“Clare!” he bellowed downstairs. He would have to consult her first, otherwise he’d be bound to throw something that would cause a domestic dispute, some essential item that had been stored in there that Clare couldn’t live without, like those dessert spoons that Clare’s Aunty Nancy had given them as a wedding present, the ones that were still in the box.
Clare came into the room.
“What’s up love?” she enquired.
“Look at all this rubbish in here. I’ll have to get rid of it, we’ve nowhere to store it all.” Miller began rummaging through one of the countless bags, clenching his teeth as he bent because of the fierce muscle pain that was still hurting his leg. The bag he opened contained his old football shirts that he used to collect.
“Except these. I’ll have to find somewhere to put these,” he said, pulling out an ancient Manchester City shirt from the nineteen seventies and holding it up to admire.
“That’s all junk Andy. You can throw them, they’re just taking up space.” Miller looked at her with an expression of amazement.
“Junk? They’ll be worth a fortune one day, these. I’d get a hundred quid for this one now!” he said, trying to convince himself more than her.
“And look at all these maternity clothes. Cost me a bleeding arm and a leg those did.” Clare rushed over to the bag that was spilling with expensive garments.
“There they are! I looked everywhere for those to give Karen. I thought that you must have thrown them.” She knelt down and began rooting through them.
“There’s some lovely stuff here. You can’t just chuck it all away,” she announced as she held up a huge pair of jeans, amazed that her tiny body had ever been such a size that would fit into them.
“I was going to take them down to the charity shop,” he explained, hoping that this philanthropic gesture might prompt a loving glance and a “oh, my Andy. You’re such a wonderful man. The world would be lost without your humanity,” though the actual response was somewhat different.
“Over my dead body! You’ll get fat blokes buying them and walking around in them. No way! We’ll keep hold of them for somebody we know.”
“What about these then?” He asked, pointing at one of three bagfuls of baby clothes that the twins had long out-grown.
“God! Andy, I’ve looked everywhere for them. I was going to give Leo’s old stuff to Karen, for James. I wish you’d told me you’d shoved them in here.” She shot him an icy look.
“I didn’t put them in here! You must have, you daft pillock. Right sort out what you want to keep. I’m going to pick up the wallpaper and carpet. I’ll be back in an hour.” He made for the door, but turned back as he opened it.
“And don’t touch those footy shirts!” he ordered before leaving.
When he eventually arrived back, clutching the wallpaper rolls, Clare had finished sifting through the room. It looked like quite a lot had been salvaged judging by the visible floor. Clare handed two bin bags to Miller.
“These’ll do for James. There’s some nice stuff in there, hardly been worn most of it.”
“What do you want me to do with it?” he asked.
“Well when you are taking your stuff to the tip and the charity shops you can drop it off. You can pop in and see Bob on your way home. You’ve not seen him in ages.”
“I’ve got all this to do,” exclaimed Miller, unhappy with his wife’s bossy directions. Clare looked at him. He held out his hands, as if to demonstrate how hopeless the situation was.
“Listen, Bob’s been a good mate to you. He’s having a shitty time at work, Karen was saying. Why don’t you go round there and have a few cans and see how he is?” Miller felt the pressure that his wife was putting on him. It was true, he hadn’t really seen anything of Bob since James had come along.
“Right, right. I’ll take them round after, okay?”
Clare left Miller to start his own “sift through.” Eventually, all of the boxes, bags and suitcases full of stuff had been carefully filtered into separate piles of junk and useful items. The attitude that he had adopted earlier, to just chuck it all was completely gone. He was finding things that “might come in handy” all of a sudden, and started a pile for them in the corner.
Once the car was filled, Miller was ready to do his good for mankind. He had a cup of tea with Clare before taking the various items around the RSPCA and the tip, eventually arriving at Bob and Karen’s house at quarter past six. Bob answered the door, looking totally stressed out with a screaming James in his arms.
“Alright Andy? Come in. I’m just warming a bottle for this fellah.”
Miller accepted Bob’s welcome and entered the house, offering to take James.
Bob was shouting through from the kitchen, as Miller tried to calm the hysterical baby.
“Karen says you’re having a barby at weekend?” he said as he scooped the baby formula into the freshly sterilised bottles.
“Yeah, well if the weather holds up. It’s bound to start raining any day now, isn’t it?”
Bob laughed before replying. “That’s just the trouble with the British climate, as soon as it starts showing some promise, everybody makes sure they’ve got their brollies handy!” Bob came through into the living room clutching two tins of lager and the essential baby milk for James. He gestured to Miller to hand back his squawking son.
“I’ll feed him, if that’s okay?” he said, to which Bob had no objections. He placed the bottle’s teat gently into the baby’s mouth. James instantly quietened and began slurping on the milk as if nothing had passed his lips in days.
“Are you starving this little man?” he asked dryly.
Bob smiled as he gazed admiringly at his milk-gulping son. “He’s like that every feed time. He just decides that he’s hungry and that’s it, boom! Doesn’t stop squealing until the bottle is in his mouth!” Bob said it in the way that only a new dad could, with sheer amazement and pride. They both watched James hungrily draining the bottle for a minute.
“We’ve had a good run so far though,” continued Miller about this unusual early summer.
“Yeah. What we on for now, three weeks it’s been like this?”
“It will be. I can’t remember a May as hot. It’ll stay good for Sunday. You definitely coming then?” asked Miller, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible.
“Yes, definitely. I could do with a classic piss-up. Whoops, sorry James.” Bob lifted his hand to his mouth. Miller laughed in recognition. He too had attempted to give up swearing when the twins arrived, it had lasted until he’d stood on a plug.
Bob changed the subject. “So what’s all this with you jacking in, then?” He opened Miller’s can and placed it in his free hand before sitting opposite him as he slackened his tie.
“Yeah, I can’t say too much about it really. I was being asked to do something morally wrong and I just couldn’t do it. Still, I know the job’s in safe hands with Karen.”
Bob grimaced. “Well, whatever it was that forced you to quit seems to be having the same affect on her. I’ve never known her so stressed and uptight about work. Saying that, when she came home last night she seemed a lot better. It’s not much good having two stress-heads in the house at the same time. Bob scoffed before taking a huge gulp from the can.
“Why, what’s going on?” Miller put a concerned look on his face and asked as though he was surprised, despite Clare tipping him off about Bob having trouble at work.
Bob sighed before answering. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re losing order after order, receiving complaints like never before. It’ll be something to do with last year’s Christmas bonus, we cut it down from a grand, to five-hundred quid. It’ll be down to that, but the pressure that’s on me to sort it all out is phenomenal. And it was me who argued that this would happen in the first place.”
Miller looked sympathetic. “So, what’s going to happen then?”
“Well, the problem I’ve got is middle management, the rift between me and them is growing
further by the day. I need someone in there to turn things around, somebody I can trust, but there is nobody.” Bob took another swig from the can. He was about to speak again but Miller beat him to it.
“I’ll do it. If you want me.”
Bob almost inhaled the lager, his eyes bulged out of his head as his friend’s offer hit home. He took a second to swallow the lager before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and responding. “Don’t be daft. You’re a bloody senior detective, not a foreman.”
“I’m a manager, at the end of the day. Managing murder and rape investigations, people, budgets. A manager’s a manager. The offer is there, if you want it, I’m bored to tears at home all day, I’d be able to do this job for you, temporarily like. It’d be interesting.”
Bob was speechless. He couldn’t believe that Miller would be willing to take such a colossal step backwards on the career ladder.
“What about the force, aren’t you looking at a different post?”
“I could have taken my rank into vice, but I’ve got bigger plans.”
Bob remained silent, forcing Miller to divulge.
“I’m going to sue the force for constructive dismissal. I can’t lose, they’ll be offering me a shed full of cash not to take it to court and they’ll offer me my job back.”
Bob considered the situation, wondering where that might leave Karen in twelve-months time.
“Don’t worry,” said Miller as though reading Bob’s mind, “Karen’s rank will be safe, they’ll offer me something higher than DCI, just to keep everything sweet. Then I’ll be in a position to take any job that comes up.” Bob grinned at Miller’s planning, as he realised what a superb proposition his friend had offered.
Miller sat James on his knee, and gently patted his back in pursuit of a nice big burp.
“Well, if you want to do it, I’ll install you as Warehouse Manager as soon as I’ve sacked the current one. I can’t possibly see an improvement while he’s blocking my every move… pay structure is about twenty eight grand, so it’ll be a dip in wages.”
“Oh that’s fine, that’ll keep us ticking over nicely. Brilliant. I’m made up with that, cheers Bob.” Miller put his can down on the table and offered his left hand to Bob. They shook, wrong handed due to James being held by his left hand. Bob laughed, he couldn’t believe that he was getting a Detective Chief Inspector to run his warehouse.
“Thank you, more like, I think you’ve just saved my job. Do you want another can to celebrate?”
“It’d be a shame not to. Oh, I’ve got some clothes for this fellah in the car, Clare sent them. I think she’s sorted it out with Karen. I’ll just go and get them. He handed James to his father as he went to fetch the bin bags. As he walked down the drive to the car Ellis pulled up.
“Alright?” he asked as she got out of the car.
“Brilliant! You?” she asked, her smile and carefree manner made Miller wonder where the investigation was up to. He had to pinch himself not to ask.
“Yeah, not bad. I got a new job today,” he said, trying to suppress a grin.
“Where? I thought you said you were going for a tribunal?” Ellis seemed surprised, possibly even worried, thought Miller.
“Yes, I am, I’ve just got something to tide me over.”
He followed her as she set off up the drive, a bin bag in each of his hands.
“Oh right, what’s that, security consultancy - ah don’t tell me you’re doing private dick work?” She looked at him suspiciously, as she opened the door and offered Miller through.
“Nah, Bob’s given me a job in the factory.” Miller started laughing at the expression on Ellis’ face.
“You’re taking the piss!”
Bob was stood with James to greet her. He chuckled at her reaction too.
Pop’s Story
PART TWO
Peter Sykes, the man who had come out on that windy morning and gave George Dawson that piece of invaluable advice about buying the house, had become a great friend over the years. They often spent weekends together camping and fishing. Their shared interest in music and cars took them all over the country to shows and exhibitions. Peter had been an engineer for British Telecom before he had worked his way up to his current post as one of the region’s senior exchange managers.
Peter and his wife Margaret doted on the children. It was fabulous for Lisa and Sarah, they could run between each house all day long, being treated like Princesses in either one. Margaret had learned soon after she was married that she could not conceive. The couple had thought long and hard about adopting, they also discussed the option of fostering. But in the end, they decided that maybe it wasn’t the best decision. Margaret threw all of her energy into her job as a marketing consultant and became very successful. Quite by accident, George and Alison’s two beautiful girls filled a massive void in Peter and Margaret’s lives. They were guilty of spoiling the girls at every imaginable opportunity, a fact that Alison found hilarious whenever she refused her girls something.
“Well, we’ll ask Mags’ then!” they’d say.
George and Alison loved the way that their friends took to the girls, they really couldn’t imagine a more perfect couple to have as friends, let alone as next door neighbours.
Lisa was growing up much faster than Sarah had done, she was constantly trying to emulate her big sister - trying to play the games that Lisa played, while having no idea what the game was actually about. The girls’ relationship was excellent, they very rarely bickered or fell out and if they did it was usually due to something as simple as tiredness.
Everything had returned to normal again and the years began to pass by as happily as they had prior to Bert’s death. By the time that Lisa was beginning her first term at “big school” as she called the reception class, George was beginning the term with an additional responsibility. Besides running the first years, as he had so successfully for the previous four, he was now also given the job as head of department. George found it fascinating that the role as Head of Music earned him an extra five thousand pounds a year. Yet he was baffled as to exactly what he was expected to do for this additional money, other than order new instruments when the funds allowed, and chair occasional meetings with the school’s headmaster and the only other music teacher, Mrs Harris. Still, he wasn’t grumbling. If the education authority were prepared to pay him for such a non-job, he was quite happy to do it.
Sarah was by now working her way up through school. Her reports had hinted at near excellence in all subjects, thanks mainly to the amount of effort that she put into her lessons. She was also becoming a bit of a star on the sports field - she had impressed all of the parents and teachers alike on sports day, running around the track like a startled rabbit.
Now that the kids were both at school full time, Alison began working a part time job during the school hours. Margaret offered her a job through her marketing company. It wasn’t much, but she loved it. Alison was given the task of trying to convince shoppers that they should have a catalogue. She did very well at it, making good money in commission on top of her hourly rate.
As 1999 drew to a close, and most of the British population were worrying about how the Millenium Bug would stop the world, Alison swapped her Metro for a Rover 200. With the extra money now available, the family decided that it was high time that they treated themselves to a holiday abroad the following summer.
Alison arrived home with an armful of travel brochures one dark November evening. They all had different ideas of what the perfect holiday should be. The girls forced the Florida brochure on their parents, the pages that covered Disneyland were the only ones of interest. George really wanted a canal barge holiday on the Leeds to Liverpool, but knowing this idea would be disregarded straight off, he chose Europe, his second best ideal holiday would be driving and camping through France and onto Italy. That suggestion was met by raspberry sounds from all around the table.
Alison fancied a typical Spanish package holiday. Diplomacy was called
for after fifteen minutes of heated debate around the dining room table, which was overflowing with brochures. In the end, George suggested that it might be best if each suggestion was put into a hat, and the holiday name that was pulled out first would be the one they booked.
“Dad, we haven’t got a hat.” Said Sarah to the amusement of everybody.
Peter came around to oversee that the competition ran fairly, and to pull the name out of the fruit bowl. He was perfectly aware that it wasn’t fair in the slightest, as the girls were holding fifty per cent of the vote. He wasn’t to know that George and Alison had also written “Disney Land” on their ballot papers too.
Alison went to the travel agents the next morning and handed over the money. She placed the tickets on the mantelpiece above the gas fire in the living room. When they arrived home from school, the girls were in tears. They couldn’t believe that they were actually going to Disneyland.
George and Alison couldn’t believe it when it was time for Sarah to go to High School. It was a big shock, which seemed ridiculous to them - but they just couldn’t believe that their first born was actually becoming a young woman. Her school reports were exemplary. Naturally, they wanted to give Sarah the best possible opportunity for these final, important school years. They discussed grammar school with her - an idea that she seemed quite keen on, despite the fact that none of her friends were going.
George and Alison gave her a little time to think about it, explaining that it was her decision to make. She came back and told them that she would love the chance, if she would be accepted.
Sarah was accepted at Bolton Royal Grammar School with open-arms in September 2005. And this was when the almost perfect family unit would be torn apart and destroyed so tragically.
Chapter Twenty Four
2.40.p.m. Sky News Headquarters
One Man Crusade : DCI Miller 1: The Serial Killer Nobody Wants Caught Page 26
