“Any word on the victim’s condition?”
“No, I’m afraid that we have very few details at this early stage in the inquiry. We cannot reveal any information about the victim, as family members will of course need to be contacted by police in the first instance. But we have been told, by one staff member who was leaving with police officers, is that the victim is alive, and that the injuries which were sustained were not thought to be life-threatening. One thing that is very distressing though, Roger, the injuries were described to us as life-changing.”
“And, just to remind our viewers, that is the description that has been used to describe all of the horrendous injuries that have been sustained by this attacker.”
“That’s correct. This latest incident is now the fourth attack, each one has left behind horrendous stories of unimaginable injuries that these DWP staff have sustained. The first incident took place in Stockport, when DWP employee Kath Palmer was attacked with an axe. Almost a week later, on Monday of this week, the second attack took place, also close to Stockport DWP building close to the town centre. The victim of that violent knife attack was Jason Brown, a forty-four-year-old dad. Jason was stabbed in the shoulder, and then, last night, at practically the same time as tonight’s attack, Gary Webster received horrific leg injuries as he made his way out of his workplace at Hyde Jobcentre. It’s now Thursday, and we are here, at the scene of yet another serious attack against a member of the DWP staff.”
“This is a very scary, and very worrying situation.” Roger really did look shocked, and frightened by this story. His reaction was felt in the homes across the north-west, viewers sat with their hands over their mouths, saddened and confused by the sheer nastiness of these random, creepy attacks.
“Suzy, thank you for the update. We will bring you the latest information as we get it, but for now, we’ll look at the rest of the stories that are making the news here in the north west this evening.”
*****
The army sergeant led Miller, Saunders and Rudovsky up a cold, echoey staircase, right at the heart of the dark, smelly mill. The smell inside there overpowering, the type of whiff that sticks to your clothes. The aroma was an odd mixture of old, rotting buildings, mixed with dust and the nauseating, acidic smell of bird-poo on an industrial scale, with notes of stale human piss. Soon, they had made it up to the third floor. All were carrying torches, and their beams created endless light strobes which illuminated the depressing state of the interior.
Smashed up doors and windows, old toilet pots and sinks were strewn all over the place. There were random pages from porno mags all over the floor. Graffiti filled the walls, some which clearly had artistic potential, but most just of it was just random names and stupid remarks. All around there was lots of evidence of beer-drinking. The floor was quite literally covered in litter, and it was apparent to Miller that this place was being used for a number of illicit activities.
In no time, the odour of the decaying building gave way to an overpowering scent of gunpowder. All three of the detectives instantly understood how the soldiers had identified this spot so quickly. This was it, the precise spot that the sick bastard had stood and taken aim on a random face in the windows opposite. There, folded neatly was a piece of A4 paper. The name DCI MILLER was printed on it.
“This guy is getting brave.” Said Miller, desperate to step forward and read the note, but cautious to disturb the scene. There could be a human hair, or a finger print, or a dried fleck of snot which could identify the attacker. Miller could never forgive himself if he was responsible for letting scum like this bastard get a head-start. He’d have to wait, as torturous as it was, to find out what intellectual wonders this latest note contained.
“None of your officers touched anything here, did they?” asked Rudovsky of the sergeant.
“No Ma’am, we know how to operate in a crime scene.” He was shouting again, and it made all three of the detectives jump slightly, as the soldier’s booming voice reverberated around the gigantic building.
“I think he’s a bit deaf,” said Saunders very quietly. Rudovsky smirked, and she couldn’t resist raising her own voice to a shout and saying, “OKAY, THANKS!”
Miller opened his contacts list in his phone. “I’m just going to get CSI down here right now. I can’t wait until morning to pick this up again.” Miller started walking away from the crime-scene as his call connected. “Sir, hi, yes, he’s left another note. I don’t know, I’ve not read it yet. It needs CSI treatment first. No, it’s just folded up there on the windowsill, addressed to me. Alright, brilliant, cheers.”
Miller ended the call. “Right, forensics are on their way, top priority, there’s only one section on duty. Cut-backs are everywhere, not just on people’s benefits. Anyway, Dixon’s going to force it through, so at least we’ll have a photograph of that note within the next half an hour. Meanwhile Sergeant, any chance you can show us which way you reckon he went after this?”
“Yes, we’re quite sure that he used the steel fire exit steps on the outside of the building, as all of the lower floor doors were locked when we first gained entry.”
“So how has he got in here?” asked Miller.
“Pick a broken window… there are dozens on the ground-floor level.”
“How did you get in then?” asked Saunders.
“We just shot the doors in.”
Chapter Eighteen
Miller was back at the office by 9pm. He was tired, and pretty stressed out as the press had now made him their prime target, which meant his mobile phone was switched off and his office line was constantly engaged. The handset lay on his desk, half a foot away from its cradle.
Miller blew out an exasperated breath of air. The thing that was pissing him off the most was the total lack of useful information that he and his team had on the attacker. And now that the attacker’s confidence was clearly so high, the risk of further attacks was inevitable. It was a nightmare situation, and Miller couldn’t think of any other case that he’d investigated which compared to this one.
Until today, he had been convinced that the person responsible was suffering an acute mental health episode, a severe psychotic breakdown of some description. All the usual pointers were there, most strikingly the utter disregard for others, the total lack of empathy towards fellow human beings. But he was starting to retreat from the idea of a schizophrenic episode, mainly down to the amount of planning and organisation that would be required to carry out the three attacks in three days, and especially, with all of them passing off with perfect escapes, and clean forensic scenes. There was a distinct lack of chaos or spontaneity. The sheer skill level involved left him feeling very doubtful that a mental health condition was the catalyst. It may well be a factor, he wasn’t ruling mental health as a contributing factor, but it wasn’t the driving force, in his view.
The DCI was making notes on his desk jotter, as he went over it all in his mind. If the attacker wasn’t mad, then he was bad. And if he was bad, there was bound to be some record of him in the police computer. The thought frustrated Miller, as he realised that the person they were looking for was holding all of the cards. The truth was, they were just waiting for the attacker to screw up.
Miller looked up, and out of the huge glass wall which divided his office from the rest of the SCIU floor. Saunders was beavering away at his desk, and one or two of the temp officers that had been drafted in were also staying late, trying to either make a good impression, or an arrest. Either way, Miller was glad. He wanted to shout Saunders into his office and have a chat about everything, but he could see that Saunders was in the zone, and it wasn’t worth interrupting him when he was this heavily involved in whatever it was that he was checking.
Miller was distracted by the sound of an e-mail. His screen had gone off, so he wriggled the mouse, and saw that the photo of the note had finally arrived.
“You beauty!” he said under his breath as he clicked the e-mail and waited for the photograph to load u
p.
Within seconds, the image appeared on his screen. The font was the same, it looked like the same kind of printer ink judging by the magnified section. But the message was equally as short as the last one. It simply read “MAKE THEM STOP KILLING THE POOR!”
Miller was about to shout Saunders, he wanted his DI to see this, hot off the press, but as he looked up from the computer screen he noticed that Saunders was running towards his office. He burst in through the door.”
“Sir, its DCS Dixon on the phone for you.” Saunders extended his arm and handed his phone across the desk.
“Cheers,” he said, looking surprised and confused by this peculiar interruption.
“Hello?”
“Andy, its Dixon. What’s wrong with your phone? I’ve been trying to contact you…”
“Oh, its, not sure Sir… anyway, what’s wrong?”
“There has been another attack, just after eight o’ clock, in Shaw.”
“Our man?” Miller sounded as if he’d been winded.
“It certainly looks that way, it was a bloke walking down to the shop with his dog. We’ve just discovered that he works for the DWP. He’s used the axe again, Andy.”
*****
Miller and Saunders arrived at the scene, it was a quiet little cul-de-sac made up of neat little bungalows in Shaw, a suburb between Middleton and Oldham. The familiar forensics tent was up, and the police line do not cross tape was flapping in the wind. A few teenagers were loitering by the police officers at the cordon, sat on their bikes and looking quite excited to be this close to a big police incident. A nosey neighbour was watching the events from her front window across the road, she was talking manically into her phone. Miller imagined that she was saying “you never imagine anything like this would happen in your own street, do you?”
Both detectives were in a state of shock. This latest attack was completely unbelievable. The two detectives explored each other’s faces for a clue as to what the other was thinking. Luckily, the press hadn’t had wind of this yet. The only people in attendance were a few members of the local community, and the police officers who were attending. The ambulance had been and gone over an hour earlier, and it seemed to Miller and Saunders that it had taken the initial presence of police officers a little too long to put two and two together.
The story seemed quite solid though. The victim, a fifty-one year-old DWP staff member called Stewart Grimley was walking home from his local Bargain Booze store with his Yorkshire Terrier Barney, he was almost home when he’d been hit in the back with an axe. He’d gone down immediately, shouting out in pain. Neighbours soon came to Stewart’s aid, alerting police and ambulance crews within seconds of the attack. The dog, Barney, ran off after the attacker, and hadn’t been seen since.
Miller was seriously disappointed at the shoddy handling of this crime scene. It had taken far too long for officers to associate it with the other DWP attacks. If one of the attending officers had made the link sooner, police dogs could have attended and followed the trail of the attacker, and Barney. Miller shook his head, this was becoming overbearing. This was an abhorrent case, and he could feel the pressure building.
“Rudovsky said earlier, that its getting too much, or something. At the time, I thought it was a daft way to put it. But I can see what she meant. How the fuck can you do this kind of thing to another person? Some chap walking his fucking dog? It’s beyond me.”
Saunders nodded. He too was struggling to rationalise this extraordinary case. “Does it not remind you a bit of the Pop case, though?” Asked Saunders. He was breaking a rule, talking about the Pop case. The SCIU team had all agreed not to talk about it, as it brought up too much bad feeling, too many bad memories. Too much grief. It may have been a few years ago, but it was still very raw, and the wounds were still healing for several of the team.
“I thought we…”
“Well, it has to be said. Pop was the only person I can remember who targeted strangers, and did more than one attack at once. Different, but similar.”
“No, I see what you’re getting at, but Pop was after paedos Keith, not bloody civil-servants.”
“Well, I know that, obviously, but I’m just trying to find comparisons.”
“I know, I get it, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. Pop had his reasons for what he did. And most of the country agreed with what he was doing. It’s a far cry from what this psychopath is up to. A far cry.”
“Look, Pop had his reasons, I accept that. But this attacker may have the same mental state that Pop had when he was going about his attacks. I don’t think its…”
“Keith, mate, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not buying it. Killing a child-molester, so they can’t abuse any more children is not the same as disabling people who work at the dole, because you don’t think the cuts are fair.”
Saunders went quiet, and Miller knew that he’d pissed his DI off by dismissing his suggestion. But as far as Miller was concerned, it wasn’t a thought worth pursuing.
“Where’s this fucking Inspector?” asked Miller,
changing the subject.
“He’s just in a house up there, reassuring an old lady who has had a panic attack. He knows we’re here so he shouldn’t be too long.”
Miller turned and walked across to the youths by the police cordon. They were aged about thirteen, Miller guessed.
“Did you do it?” he asked the first one.
“Do what?”
“Attack that man.” Miller was smiling. The three kids laughed.
“I’m not talking, right, I’m not talking ‘til you’ve phoned my solicitor!” said the kid, which made his mates roar with laughter.
“Seriously though, do you know the guy?”
“Who Stewart? Yeah, everyone round here knows Stewart and Barney. He always used to give us all two-quid when we went carol singing, or trick-or-treating. Didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s well sound.”
“Proper sound guy.”
“Did you see or hear anything tonight?” asked Miller.
“No, no, we didn’t know nothing about it until we saw all the dib… all the police cars flying about and the ambulance. That’s when we came down.”
“Tell you what then, if Stewart was always so nice to you lot, why don’t you repay his kindness, and have a ride round looking for his dog, eh?”
“Barney? Why, has he escaped or summat?”
“No, Stewart was walking him, when he got attacked. The dog legged it, he’s probably still got his lead round his neck.”
“Right, come on.” The three teenagers set off peddling, and within seconds, they were shouting “Barney” as they rode their bikes around the neighbouring streets.
“Nice enough kids. It makes a change, doesn’t it?” asked Miller of the PCs who had been entertaining them.
“Yeah, they’re alright. Give them another year.”
It wasn’t long until the Inspector returned from the old lady’s house, and was available to speak to Miller and Saunders. He had a look of relief on his face as he realised that it was DCI Miller who was waiting to speak to him. He wouldn’t have to run this crime-scene for a second longer, and he was glad about that.
“Hi,” said Miller. “How is the old lady?”
“Oh, she’s a bit shocked and upset. The victim goes for her paper every morning, and looks after her cats when she goes to her daughter’s house in Bakewell. I’ve managed to settle her down, and it sounds like good news from the hospital, no serious damage was caused in this attack, apparently.”
This announcement stunned Miller and Saunders. They’d just assumed that this was as “life-changing” as the others. It was great news, but it didn’t really make sense. It was obvious from the look on Saunders’ face, that he was trying to work out how it was possible that an axe swung into somebody’s back hadn’t caused any damage.
“Stewart Grimley had been extremely cautious tonight when he set off out with his dog, and its paid off. He sh
oved a plastic chopping board down the back of his pants, protecting the base of his back. The axe shattered the chopping board, but its only caused bruising, apparently. It hurt like hell, but he’s over the worst.”
“Bloody hell, that’s a result!” Miller was overjoyed by the ingenuity, and the good fortune involved.
“That is absolutely amazing!” Saunders was beaming from ear-to-ear. “Just shows you the ferocity of the attack though. I mean, shattering a chopping board. It’s no wonder that Kath Palmer’s not going to walk again, if that’s the kind of power he’s putting into his swing.”
“Right, well, shall we go off and see him? Ask him for six numbers between 1 and 59 as well?” Miller was feeling happy, for the first time today. This news had really lifted his spirits. Saunders looked happy too, but suddenly, he looked serious.
“Erm, well, if it’s all the same, I’d rather go back to the office, I was making some good progress on something before this call came in. I wouldn’t mind getting back to it, Sir.”
“Oh…? Anything you want to…”
“No, not at this stage. But I might have something positive to tell you in the morning.”
“Fair dos Keith. Alright, I’ll go and say hello to Stewart, and see if he saw anything, noticed anything unusual. You never know, he might have had a fucking CCTV camera attached to his
head!”
Saunders laughed, as did the Inspector.
“Alright, you get going Keith, take my car back to HQ. I’ll head off to the hospital, I’m sure one of these panda cars will stand me a lift?”
“Yes, yes of course Sir,” said the Inspector, though he looked a little bit pissed off by the cheek of Miller’s request. Saunders got in the car, and reversed it out of the cul-de-sac, almost hitting one of the young lads who came flying around the corner on his bike.
The Final Cut Page 14
