The Final Cut

by Steven Suttie

  Miller decided to change tack. “Can you think of any staff from the past who left under a cloud, or were sacked? Or even anybody who just seemed a bit odd, didn’t fit in around the place.”

  “No… seriously, there’s nobody like that. Past or present. Nobody leaves, once you’ve got a job with the government, you stay put. Its good pay, good pension, great prospects. I can’t think of anybody who has left… not in the last five years anyway.”

  “Yes, this is what everybody is saying Jason. They seem like a really good crowd you work with there.” Rudovsky was trying to keep the positive vibes going.

  “Yes, it’s all good. I don’t think the person who did this has anything to do with the place, to be honest.”

  Miller and Rudovsky looked at one another and sighed silently. This was such a frustrating situation, having literally no idea what was going on. The frustration was mixed with anxiety. The longer they went without any clues, the better the chances of somebody else being attacked.

  Rudovsky turned back to Jason, who looked like he was getting a fresh dose of his pain-killing medication. A faint smile crossed his lips, and he appeared to relax his upper body muscles.

  “I know you can’t remember anything of the incident Jason, you’re probably still in shock mate. There’s a good chance that you might start to remember something, little flash-backs. We’ll come back in and see you in the next few days, if that’s okay?”

  “Yes, yes, no worries, its fine by me.” Jason’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his eye-lids closed slowly.

  “I think that’s your meds just kicking in Jason, we’ll leave you in peace now.”

  “Thanks…” he said slowly.

  The detectives left the ward, and marched down the long, spotlessly cleaned corridors chattering none-stop about the bizarre lack of a single lead from two horrific attacks. They talked about the victims, and how decent they were, how puzzling this situation was. Soon, they had crossed the hospital and were back in the car park, standing by their vehicles. As they said good night, and headed off home, both of them were filled with a burning desire to catch the sick bastard that had inflicted these evil injuries to these two very kind, pleasant, ordinary people.

  Chapter Seven

  “I was really pissed off before, in the team briefing,” said DC Helen Grant. She was sat cross-legged with her bowl of pasta rested on her legs. She was staring at her boyfriend, and DI, Keith Saunders.

  “I know, I could tell…” said Keith, without looking up from his phone. His tea was sitting in a bowl on the coffee-table.

  “Get your tea dip-shit. It’s going cold.”

  “I know, sorry, I’m just…”

  “Put your flipping phone down or I’ll throw it out of the window…”

  Saunders laughed, and chucked his phone across the settee so it was out of arms-reach. Since the couple’s city-centre apartment was on the sixth floor, it wouldn’t do to risk it being thrown out of the window. Besides, Helen had just come through from the kitchen, where she had been cooking for him. He realised that he was being extremely bad-mannered, and he apologised.

  “Sorry Helen. I was just…”

  “Working…”

  “Yes, well, anyway, thanks for this, smells gorgeous. Much obliged to ya!”

  “You’re welcome… now you’ve flung your phone. So, now it’s all about me for a bit… okay?”

  “’Til your heart’s content. What’s up?”

  “I’m just really pissed off, with Miller.”

  “Get used to it. Sometimes it can be a fifty, fifty mix of being glad you work for him, and hating his guts.”

  “He made me feel really fucking stupid in the briefing. He just dismissed my suggestion, straight-off. I don’t mind, you know, if there’s a reason, but he just shrugged it off. Arrogant bastard!”

  “He does it all the time. But in his defence, he doesn’t mind if you argue with him. If you feel genuinely pissed off, and you think that he’s dismissed a good theory, tell him.”

  “Shut up. That’s not okay!” Helen laughed at Keith. She thought it was an absolutely ridiculous suggestion.

  “What?”

  “You, you’re winding me up! You’re trying to get me sacked!”

  “I’m not. Don’t be daft. Go in and see him in the morning, and just tell him that you thought he was too quick to dismiss your theory. He’ll either tell you the reason he dismissed it, or he’ll ask you to convince him. But one thing I will say for him is that he’ll listen to what you say. He’s not got one of those daft egos like some DCI’s.”

  “I know, but, well, it’s scary, going up to your boss and saying they’re wrong about something.”

  “Well its more productive than coming home here and slagging him off. That’s not going to sort anything out, is it?”

  “I know…”

  “Do you really think he’s wrong?”

  “Yes, I do actually. I think he’s totally wrong.”

  “Well go and tell him in the morning. Trust me, he’ll hear you out. And if he does think that he is wrong, he’ll be buzzing with you for having the balls to tell him.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s your food?”

  “Lovely, you’re the best at this, I love it.”

  “It’s a microwave one from Lidl.”

  “Really? It’s proper nice.”

  “It is nice, and a lot quicker and easier than pissing about cooking from scratch. Especially if your boyfriend is so thick that he actually thinks you made it yourself.”

  Saunders didn’t reply, he just nodded with an approving look on his face as he chewed another spoonful of the pasta.

  “I hate going in that shop though.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I only went in to grab something for tea, and I came out with a giant box of washing powder, two microwave meals, a set of oil-paints and a fucking step-ladder.”

  *****

  The late-night talk show on Manchester’s local station Piccadilly Radio was discussing the attacks on Kath and Jason. It was a very popular radio show and had been going for years, the presenter Alan Newton was always keen to wind his listeners and callers up. When there was a big news story locally, the phone-in show was always busy. The people of Manchester care passionately about the place. People don’t just live in Manchester, they get involved with the place too. The shocking events in Stockport that had been on the news since tea-time was the only topic that the callers wished to discuss.

  At one time, not too long ago, it wouldn’t be that shocking to hear of such violence in the city. Manchester is a place that has been widely known for its social difficulties through the years, particularly the issues around gangs and drugs. There was a lot of money spent on regenerating many parts of the city, in an attempt to solve a lot of the problems of youths with guns.

  In the late 80’s and early 90’s, the Moss-Side district of the city was a notoriously difficult place to police, and things had got badly out of control. Everybody agreed that something had to change drastically. So, the place was regenerated and new attitudes were fostered and developed between the community, the police, the council and various public service bodies. Large areas of council housing were demolished, and new homes were built, based on the needs and aspirations of the community. The old style of estate designing had a lot to answer for. Criminals knew every nook and cranny of the estate, and knew exactly how to escape the police should they get chased, whether that was on foot or bike, or more commonly, in a stolen car. The victors would usually set the car on fire on the school fields. These types of problems created serious difficulties for the police, who found the place to be a “no-go area” but the problem was worse for the residents, who felt isolated, let-down, and like prisoners in their own homes after dark.

  But what happened, over many years, was a brilliant example of how it is possible to turn a lawless ghetto into a nice, positive, cheerful place. Ever since those dar
k days of the early nineties, Manchester has shown the world new ways to tackle inner-city social problems. Delegates come from cities all over the globe to learn more about how Moss Side was turned around so spectacularly. Nowadays, Manchester is not automatically linked to negative thoughts about guns and gangs, teenage murders and lawless streets. These days, Manchester is celebrated for all the positive things that is has given the region, and the country, and the world.

  But today, with these awful attacks in Stockport, and the apparent “randomness” of it all, the city didn’t feel quite as safe and strong as normal. Alan Newton was taking call after call, from scared and frightened Mancunians.

  “Johnny in Stretford, you’re on the air mate.” Said Alan. “What’s on your mind, Sir?”

  “Oh, alright Alan, nice one for letting me on. I just wanted to talk about these vicious assaults, I’m in shock about it, I was in tears reading about the woman, Kath, she seems like a proper nice woman, and to think that someone has just done that to her for no reason, it’s just…” The emotion was clear in Johnny’s voice. “…I’m just so sorry, so gutted that something like this could happen around here.”

  “Well, I’m sure you speak for everybody there Johnny.”

  “And the other guy, Jason, he seems like a proper decent bloke as well. It’s just, I don’t know Alan, I’m just worried that this is something really sinister. I’m scared to let my wife go to the gym.”

  “Well, I take on board your thoughts Johnny, and let’s just hope the police catch the sick bastard responsible as soon as possible.”

  “Totally.”

  “We’re lucky in one respect, that its DCI Miller and his team who are leading the investigation. He’s got a pretty solid record.”

  “Yes, well, I hope you’re right Alan. I can’t stand the thought of anybody else being attacked, and suffering such appalling injuries.”

  “No, you’re absolutely right. DCI Miller is holding a press-conference tomorrow lunchtime, and we’ll be covering it live from noon, so make sure you tune in for that. Okay on to our next call now, Ruth, in Hazel Grove…”

  “Hi,”

  “What are you on about Ruth?”

  “Well, same as everybody else Alan, these shocking incidents. I’ve had a bad feeling that something like this was going to happen for a few years now.”

  “What? I’m sorry Ruth, you’ve lost me…”

  “Well, these two people who’ve suffered these horrendous injuries, they both work for the DWP, don’t they?”

  “That’s right…” Alan sounded confused, but also suspicious about where the caller was going with this.

  “And what has the DWP organisation been doing to people for years? Under that Ian David Smythe, they’ve been stopping people’s benefits, telling disabled people that they’re not disabled enough, that they should get a job. They’ve been kicking them out of their houses with the bedroom tax. God, there have been people who’ve been passed as medically fit to come off benefits and start work, and they’ve died the next day.”

  “Well, I’m sorry Ruth, I think you’re being a little bit hysterical there my love…”

  “I’m not Alan. I’m telling you, there’s a list as long as my arm of disgusting things they’ve been doing to vulnerable people for the last seven years. Well, I hate to say it Alan, but I’ve a feeling that somebody is trying to get their own back. And if I worked for the DWP, I’ll tell you now, I’d be bloody petrified.”

  “Well, I am going to apologise on your behalf Ruth, because I think that is an absolutely outrageous thing to say,”

  “No, Alan…”

  “Shut up, I let you speak. Now it’s my turn. I think you’re bang out of order there Ruth, knowing that there are a lot of people who know and love Kath Palmer and Jason Brown. For you to come on here and try to make out that they deserve those devastating injuries is absolutely shocking, and you should be deeply ashamed of yourself young lady.”

  “That’s not what I said Alan. I said that I’ve been worried about something like this happening. I know that the people involved are just ordinary folk doing their jobs. But I’ve worked with the people that have been affected by all these DWP policies Alan.”

  “What do you do Ruth?”

  “I work for the Citizen’s Advice. I try and help people get their appeals sorted out when their benefits are stopped.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll stand corrected. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt Ruth.”

  “It’s alright. But you’ve got to understand Alan, this government has been at war with the most vulnerable people in society. They’ve behaved with zero compassion towards millions of people, and the people are in my office in tears, every single day, I’m sending them off to food-banks... people who can’t stand up are having their benefits stopped and are told to get a job. Blind people have been told they’re fit for work, and lots of them are delighted by the prospect, at first.”

  “How do you mean, at first?”

  “Well, once they realise that there are no jobs for blind people, they feel humiliated, and lost. Its degrading, and it’s downright bullying.”

  “That sounds utterly bonkers!” The DJ sounded furious.

  “There was a report that tens of thousands of disabled people have killed themselves because of this DWP policy. These people are the easiest targets, and what has been going on will leave a dirty stain on this society for a very long time. Honestly, I’ve had an awful feeling that something was going to snap eventually. And it looks like it has.”

  “Well this is certainly an interesting point that you are making. I’m no expert on these benefit cuts that have been taking place, I’ll be perfectly honest. I have no idea if it really is as bad as you say.”

  “Oh, it is Alan. It’s worse than that. The DWP have adopted a policy of stopping everybody’s benefit, and making them appeal the decision.”

  “For what reason?”

  “They say it’s to help people come off benefits, you know, cruel-to-be-kind type of thing. But that’s nonsense. It’s all in the name of manipulating the figures. If you stop somebody’s benefits for three months, even in the knowledge that they’ll

  win the appeal at the end of the three months, and you back-date the three-month’s worth of money…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well even though it didn’t save any money, the DWP managed to get somebody off benefits, and the unemployment figures go down. That’s why they say on the news that unemployed people are at the lowest numbers ever. It’s because they’ve been sanctioned. They don’t exist in the figures.”

  “This sounds like rubbish, Ruth, in all honesty.”

  “I wish it was Alan. But it’s happening every day, to thousands of innocent people up and down the country. The people who work at the DWP have targets to meet, they have got to stop a certain amount of people’s money per week, or else they are put on a disciplinary scheme. It’s well known that its going on, and it’s all happening to weed out the few people who have been defrauding the system for years. The problem is Alan, you can’t just come up with a one-size-fits-all solution to these kinds of complicated problems.”

  “Are you honestly saying that this is a realistic assessment of the situation?”

  “Yes Alan. You must believe me. The government have this idea that lots of people are just refusing to work because they can’t be bothered. It’s simply not the case. There are a small number of people who are playing the system Alan, of course there are, just like there are a small number of motorists who don’t insure their cars, and a small number of people who don’t have a TV license. But you wouldn’t fine every motorist in Britain a thousand pounds, because of the few who don’t insure their vehicle. Would you?”

  “Well, no.”

  “It’s exactly the same principle. Most of the claimants are genuine people, with genuine problems, and they are being treated worse than animals. Disabled people are being told they are fit for work by ATOS, who take care of the DWP ass
essments. They over-rule claimant’s doctors! Their own GP, a professional doctor, who knows the person, and knows that they are not fit for work, are being over-ruled by ATOS staff with no medical experience. As I say, this is the biggest scandal of our time.”

  “This is really happening?”

  “Yes Alan, I’m saddened to say. Listen, think back a few years. Tell me what would happen if you didn’t feed your kids, and your kids didn’t have electric in the house, or clean clothes for school.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure Social Services would intervene, and they’d be taken into care.”

  “That’s right. Traditionally, the state would get involved, to protect the child’s welfare.”

  “And rightly so…”

  “But not now, Alan. It’s the state that are making the kids hungry. It’s the state that failing their own people, deliberately. One in four kids in this country are now living below the poverty line. This has been designed by the government, and I’m so angry because the Ministers and spokes-people go on the news and laugh it off. They deny it, they explain it using confusing jargon and quoting bizarre figures about how their disgusting policies are helping people. But it’s not helping people Alan, its causing devastation to ordinary families that we should be helping and supporting. It’s absolutely heart-breaking to see this unfolding, day-in, day-out.”

  “Well, I’m truly stunned by what you are telling me.” The presenter sounded genuine, and it sounded as though he’d stumbled upon the biggest scoop of his long and celebrated career.

  “The only way to describe it is this,”

  “Go on.”

  “Remember when you were at school?”