Gone Too Far : DCI Miller 4: Britain's Most Hated Celebrity Has Disappeared

by Steven Suttie

  “Anyway, is that all? I want to ring my excellent colleagues and ask them about their trip. Oh aye and I’d better check they don’t claim that bus fare on expenses, or you’ll have another world-exclusive on your hands!”

  “Well, DCI Miller, thank you for your time. It’s quite clear that you’re not concerned by the unprofessional conduct of your officers.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck with finding a proper story to report on.”

  “Back to you in the studio.”

  * * *

  Saunders was laughing, properly, right from the bottom of his gut. That cheeky TV interview had been just the tonic following the previous few, frustrating hours.

  “Aw, what a legend! I can’t believe DCI Miller can be so cheeky on the news! Bloody brilliant though, weren’t he?”

  Saunders had tears running down his cheeks, he’d been laughing so much. “God, I needed that!” He started laughing again, the comment about him being tight, on the main BBC news programme was just so surreal, it had really put everything into perspective. Saunders was grinning as he was typing a text to his boss.

  “You legend. Cheers Sir!”

  A few seconds later, a reply pinged on Saunders’ phone.

  “Ha! Doubt Dixon will be quite so pleased about it, but glad you liked it. And I meant every word, you tight sod!”

  Saunders was beaming. He looked really chilled out and relaxed. Grant was looking at him, smiling.

  “Right, well, I’d better get off.”

  This was awkward. Saunders didn’t want Grant to go. Grant didn’t actually want to go, Saunders could hear it loud and clear in her voice.

  “Well, wait, what about… I bet you’re starving aren’t you? Do you fancy going out, grabbing something to eat. Subway might still be open.”

  Grant laughed loudly. “So it is true, about you being a tight get!”

  “What?” Saunders had a fresh look on his face now. Confusion.

  Chapter 32

  THURSDAY

  Saunders was already in the office when Miller arrived. That in itself wasn’t particularly unusual, but the fact that he was sitting there watching Youtube on his computer screen certainly was.

  “Morning!” shouted Miller. It had the desired effect and Saunders juddered visibly in his chair.

  “Fuck sake Sir! Nearly had a frigging heart failure then!” the DI looked seriously pissed off.

  “Soz. Dixon keeps doing it to me. Anyway, what are you doing there, watching telly?”

  “It’s Kathy Hopkirk’s video, the one she announced her retirement on the other day. I’m not happy with it.”

  “Well, you must be the only one! Everyone else is absolutely buzzing that they won’t be hearing from that daft cow again!” Miller had a confused look on his face.

  “I’m just wondering if this investigation has been formally closed down yet?”

  “I gave it back to the Met. It’s their problem Keith, nowt to do with us.”

  “Yeah, Sir, I know. But I’m a bit worried about something.”

  “Okay, well I’ll fire the computer up and check my e-mails. And I’ll make a brew as well, not had one yet. Give me ten minutes.”

  “Cheers.”

  Saunders returned his attention to the computer screen, and started watching the short video from the beginning. He was staring obsessively at Kathy Hopkirk’s face, her mouth, her body language as he listened carefully to her confession, and shock announcement about retiring from the media business.

  Saunders was still studying the footage a quarter of an hour later when Miller appeared from his office and walked across to his DI’s desk.

  “God, we finally get shot of her, and you develop a fetish for her. What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Something very weird is going on. Have the Met formally closed it down?”

  “I don’t know yet. I had an e-mail that just politely confirmed that they were taking back the ownership of the case. I’ve not had anything since.”

  “Well, I’m not saying anything yet, because I’ll never live it down if I’m wrong. But I need the Met to confirm they’ve formally closed the mis-per enquiry before I’ll share this with you.”

  Miller understood what Saunders was talking about. To close down a live mis-per enquiry, a police officer has to formally identify the missing person, confirm that they are safe and well, before the case can be closed. Saunders was asking if Met officers had actually seen Kathy, in the flesh.

  “I’ll get in touch with them now and ask.”

  “Cheers Sir.”

  “Listen, you’re not still pissed off with the press for that bullshit the other night are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “No Sir, trust me. Try and get the information for me please.”

  “Okay.” Miller turned and headed back to his office. He lifted the phone from its cradle and checked the clock. It was just before eight. He wondered whether his colleague in London would still be in the office as he was working the night-shift. Miller found the number on an e-mail and dialled. It was picked up after a couple of rings.

  “Paxman.”

  “Ah, DCI Paxman, it’s DCI Miller up in Manchester.”

  “Oh, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s about Kathy Hopkirk. Have your guys spoken to her yet?”

  There was a pause, and then a hefty gust of air.

  “Just a sec DCI Miller, I thought that you had passed this back our way?”

  “Well, I have. But it’s a pretty reasonable question. What’s the issue?”

  “It’s a confidential matter.”

  “It’s not. You can just say yes or no. It’s as simple as that.”

  There was a pause, and then another gust of air. “No, we’ve not actually identified where she is. There has been no formal contact with her, all we know is that she put the video online on Tuesday dinnertime.”

  “So is somebody looking into that?”

  “Well, I assume so, but it’s slipped down the to-do list at the moment.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks, and if you can just drop me an e-mail or give me a call when it’s formally closed, I’ll knock it off my to-check list.”

  Miller put the phone down and huffed. He wasn’t quite sure why there was such a tension between the two DCI’s. It had all been pleasant and professional when Paxman was offloading it onto Miller’s desk. It seemed that Paxman was spitting his dummy out now that it was back on his desk.

  “Knob head.” Said Miller under his breath. He noticed that Grant was in the office now, looking at whatever Saunders was looking at. Rudovsky was just arriving too, noisily.

  “God, get a fucking room you two!” She said extremely loudly.

  “Jo!” said Saunders, blushing.

  “Just saying!” said Jo, laughing. She started unzipping her jacket and smiled. Grant was blushing as well now.

  “Jo, come off it, don’t be a dick.”

  “Ooh! Get you! The worst detective in Britain is calling me a dick!”

  “Jo, shut your gob!” Miller was raising his voice just one volume notch enough to let everyone know that he wasn’t in the mood for any daft banter this morning.

  “DI Saunders, the answer from the Met is no. Nobody has spoken to her. All they’ve got is that same Youtube video you’ve got.”

  “Well they can’t close the mis-per on the strength of that.”

  “I know. And he’s not too happy that I’m sniffing about it now. He’s got a right mard-arse on him. But anyway, now you’d better tell me why you want to know.”

  “Right. Okay. So, here, look at this picture of Kathy walking out of The Midland last Thursday night. Now, we’ve still not had a positive sighting of her anywhere until this video popped up on Tuesday dinnertime.”

  Miller, Rudovsky and Grant were nodding, listening intently. “Now then, I’ve got three stills
of Kathy walking out of The Midland. Look at the pictures, and watch the video.”

  Saunders pressed play and Kathy Hopkirk’s voice started playing through the speakers. Rudovsky was studying the pictures, and her eyes were flicking up at the video on the screen. Saunders paused the video after twenty or so seconds had passed.

  “Anyone?” he asked. All three of his colleagues shrugged.

  “Come on guys. Look.” Saunders pointed at the freeze-frame video clip on the screen. “Her hair is shorter in The Midland, than it is on the video. How can her hair grow two or three inches in four days? Can’t be done.”

  “Bloody hell. No way!” Jo Rudovsky looked impressed by Saunders’ observation and sat down beside her DI.

  “Now, if you want a second opinion, watch this.” Saunders grabbed the computer mouse and opened the BBC I-player app. He had a clip paused. “This was last Tuesday morning on BBC Breakfast. She was on there, flogging her new book. This was two days before she went missing. Just concentrate on that hair length, focus on her neck and shoulder area. Use this big mole or whatever it is on her neck as a marker.” Saunders clicked the play button on the screen’s video-player. Suddenly, the sound of Kathy Hopkirk’s voice filled the SCIU office.

  The detectives watched for a few seconds.

  “Yeah, definitely.” Said Miller, nodding.

  “There’s no doubt about it… it’s a good two, maybe three inches longer than on that other video. It’s as clear as the nose on her face.” Rudovsky needed no further evidence.

  Grant stood by, nodding and agreeing with the rest of the team.

  “So here, I have produced a print-out of Kathy’s head and shoulders from this BBC broadcast last Tuesday.” Saunders put the A4 picture on his desk. “And here, I’ve printed a picture at a similar angle, from Kathy’s Youtube video.” Now that both pictures were side-by-side, the evidence was undeniable. “Now, I’ve been looking into this a bit deeper. A woman’s hair grows on average four inches per year, so that’s one inch every calendar quarter. It’s roughly a quarter of an inch a month… which is… God I’m shit at maths… it’s about a tenth of an inch a week. Bottom line is this; that video where Kathy is resigning from working in the media was made at least six months ago.”

  Chapter 33

  DCI Miller decided that the media’s behaviour regarding Saunders and Grant’s tour-bus shenanigans had created the perfect circumstances to rub the media’s collective face in this. He’d even written in the press invitation, that the press conference would be presented by “Britain’s Worst Detective,” which amused him greatly. He deleted that bit just before he sent it, but he was still in a silly mood as he headed out of his office.

  “Tell you what would be funny!” said Miller, laughing to himself as he strode across the SCIU office floor heading to Saunders desk.

  “What’s that Sir?”

  “If we organise the press to assemble at Blackpool Pleasure Beach, and you enter the press conference after just getting off the Big One!”

  The office erupted in laughter. Saunders wasn’t that impressed though. He’d been pretty hurt by the story in the papers, and he thought it was unforgivable that the press could just print and report that kind of nonsense without any foundation at all.

  “Too soon?” asked Miller, grinning. Saunders nodded sombrely. “Well, don’t worry, you can take the piss right out of them with this discovery you’ve made. He who laughs last…”

  “Laughs loudest!” shouted Rudovsky with great enthusiasm.

  “You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs!” suggested Bill Chapman, enjoying this familiar office banter.

  “Never look a gift horse in the mouth!” offered Rudovsky, grinning widely at her contribution.

  “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst!” laughed Saunders, finally snapping out of his grumpy mood. DC Grant just stood there, looking a little confused.

  “Oh, we need to get a book of English Proverbs for DC Grant! She looks a bit lost.”

  “Here, she can have mine,” said Chapman, pulling his tatty book out of his drawer. “I know them all off by heart.” Chapman stood up and walked across to Grant’s desk. “Here you go love. Birds of a feather flock together.”

  There was another big laugh, and Saunders realised that this silly conversation had really relaxed him ahead of the press conference.

  * * *

  “Thanks everyone for coming. Well, considering your terrible behaviour the other day, I’m sure you’d all like to apologise to my colleague DI Saunders, before we continue?” Miller looked out across the Manchester City Police Media Centre, at a sea of bemused looking faces. There was an awkward silence.

  “Well, I’ll tell you now, we’re not going to start this press conference until you do.” Miller was smiling sarcastically at the uncomfortable people before him. He folded his arms and began his battle of the wits.

  “Sorry,” said one reporter, quietly.

  “Yes, sorry DI Saunders!” said another. It wasn’t a very convincing performance.

  “Sorry Sir! Even though we didn’t even cover the story!” said one stronger, more confident voice from within the pack. It attracted some mirth amongst the press representatives.

  “No, that’s very poor. It lacks conviction. I’ll tell you what guys. We’ve got a major announcement about the Kathy Hopkirk case, stuff that’s going straight on your front pages and number one on your top of the hour stories. But I’m not starting this press conference until my colleague gets a proper, heartfelt apology for being stitched up by all you lot.” Miller was messing with his phone as he spoke. “Remember when you were little kids at school and you had to say good morning to the teacher in assembly? Well after three, I want you all to say sorry Detective Inspector Saunders. Okay?” There was another judder of awkwardness swelling from within the group. This was about as cringey as it got, and Miller was taking enormous delight from it. Saunders was sitting beside his boss, looking extremely embarrassed by the whole carry on, but enjoying his moment none-the-less.

  Miller held his phone in front of him and clicked the video camera button as he counted the media folk down.

  “Sorry Detective Inspector Saunders!” came a great, chorus of embarrassed voices. Miller stopped recording, and looked absolutely delighted with the resulting apology.

  “Do you accept their apology?” Miller looked across at Saunders. He was determined to take the piss out of the press, just as blatantly as they had attempted to with Saunders. The DI nodded, and smiled, and looked a bit ashamed by the whole performance.

  “Right, okay, thank you. But for the record, my colleague, DI Saunders is the most gifted detective in this city, bar none. He is the most committed, hard working and conscientious detective in the business. I know the press are famous for always getting it wrong – but I’ll tell you, you couldn’t have got it more wrong in this particular case. There are plenty of crap, lazy coppers out there that you could be exposing, so next time, go after them, and leave this absolute superstar detective alone. Right, end of lecture.” Miller was grinning, and he felt that he’d won the war. Everybody in the room was just pleased that he’d finally shut the fuck up. He stepped down from the small stage and left DI Saunders alone on the tiny stage, sitting in front of a gigantic police emblem as his back-drop.

  “Hello everyone, thanks for that. Okay, we’ll go live in fifteen seconds if you’re transmitting or recording, you need to get your fingers out. Ten seconds.” Saunders checked over his notes, before looking up and choosing the Sky News camera to focus on.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Detective Inspector Keith Saunders, from Manchester’s Serious Crimes Investigation Unit. I’m here today because I wish to make a fresh appeal for information surrounding the disappearance of Kathy Hopkirk.”

  This announcement didn’t make much of an impact on the press employees. They assumed that Saunders was just looking for info that would help to tie a few loose-en
ds up. But his next sentence would certainly stir things up in the Media Centre.

  “I have discovered a serious concern regarding the video which Kathy Hopkirk supposedly published on Tuesday lunchtime, and I would like to share this concern with you all, and then re-launch our appeal to speak to anybody who has seen, or heard from Kathy Hopkirk at any time since last Thursday evening, when she left The Midland in Manchester city centre.”

  That was it, that was enough to fire up the media-storm. There was a sudden burst of energy from the group of one hundred reporters. A barrage of inaudible questions, gasps, and excited comments filled the room. Saunders just stared down at his paperwork until the members of the press calmed themselves down.

  “I’ll take questions at the end, alright?”

  The press staff were quiet now, desperate to hear the rest of this announcement.

  “This afternoon, Kathy Hopkirk’s husband Jack Greenwood has been taken into police custody by our colleagues in London, and we are currently organising a joint-investigation with the Metropolitan Police to establish exactly what has happened to Kathy.”

  Again, this news was met with the fervent excitement of the reporters, journalists and technicians who filled the room.

  “At this stage, our investigation centres around two key facts. Fact one is that Kathy Hopkirk has not been formally interviewed by police. Until such time as a police officer has identified a missing person, and found them to be fit and well and in a place of safety, we cannot close a missing persons enquiry down. The second fact is slightly more concerning. On Tuesday lunchtime, shortly after we released Kathy’s husband from our custody, a video appeared online, supposedly uploaded by Kathy Hopkirk. We now know that this video was recorded at least six months ago.” There was another burst of noise as the media crews realised just how monumental this announcement was. The Kathy Hopkirk disappearance had never been resolved, and now it was even more suspicious than ever before. Saunders allowed the excitable noise to subside once again, before continuing.