“Oh?” Clare put her hands on her hips. “What’s up?”
“Oh, it’ll sound stupid. You know last night, when I was messing about with you, when you were asking what Ollie was talking about?”
“Yeah! You cheeky bugger!” She grinned as she grabbed the dish cloth and whipped it at him.
“Well, he asked me to do this favour for him, some neighbour has apparently vanished into thin air, and he wanted me to look into it.”
“Right…” Clare looked a little confused, wondering where this was headed. She sat down at the dining table opposite her husband.
“Well, I tried to palm him off last night, but I gave in and said I’ll have a quick nosey and see if I can find anything out. So anyway, I went round there on the way home tonight and he was being a right cock. Honestly, I’ve never known him to be so ignorant. I was trying to ask him questions about stuff that I needed to know about, you know, in order to help him out, and he practically said he was too busy to talk to me!”
“You’re kidding! What a bloody cheek!” said Clare.
“I know, anyway, I told him to shove it. I’m seriously pissed off with him!” Andy stood and walked across to the sink and began rinsing the plates under the cold tap.
“That’s not like Ollie. What did he say?”
“Nowt. He just stood on the stairs, he was practically rocking, waiting for me to piss off. It was weird. Even Pippa looked embarrassed.”
“God, this sounds well weird.”
“Well, I’ve told him I’m not having anything to do with it now, so he’s shot himself in the foot.” Andy ran the hot tap and squeezed the washing liquid into the sink.
“But?” Clare sensed that her husband was still stressed about something. “I know there’s a but coming!”
“But, well, now I want to know what happened to the missing neighbour!”
*****
“Hi Andy, really sorry about before. Was about thirty seconds away from losing a big client. Not saying its okay but hope you understand. Pippa has made me aware of how rude I was by calling me a bell-end who doesn’t deserve friends. Sorry. No harm meant. Ol.”
“Is that it? It’s shit. That’s worse than saying nothing, it’s like you’re trying to justify your behaviour, it doesn’t look like an apology at all.” Pippa threw Ollie’s phone across the sofa.
“So, what shall I put?” asked Ollie, looking confused by this perspective that his wife was offering. He picked the phone up and re-read the message. Pippa looked as though she was thinking, so he left her a minute. After a while, he decided to ask again.
“Pippa?”
“Eh? What?” she snapped, turning her head abruptly.
“What shall I put?”
“God, are you still on about this bloody text to Andrew Miller? Just say sorry. Good grief Ollie, bore off!”
“Just sorry?” Ollie looked genuinely perplexed.
“Pass me the fucking phone Ollie.” She held her hand out. Ollie handed it across. Pippa deleted the message that Ollie had written and wrote in caps SORRY, I’M A TIT before pressing the send button. “There, sorted.” Pippa handed the phone back to her husband. Ollie read the sent message and smiled.
“If he doesn’t reply within fifteen minutes, then you know that he is seriously pissed off with you.”
*****
Andy was sat on the floor waiting for the start of C-Beebies bedtime story with his two and a half year old twins Leo and Molly. He felt a vibration against his leg and took his phone out of his pocket. He smirked at the message. Andy turned and showed his phone to Clare who was tidying up the various toys that littered the lounge floor.
“Well, at least he knows he was out of order.”
“That’s okay then, I’ll just be a complete plonker at work tomorrow, but it’ll be alright because I’ll text the team saying soz. Na, I’m not replying to that text. He can sweat it out.” Andy chucked the phone onto the settee behind him.
“Daddy, shush!” said Molly, holding her finger to her lips. Her eyes were wide open and she looked really annoyed at her father, which made him laugh and apologise quietly.
“Fair point Andy, but he’s a good mate, and you haven’t got many. So don’t ruin your friendship over something that isn’t such a big deal anyway.” Clare had her back to her family as she put all of the toys that she’d collected into the toy bin down the side of the sofa.
“Mummy! Please be quiet!” said Leo. “It’s bed time tory time!” His little voice was pleading and he looked just as outraged as Molly had done.
Clare held her hands up to apologise to her youngsters, and mouthed “sorry.” Miller felt a tear build in his eyes and quickly wiped it away, smiling. He loved these people so much, and just being around them like this made him feel emotional all the time these days. He hugged his twins in close on either side of his chest and settled down to watch the story. His eyes were welled up and his smile was from ear to ear. He kissed each of his children’s heads as a tear broke free.
“Bedtime story time!” he said excitedly.
“Yeah!” cheered the twins.
Chapter 24
On a case the previous year, Miller had been helped out enormously by a young police constable from F division, based at Horwich station. The officer was called Daniel Simmonds and his ingenuity and quick-thinking had enabled Miller, his boss DCS Dixon and a high-profile prisoner to escape unseen from an intense media frenzy that was unfolding outside the police station.
Miller had written to Simmonds’ Sergeant to extend his gratitude to the young PC, and had remembered him as a copper to watch out for. Miller was keen to encourage him into joining the C.I.D, and had decided that the matter of Graham Ashworth’s so called disappearance would be a good opportunity to test the lad out a little bit. He lifted the phone and pressed the zero, waiting for switchboard to answer.
“Oh, hiya can you do me a favour, I want to talk to the duty Sergeant at Horwich, please.”
“No problem, connecting you now.” Said the operator, and Miller’s phone starting ringing.
“Duty Sergeant Horsfield.” The voice was flat, sounding quite disinterested.
“Oh, hello, my name’s DCI Miller, serious crimes investigation unit.”
“Yes, Sir. How can I help you?” The Sergeant’s voice perked up a little once he realised he was talking to a senior rank.
“I want a word with one of your officers, PC Simmonds. Is he on duty today?” Miller sounded very friendly and energetic, and it began to rub off on the Sergeant.
“Erm, Dan is on lates this week Sir, I’ll just check if he’s on duty today. Yes, he’ll be in at two this afternoon Sir.”
“Great, well, I want a favour off him, if he’s up for it, so please will you ask him to give me a ring? I’ll give you my mobile.” Miller gave the Sergeant his contact details and thanked him for his help.
There was enough to be getting on with already, and Miller was annoyed with himself, and his downright inquisitive nature for not being able to forget about Ollie’s stupid neighbour thing. But his instincts told him that things weren’t right. Something was wrong, he’d got the sense of it as he’d driven around the Haughton Park development the previous afternoon, and looked at the man’s house. The fact that the man’s fifty grand car was on the driveway of the house opposite had again caused him a great deal of suspicion. The weird way that the man’s work colleagues had handled his call added to the suspense. Like it or lump it, Miller knew that he’d have to get to the bottom of it, despite how much Ollie had pissed him off.
“Right. Let’s do some proper work!” said Miller, as he began reading the reports that Saunders had left on his desk the previous night.
No sooner had he started, there was a tap at the door. Miller looked up, and saw through the glass that it was Jo Rudovsky, his DC who had become almost as famous as Miller had in the North West region, due to the heroic way that she had fought off armed robbers whilst off duty, sustaining life-threatening stab injurie
s in the process. CCTV footage of her standing her ground had been a national news story. The newspaper photograph of her in the hospital bed, hooked up to life support machines and the headline HERO were easy to remember for most people in the region. Her pretty, smiling, happy face on the photograph beside it had made her a very memorable “Pride of Manchester” and “Northern Hero” award winner.
“Hiya Jo, alright?” Miller put the report back in his in tray while waving his hand, encouraging her to sit down.
“Cheers Sir. You’re not busy are you?” Jo took the seat, and swept the fringe of her short black hair forward with her fingers.
“I’m always busy Jo, you know that! I’m even busy with things that I shouldn’t even be thinking about! But that’s another story. What’s up? Everything alright?” Miller could really do without this interruption, but Rudovsky would never have known, her boss seemed just as friendly and welcoming as always. Miller had really changed since Ellis had died. He had become a lot more of a people-person as far as his staff were concerned. It was clear to all of his team that it was because he had been so badly affected by the loss of his closest member of staff, Karen Ellis. He’d changed, and it had been a change for the better. He’d transformed from being a bit of a moody, can-it-wait kind of a boss, to a very encouraging and supportive one, who would really go out of his way for his staff.
“I’m fine Sir, thanks.” She was smiling and looked a bit lost.
“How’s Abby?” Miller was smiling sarcastically with a raised eyebrow.
“She’s fine Sir, same as always.” Rudovsky laughed, coyly raising a hand to her mouth.
“Same as always eh? So she’s a mental bitch!” Miller laughed. Rudovsky snorted loudly. Her girlfriend Abby had given Miller a severe talking-to about unpaid overtime at a family get-together a few weeks earlier, and Miller had used every opportunity to take the piss ever since.
“I’m joking. She’s a star. Right, come on - stop sulking, tell me what’s up.”
“I’m anxious that we’re wasting time on this Lancashire dipper enquiry, Sir.”
“Why?” Miller put his fingers up to his chin and used them to support his head as he leant forward. He stared at Rudovsky with an overly interested expression on his face.
“Well, I just feel, well Peter’s proper on a downer with it and I’m getting the same sort of negative vibes. It’s a shit case Sir, there’s nothing to find. We’re working for the media on it, not for the public.” Rudovsky slumped slightly in her chair, the statement that she had just delivered to her boss had clearly been weighing her down. She looked a little more relaxed having got it off her chest, but the spark that she was known for was definitely missing.
“Did you come in here just to say that? Or are you asking me if you can work on something else?” Miller respected his officer for having the confidence to come and speak to him to directly about the case, and about how she felt.
The TV and newspapers had reported the suspicions of many people, that the canals and waterways of Greater Manchester were being stalked by a serial killer. In the previous six years, over sixty dead bodies had been found in the canal, more than two thirds of them were so badly decomposed that no cause of death was ever explained. All but two of the bodies were male. Miller and his team had been given the thankless and unrewarding task of proving the theory of a serial killer dubbed “The Lancashire Dipper” wrong. The public, with the help of the newspapers and social media discussions, were convinced that there was a serial killer, and that it was a real, present danger. The police were forced into re-investigating the cases, in order to rule-out the theory. It just so happened that Jo and Peter had been handed the file.
“I’m not saying that I don’t want to do it, Sir, not at all – all I’m saying is that there isn’t a decent line of enquiry to go after. I’m pretty confident that most of the cases were treated quite lazily by the various C.I.D. units that dealt with them, but I understand that, naturally – a bloated, decomposed body bobbing about in a stinking canal isn’t an inspiring job to attend and get excited about.” Rudovsky looked uncharacteristically dejected.
“How can I help? I mean, I know what you are saying Jo, but…”
“I need you to stick a rocket up my arse with it Sir. I need motivating. It’s just an admin job this, there’s no real crime investigation work involved. I just feel like I’m wasting my life Sir. I wish I was dead.” Jo grinned, and forced a laugh from Miller who wasn’t anticipating the histrionic ending to Jo’s complaint. She smiled, but Miller could see that she was being genuine about how depressing the whole “dipper” investigation was becoming. Miller knew that he would have to dig deep if he was about to inspire Jo, and get her enthused about the case, which was, as she had quite rightly pointed out, nothing more than an admin role. A fact checking exercise. A box ticking chore.
“Okay, listen. The official line is that there are no links between the cases, yeah?” Miller sat up and added a spring of enthusiasm into his voice.
“Yes, that’s the official line Sir. I’m meant to either prove that the official line is accurate, or prove that it’s wrong.” Rudovsky’s twinkly brown eyes trailed down to the floor.
“And what do you think?”
“Peter reckons…”
“I’m not asking Peter. I’m asking you, Jo.”
“Well, I was going to say, Peter has a different attitude to me, its creating tension between us. He thinks that every single body arrived in the canal through individual circumstances, and the only factor that links them is the canal itself.”
“But,”
“But I’m not having it. I think that some – not all – but some of them must be linked. We’re pulling in separate directions, Sir, and I love Peter, I love working with him. He’s a great detective, and he always buys me coffee and that, but I’m really struggling with him on this one.”
“Why do you think there is a link?”
“Mathematics, Sir. If you take a similar city with a similar sized canal network, say Birmingham – the number of bodies is a fraction of the numbers that we are talking about in our network. London, same story, and they have three times our population. Plus, the fact that all but two are men, and they are predominantly young men in their teens or twenties, it makes me think that it is as dodgy as hell, Sir.”
“My thoughts precisely Jo. That’s classified – don’t say nowt to anyone. I want to be honest with you, I’m not up on the fence with this. I’m absolutely convinced there is a serial killer, or two, targeting pissed up young lads who have had too much to drink or too many drugs.”
“Two, Sir?” asked Rudovsky, the fizz and sparkle suddenly returning to her generous, kindly eyes. Miller held up his hand to pause his colleague as he continued to speak.
“A coward who randomly kills vulnerable, defenceless people who least expect it. People who are pissed up, stoned, or feeling down and have found themselves in a lonely place, by the canal. I say keep going, and I’ll have a word with Peter, and try and giddy him up a bit. But honestly Jo, if I thought that there was nothing to find – I wouldn’t ask you guys to work on it. I wouldn’t, would I? My opinion is that there isn’t a killer, there’s a pair of them who are working together, doing it for kicks.”
“Why?” Rudovsky looked shocked, but also revved up by hearing this, Miller’s exclusive opinion, she leant in towards his desk to hear what he had to say about it that little more closely.
“Confidence. If I was out and about at weekends, shoving people into the canal for the past six years, by now I’d be getting a bit paranoid that my face will have been described more than a few times by witnesses, that my head keeps turning up on CCTV and so on. I’d bet my car that it’s a pair of them, most likely men in their thirties or forties, probably partners, a gay couple that get a great, sadistic buzz out of watching somebody drowning, panicking, you know, splashing about, struggling and ultimately dying. That’s my honest opinion, and if I was in your frock, I’d be excited about tryin
g to catch the killers and getting them locked up in Strangeways.”
“Seriously?”
“Scouts honour. Let me talk to Peter, on the snide like, I won’t say you’ve said anything. And I’ll try and gee him up a bit. Alright?”
“That’s brilliant Sir, thanks. Just what I needed.”
“That’s what I’m for!”
“I don’t cope with negativity well. That’s why I want to rise through the ranks quickly so I can work on my own.” Rudovsky laughed and Miller saw her genuine, enthusiastic smile again.
“You’re so full of stupid dreams and bullshit ambitions Jo, I love it!”
“And you saying that if you were in my frock is first class, grade one sexism Sir, so watch it!” Jo winked as she stood to leave. Miller laughed out loud. “Thanks again, Sir.”
“Thank you, Jo. Go and get ‘em mate.”
*****
“Hi, is that DCI Miller?” the man sounded young and slightly nervous.
“It is. Who’s that?” asked Miller into his phone. He circled an error on the report that he was reading as he spoke into his mobile.
“Oh, sorry, it’s constable Simmonds Sir, from Horwich police station.”
“Ah, brilliant! Nice to hear from you. Bloody hell, that’s a surprise. The Sergeant I spoke to said you weren’t in until two this aft.” Miller looked at his watch, it was just after ten.
“Yeah, he text me, told me you’d rung so I wanted to see what it was about, Sir.”
“Well, ten out of ten for enthusiasm Simmonds, great start!” On hearing the young man’s voice again, Miller remembered his face perfectly. He was rugged looking, well built with short blonde hair. Simmonds was a strong, athletic young copper who looked like he could play a bit of sport. He had a nice, cheeky attitude too, and Miller had been massively impressed by his use of initiative last time they had met. Most junior police officers fall apart when senior ranks are in their company, but Simmonds had definitely stepped up to the plate and made a great impression when it counted the most.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 17
