The team couldn’t find anybody who could say a bad word against him, which frustrated the enquiry. Why would somebody stab another person sixteen times, if it wasn’t related to drug abuse or trade? It wasn’t a drunken row in a pub. His family were not what Manchester City Police might describe as “dysfunctional” so they couldn’t blame a stupid brother or jealous step-dad. There was absolutely no reason for his horrific murder, and resources for the investigation were quickly running out.