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

by Steven Suttie

  “Basically, yes. Listen, let’s get back to base, sit down and we’ll go over everything. I think there is more to this than meets the eye. Come on.”

  With the chaos going on all around them, and with no Divisional CID presence yet at the scene, they left the house - Ellis received a sly wink from the Sergeant as she went. She made a mental note of his name. Their paths would cross again, she angrily thought.

  They headed back to the office, a convoy of two unmarked police cars, containing four completely demoralised detectives. The drive back was slow and painfully silent. A fizz of anger was bubbling up within both cars, a good reason for nobody to speak. Saying the wrong thing now could easily cause a pointless argument amongst the investigating officers. All four detectives were at snapping point, this despicable investigation had brought disappointment and frustration and resentment out in each of them, time and again. This though, this was the bitterest of blows.

  As the cars began closing on the city centre, Ellis grabbed her phone. She pressed the contacts list silently. Saunders was wondering who she was calling, moreover he wondered whether he should have brought his ear plugs. Eventually, whoever it was picked up.

  “Hi. It’s Ellis. Bleeding horrible development. Listen, I know it’s out of order. In fact, it’s illegal, but can we come round? I really need your help. Keith, Bill, Mike and me. Aw cheers mate. Be ten minutes. Thanks a lot.”

  She hung up and rang Worthington in the trailing car.

  “Listen, change of plan. We’re going round to Miller’s. Alright, see you there.” Saunders turned his head to Ellis.

  “Miller’s?” he asked, his tone conveyed puzzlement.

  Ellis looked at him. “Will you watch where you are going. Jesus! Have you passed your test?”

  Saunders returned his eyes to the road. He changed gear and put his foot down, forcing Chapman to follow suit. They arrived at Miller’s. Ellis was feeling slightly less volatile, thanks to her little vent at Saunders, though she was still bubbling away. They got out of their cars, to be greeted by Miller who was mowing the lawn, the limp from his running injury was still evident as he walked behind the mower.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Sir,” she said. He could tell that she was being utterly sincere. He acknowledged his old team with a warm welcome, seeming genuinely pleased to see these people who he had experienced so many highs and lows with down the years.

  “Come on - we’ll go up to the study, you can fill me in.” He led the way up the garden and into the house. Clare was in the hall, talking on the phone. She waved to the people that she had become friends with during Miller’s time on the Serious Crimes Investigation Unit. He led them upstairs into the room he called his study. He picked up immediately on the bad energy radiating off them all. Miller offered the only chair available to Ellis, and headed out of the room.

  “I’ll just go and get a few more chairs. Won’t be a sec.”

  Worthington headed over to the wall that was completely filled with CDs. He spent the time until Miller came back with three fold-away garden chairs, admiring the impressively diverse collection. Miller set the seats up around his desk.

  “Clare’s got some coffee on the go. She’ll be up with it as soon as her mother has finished reading out her shopping receipt.” This comment earned a faint laugh from the group as they took their seats. Miller’s contempt for wife’s mother was well documented, and his unkind observations of her had always been a source of amusement. But today, nobody seemed too interested.

  “Right then. I can tell things aren’t going too well,” he said as he took his own seat. He looked at Ellis and wondered, just for a split second if she was about to burst into tears. She seemed to compose herself and began.

  “I’m really sorry about this. I feel like such a tosser for bringing this to you, when you’ve made it quite plain that you want nothing to do with it.”

  Miller smiled accommodatingly. He placed his hands together on the desk as he waited for Ellis to explain what was going on.

  “We got a call. Pop’s struck again. He’s shot a woman at her front door in Denton. We get over there, the usual circus is unfolding, press, telly, spectators, PC’s running around like headless chickens. We’re just about to go round the back because the body is blocking the front door when Dixon phones me. He told me that Pop has struck again up the road, in Dukinfield. Obviously, I’m thinking that it’s going to be a repeat of last Wednesday and he is about to advise me how to organise the investigation. Anyway, he just says “You’ve been called off. From now on divisional CID will be handling each crime scene, to lessen the burden on the team. He said you’ll still be heading the enquiry, but he’s going on as if he’s doing us this massive favour, saving us from doing the groundwork. Divisional will pass everything on to us, and we need to stand down and head back to base.” Miller was astonished. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Cheeky bastards. We’ve been complaining since the start of this - then he pulls you out because you can’t cope? Condescending twat-bag!” Miller was completely stunned by the audacity of Dixon’s latest move.

  “I don’t think it was Dixon. He sounded pretty pissed off about it himself,” offered Ellis in the DCS’s defence. Miller shook his head.

  “No, something’s happened there, with Dixon I mean. He plays that game all the time nowadays, letting on that he’s being compromised, that none of it is his fault. That’s why I jacked.”

  Miller could feel his blood pressure rising, as the thoughts and feelings that inspired his resignation returned. Ellis remained impartial to his comment. Saunders, Worthington and Chapman still hadn’t spoken, but for their initial hellos. Ellis opened her mouth to speak, but Miller, in his typical style, interrupted.

  “So are you all expected to just sit and wait for them to get back to you with the evidence they gather, the witness statements, the forensics reports and photography, and then try to make headway?”

  Ellis was swift in her response. “I don’t think that’s the case at all. Normally, it would be fantastic to be given a whole divisional unit to assist us. But to kick us out entirely? I think that they are compounding your theory, they don’t want him caught.”

  This revelation was big news to Worthington and Chapman, the first time they’d heard any mention of this suspicion. It had only been discussed between Miller and Ellis, and subsequently between Ellis and Saunders. Their eyes widened as the information filtered into their brains.

  “What the bloody hell does…” began Chapman but was interrupted by Ellis.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll find out everything. I’m sorry you’ve not heard anything sooner, but it wasn’t like we were one-hundred per cent sure about it.” Ellis did look genuinely sorry for not involving Chapman and Worthington. After all, the team had always tried to operate with total trust. In Miller’s view, it was that kind of straight-talking honesty, the lack of backstabbing that had been a major ingredient in the unit’s success. Miller looked at the two DC’s who seemed pretty gutted by this apparent exclusion.

  “Listen. It’s not professional to discuss this kind of thing with lower ranks. I kept my theories to myself until I had no choice but to pass it on to Karen. Obviously, Karen has had reason to explain it to Keith. I was just trying to come up with a reasonable theory as to why we were getting absolutely no bloody support, especially once it became clear what we were dealing with. Fair enough, Jo and Peter being off was unfortunate, and if we were just doing the usual kind of investigations, we would have coped. I asked Dixon why I was being expected to run this enquiry with you three as my only staff. Dixon said he’d try, and he said he’d try, until in the end I had to figure out some kind of theory as to why this was being allowed to happen.”

  Worthington was incensed. “So what was the theory that you came up with?” he asked, without his usual politeness.

  Ellis answered the question, even though it had been directed at Miller. “Well it seemed that for some reason, most p
robably political, MCP had been ordered not to catch the gunman. Obviously, that information is going to remain at the top, so the only way they could stop us was to hinder our investigations. We discussed a few different theories. We thought it possible that the gunman was working for MI5 or some other secret service organisation. It wouldn’t be too hard to conceive, to imagine that the whole Pop situation is some big experiment, or some exercise in creating public support for a particular political party.” Worthington and Chapman looked completely stunned. They couldn’t remember being involved with any inquiry that had been run so ineptly.

  “And is that still the theory, that it’s a totally un-crackable case, that it’s being masterminded by MI5?” asked Chapman. Ellis shook her head, which surprised Miller, who was still convinced that something underhand was happening, though what exactly - he had no idea.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted us to talk about,” she said. Saunders shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Ellis locked her eyes onto Miller. Worthington and Chapman stared directly at her, wondering what else there could possibly be. With the exception of Saunders, whose information she was about to reveal, nobody else in the room had a clue what was coming.

  “Right, I’ll take it from the top. Remember Eric Bradshaw, the one who was shot in Sheffield?” The group nodded. “He had lived in Bury before moving across the Pennines. Keith and I did some routine door-to-door around his previous address, trying to find out if anybody had been looking for Bradshaw, if anyone had made any enquiries regarding his whereabouts. You remember we met Mr Greaves who gave us the photo-fit of the young girl?” She was still looking at Miller, who nodded. He remembered it well.

  “We arrived at Mr Greaves’ house via the advice of the new tenant in Bradshaw’s old council house, this total scum bag who had left her kids to fend for themselves, including her baby who’s only a few months old. Melanie Turner is her name. I got an emergency care order put on her kids on the strength of what I’d seen while I was in the house. Anyway, she came to see me, she wanted to do a deal to get the kids back. She told me that she’d had a visit, from the same young girl who visited Mr Greaves. Thing is though, that’s not the interesting part. The girl who visited was in a car, being driven by somebody else. Melanie Turner saw the car, but here’s the pot of gold. She saw the driver.” Ellis paused and looked around the room at her team. This was the interesting part, she could tell by the expectation on their faces.

  “The driver, the man who had dropped this girl off and sat waiting for her while she drank tea with Mr Greaves and got the new address for Bradshaw, was Melanie Turner’s music teacher at school. Mr George Dawson of Little Lever, near Farnworth.” Ellis nodded at Miller as he lost control of his jaw. He sat, looking completely astounded. Chapman scoffed. Worthington remained silent, his facial expression was completely unchanged. Ellis looked around them all before asking,

  “How interesting is all that?”

  “So why the fuck have you two kept that so quiet?” asked Worthington. Ellis stared at him, like a mother would a disobedient child. She took her time in answering, allowing Worthington a few seconds to simmer down.

  “Listen, I’m telling you now. You both know how meticulous Keith’s background investigations are.” She was talking directly to Chapman and Worthington. “That is why I gave him the info. This is absolutely top secret, it can’t be repeated anywhere until well after the arrest is made…”

  “Arrest?” asked Miller.

  “I’m coming to that,” replied Ellis. Saunders was stroking his chin. He was the only person in possession of all the facts. He knew that this would make great listening, if people would just shut up and listen to what Ellis was getting to.

  “It’s not as though anybody has been cut out, we’ve just had to keep this very quiet, just while we got the situation sussed. The teacher, George Dawson, he is Pop. The investigation into him that Keith has made is conclusive to that fact. The problem that we have got now, do we make the arrest or not?” She looked around the faces once again, making doubly sure that each of the men understood the implications of her dilemma.

  “The question is this - do I make this arrest, with grounds to suspect that I’m not supposed to?” Ellis looked at each person slowly, deliberately. “Or do I take the case file to Dixon, letting him know that we’ve got Pop in our sights?” Her eyes finally returned to Miller’s. He looked lingeringly at his fingertips. He took a while to compose his answer.

  “Me, I would make the arrest. I wouldn’t tell a soul. Fuck ‘em,” he said. Ellis was about to ask a further question, but he had more to say. “But that is me. That’s what I would do, but, doing things my way isn’t always the best.” He looked at her hard. “If you did make the arrest, and kept it all secret until you turned up at the station with him, you’d all have to make sure that your story is completely water-tight. You all need to go over every tiny detail, make it all sound like a fluke.”

  They all looked uneasy. Miller had been talking slowly, his tone of voice very measured. He could feel the stress that they were all under, particularly Ellis.

  There was a quiet knock at the door, Clare entered carrying a tray with some cups and a pot of coffee on it. She parked it on the desk.

  “Here we are,” was all she said. She turned to leave as everybody thanked her. Ellis outstretched her arm and touched Clare’s hand.

  “Thanks love.” Clare could tell that this was not a social visit, so she kept the small talk to a minimum. The door closed behind her. Ellis continued.

  “What about taking armed response, that’s basic procedure when dealing with a fire-arms threat?” Ellis looked frightened. This was against everything she stood for. She was renowned for going by the book at all times. This kind of thinking was completely out of character, and Miller could understand why she was feeling that way. He respected her for coming to him with this, appreciating how difficult it was. He desperately wanted to be of some help, but it was difficult. All he could offer was advice, and he wasn’t even sure if his advice would be of any value under these incredible circumstances. He felt for Ellis. Her first experience in the DCI role should be a little more rewarding than this. He took a deep breath, held it a moment before exhaling loudly. He stared at Ellis as he spoke, as though to amplify his sincerity.

  “It’s your call. It can’t harm your career, that’s a certainty - it couldn’t. I think that you should all have a good long think about how to work the arrest out, and go for it. It may seem like an unpopular arrest, sure - but it will make famous coppers out of each of you. I think that you have to take him, while you still have the chance.”

  Ellis looked at the others. “What do you mean, still have the chance?” she asked.

  “Well, from what you’ve said today, you might not be on the case at all for much longer. I’d strike soon, if you are as sure about this Dawson character as you say you are.”

  It was obvious to Miller that this potential arrest was worrying her. He couldn’t do any more than explain what he’d do. A silence gripped the room. Everything that needed to be said had been said. Worthington and Chapman were still feeling at odds at being excluded in the way that they had. They could see the sense in it being kept so quiet, but that didn’t help them from feeling as though the work that they had been carrying out was for nothing, and that Saunders and

  Ellis had allowed them to follow their leads and make their enquiries while they had been in possession of the killer’s name and address.

  With this information at light, it was Worthington and Chapman who were really up for the arrest, if not only to make them feel like a part of the investigation again.

  The coffee cups were emptied. The atmosphere in the room was still intense. Miller stood. He wanted them to go now.

  “Good luck. I’ll look forward to hearing about it on the news.”

  “Thanks, Sir” said Ellis. She really appreciated Miller’s time. He hadn’t said anything that she hadn’t expected him to say, but none the le
ss, it had been very reassuring to hear him say it. Her mind was set, she would make the arrest. She would turn up at the station with the prisoner. She would bluff the whole thing. Miller was right. “Fuck ‘em” indeed.

  *****

  The end of the team’s day was a frustrating one. It was gone 8pm before Ellis sent her three staff home. The phones in the office were ringing constantly, being contacted by officers and detectives from other divisions. The email account was constantly reloading with fresh emails, with different details for different murders.

  Ellis was thankful for the assistance of the five constables who were still working on the case. They were answering phones, ferrying the pieces of paper and printing off the deluge of emails. Ellis organised her detectives to work on individual areas. Pop had carried out seven murders, spread out all over the region. Ellis gave Saunders East Manchester, covering the three murders in Oldham, Denton and Dukinfield. Chapman was given South, covering Stockport and Hulme. Worthington was given areas of North and West to cover the two most recent, and hopefully in Ellis’s mind, the two final murders of the day in Crumpsall and Bolton respectively.

  It was a tall order, trying to cope with and organise all of this information in such derisory conditions. It was total chaos. Ellis was working with each of the detectives, generally supervising the procedures as the constables constantly fed them with more information.

  They coped though. They filed paper where it needed to be filed, they answered calls, and asked questions where they needed to, and they did it all with relative patience. They knew that this was all a charade, they kept their heads down and continued with their nonsensical work, in the knowledge that they would all have the opportunity to stick their middle fingers up at the cheating bastards who had given them such a contemptible task. They knew that they would very soon be having the last laugh at somebody’s expense, and the fact that they didn’t know exactly who, made it all the more interesting.