“Yes, basically. That’s all they do politicians, don’t they? How do you know when a politician is lying?”
“Their lips are moving.”
“Exactly. Right, anyway, pass me another doughnut.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Miller was back in the office by half-five, and was looking forward to seeing what the Granada man had made of the report with Kath Palmer. Mike had text Miller to let him know that the ITV national news were taking the package for their lead story. This was great news, and it was exactly what Miller had wanted to achieve.
Miller was also feeling positive about the buzz around the office. He’d never known it so busy, and everybody seemed to be going about their work with lots of enthusiasm. He turned his laptop back on, as he sat down at his desk, and noticed Saunders wandering across the office floor, towards Miller’s office.
“Don’t bring me bad news, Keith! I mean it.” said Miller as his DI entered the office.
“What? I’m…”
“I’m feeling positive for the first time in ages, so I don’t want you pissing on my chips!”
“I’m not, Sir, in fact, I’ve got very positive news.”
“Excellent. Go ahead.”
“Well, all of the various enquiry teams are making great progress, we’re seeing some very interesting results from the Blog team especially. I’ll tell you what though, considering how little you hear about this DWP stuff in the news, it’s shocking to discover how strong the feelings are on the internet!”
“Yes, well there’s a simple explanation for that. Eighty-per-cent the mainstream media is owned by a few billionaires who are big pals of the government. Think of Richard Desmond, Rupert Murdoch, David Barclay, Fred Barclay, Jonathan Harmsworth. Between them, they control people’s access to news. They refuse to write stories that paint their mates in a bad light, because the government do all sorts of sweeteners and deals that make their lives easier, and make them even richer, like not making them pay their tax. In return, the Tories get an easier ride in the press and on TV news shows.”
“It’s so depressing, how the system works. How is it possible that newspapers can manipulate the news? It doesn’t seem right.”
“No, well, it’s not right is it? But it’s all changing now, the internet has opened it all up. The total control they had a few years ago has been massively diluted. And not before time! That’s why their character assassination on the leader of the opposition failed so badly in the election, people are starting to think for themselves. There are still a frightening amount of gullible people out there, who believe everything the Mail and the Sun tell them, though. But with the internet, most people are waking up to the fact that their political beliefs are based on what the newspaper editors told them to think.”
“Yes, well, anyway, I’ve got a breakthrough.”
Miller leaned forward. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve worked out the link between the victims. I know how the attacker is choosing them!”
“Fucking hell Keith! You come in here and start a dull conversation about the bloody media, and then drop that on me! Come on, tell me the rest!” Miller’s face had lit up. He knew Saunders was about to pull a rabbit out of his hat, as he always did.
“Well, it’s not water-tight, there’s one victim that doesn’t check-out in this theory… yet. But I’m still working on it.”
“Go on Keith, mate. What’s the theory?”
“Okay, well, you know how we keep hearing that the victims are all so nice, all lovely people?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I thought it was a bit weird that nobody who is a bit of a bell-end has been attacked. That it’s only nice people. I mean every workplace is like a pair of trousers, it has at least one arsehole in it, doesn’t it?”
“No comment. Go on…”
“Well, here’s the thing. Kath Palmer, and Jason Brown, the first two victims from Stockport are well regarded by everyone. It didn’t stack up. But I did a bit of digging, and guess what I found…” Saunders placed a photocopy of a news article on Miller’s desk. It was a Manchester Evening News story, which featured two very cheerful looking people holding a giant cheque. It was made out to RSPCA Stockport, and it was worth £803.45.
“Is that…”
“Yes, Sir. Kath and Jason, the first two DWP employees who were attacked, and who also run their building’s annual charity events.”
“Fucking hell…”
“This is how the attacker has chosen them. That article was published two months ago, it was in the Manchester Evening News paper edition, and is still available online on the M.E.N website.”
Saunders smiled at the expression on Miller’s face, as he pulled a separate news cutting out of his folder, and placed it before his boss.
“The lad from Hyde Jobcentre, Gary Webster, presenting a cheque for six-hundred quid to Tameside Age UK.” Saunders opened his folder once again. He placed another press cutting on Miller’s desk. This one was the victim from the previous night, the one who’d had a lucky escape thanks to his IKEA chopping board, Stewart Grimley. In the photo, he was presenting a cheque to representatives of Dr Kershaw’s Hospice. There were plenty of smiles, as Stewart handed over the cheque for £1,268.71.
“Holy shit.” Said Miller.
“The only one that doesn’t check-out was Margaret Wilkins, the lady from Middleton Jobcentre. She hasn’t done any charity work, and she doesn’t come up in any other news articles. I think he must have just thought that because she was standing in the staff room, that was enough.”
“Jesus Keith, you’re an absolute genius, you know you are! How do you do it?”
“Well, you know…” Saunders grinned as he began placing more cuttings on Miller’s desk. Photo after photo, article after article of smiling, happy DWP staff members, with their names printed beneath the photo, handing over cheques to local charities.
“And who are these ones?” asked Miller, not quite grasping the point.
“By my calculations Sir, these are his next victims.”
*****
Granada Reports broadcast the exclusive interview with Kath Palmer at 6pm, and it went national on the ITV national news at 6.30. The heart-breaking news package aired for seven minutes. In the hard-hitting report, and interview, the reporter Mike Johnson started the report with a warning. He said “viewers will find this report extremely upsetting.” He had deliberately dropped the usual “some viewers might,” warning. As far as he, and the Granada producers were concerned, this report, on this unforgivable act of evil would upset everybody who saw it.
The report began with footage of the merciless attack. CCTV images were shown of the attacker, and Kath Palmer at the bus stop. She was standing in the shelter, minding her own business, reading her Kindle. Behind her, about two metres away stood a man with a hood concealing his identity. He was just leaning against the glass.
Mike Johnson added his voice-over to the very normal looking CCTV feed.
“Last Tuesday evening, Kath Palmer, the mother, the wife, and grandma that you can see here, was standing at this bus stop, reading a book, when this man changed her life forever.”
In the CCTV footage, the road suddenly became clear, all the traffic had passed by. There were no pedestrians in sight. The man stepped forward towards Kath, lifted an axe above his shoulder, and then swung it with incredible force. The TV screens in the Granada region faded to black, forcing viewers to imagine the next frame of the footage. The black screen stayed in vision for several seconds, accompanied by silence.
Eventually, the black screen faded into a much happier image, a photograph of Kath laughing with a friend, then, a few seconds later, another joyful moment was shown as a photo of Kath appeared, she looked happy, and content as she cuddled the family dog. A few seconds after that, another photo appeared, this time, Kath was dancing at a do, looking like she was having the time of her life.
The screen went black again, and slowly fa
ded into video footage of Kath now, lay flat in her hospital bed, crippled by that stomach-turning, senseless act of violence. The lady looked thoroughly depressed, and beaten.
“Kath, it is so upsetting to come here and see you in this condition. How are you feeling?”
She had tears in her eyes. They seemed to be there permanently.
“I’m trying to stay positive. That’s all you can do, isn’t it?” She tried to smile, but it didn’t look convincing, as a tear rolled down her cheek and betrayed her brave attempt to make it look as though she was coping.
“What are the doctors saying to you about your injuries, Kath?”
“Well, you know, they’re trying to keep my spirits up, they’re so lovely. But it’s pretty obvious that I’m going to be lay down in this position for the rest of my life.”
The reporter looked shocked. There was an awful, long, difficult silence. To his credit, Mike Johnson kept it in his report. It really hammered home that even a TV news reporter could be lost for words.
“What would you like to say to the man who did this to you, Kath?”
Kath thought hard about the question. She was staring up at the ceiling tiles. Eventually, she spoke.
“I’d just… I just want to say that, you need help, love. You need to get help. Please, just hand yourself in and the police, the authorities will be able to help you.”
There was another heavy silence.
“And what are you focusing on now, Kath?”
Without hesitation, Kath replied. “The ceiling.” She managed to smile at her wise-crack.
“I mean, what’s keeping you going right now.”
“Nothing. Nothing is keeping me going.” Kath began openly crying, and she didn’t look anything like the happy, fun-loving lady in the photographs that the programme had just aired. “The worst thing about this is, I’ve been saving up to take my grandchildren to Florida. They’ve been so excited, and I just can’t bring myself to tell them that we can’t go now. I can’t.”
Another tear appeared on the screen, but this one was Mike Johnson’s.
*****
Miller had missed the ITV News and Granada Reports broadcasts, as he’d raced up to his boss, DCS Dixon’s office to request extra officers as soon as Saunders had revealed his exceptional news.
“Andy, you’re at your strongest capacity. There’s literally nowhere else to seat additional officers!” Dixon was surprised by the request. Miller explained the newspaper cuttings to his boss. “We need twenty-four-hour police protection on all of these people. One of these people is going to be next, Sir.”
This was a staggering development. The thought that the next victim was smiling back from one of the newspaper articles on Dixon’s desk, was extremely disconcerting to both senior detectives.
“There are thirty-six people there. We need to work out an action plan of how we are going to guarantee their safety, whilst laying in wait for him to come after one of them. Now that the army are guarding the DWP buildings, and based on the fact that Stewart Grimley was attacked yards from his home, we have to make the assumption that he is going to be attacking them at home from now on. This is a massive head-start on that.”
“Andy, I know…”
“But the big job is finding enough armed response officers to man thirty-six addresses, whilst staying hidden and discreet. If he gets a sniff of this, he’ll stop, and disappear. We can’t muck this up. We get one shot at this. And I need thirty-six armed officers on duty twenty-four-seven, until this evil little prick presents himself.”
Dixon stared hard at the various pictures, then up at Miller. “This is going to be a big problem, Andy. I don’t think we can…”
“Sir, I’m not having another DWP employee being hurt by this sick fucker. So, phone the Chief Constable, and tell him to arrange support. He can call in favours from neighbouring forces, if needs be. We’ll be able to borrow some bodies from Cheshire, Merseyside, Derbyshire, West Yorks, South Yorks, Lancashire. Pretend it’s the Tory party conference in Manchester again, we somehow managed to find thousands of extra officers for that, didn’t we? I’ll tell you now, Sir, there’s absolutely no way we are playing Russian Roulette with a single one of these faces.”
“Okay, Andy, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Well, I’m holding a team briefing in fifteen minutes time. I suggest you ask the Chief Constable to attend.”
*****
Miller’s team-brief started at 18.30. He wanted the entire team to know about this game-changer, at the earliest opportunity. He didn’t want to wait until the following morning to share this momentous development. He was pleased to see that Dixon, and the Chief Constable had made it.
“Okay, guys, listen up, this is the breakthrough we’ve all been waiting for. And its Detective Inspector Keith Saunders who has worked his magic once again! So, without further a do, I’ll hand over to our wonderful DI, and he can explain.”
Saunders stood before the fifty or so colleagues, and felt a little nervous that the Chief was stood there, looking extremely pissed off. It took Saunders ten minutes to bring the entire team up to speed with his discovery. He began flicking through the file of potential victims, in front of the group.
“There are thirty-six people in here. One of them is going to be crippled, or maimed, or blinded by this sick bastard if we don’t intervene. That’s everything, for now. I’ll hand you back to DCI Miller.”
Saunders walked away as a round-of-applause broke out, instigated by Rudovsky and Kenyon. He looked like he was cringing.
“Top man Keith,” said Miller as everybody settled down. “Okay, well, this is a phenomenal discovery, and if we play our cards right, it’s just a matter of time until we bring him in, and avoid any further attacks. I’d like, if I may, to ask the Chief Constable to let us all know what plans he has to staff this operation, as it is going to be massive.”
The Chief Constable looked irritated by Miller’s unexpected invitation to speak, but he stepped forward anyway.
“Yes, very good detective work there DI Saunders, very impressive. Now, as you’ll all be aware, we are extremely short-staffed at present, and the pressure on our workforce is unprecedented, as we deal with our own work, and the resulting short-falls of other public service agencies such as social services, mental health and so on and so forth. This operation is going to take an enormous amount of resourcing, and that is what we are working on presently. My staff are currently in the process of contacting neighbouring forces to see if we can loan some officers. I have cast the net wide, between Scotland and the Midlands, from coast to coast. I will have more information tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Said Miller, aware that he’d annoyed the Chief by dropping him in it, but completely care-free about the matter. Nobody ever gets anything from brown-nosing, except shit on their lip. “Our major head-scratcher now is regarding the thirty-six people that DI Saunders has identified as being at immediate risk from this attacker. I propose that before any of us leave here tonight, we contact each and every one of them, and explain the information as we know it.”
“Sir, that’s going to terrify them!” It was Rudovsky, predictably, who had shouted out.
“Yes, Jo, I know that. But I’d rather we are honest, and tell them, so they can make every effort to protect themselves, than to do nothing, and then try and cover it all up after they’ve been attacked.”
“What are you going to say?”
“What are we going to say, you mean? We need to do this as a matter of the utmost urgency. So, you can all listen to me do the first one, and then a lot of you will have your own call to make.”
Miller pulled the first article out, and held it up. “DI Saunders has even been on the DWP HR database and pulled up their contact details. Okay, everyone, gather round, and listen carefully to what I say to this potential victim.” Miller held the picture up again. It was another charming photograph, with a huge cheque made out for £692.96 to “Child Action North-West.”
The cheque was being held by a very good-looking brunette in her forties, her name was Tina Mooney.
Miller’s phone was on loudspeaker. He dialled Tina’s number and it started ringing. She picked up after a few rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is that Tina?”
“Yes?”
“Tina Mooney?”
“Yes. Who’s that?” She sounded very friendly and bubbly.
“Tina, my name is Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Miller, from Serious Crimes.”
“Oh, I know you, you’re leading the investigation, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s right. Well, that’s what I’m ringing about, actually.”
“Oh?” Her voice wasn’t so bubbly now. There was a definite sound of fear creeping in.
“Well, are you sitting down?”
“Aw God! What’s…”
“Are you sitting down, Tina?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m afraid that there is some very important information I have to share. We are worried that you may be targeted by this attacker.”
Tina broke down, understandably, and began crying and sobbing. A man’s voice could be heard. “What’s up? What’s up, love?” The man sounded very concerned.
“Tina, listen to me, you’re going to be okay. This is good news, because it means we can protect you. The only thing is, I can’t…”
“Who is this?” shouted the man down the phone. It made Miller, and several of his officers jump with fright.
“I’m DCI Miller, are you Tina’s husband?”
“Yeah. What’ve you said to her, she’s shaking like a shitting dog.”
“I’m still in the middle of explaining it. Can you put her back on, please?”
The man could be heard comforting his wife. “Here, love, simmer down, eh? This DCI wants to speak to you. I’ll put it on loudspeaker. You’re alright.”
“Tina?” said Miller softly. She still sounded extremely distressed.
The Final Cut Page 20
