“Bollocks!” said Miller loudly, then laughed manically.
“We’ll see!” replied Saunders, with a cocky wink. “I need to check the post mortem and medical records, see if there was any underlying health conditions. We’ve not even considered this.”
“We’re only supposed to be working out if the deaths are suspicious, not solving a mass-murder inquiry before it’s begun Keith. You’re getting ahead of yourself!” Miller was suitably impressed with the usual level of enthusiasm from his DI.
“Well, I’ve checked the first case. That was the woman who was found behind the bins under the railway arches in Castlefield. She had a serious infection in her groin, from injecting. She was probably very poorly when she died. I’m not betting anything too big yet until I’ve checked the other post-mortem reports. I’ll get on with it.”
“Right, well, nice one. I’ll leave you to crack on.”
“Cheers. Thanks for the brew as well. I didn’t know you knew how to brew up Sir.”
“Oh, shut up. And close the door on your way out, you ungrateful bastard.”
“Cheers.” Saunders left the office, laughing to himself as he walked briskly back across the office to his desk. He grabbed a piece of A4 paper from the printer tray and wrote in black marker pen “Untreated infection in groin area.” He blu-tacked it beneath the large, sad looking photograph of the young woman. Saunders picked up his phone and began ringing the doctors surgery telephone number that came with the medical notes.
Miller was unsettled. He knew that he had a lot of menial, tidying up tasks to do, filing, checking and signing off final reports that his team had been working on. But the favour that Ollie had asked him about was bugging him, it was becoming a distraction, and so he decided to deal with it right away, so he could strike a line through that on the to-do list in his mind. He grabbed a pen and began writing down the details that Ollie had text to him. His first step was to google the man’s name. He wrote GRAHAM ASHCROFT BURY COUNCIL into the search engine and scanned the first page of results. There was nothing of major interest in the first set of listings. The second page didn’t yield any strong results either, just vague mismatches of first names and “council” business. It struck Miller as odd, if this guy was a senior member of town hall staff, his name ought to be coming up in dozens of Google results. He clicked the third page of results and decided that there was something wrong. Miller Googled Bury Town Hall and rang the number.
“Hello, you’re through to Bury Metropolitan Borough Council, how may I help you today?” asked a very cheerful sounding lady.
“Hello, yes, can you put me through to Graham Ashcroft please?” asked Miller.
“Yes certainly,” said the voice. “Do you know which department that is please?” she asked.
“Erm, no, sorry. I think it’s like the big bosses office, something like that?”
“Do you mean Graham Ashworth, in the Chief Executive’s department?” asked the friendly person.
“Oh, is that his name. Right, yeah, sorry. Can you put me through please?” said Miller, as he scrubbed out Ashcroft on his piece of paper and scribbled Ashworth in its place.
“One moment please, may I ask who is calling?”
“Yeah, it’s Alex Williams.”
“Alex Williams, okay, hold the line please Mr Williams.”
“Thanks a lot,” Miller always used the nineteen eighties Manchester City goalkeeper’s name when he was working under-cover, just because he couldn’t be bothered thinking of any other names. The line was quiet for a while, almost a minute before the friendly voiced young lady spoke again.
“Hello Mr Williams, hi, I’ll put you through now.”
“Oh, brilliant, thanks a lot. Cheers.”
Miller was buzzing, this was the end of the road for this stupid chore he was doing for Ollie. Job done in a couple of minutes, thought Miller as the phone rang through to Ashworth.
“Hello, legal?” said a pompous sounding voice at the end of the line.
“Hi, is that Graham Ashworth?” asked Miller.
“No, I’m afraid not. Graham is out of the office at the moment.” Said the voice, sounding quite smug.
“Oh right, do you know when he’ll be back in?” asked Miller.
“One moment,” said the man, and Miller heard the ruffle sound of a hand covering the receiver, which lasted several seconds. Eventually the voice returned to the line.
“Er, hello, is it a matter that somebody else can help you with?”
“No.” said Miller, firmly. “I want to talk directly to Graham Ashworth about it please.”
“Hold on a moment, please.”
Miller began to realise that something wasn’t quite right. The muffle sound returned and eventually another voice came on the line.
“Hello, this is Graham Ashworth’s line manager. He isn’t available I’m afraid. Is there something I can help you with?” The new voice sounded a little harsher than the first, and equally as pompous.
“I need to speak to Graham. Is he off work?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information. Now if you would just like to tell me what it is that you wish to enquire about, I am absolutely certain that myself and my colleagues will be more than capable of assisting you, Sir.”
Miller put the phone down and scribbled a note on his piece of paper.
“Hmmmm,” he said as he tried to rationalise why Graham’s colleagues wouldn’t just say if he was off work or not. If somebody is off sick, thought Miller, it wasn’t a big data protection issue to mention it. Unless it was mental health, he considered.
“Ooh, sorry, Graham can’t come to the phone right now, he’s in the sick-bay, trying to lick a bee off his forehead at the moment.” Miller was speaking in a sarcastic, patronising voice, as he accepted the fact that Ollie’s little mission was not to be accomplished at the first attempt.
“Right!” said Miller loudly to himself as he put the Graham Ashworth piece of paper into the top drawer of his desk, and grabbed hold of the file at the bottom of his large pile. “Time to get cracking with all this shit.” He began flicking through the file and looking for the post-it noted sections that required action from him.
Chapter 23
DI Saunders was buzzing, that much was clear to all of the team as they sat around the incident room waiting for the team brief. It was almost contagious when he was hyped, it made the rest of the SCIU department feel that little bit more enthusiastic.
“Okay guys, let’s cut straight to the chase. What have we learnt from our night on the town? I’ll start with you Jo, and we will go around in a circle, ending with me. I want a short, concise briefing on your investigations please. Go on Jo.” Saunders sat down as Jo Rudovsky stood and came up to the front of the group, standing before the city centre map and the morose photographs of the dead homeless people.
“Thank you Sir. As instructed, we concentrated on talking to people in this area,” Jo waved in a circular motion on the map to the west of the district, “we spoke to dozens of homeless people with all manner of personal issues, mostly addiction problems, alcohol, drugs, gamblers. Most of them were reluctant to talk to us, and I must say, we were reluctant to talk to some of them as well, there are some very disturbing sights to be seen when you look closely. Naturally, we weren’t made very welcome, and we were verbally abused by most of the people we tried to engage with. It was quite a morale sapping night I’m afraid. In conclusion – of the handful of folk that would talk to us, we didn’t speak to a single person who had encountered any home-made spirits on offer, and to be honest, the suggestion got a laugh from most of the people that we asked, Sir.”
“Okay, thanks Jo. What about you Mike?” Saunders was absolutely desperate to mention his news, but it had to wait just now. DC Mike Worthington stood and pointed at the coach station area on the map.
“Me and Chapman patrolled around this area – all around Chorlton Street, China Town, the Village and down Portland Street into the Oxf
ord Road area, then we doubled back up the canal, and round Ancoats to the northern quarter. It was an education to see the sheer numbers of homeless people that are out there. We encountered well over a hundred, we spoke to about twenty five people, maybe thirty. Same outcome as Jo’s and Peter’s enquiries I guess, they just thought we were taking the piss. One guy we talked to,” he looked through his note-pad quickly, “ah, a guy called Simon Naylor, he said that it costs two pounds and ninety nine pence for four cans of Jack Lightning cider, and that’s enough to get you off your tits for a good few hours. Furthermore, he said it only takes about five minutes begging on Market Street to get three quid – so there’s absolutely no demand for home-made spirits really.” Worthington shrugged as he walked back to his seat.
“I think it’s fair to say, Sir,” said Kenyon, “that people genuinely thought it was a mad idea, and all my instincts are telling me that we are definitely barking up the wrong tree with this line of enquiry.”
“Agreed, Sir,” said Rudovsky.
“Okay, thanks Peter, thanks everyone, so I guess it’s my turn now,” said Saunders. “As usual, I’m a hell of a lot better than you lot because, I have found out that the deaths were all deliberate, and that we are looking for a murderer who has poisoned these five people, and it is a person who is very likely to kill again. Now, before I expand on these details, I demand a round of applause, come on, up on your feet, all of you, worship me,” Saunders gestured his team with both hands, encouraging them all to stand and start applauding their Detective Inspector. Miller was the first to stand and begin the ovation.
“Whooo - hoooo!” he shouted as the others reluctantly joined in.
“Yeah! That’s right! Keep going, come on!” shouted Saunders, smiling and grinning at the team who were stood before him. “Come on, I want more. Worship me!” The group carried on with their awkward celebration for a little while longer, with Worthington doing what could only be described as a rain-dance around Saunders. It was stupid and ridiculous, but it was a good tonic, it made them all laugh and feel good after having such a miserable job to do the night before.
Once Saunders had asked them to stop rejoicing, and everybody had calmed down a little, they all returned to their seats and Saunders explained the situation as it was understood. It was obvious to everybody that Saunders had once again had a lucky, flukey result, but none of the SCIU team begrudged him of it. He was without doubt the most hard-working member of the department, and he did deserve these occasional lucky results. It was a great boost for everybody, as it meant that the cases that had been forced to one side could once again take priority.
“So I’m just left with the tidying up on this, I need to check CCTV from the area around each victim, I need to find video evidence linking the person to each crime scene, and then obviously I need to find out who it is, and pull the person in.”
“Do you know if the street angel character is a man or a woman?” asked Miller.
“No, I couldn’t get an answer on that, the dosser who told me about the angel started to realise that he’d grassed by accident, and he shut up as soon as he mentioned the street angel helping poorly folks out. I’m thinking it’s a woman though. Gut instinct, I’m imagining a kindly old woman.”
“You’re going to be sat in some CCTV booth for a few days, next to some fat, farting security guard, who thinks he knows more about policing than the Chief Constable does,” said Worthington. “Don’t envy you much!” he added, with a look of despair on his face.
“Yeah, that’s the downside. But I’ll know the killer when I see her,” said Saunders confidently.
“Or him.” Said Chapman. “You’ll be gutted if you miss a bloke walking around with an industrial bottle of turps at the murder scenes because you’re looking for a woman.”
“Fair point, you’re right Bill. Open mind. Thank you.” Saunders was grateful for the friendly advice from Chapman.
“Right!” Miller clapped his hands together as he stood up. “So does everybody know what they are working on now?”
“Yes, Sir.” Said Saunders. “Bill and Mike are back on the Hyde bus station attack, and Jo and Peter are still looking for any evidence that could prove the canal killer theory.”
“The Lancashire Dipper” case again? For fuck’s sake,” said Kenyon, under his breath.
“I’ll swap you CCTV for that if you want?” said Saunders. Peter Kenyon looked down at the floor and shifted uncomfortably.
“No, I didn’t think so. Get on with it, prove that there is a mass murderer prowling the banks of the canal and you’ll win the Pride of Britain award.”
“Right, thanks everyone, I’m nipping out on an interview, and then I’m going home. Don’t work too hard!” shouted Miller as he strolled across the incident room floor towards his office. “And well done D.I. Saunders, great work.”
*****
Ding Dong
“Oh, hello Andy. What an unexpected delight! Ollie, Andy’s here.” Pippa looked genuinely pleased to see Miller. “Where’s Clare?” She asked, gazing beyond his shoulder.
“Oh, it’s not a social visit. It’s just something Ollie and I were talking about last night. I wanted to ask him something.” Andy smiled as Pippa waved him into the house. “These are proper lovely houses, aren’t they?” he said, remembering just how smart the Haughton Park development was.
“They’re nice, but we miss the creeks and groans that the old house had. We think this one lacks character.” Pippa was looking around at the newness of everything.
“Oh, hi Andy, alright?” said Ollie as he came down the top couple of stairs. “I was just working upstairs… on a bit of a squeaky bum deadline.” He had an apologetic look on his face which Andy read as a “not-now-for-fucks-sake” look.
“Oh, right, well, I’ll not keep you. I don’t like Pippa’s tea anyway,” laughed Andy. The joke was ignored by Pippa, who was holding a glass of white wine. “I just wanted to see this house, try and get an idea about the chap’s wife. Which house is it?” asked Andy, knowing full well which house it was as he’d just driven past it.
“Next door but-one, it’s number nine. The wife is called Suzanne. Are you popping round?” Ollie seemed glad that Andy was looking into it, but still had one hand on the banister and looked eager to get back up the stairs.
“No. Unfortunately, due to some of my past cases having such a high profile in the media, I’m instantly recognised as a copper most of the time.”
“Ooh, get you!” Pippa laughed sarcastically, adding a snort at the end.
“I know, I know, it’s embarrassing, but worse than that, it makes discreet enquiries difficult. Gone are the days when I could nosey about without mentioning police business, I’m afraid.”
“Sure, sure.” Ollie was stood, nodding, waiting for something to happen.
“Oh, and you gave me the wrong name. He’s called Ashworth.”
“What did I say?”
“Ashcroft. I spent the morning looking for a guy called Graham Ashcroft.” Andy tried to make it into a sarcastic joke, but Ollie just shook his head.
“Ah, sorry. I thought it was Ashcroft. Simple mistake I guess.” Ollie pushed his glasses up his nose, leaning towards the top of the stairs like a fidgety child.
“So, the car, it’s on the drive over the road. Could it be possible that they’ve bought it off the neighbours?”
Ollie shrugged, “no idea.” He stood on the stairs, just staring back at his friend.
“Right, well, I’ll leave it then.” He sounded slightly harsher than he had intended, but he was aggrieved none the less. An uncomfortable silence hung for a second or two.
“I’m sorry Andy, I’m, well, I’m sorry…” Ollie began walking down the stairs slowly, realising how rude and unpleasant he had been, albeit unintentionally.
“No, seriously, I was trying to do you a favour Ollie, one that’s got jack-shit to do with me, or my job. But if you can’t even be arsed to answer a few questions to help me out, there
’s not much hope is there? Like I said last night, phone the police if you have serious concerns, the number’s one-oh-one. But I’m washing my hands of it, so I’ll see-you two later. Terrah now.” Andy turned and left, closing the front door behind him.
“Oh, Ollie, I think you’ve really pissed him off!” Pippa stood with her back to the front door that Andy Miller had departed, her wine still in her hand.
“Well, that’s going to have to wait. Busy.” Ollie shot off up the stairs.
“God! You’re a right dick-head sometimes Ol,” shouted Pippa, scornfully as the office door closed upstairs.
“I’ll sort it tomorrow love, I’m swimming against the tide here.”
Pippa wasn’t listening, she was looking out of the window, watching Miller speed off down the close.
“Oh, he’s seriously pissed off with you Ollie.” She muttered to herself.
*****
“Aw, now that was top. Just like my Granny used to make,” said Andy as he finished his lamb chops. “Absolutely top drawer that love, thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome love. I like to do a healthy meal every now and again. It’s just too easy to bung a pizza in the oven most of the time.” Clare took Andy’s plate and placed it on the side by the sink. “You’re doing the washing up though,” she said as she returned to the table and stood before her husband.
“Sure thing, I’m happy to wash pots if it means I don’t have to cook nowt!”
“Well that suits me. Now, do you want a beer, or a glass of wine?”
“Nowt, I’m alright actually. I’m in a bit of a mood if I’m honest.”
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 16
