Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist

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Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 26

by Steven Suttie


  “Well, even though Ollie really pissed me off, I still ended up looking into it. Despite myself!”

  Clare laughed. She was playing with her hair. “And is he missing, the neighbour, or not?”

  “He bloody is! And I’ve just brought his wife in for questioning this afternoon.”

  “Oh?” Clare looked really intrigued and rested her chin on her hands.

  “Yeah, she lives a few doors away from Ollie and Pippa. Her husband disappeared about a month ago. She says he’s in Thailand.”

  “And presumably, he’s not?” Clare was hooked already. Mainly because of the Ollie and Pippa connection. It made it all seem so much more real.

  “Nah, he’s not been abroad since last year. Anyway, I’ve put her in a cell for the night. Hopefully, she’ll cry all night and confess everything first thing in the morning!”

  “You bastard!”

  “I know. But, I thought that would be that. However, I just got a text off Keith, that’s what I was reading in the bog, he says a neighbour has just walked into Bury police station about half an hour ago, and confessed to killing him.”

  “What? That’s a bit of a coincidence isn’t it?” Clare thought it all sounded a bit naff.

  “Exactly!”

  “Wow. That sounds like a pretty interesting one! It’s certainly better than your last story about the guy with the melted welly stuck to his arsehole.”

  Miller put some steak into his mouth and nodded enthusiastically. Clare seemed to have another thought. Her smile lost its momentum.

  “Wait. Does that mean you’re going down to the police station to interview this neighbour?” Clare looked a bit annoyed. She should have seen this coming.

  Miller was chewing away at his steak, pointing at his jowls as Clare stared across the table at him sternly. Eventually, he swallowed his food, and patted his mouth with the screwed up napkin.

  “I’m going to speak to him at some point in the next twenty four hours.” Miller lifted his glass and took another gulp at his ale.

  “Ah, I get it! You’re going to take me home, loiter around in the kitchen until I say I’m going to bed, then you’re going to get in your car and drive to Bury nick. That’s what I reckon!” Clare had got herself worked up, and she was angry because it was all her own doing. If she’d have just stayed quiet, talked about something else, it wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I’m not having an argument about it.” Miller spoke quietly.

  “Neither am I!” said Clare, snappily. The couple that were sitting on the table at the side of them both glanced over at the same time.

  “It doesn’t affect our night out. We’re still having a lovely night out, just me and you.”

  “We were! And then…”

  “Then, what? Come on Clare, turn that frown upside down.” Miller grinned at her and pointed at her mouth.

  Clare didn’t smile. She was too pissed off. She locked eyes with Miller, returning his friendly affection with a cold, angry glare.

  “Oh, what’s the point. Come on, I want to go home.” Clare drained the full glass of wine and stood up. Miller didn’t know what to say. He took a hearty sip of his beer and stood up too.

  “I’ve still got a bit of steak there…”

  Clare had set off, and had walked gracefully down the three steps towards the bar area, and then the door. Miller wanted to grab the rest of his steak and shove it in his mouth, but he thought better of it.

  “Fuck’s sake,” he said under his breath as he reached the jostling queue at the bar, hoping to hurry the staff into getting his bill.

  “Can I …” shouted Miller as he caught the waitress’s eye.

  “Hee yar mate, pipe down. There’s a fucking queue here!” A bald headed man in his early thirties was just ahead of Miller in the queue. He looked as though he’d had a few already, and was a bit put out by Miller’s queue jumping attempt, voicing his concerns in a typically bombastic Mancunian fashion. There is no such thing as a stiff upper lip in Greater Manchester.

  Miller knew how to diffuse the situation.

  “Soz mate, but my wife’s just stormed off. I’m not trying to be a twat.”

  “Fair enough then, hee yar, jump in front of me, here.”

  “Nice one!”

  “You’re right mate, we’ve all been there. Due on is she?” shouted the man, laughing at his vulgar joke. Miller just smiled politely.

  “Nah, I’ve really pissed her off. I need to go outside and act like I’m sorry!”

  Miller’s new found friend nodded sympathetically. “We’ve all been there, like I say,” he shout-said. “Hee yar!” he turned back around and shouted at the bar staff who were busy serving other customers. “Hee yar! Hurry up, this bloke needs to get off, he’s in deep-shit with his missus! Hurry up!”

  Despite Miller wanting to die from embarrassment, he was grateful to the baldy piss-head for attracting the staff’s prompt attention.

  Two minutes later, he was done, and walking briskly around the back of the pub to the car park. Clare wasn’t there.

  “Great. Fucking great. Absolutely fucking marvellous.” Miller pointed at the back of the car with his key-fob and the central locking sounded as it released the door locks. He got in and slammed the door.

  “You fucking started it woman!” he said quietly, thoroughly miserable that a quiet, chilled night out had been wrecked, once again. Miller drove the car out of the car park and headed up Worsley Road, knowing that Clare would be walking home, and she’d have got just around the bend past the garden centre. He slowed the car a little as he approached the bend and saw his wife, walking slowly, sulkily. He drove past slowly and pulled the car over to the kerb just ahead of her.

  “Surprise!” said Miller as Clare opened the door.

  “Oh, I thought you’d have gone straight to the police station, leaving me to walk home on my own.” Clare was still annoyed, the walk and the fresh air had done nothing to calm her down. Her shoes were killing her at the front and back of her feet too, which wasn’t helping matters. She clicked her seatbelt into the slot and the car started pulling away.

  “Stop going on, let it be.”

  “Oh, you’re a star you Andy!” Clare exhaled loudly.

  “Don’t be like that. You’re over-reacting.” Miller squeezed the accelerator a little harder.

  “I’m over-reacting?” shrieked Clare.

  “Yeah, you’re being a right diva. Proper drama queen. It’s not like you at all love.” Miller was driving quickly, his good mood was completely ruined now.

  “You are a genius, you. You’re trying to deliberately antagonise me even further now, so you can cause a massive argument, and swan off to work with a clear conscience, convincing yourself that it’s all my doing. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant Andy! You’re a star.”

  “You’re wrong love. I want to drop you off at home, and then I’m going to go back to the pub and finish my tea. And then I’m going to tell the bloke at the bar that, yes, he’s probably right!”

  Clare didn’t know what Miller was saying, and she had no interest either. She was absolutely fuming, and just stayed silent, looking out of the window for the remainder of the journey home.

  Miller kept his thoughts to himself. His thoughts were about Graham Ashworth, and the neighbour with the murder confession. Only a couple of minutes had passed before the car was parked up on the street, outside their home.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Okay?”

  “Whatever!” said Clare as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Are you coming in, or going out?”

  “Are you going to carry on being a misery-guts? You’re like something out of a horror film.” Miller was staring dead ahead at the silver VW Golf in front.

  “Come on Andy. We were having a night out, and all you’re planning is to whisk me off home so you can go back to work. It’s a bit shit, isn’t it?” Clare was glaring at her husband.

  “Look, Clare. You’ve just had a big hissy fit in the pub, in front of people we kno
w. And I haven’t even done anything wrong!” Miller laughed sarcastically.

  “Right! Fine! To answer your question Andy, yes, I am going to carry on being a misery guts, so fuck you very much.” Clare opened the car door, stepped out and slammed it as hard as she could, before walking quite slowly and methodically up the steep drive in her high heels. It really angered Miller, and he wanted to beep the horn and shout obscenities back. But past experience had taught him time and time again that when a woman is being like that, the quietest man was always the wisest man. “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Said Miller as he watched his wife disappear into the house.

  Before he drove the car away, he waited a few minutes. He wrote Clare a text message, apologising for his work interfering with their private life again, but after writing it, and staring at it for a while, Miller deleted it slowly, letter by letter, knowing that he didn’t really mean it. Miller was pretty confident that it was Clare who was in the wrong this time. He’d not even said anything about going to Bury. She’d said it, she’d worked it all out, and she was the one who was pissed off with the findings of her own opinion.

  “Husband of the year award looks fucked, again.” He said as he drove the car off to the bottom of the street. He did a three point turn and drove back past his house to see if Clare was pining for him at the living-room window. She wasn’t.

  “Okay, game on. Let’s see what became of Graham Ashworth!” Miller turned right onto the East Lancashire Road and pressed his foot hard against the accelerator as he headed in the direction of Bury.

  Chapter 35

  Thanks to the bittersweet fortune of his wife’s bad mood, Miller had managed to get himself over to Bury police station just after ten pm. Every part of his detective psyche was in hyper-drive, burning with questions and fizzing with scenarios. This kind of coincidence didn’t just happen. A neighbour randomly presenting himself to the police station, to confess to a murder, just a couple of hours after the missing man’s wife was brought in. It was all pretty far out, a very peculiar state of affairs, and it had Miller buzzing. He found it completely tantalising to have a case like this, in comparison to the vast majority of his normal workload.

  Once inside the police station, he was dismayed to learn that the officer who’d booked Michael Crossley in, had gone off-shift - literally moments before Miller had arrived. He’d wanted to ask a few questions of the arresting officer, before he would come face to face with Crossley himself. But, it wasn’t to be.

  Miller was handed the custody report from the Sergeant. He stood in the custody suite, and read through it, seemingly oblivious to the loud, senseless ranting of a middle-aged drunk man who had just been brought in for drinking and driving. The custody suite was noisy and angry, shouting police officers and even louder Sergeant’s booming voices were echoing around the place, competing with the gibberish nonsense from the drunk man, the din from the inmates on the adjacent custody blocks and the brain rattling sound of cell doors being slammed shut.

  Somehow, Miller remained ignorant to it all as he stood and read the report which PC Kerry Townson had completed prior to her clocking off.

  “Okay, fetch him down to an interview room for me please, I’d like to have a chat with him if that’s okay?” asked Miller of the Custody Sergeant, who was hovering beside the DCI.

  “Yes Sir, take yourself down to interview room four, just on the left there, and I’ll get him brought down. I’ll tell you, he’s a weird one. There he is, look.” The Sergeant pointed to the CCTV monitor bank by the side of the two men, and pointed out Michael Crossley. He was sat on his mattress, looking quite relaxed and contented, like a man that didn’t have a care in the world.

  “God, you’re right. He certainly looks like he’s at peace with himself, doesn’t he?” asked Miller. The Sergeant smiled and nodded.

  “Agreed Sir. He looks like he’s sunbathing by the riverside to me!”

  Miller laughed loudly, which annoyed the drunk man who was still gesticulating at the top of his voice.

  “Oh ye can fuck off as well you ugly bastard!” He shouted. Miller ignored him and kept his attention on the CCTV feed from Crossley’s cell.

  “I’ll have him brought down to you in a few minutes, Sir.” said the Sergeant.

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ve not been in a custody suite on a Friday night for years! It really takes me back!” said Miller, cheerfully.

  “Oh, this is nothing, Sir. Pop back at two in the morning if you want!”

  “Erm, I’ll get back to you on that, if that’s okay?” Miller smiled at the Sergeant as he walked past. “Thanks for all your help, it’s appreciated.”

  A short while later, Miller was in the interview room, talking to Michael Crossley.

  “So, Michael, you’ve wrecked my Friday night! You’ve made my wife shout at me in a crowded pub!”

  “I’m sorry.” said Mick, sombrely. He looked and sounded quite genuine. Miller was only trying to break the ice, start things off on a friendly footing. He didn’t come across too many young blokes that were this polite, he thought. A normal response in this situation would be a shrug or a “so-what?” expression. Mick had made a good impression on the DCI already.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it too much. I’ll sleep at a mate’s.” Miller wanted the interviewee to laugh, but he didn’t. Mick was leaning forward, just staring at the table top, looking quite focused. The duty solicitor, a smart, fresh-faced man of Asian heritage was sat upright beside him, making notes on his A4 notepad.

  “So. You’ve presented yourself here tonight, saying that you’ve killed a man.” Miller’s voice was sympathetic. He wanted to win Mick’s trust straight away.

  “Yes, I had to come in and tell you. I’ve been living a life of hell since it happened. I don’t think I’ve slept. I can’t go on like this.” There was little emotion present in Mick’s voice, but he sounded genuine. There were lots of time-wasters that presented themselves with murder claims. Miller knew exactly what to look for, and he felt quite confident about things so far.

  “Do you know the name of the man that you killed?”

  “Yeah, course I do. He’s a … he was a neighbour. Graham Ashworth. Lived in the house opposite mine, well, the house where I’m living at the, sorry. The house I was living at until tonight.” The man looked broken, he’d struggled to say that the house was in the past, thought Miller. But there was also a noticeable sense of relief present, he had a glaring sense of contentment about him. Miller couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was certainly intrigued by all of this. It was definitely more interesting than watching Gogglebox on the television with his wife, anyway. And that’s probably what they’d be doing now if he was at home, he considered.

  “Was it your intention to kill this man?” asked Miller.

  “No. No, was it heckers like.”

  “Okay, well, I’ve read through the statement that you gave to the constable when you arrived, so I do have an understanding of what you’ve said. Now, before we go on, I want you to bear in mind that killing somebody accidentally, is not seen as murder in the courts. What that means is, even if you did kill this man, it doesn’t automatically make you a murderer in the eyes of the law.”

  “DCI Miller, my client does not require legal advice from yourself. That is my function, if you don’t mind?” The solicitor looked quite annoyed by Miller’s comments.

  “Understood. But in my experience, you guys just tell your clients to say no comment to every question. If your client said no comment to every question when making his confession, then we’re all in for a long night.”

  “All I’m saying, is that I will dispense the legal advice.”

  “Fine. Have you advised your client about this matter yet?”

  “Not yet, no.” said the young legal expert.

  “Well cross it off your to-do list, I’ve just done it for you.” Miller winked at the solicitor and held his thumb up.

  Mick was fidgeting
with his hands on the table top, not really listening to what the policeman and the legal representative were going on about.

  “Right, Michael, bear in mind what I have said. I’m trying to tell you that you can be completely honest – it won’t make any difference at court if you tell half truths, or full truths. Okay?” Miller was smiling gently, supportively. He had a nice, kind face that Mick trusted already.

  “Sure, I understand.”

  “Okay, take your time and just tell me what happened, what led up to you killing this man.” Miller was sat with his hands clasped together on the table top. The gambit about manslaughter had worked, it had convinced Mick that Miller was on his side.

  Mick took a drink of his water and stared down at the table top as he began.

  “It all started when we moved in, this guy over the road, he was just taking the piss out of us. The first night we moved in, he was trying to start a fight with another neighbour a few doors up. My missus woke me up and told me. She said it’s kicking off and I had to go and settle everyone down. What it was, the council put all these rules in, they said one sign of trouble in these new houses and you’ll be booted out, no messing like.” Mick glanced up at the detective. Miller looked interested in what he was saying.

  “Go on,” said Miller, softly.

  “So, my missus, Rachel, she’s proper paranoid, I mean, it’s our first night and it’s kicking off…”

  “But you weren’t involved at this stage?”

  “No. Absolutely jack shit to do with us. We were in bed, I was fast asleep.”

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to butt in. But why did you get involved?” Miller looked genuinely interested.

  “It’s Rach. My missus. She takes stuff on herself, she’s always trying to sort stuff out, she’s good like that. She saw that this guy was about to get his head punched in, and she wanted to stop it.”

  “So she woke you up and sent you to sort it?” Miller smiled widely, knowingly. It was a man-to-man “what are wives like?” expression, which made Mick smile. The smile pleased Miller, he was working subtlety on building Mick’s trust and all of the signs were positive.

 

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