The Final Cut

by Steven Suttie

  “Sir!” replied the SCIU team in unison.

  “Right, Keith, go and alert the managers in there what’s happening. This needs to be a big shock, the element of surprise should give us a lead. Let’s go.”

  Saunders nodded and headed inside, he began talking to the security guard at the main desk as Miller walked back towards the coach, and jogged up the steps confidently.

  “Thanks everybody for your patience. Okay, when you get off this coach, I want you all to head towards my officers over there in groups of four. Once there are four of you with each of my officers, they will become your team leader. Understood?”

  “Yes Sir!” said the officers from their seats.

  “Good. Now then, what I’ve just said to my officers is that the person responsible for these attacks probably works in here, and there’s a good chance he’s in there right now. So, as I have stipulated in your notes, if you have any doubts or concerns when interviewing your suspect, any suspicions whatsoever, you simply grab the attention of your team leader, and ask them for a pen. This will alert my staff that you feel we need another chat with this person. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, Sir!” came another enthusiastic chant from within the vehicle.

  “Good. Right, does anybody have any questions before we go in there?” Miller was looking at all of the faces before him. Nobody raised a hand, which pleased the DCI. Usually, there was at least one bell-end who had to ask something stupid, just to hear the sound of their own voice. But these lot seemed pretty good, on-the-ball.

  “Okay, excellent. Out you come then, go and stand by my staff, thank you.”

  *****

  Five minutes after DI Saunders had entered the building, the entire DWP staff team from the fifth floor were assembled in the canteen. The fifth floor housed the department which dealt with benefit appeals from the local area. Other floors in Wellesley House contained other DWP departments, including the Jobcentre, Universal Credits, Child-Support and Pensions.

  Miller did want his officers to speak to the other staff, from the other floors at some stage. But his over-riding priority was to speak to these people, those who knew the victims best, and would undoubtedly know something that would assist Miller’s enquiry. Miller was patiently waiting for the DWP manager to stop waffling, as he made a big drama of everything to his staff, whilst introducing the police officers.

  “So, as I say, this is the first we’ve been informed of this matter, but in light of the circumstances, I have taken the decision to allow the police to speak to you all, and that is my position at this moment.” The manager looked a bit nervous, almost slightly overwhelmed. His staff were all sitting down at the various tables around the canteen. Miller thought that the manager guy had shut up, and stepped forward to speak to the confused-looking people. But the manager began to say something else. Miller decided to cut him short, rather than listen to anymore of his pointless bollocks.

  “Okay mate, that’s plenty.” Said Miller as he stepped in front of the twitchy, nervous man, who looked mortified at being carved up like that in front of his staff. But Miller wasn’t aware of that, as he got down to business. “Thanks everybody for dropping what you were doing, and please accept my sincere apologies for dragging you away from your posts. As you are probably aware, two of your colleagues are currently in hospital, after suffering very profound injuries.”

  There was suddenly a great deal of shuffling and whispering. Judging by the looks on their faces, this was news to them all. “Sorry, what’s up?” asked Miller, pointing to two ladies in their forties, who were wearing the most obvious expressions of confusion.

  “What’s this about two members of our team? We knew about what happened to Kath, last week. But who else is there?” Asked one. All of a sudden, the canteen erupted into a rabble as the colleagues all searched each-other’s faces and whispered questions and comments to one another. The gossiping continued, forcing Miller to hold his hand up and grab everybody’s attention.

  “Okay, my apologies. You obviously haven’t heard yet, then.” Miller grabbed his notes. “Last week, Kath Palmer was attacked at a bus-stop just up the road from here…”

  “Yeah, we know about that. Who else has been attacked?” shouted one angry, stressed looking man at the back of the room.

  “Well, last night, Jason Brown was violently assaulted on his way home…”

  There were gasps, and hands were being lifted to mouths as a wave of urgent gossiping swept through the room again.

  “Is he alright?” shouted one lady.

  “No, not really,” announced Miller, quite matter-of-factly. “He’s been violently attacked with a knife, and surgeons are doing all they can to save his right arm.” The noise began again. It was irritating for Miller, but quite understandable. He’d taken it for granted that these people would have heard about the violent attack the previous evening. He waited patiently for Kath and Jason’s shocked and upset colleagues to calm down a bit. Once everybody had got their breath back a little, Miller continued to talk.

  “Naturally, in light of what has happened, our first priority here is to ensure that you are all safe, and we will of course be putting procedures in place that will offer you peace-of-mind and protection while we figure out what is going on. But before we come to that, I’m sure you will all understand that we need to interview you all, and ask you some questions about what has happened, just to try and work out if you have any information that might help us to find out who has carried out these awful crimes against your colleagues. We have to ask these questions, and we apologise in advance for any undue distress this will cause you. We really want to take this dangerous person off the streets before he gets the chance to hurt anybody else, and you might know something that can help us, without even realising it.”

  The staff were much quieter now. Their initial shock and outrage was turning to fear.

  “I can’t believe this, I just can’t believe what’s happening!” said one lady who was close to tears. Her hands were trembling, and a colleague leaned across and comforted her.

  “Now as you can see, I have brought a considerable number of police officers with me, so we can get on and do these interviews as quickly as possible. I just want you all to think hard about the questions that you are about to be asked, take your time and answer them with as much detail as you possibly can do. I have been on the CID in Greater Manchester for nearly twenty years now, and I can’t remember dealing with a case like this before. It is totally unprecedented. But, in saying that, the fact that two people from the same office are involved, I’m sure we’ll find a very quick resolution to this case. Okay, let’s get cracking then.”

  Chapter Four

  Half of the DWP staff had been made to wait in the canteen, under the watchful eye of several uniformed officers. Meanwhile, the other half were being interviewed by the detectives in various offices, rest-rooms and meeting spaces all around the building. It was crucial that every member of staff had complete privacy, particularly because of the nature of the questions. The police were literally asking the staff if there was any dodgy gossip about the injured people. It was a rather unsavoury way to conduct an investigation, but it was obvious to everybody why these awkward questions needed to be asked, regardless of how vulgar and inappropriate it all seemed.

  Somebody in the canteen had spent the waiting time writing an account of this unexpected working-day development, and had posted it on the Manchester Evening News’ Facebook page. The press had not been officially alerted about the two “random” attacks being linked, so the information that had been leaked, along with a couple of photographs of Miller and his army of officers quickly became the Evening News’ lead story, which in turn spread across other local media channels, and was even being picked up by some of the national press as well. BBC Radio Manchester was the first radio station to report the story, and were soon followed by the other stations on their drive-time bulletins.

  “It’s 5pm, here’s the KE
Y 103 news, I’m Fran Stentiford. And we start with a breaking news story this hour. Manchester police are currently quizzing all of the staff at Stockport’s DWP office, as they search for an attacker who has gravely wounded two members of staff who work at the building on Wellington Road North in the town centre. The first incident was widely reported last week, when Kath Palmer was attacked with an axe as she made her way home from the office building. This was believed to be an isolated, random attack. However, we have today learnt that another staff member was viciously assaulted with a knife yesterday, as he made his way home from the same office block. Forty-Four-year old Jason Brown from Romiley is said to be in a serious, but stable condition at Stepping Hill hospital.”

  The news was met with shock and fear by the radio listeners, tuned in all across the city, in their cars at traffic lights, in barber shops and on warehouse floors. The strange nature of the story caught a lot of people’s imaginations, and the gossiping and discussions began in earnest.

  It didn’t take long for the Facebook detectives to crack the case, as they announced their theories underneath the Manchester Evening News’ story.

  “They’ll be having an affair, I’ll bet you a tenner. Go and question both of their partners and you’ll find one of them has done it. Case closed. Next.”

  “Find out who’s been sacked from there recently and I think you’ll find that’s the culprit. Nasty, twisted bastard. Karma is yours now sicko.”

  Elsewhere, the usual trolls were delighting themselves by making sick and offensive comments on the news pages.

  “What do you call a DWP worker with an axe in her back? Eileen! Eileen against the bus shelter ‘til the ambulance arrives LOL!”

  Within a couple of hours, the story was everywhere in the north of England. These kinds of stories carry quickly in the communication age of the internet. By the time that Miller’s team were finishing up with their interviews at Wellesley House, he was shocked to hear that this was the main news story in the region, and that a couple of news crews were waiting beside the police coach to capture footage of the officers leaving the DWP building.

  Miller was standing by the window on the stair-case, with Saunders. They were looking down at the press members. “How much do they know?” he asked his DI.

  “They know everything apparently. One of the workers from here leaked it. We should have guessed that this was a possibility.”

  “Yeah, true. It doesn’t really matter I suppose, it’s just annoying. I didn’t really want the attacker hearing that he’d got famous. Anyway, its done now. Is everybody back in the canteen now?”

  “We’re just waiting for one last interview to finish. But they are getting pretty impatient Sir, could do with letting them go home soon. A lot of them are emotional wrecks.”

  “I know, well, we’re nearly there. So, has anything come up as far as you’re aware?”

  “Nope, not a single thread. The two victims really are quiet, kind, popular members of staff. The only thing that I can gleam from scanning through the interviews is that they are consistently referred to as the most popular and well-respected members of staff. So…”

  “So, you reckon it might be a social outcast, slightly jealous of the victim’s popularity?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t quite go that far, Sir. But I thought that it was odd that the two victims don’t seem to have a single enemy. I mean, we’ve all got somebody who hates us, haven’t we? It’s not always our fault, it’s just how life works out.”

  “Well, that’s not true in my case, Keith.” Said Miller smugly, looking out across Stockport, at the gigantic orange-brick railway viaduct and the bus station beneath it.

  Saunders laughed. “Well, you keep telling yourself that if you want Sir. Most people I know think you’re an absolute twat.”

  Miller pulled an expression of feigned hurt, which made Saunders laugh again.

  “But no, seriously Sir, I’m surprised that we haven’t got anybody offering us a bit of a lead. The people who work here are genuinely upset about it though, absolutely no two-ways about it.”

  DC Jo Rudovsky appeared at the door, behind her senior officers. “We’re all done. That’s the last one finished,” she said.

  “Oh Jesus, you shit me up then, Jo.” Said Saunders, holding his chest. Rudovsky laughed.

  “Right, nice one.” Said Miller. “I thought you were making a night of it, Jo!”

  “Nah, some of them can waffle on a bit.”

  “Have you got anything?” Miller looked hopeful.

  “Nah, nothing. It seems that the two that have been

  attacked are adored by everyone in here!”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much what Keith’s been telling me. Have you not come across anyone who might fit the bill? Somebody who looks nervous, sweaty, agitated, high-blood-pressure, an axe in their back pocket?”

  “Nah, that’s all I’ve been looking for to be honest Sir. Every single one of them has been checked-out by my beady-eyes, and not one of them seems remotely plausible as the perpetrator. They are all shitting themselves about the attacker, though – understandably.”

  “The plot thickens. Cheers Jo.” Said the DCI as he stepped away from the window, and the pleasant view of the old industrial landscape. He walked over to the door and held it open for his colleagues. “Come on, let’s go and dismiss them, and then we need to try and think of a plan B.”

  Miller waltzed into the canteen as though he owned the building. The mood was low in there, the atmosphere tense. The appearance of the DCI did seem to break the tension a bit, there was almost a sigh of relief. “Right, sorry everyone for taking up so much of your time. I bet you’re all keen to get off home… but I just wanted a few minutes with you to try and reassure you that we are doing all that we can to bring this situation to a swift conclusion.”

  “Are we going to get some sort of police protection?” asked one angry, sad looking lady. Her question was met with “yeahs” and “well-saids” from around the canteen. All of the staff looked worried, and Miller understood the sense of panic and anxiety completely.

  “That’s a good point, and of course your safety is of paramount importance while we try and figure out what the hell is going on. So, let’s all think of a few ways that we can improve our personal safety, okay?”

  The workers nodded, and they looked as though they might just be starting to calm down a little bit. Miller started walking around the room as he spoke. He wanted these people to trust him, and believe what he was saying. He hated politician coppers who promised all sorts of nonsense to scared people, knowing that it would be other officers of lower ranks that picked up the flack when the promises failed to materialise.

  “The first thing I want to point out, is that you all need to remember the term “safety-in-numbers” okay? This individual is the most cowardly type of person you can get, sneaking up behind unsuspecting people, using weapons on them, all in complete silence…”

  Suddenly, there was a wail from one of the employees. Miller’s blunt, tactless remark had reminded her of the mindless, life-changing violence that two of her work-mates had suffered. The horror was brought back to the front of her mind. A couple of the lady’s colleagues moved over and tried to offer reassurance and comfort.

  “Sorry, I apologise for bringing that back. But the point I’m trying to make is that the person is a total coward. So, my main advice is safety-in-numbers. When you come into work, when you go out of work, stay together in groups. This person will not approach you when there is more than one of you.”

  “Is that seriously the best you can do?” shouted one furious-looking man from the back of the room.

  “Sorry what’s…”

  “I’m saying, there’s a maniac out there attacking our staff and your advice is to tell us to stay in groups! It’s nonsense, absolute nonsense.” There was the sound of agreement as the staff muttered words of encouragement to their angry colleague.

  “Okay guys, listen I know you’re a
ll extremely upset and stressed, but don’t start taking it out on me, right? I’m trying to offer sensible, sound advice to reassure you all.”

  “We want police protection!” shouted another voice, and once again the room was filled with chatter and confusion.

  DC Jo Rudovsky was becoming annoyed by the pointless heckling. She decided to give her boss a bit of back-up. She had been stood by the Coke machine, but decided to walk out into the middle of the canteen floor. She clapped her hands together as she walked, to grab everybody’s attention, and snap them out of their disruptive mood. “Guys, guys, can you shut up? Seriously? Let DCI Miller speak, and you’ll find out that he is leading up to something. Honestly, pipe down and let him talk. If you have any questions, wait until he’s finished.”

  Rudovsky’s straight-to-the-point attitude worked like a charm. The DWP staff looked down at the table-tops and the floor. For a small, friendly-faced woman, Rudovsky could be incredibly intimidating when she wanted.

  Miller nodded his appreciation towards his DC, before continuing. “So, as I say, keep that safety in numbers thing at the forefront of your minds. In terms of police protection, I am already in talks with your local police stations in the areas that you live, and police presence will be greatly increased in all of your local areas. We will also be sending out crime prevention officers to all of your homes, and these officers will be able to give you in-depth advice and support about how to maximise your personal security. These officers will also be able to fit your property with special equipment, things like panic-alarms… so that if the worst did happen, and the attacker did come to your home, you would have a police car on its way round immediately.”

  This comment created a fresh surge of panic, and several of the DWP staff looked back at him in a state of terror. The idea of this attacker visiting their homes gave it an even more personal dimension, and the employees looked terrified. Miller felt sorry for them, these were just ordinary folk, who led quiet, drama-free lives. The shocking nature of what had happened to their colleagues was hard enough to take in, but now, with this graphic suggestion that any one of them could be next, it was all getting too much, and several of them were in tears. Miller felt it was time to wrap things up, and arrange for these people to get off home now, where they could be comforted properly with family and friends in the place they felt safest.