“And so, you moved in with him?”
“Well, it wasn’t… I mean, nobody in my life had ever given a fuck about me before. I was flattered. Honestly, the only people who ever showed any affection were after one thing. I kind of admired Graham’s honesty about it. But, well… it wasn’t just about what Graham did for me financially, he made me feel special. I’d always felt so worthless and inadequate. Graham made me feel really good. I wasn’t with him just for the money. He made me feel good about myself. He got me off drugs and drink. He gave me a fresh start.” Suzanne was crying, and she wiped her tears away, and sniffed loudly.
“Was he hitting you at this point?” asked Miller, totally absorbed in Suzanne’s story.
“Not at this point. He was the ultimate gentleman. He was a very, very pathetic man, he had absolutely no confidence with women, unless he was paying them. If he saw it as a business transaction, he was cold, dead behind the eyes and in full control. If it was an emotional transaction, he couldn’t deal with it. That’s why he could only get sex if he paid. He was a very damaged man.”
“Now three, possibly four times you’ve referred to Graham in the past tense. You tried being a little smart Alice about the past tense earlier this morning, when I used it. But now you’re using it. Why is that?” asked Miller, completely throwing Suzanne out of her sad, indulgent story about life with Graham.
“Well, I, well something has obviously come to light. Why else would I be here? You obviously suspect that I’ve got something to do with Graham’s…”
“Graham’s what?”
“For fuck’s sake. Graham’s death.” Suzanne’s lips started trembling. Miller focused on her mouth. The quiver looked fast, it looked like a genuine tremble of anguish and grief. Miller had several years experience of watching amateur actors and actresses in these situations. He recognised every phoney emotion, every crocodile tear, he’d seen every wail of fake grief. He could have handed out more Oscars than Bob Hope through the years, but he felt that this was genuine heartache that he was witnessing from Suzanne, and it surprised him greatly.
“Do you want to stop for five?” asked Miller, softly. Suzanne’s face was streaming with tears. She waved her hand, as if to say that she wished to carry on. Miller handed her two tissues from the box on the trolley that held the voice recorder.
“No. I’m fine. It’s just so sad…” she said, and again, her emotions got the better of her. Miller waited a few more moments before he asked his next question.
“For the benefit of the tape, are you saying that you know that Graham Ashworth is dead?”
“Yes. I know. I don’t know where his remains are. All I know is that he was beating me up. My neighbour Rachel Birdsworth saw him, from across the road. She ran over to help me. I swear to God, I have no recollection of any of this. Apparently, in a bid to get Graham to stop beating me, Rachel accidentally killed him.”
*****
Mick Crossley was sat in his cell. He looked even more relaxed now, thought Miller, than he had done the previous night. Miller was observing the prisoner on the CCTV feed. He looked placid, tranquil, even though Miller had told him to his face that he didn’t believe his story. This man was happy as a pig in shit, and was clearly very confident that his story was good enough to be believed, thought the detective. Once more, Miller was struck by how unusual his demeanour was. But at least he now had a good reason to explain why.
“Can you get Crossley out and get him down to an interview room for me please Sergeant?” asked the DCI of his uniformed colleague at the custody desk.
“Certainly. I’ll have him brought down to interview room three, Sir.”
Once again, Mick Crossley was polite, and courteous as he entered the booth. He nodded in a friendly, almost apologetic way. The last time these men had spoken, Miller had promised to find out what Mick’s crock of shit was all about. Mick had a look of faint concern about him, he seemed a little cautious around the DCI, scared almost.
“Hello again Michael.”
“Hi, alright?” he said. He nodded at his duty solicitor too, a different one from the smart young man who had been with him the previous evening. This one looked much less ambitious. He had a big, round, grumpy face, and a lot of greasy, swept back hair. He was well into his forties and had a rather considerable gut on him, which forced him to sit with his knees spread widely.
“Right, well, a lot’s happened since we last spoke, so, if it’s okay, we’ll get cracking….” Said Miller to both men.
“My client and I need a few minutes, if that’s okay,” said the new brief, and Miller realised immediately that he had hot, rotten breath, caused by a dodgy filling, he supposed. Miller waved the breath away from him and felt in his pants for some chewing gum.
“Here,” he said, offering the pack to the solicitor. “Your breath is horrendous mate – you need to see a dentist pronto.”
The harshness, along with the unexpected, direct delivery of his comment made Mick Crossley laugh out loud. “Ha ha ha oh my God, as if you just said that out loud!”
“For fucks sake!” said the solicitor, his face had gone bright red.
Miller waved his breath away again. “I’m serious mate. That’s absolutely unbearable!” Miller stood and walked out of the room, trying not to gag.
A few minutes passed before the interview room door opened and the duty solicitor invited Miller back in.
“There was no need for that behaviour,” he muttered as Miller passed him.
“There’s no need for bad breath in this day and age. Seriously mate, there is no need. If you’ve noticed people leaning back a lot when you’re talking to them, that’s why.”
Once again Mick Crossley laughed out loud. Miller was surprised that a man who was facing such serious charges could be in such a jovial mood.
“I really don’t think I’ve ever met somebody who is so rude.” Snapped the solicitor, his face was filled with contempt for Miller and his heartless remarks.
Miller shrugged and began talking through his formal introductions to this second interview with Mick Crossley. He’d had too many frustrating days and nights at the hands of solicitors to care about their personal feelings. Miller thought they were the scum of the earth, and he held the criminals that they were there to advise in greater esteem.
“Right then, this has been a hell of a story. You coming in here last night, confessing to a murder, then the body was discovered this morning – exactly where you said it was, in exactly the state that you described it, down to the colour of carpet that was used to wrap it up. All in all, a very neat and tidy operation. I honestly can’t remember a missing person case escalating to a murder enquiry, and the case being solved in such a record time.” Miller looked at his watch. It was just after 12pm. “All said and done… this whole scenario has been booked in and checked out in under thirty six hours! Quite incredible.” Miller was smiling, and nodding encouragingly at Mick Crossley, who couldn’t really help but smile back politely.
“Except… there’s a problem Michael. So nobody is phoning the Guinness Book of Records just yet.”
“Mr Miller, my client has given his full confession. You have already said that you are satisfied with this, and you are saying that the information he has provided has checked out.” Miller had annoyed the brief, and now he wanted to be annoying back. Miller waved his arm again, wafting the breath away. Mick didn’t laugh this time. He was concerned by whatever it was that Miller was getting at.
“Graham Ashworth was a fat man. He weighed almost fifteen stones. Now, if I go out of here and get fifteen stones in weight, I seriously doubt you’ll manage to lift it up. But if I got fifteen stones, and then added another five, six stones from the rocks that were snuggled up with Graham, we’re talking in excess of twenty stones. You can’t lift that, in the shape of a giant cigar Michael. Can you?”
Mick didn’t seem phased by the question. “It was me. I was on one, had to get rid of it. I was pumped with adrenaline!” h
e said.
“You were so pumped on adrenaline that you developed super powers?” Miller laughed, forcing his head back and showing off his well looked after, dazzling white teeth. “What happened next, did you pick your car up and fly home with it? Miller was laughing uncontrollably, but Mick’s mood was changing rapidly, right before his eyes. That agitated state that he had gotten into the previous night when tapping his finger against the table seemed to be returning. He looked alert, his shoulders had tensed up, and he was sitting up straighter.
“Hey, listen, right…” he said.
“No, you listen to me. I’m going to find out who the others were. There were three or four people responsible for this, and I’m going to arrest and charge all of them. It’s obvious who you’re protecting, pal, so shut up with all the silliness now. I’m a DCI me, Michael. Not a DIC. Now, are you going to use this opportunity to tell me who the others were?”
“No comment.” Said Mick. A nervous twitch made him twist his torso round suddenly. The affable, pleasant expression on his face had dropped and was replaced with a look of confusion and anger. There was a pinch of attitude in there too.
Miller was only just getting going. “Okay. So let’s say I buy your story – let’s say that you did indeed have your spinach that morning, and you managed to wrap the body, and the stones, and lift the twenty stone package up over the four foot high barrier….”
Mick looked intrigued, hopeful almost. He was concentrating on Miller’s mouth as the detective spoke.
“…I still can’t place you in the driving seat of Graham Ashworth’s Range Rover. And we both know why, don’t we Michael?” Miller leant back and studied Mick Crossley’s face. It was a familiar sight for Miller, observing a liar who was desperately trying to poker-face and hide the sinking, panic sensation that was bubbling up, overwhelming and drowning them from the inside.
“No comment.”
“No comment? Ooh, got you running scared have we Michael?”
“No comment.”
“You can’t drive mate. Can you?”
“No comment.”
“You’re saying you drove Ashworth’s car, but you can’t even drive!”
“No comment!” Mick’s voice was becoming angrier, and snappier each time that he spoke. His eyes were developing an undeniable anger, a bad-attitude stare.
Miller was playing with him, just toying with him like a kitten with a ball of wool, and he was enjoying himself very much.
“Okay, you do the no comment reply as much as you want. That’s what Rachel is saying as well, in her interview room.” Miller smirked at Mick Crossley’s double-take expression. “What, you’re surprised?” Miller shook his head. “You should see your face! It’s a picture! You really are a star you Michael. I’m astonished that you thought you could just walk in here and ‘fess up for your missus, and we’d buy it. It’s cute, I’ll give you that. Very cute indeed! My missus is going to love this story tonight when I get home and tell her!”
*****
Rachel Birdsworth was following her partner’s advice to the letter. She no-commented everything that she’d been asked since her arrest just an hour after Graham Ashworth’s water-logged corpse was discovered.
“Why are you prepared to let the man that you love, take the punishment for a crime that you’ve clearly committed?”
“No comment.” Said Rachel, her head hung down, her was hair obscuring much of her face.
“Do you hate him? Is that it? You’ve found a great opportunity to kick him out for ten years! Get him out of your face! Is that why you’re letting him take the punishment?”
“No comment.”
“When you two morons were cooking up your stupid little story, did you not think that the weight of the corpse’s packaging would make it obvious that there were other people involved.”
“No comment.”
“Who are the other people involved in the disposal?”
“No comment.”
“Are they related to you?”
“No comment.”
“Are your teenage children involved?”
Rachel’s eyes shot up from looking down the table and met with the DCI’s. Boom, thought Miller, Got ya.
Rachel’s stare was lazer guided. Her eyes burned through Miller’s.
“No comment.”
“We have reason to believe that three to four people were party to the disposal of Graham Ashworth’s body. You, your fellah Mick, your son Liam and your daughter Britney. What do you think about that?”
“It’s wrong.”
“Oh, I thought you were saying no comment.” Miller smiled. He’d won the first round. He’d beaten her and she knew it. “So, it’s wrong is it? Your kids aren’t involved in the murder?”
“No.”
“Ah! You are. Michael is. But the kids definitely are not!” Miller smiled again. Rachel would just love to reach over the table and stick her finger-nails right in his eyeballs - the smug bastard, she thought. Come on Rach, sort your head out. He’s got you biting. Remember what Mick said. No comment, no matter what. Come on. Sort it out. Rachel was giving herself a pep talk in her mind. She was gutted that Miller had gotten the better of her. It was a dirty trick though, bringing the kids into it. Dirty trick.
Rachel inhaled deeply and counted to five before exhaling loudly.
“No comment.”
“Where did you put the body in the car? I’ve looked in the back of an Evoque. There’s not much room in the boot for a body as big as Graham Ashworth’s. Not with the carpet, that we’ve just found out is the same brand and batch as the carpet in the rest of the Ashworth residence.”
“No comment.”
“It got me wondering if the body was too big for the boot, and that one of the seats had to be collapsed and the body had to be put in the boot, and on the back-seat in an L-shape formation. I’ll bet his head was on the backseat, and his arse and legs were in the boot. Or did you put his face in the boot and put his legs on the backseat?”
“No comment.”
“Either way, one of you’s had the dead body over your lap. How disturbing is that?”
“No comment.”
No reaction either, thought Miller. She wasn’t in the back with the corpse, she didn’t bat an eye-lid at that grotesque suggestion.
“You were driving, weren’t you?” suggested Miller. He felt that the jigsaw pieces were starting to fit together now. The kids weren’t there. He never thought that they were. He just wanted to provoke a reaction. The one that he got.
“No comment.”
“Michael told me that he was driving.”
“No comment.”
“But he can’t bloody-well drive, can he?” Miller started laughing.
Fight, thought Rachel. Don’t fucking argue back. Just stay focused.
“No comment.”
“You were driving. You murdered him, and you drove the body. That poor bastard Michael has got nothing at all to do with this, you horrible, evil woman!”
“FUCK OFF!” shouted Rachel, the words jumped out of her, covering the DCI with spray.
“Two-nil.” Said Miller, cheerfully. “Interview suspended at fourteen thirty five hours.” Miller pressed STOP on the recorder. “Take her back to her cell please Constable.”
Chapter 38
“Are you still pissed off with me?” Miller was talking on his hands free system in the car as he made his way north up to Accrington.
“No Andy.” But it was obvious in the tone of Clare’s voice that she was screaming blue murder. “It’s fine.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll want to know all about it anyway, it’s a proper weird set-up. We found Ollie’s neighbours body this morning.”
“Oh God!” said Clare, completely forgetting that she was in a mood with her husband for prioritising his work-life over and above his home-life. Or at least, that was how it sounded in her head. “That’s so grim.”
“I know. He’s been in the canal for a month.
I’m just on my way over there now.”
“Where? In Accrington?”
“Yes, and hopefully, I’ll be able to get back to Bury nick to charge them with murder. Then I’ll buy you some flowers and a soppy card about how sorry I am, and a nice bottle of Prosecco. How does that sound?”
“It sounds alright. But knowing you, it won’t happen, you’ll still be there until midnight and you’ll have to get a bunch of flowers at the all night garage on your way home.” Clare sounded distant. It was as though she was watching television and her mind was more interested in that than the conversation she was having.
“Are the kids okay?”
“Yes, they’re fine. Look, Andy, I’ll see you later love, alright.”
“Yeah, alright. Love you Clare.”
“See you later.” Clare pressed the call-end button and looked out of the living-room window.
A little over twenty minutes later, Miller was at the crime scene in Accrington. He had driven from Haughton Park to the site where Graham Ashworth’s body had been discovered, using the most direct route possible. He drove north of Bury, taking the motorway and dual carriageway all the way up to the junction for Accrington. It was the third town that was available along the route, and most interestingly to Miller, this would be the last town before the road would split into two options. Decision time for Graham Ashworth’s killer. Blackburn or Preston to the west, Burnley and Colne to the east. More time, more distance and more chance of being caught. Miller knew that all of these factors would result in creating more panic and more stress for the people involved in the crime. Mistake time, Miller called it, because history told him that it was when people always messed up. He just needed to try and find out how.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 30