Miller and Dixon laughed. Some of the results that Saunders had been getting recently were off the radar, the DI genuinely was at the top of his game with his detective work, and his people management skills were coming on leaps and bounds as well. Saunders had a great future ahead of him at the rate things were going, and it seemed that it was only himself who couldn’t see it. Saunders was constantly striving, permanently trying to achieve, to break through the next barrier. He was so busy in this mind-set that he was completely oblivious to the remarkable success that he was making of his work.
“Well, I’d say that this has worked out rather well. I had anticipated coming down here and getting the usual amount of abuse and tantrums!”
“We don’t do tantrums, Sir. We just deliver well considered feedback.” Miller was smiling.
“Okay. Well, maybe this next one will push you over the edge?”
“Oh?” asked Miller, he looked surprised as he’d been under the impression that Dixon was done.
“We’ve got a real head scratcher of a case. On Thursday night, a badly battered body was found in the central carriageway of the M56 motorway, not far from Manchester Airport. It was a male, a young body-builder, not from the area. The body had been hit by numerous vehicles before it was reported, in fact, it was so bad that the person who rang it in thought it was a curtain off a HGV trailer. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we have a major mystery on our hands here, as we have no idea why he was on the motorway. The body was discovered a hundred yards away from a footbridge, so he could have been a suicide, and the body has been rolled by the vehicles that hit it.”
“Grisly. That sounds like a nasty shout to attend.” Said Saunders, he looked pale just thinking about what Dixon was describing. “Glad I’m not a bobby any more.”
“Yes, sounds pretty nasty. But we’re not having anything to do with it. Case closed on that one Sir.” Miller was quite clear.
“I just thought that…”
“There’s no way Sir. We won’t be able to do it. We were maxed out before you came in and handed us this file.” Miller held up the Kathy Hopkirk paperwork.
“You can’t even look at it?” Dixon was trying his best to charm his DCI into accepting the extra work.
“No way, Jose. Not on your Nelly.”
“Okay, well, if you don’t ask, you don’t get. I won’t say I’m not disappointed.”
“Tell you what Sir, why don’t you deal with this missing celebrity and we’ll do the motorway body?”
Dixon ignored Miller’s invitation with a wry smile.
“Nah, didn’t think so…” said Miller.
“I’m in the office for the rest of the day if you need me. But thank you Keith for your enthusiasm regarding the miss-per case, I really thought that I was going to be listening to one of Andy’s long, boring, rambling rants this morning!” Dixon laughed and turned out of the office, pleased with the fact he got two digs in at Miller during the course of the conversation. Saunders waited until he’d got far enough away from the open-door to be out of earshot.
“What the flipping heck’s got into him? As if you just refused a file and he accepted it with a smile?” asked Saunders with an unmistakable look of bemusement.
“Good question!” laughed Miller. “I think Mrs Dixon must have given him a go on her last night.”
“Get away! Aw gross Sir. I need to try and un-think that right now.” Saunders pretended to be sick in his hands.
“Right, anyway, before you get carried away with this miss-per, let’s get back to where we were before Dixon butted in so cheerfully.”
“Yes, well, I think we were almost done, just needed you to read through these case-notes on the Thompson file, it needs your final judgement call. Rudovsky and Kenyon are making good progress with the violent burglar.”
“The Pensioner Puncher? Good, I literally can’t wait until he’s in Strangeways, getting his head punched in night after night. He’ll get his just desserts when they hear about him thumping old women in the back of the skull, the sick fucker.”
Saunders nodded. This was a really horrific case, but at least the detectives were getting somewhere with it now, after a frustrating start.
“Oh, and the Whitelands Road stabbing has turned up a new witness. She’s an elderly lady, lives across the road, she’s been on to Crimestoppers, wants it to remain confidential. She’s scared shit-less, but we need her on-side. I’ve told Chapman and Worthington to make her feel happy and confident, and to get it up the top of their to-do-list, so fingers crossed that’s going to mean arrests can be made by tea-time.”
“Right, okay. Good. Everything’s looking reasonably okayish.”
“Yes, and our new starter, Helen, I thought I’d maybe take her along on this, with me. It’s a bit of extra SCIU training for her. What are your thoughts on that idea Sir?”
“Well, yes I agree that its good experience, but there’s plenty of other jobs that she could be getting on with.” Miller was playing. Saunders knew from his face. “How long have you been coveting these ideas for?”
“Eh, what?”
“Of partnering up with Helen?”
“Obviously, you’re referring to a purely professional partnership, aren’t you Sir? Or are you about to start trying to pull my pud?”
“I’m just saying… she’s a bonny lass. And single…”
“Is she?” Saunders seemed surprised. One eyebrow seemed to take a little longer than the other to settle down.
“Yes. So, I’m thinking, you two could go well together. God knows you need a lady friend Keith.”
“Sir, what’s your point?” Saunders was blushing slightly. Or was it too warm in here? Miller was grinning at the spectacle of his super-confident DI getting all hot and bothered over the new, highly attractive young DC.
“Well, my point is, as a pal, not your boss… if you like her, it might be best to keep her at arms length until you get to know her a bit better. I mean if you take her out within a working situation, she’ll not think you’re very funny or smart when you’re having your road-rage outbursts, and farting in the car then denying it. She’s a detective Keith, she’ll know it’s not a drains problem in the area. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, thanks for the brotherly advice Sir. But I’ll take her anyway if that’s alright? And, I won’t fart. And this road-rage bullshit is five years old now. That only ever happened once, and it’s still being talked about none-stop.”
“Well, you know what they say Keith, you only have to shag a sheep once, to be remembered as a sheep-shagger.”
Saunders laughed, knowing that a laugh would hurry things on.
“Well, okay, good luck, teach her everything you know. And don’t forget, if you need any extra staff, or a raise, or your pool car upgrading, Dixon appears to be in the mood for anything today!”
Chapter 10
Beryl Butterworth’s was one of the most famous voices in Greater Manchester. She was a very well known broadcaster, and had been a mainstay of local radio since the seventies when Piccadilly Radio first launched. Since then, Beryl’s career had seen her presenting programmes on all of the local radio stations that had come and gone, as well as stints of TV work on Granada Reports and North West Tonight. Beryl was also a famous voice-over on TV commercials and was well known nationally as the voice of the DFS sale, which was now into its 19th year, but must end soon, apparently.
Nowadays, Beryl’s daily radio show is on the BBC Manchester station, and her mid-morning slot is one of the station’s most popular shows.
“Well, good morning, and today, we’re taking your calls about the missing TV celebrity Kathy Hopkirk. Now, just to shake things about a little, we want to hear from you if you have something nice to say about Kathy. Maybe you met her once, and she was really lovely. Perhaps you were stuck in a revolving door with her and she was a right laugh? One of our lovely listeners may have run out of change at the launderette and Kathy
lent you twenty pee for the dryer? Whatever the circumstances, we’d love to hear from you this morning. But if you want to slag Kathy off, this isn’t the show for you! Here’s a classic BBC Radio Manchester song from Simply Red, and Money’s Too Tight To Mention.”
Beryl smiled as she switched off her microphone and saw the bank of lights on the phone thing light up. Her studio manager began answering the phones while Beryl prepared her next song and checked the BBC News app on her phone to see if any new news regarding Kathy had been released. A few minutes later, Beryl’s microphone was back on and the red ON AIR lights around the studio were lit up.
“Simply Red there, a fantastic song that we love here on BBC Radio Manchester. Did I ever mention that Mick Hucknall used to be my paperboy back in the seventies? I did? What, every single time I play a song by him? Ha ha, well, let me tell you, he was a lovely lad then, and he’s a lovely man now. I remember him crying one morning because his paper bag was too heavy and his hands were cold so I gave him ten pence for a mix up and that cheered him up. Anyway, enough about me and my superstar paperboy, lets get on with the show, and let’s talk to Pedro in Altrincham.”
“Hello, morning Beryl!” said a grumpy sounding voice on the phone line.
“Morning Pedro, thanks for phoning love. Is that your real name?”
“No, it’s my stage name. I’m a turn.”
“Ooh, very nice. What’s your best number Pedro?”
“Oh, well, I’d have to say, probably My Way, I’m good at that one.”
“Well, it’s a hard song to sing. Do you get many requests for that though?”
“Nah, not really Beryl.”
“Because it’s more of a funeral song, than one you’d get up and have a bop to. Anyway Pedro, not your real name, I hear that you’ve got a nice, positive story about Kathy Hopkirk to share with us?”
“Yes, well I have actually. I work for the hospice shop, voluntary like, and Kathy turned up one day last year with a car full of stuff that she was donating to us. She was really, really nice, and she said she’d drove all the way up from London with it. So I was helping her to take all the stuff into the shop and she said that her dad had been cared for at the hospice, years ago, and she wanted to give something back, to help out like. Anyway, after she’d gone, they were going through the stuff she’d donated and they found a cheque, in amongst some shoes. It were made out to the hospice, and guess what Beryl?”
“Go on…”
“It were for a hundred grand!”
“Wow! Seriously?”
“I swear down. I don’t think she wanted it broadcasting like, but, yeah. We couldn’t believe it.”
“Well, that’s absolutely amazing Pedro. Thanks so much for your call, and your amazing Kathy story! Let’s go to line sixty one now, and we’ve got Mary McGinlay from Didsbury on. Morning Mary!”
“Hiya Beryl, morning love, y’alright?”
“I’m okay, I tell you though Mary, I’m not half worried about Kathy though you know.”
“I know, I know, I must admit, I am as well. How come you like her so much anyway Beryl?”
“Well, you see, I know her, or at least, I used to know her very well, she and I used to work at another radio station here in Manchester, way-back-when, in the seventies. She had just come down from Scotland and she was just a really lovely lass, and I’ve seen her a few times over the past few years when she’s been in town, and I’ll say it ‘til I’m blue in the face, she’s a lovely, kind-hearted woman.”
“Right, but, thing is Beryl, if that’s true, why does she say all these nasty and horrible things all the time?”
“Well, I must say, I am surprised by some of the things that she says. But, I think it’s just an act, like it’s a character that she’s playing. And let’s face it, if that’s the case, she’s doing a pretty good bloody job at it and all!”
“Yes, well, I’ll give you that. Aw, I do hope she’s alright Beryl. I do.”
“So do I Mary. Thanks for your call love. Right, lets cheer ourselves up a bit now, eh? How about a bit of Barry Manilow eh folks? How about a blast of Copacabana to make us all happy?”
Chapter 11
The Midland Hotel in Manchester is voted the second favourite building of the City’s residents. Their first choice, quite understandably is the stunning Manchester Town Hall, and anybody who has seen it, inside or outside will know what an extra special place the gothic inspired Victorian building is. It was designed to give Parliament a run for its money, and it certainly achieved that, such is the decadent splendour on show. This beautiful, grand Town Hall was built when Manchester was one of the richest cities on earth, at the height of the Industrial Revolution. Its hard to imagine that this was only one hundred and fifty years ago. But, to make a permanent reminder of the City’s greatness, the Town Hall was made to the very best spec. It’s often rumoured that the interior inspired JK Rowling’s visions of how Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry would look.
But the runner up for Mancunian folk’s favourite building is the gigantic Midland Hotel, across the road from the Town Hall, down near the G-mex centre. This enormous, terracotta coloured granite structure was built at the beginning of the last century, and again, there was no expense spared. It was one of the world’s finest hotels when it was completed in 1903. Since that time, The Midland has provided luxurious accommodation to all of the great and the good that have visited the capital of the north ever since. The guest list includes the Queen, and the Queen mum. And the late Queen singer, Freddie Mercury too. Of the famous and rich, it would probably be quicker to write a list of those that hadn’t stayed at the Midland, to be honest.
The Midland has an amazing history. For example, it was the place where a certain Mr Rolls and a Mr Royce first met in 1904, and later went on to make cars together. It was one of Britain’s first restaurants to receive a Michelin star award. The Beatles were famously refused entry to the place, because they weren’t dressed appropriately. There are hundreds of wonderful stories from the hotel, dating back over a very colourful century.
But everybody’s favourite story about The Midland concerns a certain Adolf Hitler, who was a huge fan of the building. In fact, he liked it so much that he had very elaborate plans to use The Midland as the Nazi HQ, once the German forces occupied the British Isles. Hitler was so set on the idea, that Manchester remained one of very few cities that didn’t suffer from too much bomb damage in the second World War. Fortunately, Hitler’s Manchester dream wasn’t to be.
And now, sixty or so years after the end of WW2, The Midland was back in the news. This time, it was down to the fact that it was the last place that Kathy Hopkirk had been seen, prior to her disappearance four nights earlier. The outside of the elegant hotel was besieged with news crews, desperate to grab some footage of police activity at the building.
The media story was now almost twenty-four hours old, and the initial, exciting BREAKING NEWS phase was well past its sell-by-date. The story was now focusing almost exclusively on the Met and Manchester police force maintaining their no-comment stance, deliberately and mischievously fuelling conspiracy theories about their “lack of urgency” and “laid-back attitude” and suggesting that Kathy’s outspoken views and opinions were the reason that the police weren’t looking for her. Put simply, the media were trying to force the police to speak out, so that part two of the story would suddenly emerge and break the dead-lock.
And the dead-lock seemed to be broken at 11am, when DI Keith Saunders and DC Helen Grant stepped into the crowd, attempting to get through the media hustle and bustle outside The Midland.
“DI Saunders, have you been handed the Kathy enquiry?”
“DI Saunders, is it true that Kathy has been murdered?”
“DI Saunders, why isn’t DCI Miller with you?”
There was a lot of noise and plenty of hustle and bustle in the media crowd as the journalists tried to get a word, and the photographers and cameramen bat
tled behind, trying to take photos and film the footage of these Manchester detectives finally entering The Midland. It now looked as though something was finally happening.
Detective Inspector Saunders was a well-known face amongst the local journalists and presenters, he was regularly seen on TV news reports, appealing for information, or giving statements outside court houses. But his appearance today, alongside the unknown face of DC Helen Grant, offered even more gravitas for the media to pursue their anti-police angle, allowing the news stations and newspapers free-reign to insinuate that Manchester’s best known detective, DCI Andy Miller couldn’t be bothered to look for Kathy, so had sent down his deputy, and a rookie detective to lead the investigation. That was how this development was about to be reported, as Saunders and Grant disappeared into the famous hotel building.
It was much calmer inside the hotel, and both of the detectives looked slightly overwhelmed as they were greeted by the concierge.
“Hello Sir, Madam, Welcome to The Midland.” The man was very smartly dressed in his bespoke tailored uniform, completed with a fine, three-quarter length jacket. The sheer elegance of the concierge’s uniform was the first hint at the exclusive grandeur of the place.
“Hi, thanks,” said Saunders, shaking the man’s hand. “We’re detectives from Manchester City Police, we’re looking after the Kathy Hopkirk case file.”
“Ah, a real mystery, that’s for certain,” the concierge looked genuinely concerned. “Allow me to contact the most appropriate person for you to speak to. Please, take a seat just here.” Saunders and Grant were showed to a leather sofa close to the check-in area.
“God it’s pretty nice this place. I must have been past it a million times, but I didn’t realise that it was as posh as this!” DC Helen Grant looked mesmerised by the amazing interior and was staring up at the elaborate wall decorations and chandeliers.
“I’ve never been in either. But it is where Prime Ministers and Presidents stay when they visit the north of England. So its bound to be up to scratch isn’t it?”
Gone Too Far : DCI Miller 4: Britain's Most Hated Celebrity Has Disappeared Page 5
