“I’ve got a bit of C.I.D. business that I want to talk to you about. How do you fancy coming over here to HQ to have a chat about it?” Miller stood up and walked across to the window, where he had a panoramic view of the city centre to the west and the Pennines to the east, with their gigantic white windmills that were spinning at quite a lazy speed today.
“Yeah, yeah, God that’s amazing Sir. When?”
“When’s best for you?”
“Now. I can be in town in, about thirty five, forty minutes, Sir. Is that too keen?”
“As long as it’s not going to interfere with your day job. You can’t be late for your shift. I’ll need about half an hour with you. Does that work out comfortably?”
“Er…” Simmonds was clearly doing mental arithmetic, and that fact pleased Miller, it said a lot about the young copper when the desire would be to just say yes and to hell with it.
“Yeah, yeah, leaves me about forty five minutes either way, Sir.”
“Nice one. Right, well I’ll get the kettle on PC Simmonds! See you soon.”
The call came through from reception thirty minutes later that Daniel Simmonds had arrived. Miller went down to greet him, and got a buzz from seeing how nervous and enthusiastic Simmonds was.
“Not been here since passing out, Sir.” He said, as the two of them walked up the stairs in the huge glass built headquarters.
“Most officers who come back here are either getting sacked or promoted!” Miller smiled as he opened a door on the second floor and gestured Simmonds through into the SCIU office space.
“Thanks. Well, I hope it’s not the sack!” Simmonds laughed and Miller patted his back.
“Not at all. I owe you a big thank you for your help last year. You played a bloody blinder there. I wrote to your Inspector, I hope they passed it on?”
“Yeah, thanks a lot. I photocopied it for me Mam! She was chuffed to bits.”
Miller stopped walking and stepped into the kitchen area. “Coffee?”
“Please, just black, no sugar.” Simmonds was looking around the office, surprised by how small this place was. He’d imagined that the famous SCIU department would be massive, a buzzing hive of energy and activity. It was tiny, there was only about ten desks in there, and only a couple of detectives in. They looked pretty bored too.
“Here you go.” Miller handed Simmonds his drink.
“Thanks. Cheers. I mean, thanks very much, Sir.”
“It’s alright. You look a bit disappointed…”
“Yeah, no, I mean, it’s a lot smaller than I thought. I imagined about fifty people working up here?” Simmonds was clearly surprised and it amused Miller.
“We are the elite mate! No, we have been hit with the same cuts as everyone else. We’re at our absolute weakest since the department was formed, what, about eight or nine years ago.”
“Ah, right.”
“Anyway, come on, follow me through to my office.” Miller strode away from the kitchen space and headed towards his glass walled office that overlooked the rest of the department. “Take a seat,” he said as Simmonds walked through, desperately trying not to spill his drink.
“Thanks very much.”
“Right!” said Miller, quite loudly as he sat down opposite PC Simmonds. It made the junior policeman jump a little bit. “I have a favour to ask.”
Simmonds put his cup down on the desk that sat between the two men.
“Okay…”
“I want you to take this pork pie down to the serious fraud office for me.” Miller pushed a white paper bag which had a pie sat on top of it across the table.
“What? You’ve…. Ah wait.” Simmonds burst out laughing. “You nearly had me at it there,” he said smiling. Miller laughed as he wrapped the pie up in the paper bag.
“I’m joking. Just a bit of CID banter. Now, in all seriousness, I do have a favour to ask. I can’t ask any of my officers to do it as it’s not official police business.” Miller had a kind, encouraging look on his face. Simmonds was listening intently. “There is an unofficial concern that somebody has gone missing. It’s causing a lot of confusion, as the person in question hasn’t been reported missing. Now, I want you to go around to the house, as though it is official police business, in your uniform, and make some enquiries. How does that sound?” Miller sat back in his chair and studied Simmonds’ expression. The young constable thought about what Miller had said for a little while before speaking.
“I’m a bit confused…”
“Sure. Well, the person that we suspect to be missing is a big deal in the local council over in Bury. He’s a typical local government senior management type, thinks he’s a different class, reckons his shit is all stripey and smells like air-wick.”
Simmonds laughed.
“Now, if he isn’t actually missing, and we go busting in there, we’ll look like knobs, and he’ll ring the Manchester Evening News to tell them how much we look like knobs. So we have to be really careful.”
“But. What makes you think he’s missing?”
Miller laughed. It was a stupid situation to be in. But he couldn’t just explain to Simmonds that he was just a nosey parker and had a real problem with letting things go.
“Do you remember a few months ago, there was a big problem in the news about council house shortages, and a big posh estate in Bury was being rented out to homeless families? It caused quite a stir.”
“No. I missed that.” Simmonds began fidgeting, pulling a pen and notepad out of his jacket pocket.
“Right, well anyway, it was a big story, all these businessmen and accountants were holding demonstrations for the telly crews. One of the main organisers of all this is the guy who is supposedly missing.”
“What’s his name?”
Miller gave Simmonds all of the details, as the young PC made notes in his notepad, unaware of how much he was impressing the DCI with his questions and no-nonsense attitude. Miller told Simmonds about the weird response he had got from the council when he’d asked to speak to Graham Ashworth. Simmonds was most intrigued by the car detail. This was the thing that was bothering Miller the most too.
“Bloody hell. They’re about fifty grand aren’t they?” asked Simmonds.
“Yes, anywhere between forty and fifty depending on the spec. But it’s not the kind of car you lend out for days at a time to a family of homeless council tenants, that you barely even know, is it?”
Miller was chuffed that Simmonds was also intrigued by all of this. Conscious of the time, and that the PC had to leave soon to get back to his own station across the city – Miller began summing up Simmonds’ role. Between them, they planned that on Thursday, which was Simmonds’ day off, he would come back to HQ in uniform, pick up a patrol car, and head off to Haughton Park, to ask Suzanne Ashworth if Graham Ashworth was around. The premise for the visit would be a fictitious road traffic incident the previous week in which Mr Ashworth’s registration number had been mentioned.
“Seem’s pretty straight forward.” Simmonds smiled.
“The original theory that was reported to me was that Ashworth might be in jail. I broke the rules slightly and checked the system, and he was brought in for drunk and disorderly, breach of the peace, had a night in the cells at Bury and took a caution the next morning. This was around the time that he went missing. Other than that, he is squeaky clean, never been in a police car before.”
“What was the caution all about?”
“He was kicking off with the new neighbours, screaming and shouting in the middle of the night, then turned on the attending officers.”
“He sounds like a right bell-end, Sir.”
Miller laughed at Simmonds’ rather frank observation. “I know, exactly! He sounds like just the kind of bloke who could piss people off so much that he could go missing!” Miller smiled and Simmonds laughed again. “So, I want to find out what’s happened. See what his wife says, and try your best to find out why the council were being so uptight about his absence. Ma
ke no mistake, I’m using this whole project as an opportunity to see if you’re any good. So give it your best shot, and I’ll look forward to reading your report on Friday.”
“Thanks, Sir, I’m really up for it.” Simmonds stood and outstretched his hand for Miller to shake. Miller gave him a firm handshake and a friendly smile.
“Listen, if anything goes tits up, get straight on to me. This is an under-cover operation at this stage, so I’m your only contact on this matter. Even my own officers are in the dark about it, for now.”
“Not a problem, Sir. Thank you for the opportunity.”
“The keys for a car will be held on reception for you, just flash your warrant card to them and they’ll sort you out, tell you where it’s parked.”
“Great. Okay, well thanks again, Sir.”
Chapter 25
On Thursday morning, PC Simmonds picked up the Astra patrol car as agreed, and felt an unexpected, giddy nervousness. He drove north out of the city centre, heading in the direction of Bury and the Haughton Park development. The anxiety that he was feeling reminded him of the same rush of nerves that he would experience as a teenager whilst bunking off school for the day, in a state of constant worry that somebody would see him and tell his mum and dad. Rationally, he knew that the chances of another officer seeing him, and noticing that he wasn’t in an F division patrol car, and that this was his day off anyway were miniscule, but none the less - he felt alarmingly tense.
Simmonds had never heard of Haughton Park until DCI Miller had told him about the place. It was clear to him, as he drove onto the estate, why renting half of the houses out as social housing had been an unpopular decision for the home-owners on the impressive development.
“Nice car.” Simmonds muttered to himself as he drove past a navy blue Jaguar XK parked up on a neighbouring driveway. “God, this place really is lush.”
“Continue for four hundred yards, then take the left hand turning on to Fir Trees Grove and your destination will be right ahead.” Simmonds turned off the sat-nav app on his phone and pulled the police car over at the side of the road. He opened his notepad and revised his brief. He stayed put for a minute or two, double-checking his questions and making sure that he knew precisely what he was doing. This type of an opportunity to impress the DCI of the best CID department in the north of England didn’t come along very often, and Simmonds was absolutely determined to give it his best shot. He knew that he had to do even better than Miller was expecting, and this fact made him feel slightly excited and tense too.
“Right, okay, focus.” Simmonds took a deep breath. He held the oxygen a few seconds too long before exhaling loudly. He hit the indicator and slowly pulled the police car off and drove it slowly for the final few metres of the journey. As he turned into Fir Trees Grove, he saw that the white Range Rover Evoque was parked on its own driveway, at number nine. A very attractive young lady was stood beside it, talking to another woman. Simmonds parked the police car and stepped out, putting his helmet on as he locked up the car. He walked onto the drive and spoke to the ladies.
“Hello, I hope you can help me. I’m trying to find Mr Ashworth. Do you know if he’s in?” Simmonds was smiling, and had a very friendly, easy-going nature.
“Hello. I’m Graham’s wife, Suzanne.” The lady was a stunner, thought Simmonds.
“Hello Suzanne. How do you do?”
“Is everything okay?” asked the other woman. On first impressions, Simmonds thought that she might be one of the social housing users.
“Everything’s fine, thanks.” He said, and looked back at Suzanne, and felt slightly embarrassed as he realised that he had been caught taking a rather greedy glance down her cleavage.
“Erm, you’d better come in.” Suzanne looked slightly red faced, and Simmonds couldn’t tell if it was due to his unexpected visit, or because he’d just been busted staring down her top. “I’ll see you later Rachel, I’ll pop over for a cup of tea later on, and you can tell me all about it love. Alright?” Suzanne placed her hand on her visitor’s shoulder tenderly.
“Okay, no worries, see you later.” Rachel leant in and kissed her neighbour on the cheek, then turned and walked casually across the road to the house opposite. Simmonds stood and watched her. The way she stood, the way she walked, she just didn’t look right in this place. She looked poor, and most definitely out of her natural habitat, he thought. Suzanne prompted her unexpected police visitor to follow her into her house.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh, great,” he followed Suzanne down the drive towards the front door. “If you’re making?”
“Sure, come on in. Close the door behind you.” Suzanne breezed into the house, seemingly without a care in the world.
“Lovely place you’ve got here,” said Simmonds as he followed Suzanne into the kitchen.
“It is, we’re very lucky. Tea or coffee officer…”
“Dan, just call me Dan. I’ll have a tea please, not so much milk.”
“Sugar?”
“Just the one, thanks very much. It’s always nice to get offered a brew! It doesn’t happen often these days!” Simmonds was staring at Suzanne as she made the drinks. She looked very relaxed, and he too was starting to relax a little.
“Well, it seems that this house is becoming a regular place to visit for the police! Graham was arrested you know, taken off in the middle of the night, it was so embarrassing! And now I presume you need to finish off your business with him? The neighbours will certainly be gossiping, that’s for sure!” Suzanne smiled, and stared directly at the PC. He was staring back, and it was quite clear to both of them that there was a certain chemistry in the air between them. Simmonds realised that his heart was beating quite fast, and he could feel that his face and ears were heating up. His radio crackled and another police officer asked the operator for an address check. Simmonds turned the volume down.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s nothing to worry about, just a routine enquiry. Is Graham home?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Sorry, did you say… Is he your…”
“My husband, yes. But he’s not around today I’m afraid.” Suzanne strained the tea bag against the inside lip of the cup and walked towards Simmonds with it balanced on the teaspoon. “Can I just…” Suzanne was stood very close to the officer and he felt quite peculiar, until she pointed towards the cupboard that the policeman was stood next to. “It’s the bin.”
“Right, yes, sure, sorry.” Simmonds moved and Suzanne opened up the door and a metal lid lifted up on the bin. She popped the tea bag into the bin and let the door close.
“Here you go,” said Suzanne as she walked back to the kettle and passed Simmonds his drink.
“Brilliant, nice one. Thanks very much.”
“So,” said Suzanne, leaning back against the sink, facing Simmonds. “What do you want with my husband?” She had a playful, flirty look on her face and Simmonds could feel himself blushing further. He could seriously fancy this woman, he thought to himself as he tried really hard not to look again at her very low-cut t-shirt.
“Oh, er, well it’s nothing much. There was an incident, an RTA that happened last week. Mr Ashworth’s car was reported, by, er, one sec.” Simmonds pulled out his notebook from his pocket. “Yes, his car turned up on CCTV just after an accident. We think he may have witnessed the incident, so we just need to ask him a few questions about it.” Dan looked down again at his notes, and was pleased with how this was going. So far, so good, he thought.
“When was this?” asked Suzanne. She looked quite concerned.
“Erm, let’s see. Last… it was the eighteenth so last Thursday.” Simmonds glanced up from his notepad.
“A week ago today? Well it wasn’t Graham, he wasn’t driving. And it wasn’t me either last week, I wasn’t driving the car.” Suzanne was confident, and Simmonds could tell that she was telling the truth.
“Oh, right. Okay,” Simmonds looked a bit lost, and started wr
iting down a few notes. This was a curve ball, and he hadn’t anticipated it coming. Only he knew that there was no RTA, and that it was all just a nonsense to try and get a conversation with the husband. He needed to think quickly and stop mucking about flirting, he thought to himself. Pull yourself together man.
“Right, well, so - do you know who was driving?” He suddenly looked quite stressed and his care-free attitude had all but disappeared. A slightly harder edge had crept into his voice.
“Yes, it was Rachel, my neighbour. The lady I was talking to when you came in.” Suzanne was not put off by Simmonds’ sudden change in demeanour, she continued to talk, and behave in as care-free a way as she had done throughout the visit.
“Right, so, what is Rachel’s surname, and address then please?”
“Her surname is, erm, God, I know this! Birdsworth! That’s it. She lives at the house across the road, the one that you saw her walk in to.”
“And, so your husband lets her drive the car too?”
“Absolutely, yes, she doesn’t steal it!” Suzanne threw her head back and laughed loudly. It made Simmonds feel quite silly. He could feel all of this slipping away, he felt that he was making a massive balls up of everything, and it was all because he fancied Suzanne. Get yourself together you massive loser, he thought to himself.
“Well, I am going to have to talk to Mr Ashworth as well, as he is the registered keeper of the vehicle.”
“That’s not a problem. He’s not here today though, but if you want to leave your card, leave a number he can contact you on, I’ll see that he does.”
“Oh, okay, well that works. I did try and talk to him at his workplace, but they were a bit…”
“A bit what?” Suzanne suddenly seemed a bit edgy. The playfulness was disappearing.
“A bit, unco-operative, shall we say?” Simmonds raised an eyebrow, hoping that Suzanne would offer up something that might be useful or interesting for taking back to DCI Miller.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 18
