*****
The trick had worked. Within minutes, the creepy looking, computer-generated black and white sketch was being circulated all around Greater Manchester, and beyond, as the instant online news channels released the photo-fit across their social media platforms. The picture of the man who didn’t exist, was going viral.
“I know this guy, can’t think how though!” Said one Facebook user who shared the image.
“Oh God, this guy gives me the creeps!” announced another.
“If you know this sad, pathetic individual, phone the police right now. Sick bastard!”
The image had become the story, and the sad loss of Curtis Kennedy’s life was not even mentioned, which was all that Miller could have hoped for. That was a conversation for another day, under different circumstances.
By the time that Miller got back up to the office, he had to reorganise his staff, and put six of the officers on the phones, answering the calls from members of the public who recognised the man in the sketch.
Once he had checked that his team were making progress with their tasks, Miller went into his office to organise the following morning’s dawn raids. During his meeting with Dixon and the Chief Constable, he had been given the highest level of support for his plans. The Chief Constable had said “whatever it takes Andy, the world’s media are focused on us right now, and I want that to stop as soon as possible.”
Whether he was genuinely keen to see an end to the DWP attacks, or whether the Chief Constable was talking selfishly about the non-stop press intrusion that he’d been experiencing since he had made his damning remarks about the government, Miller wasn’t sure. He was just glad to be able to pursue these arrests with the necessary staffing and skill levels required for it to pass off safely.
Things were finally moving, and he felt supremely confident that this case was about to be cracked. He was absolutely desperate to get the four men in custody, and find out what the hell was going on. Once he had alerted the various departments, including numerous Inspectors whose tactical aid units he needed, and the various armed response superintendents, Miller settled down into compiling the interview questions for each man. He looked at his watch, and was filled with a warm glow, knowing that in less than twenty-four hours, he’d be grinning at the four men. The four men that he guessed would be laughing their heads off, mocking his total ineptitude right now.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Monday
It was 6.05 am and Miller was feeling good. All four tactical aid teams had sent back positive reports from each of the addresses where the dawn raids had been carried out. The four suspects were all in police custody, under armed guard, and the two vehicles had been seized and were on low-loaders, headed for the forensics lab. This news excited Miller, and also put his anxieties to one side. He’d been nervous that something might go wrong, always a risk when dealing with people of this calibre. If any of the arresting officers had been hurt, or worse, he’d have to shoulder some of the blame, mentally at least.
But it had gone remarkably well. There had been no resistance, and all four had been home, fast asleep. It was as straight forward as these things could be. The previous day’s stunt with the photo-fit picture had obviously played a blinder, and had conned the four suspects that the police weren’t on their tail.
But they’d been spectacularly wrong, and now, they were all on their way to separate police stations for questioning. Miller was absolutely determined that they wouldn’t be leaving the police stations any time soon, unless it was in a G4S truck, taking them off to their remand centres.
“Okay guys, positive news, all four detained, without incident.” Miller was shouting across the office floor, towards his regular staff team of Saunders, Rudovsky, Chapman, Worthington, Kenyon and Grant. The elation was clear on Miller’s face.
There was a cheer on the SCIU floor. That same, dreaded expectation of trouble had clearly been nagging at the rest of the detectives. It was time for a deep breath. The number of guns on the streets of Manchester, particularly in the hands of people like these four, didn’t bear thinking about. It was a great relief to hear that this major operation had passed off without incident.
“Right, down to business. Lenny Cole is on his way to Ashton nick. Linton Cole is going to Swinton. Daniel Hart is joining the custody suite at Longsight and Simon Wilson is going to be looked after at Pendleton. As soon as they are checked in, our twenty-four clock starts ticking. Are we all ready?”
“Yes!”
“Do we know what we’re doing?”
“Yes!”
“Is this a bit cringey?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, let’s get busy. I’ve compiled a report for you all, relating to each suspect, and I’ve got a series of questions for you to take with you. Saunders and Grant, you’re questioning Simon Wilson.”
“Sir!”
“Rudovsky and Kenyon, I want you to look after Daniel Hart. He’s the youngest, and his record has the pettiest offences, criminal damage, ABH, witness intimidation etc, so I think he’s very immature. He should be an easy one for you to mess with Jo.”
“Sir.”
“Linton Cole is being interviewed by Worthington and Chapman.”
“Sir.”
“I’m going to be available via text message, so if anything crops up that you’re unsure about, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will be interviewing Lenny Cole, over at Ashton.”
“Sir!”
“Now listen, before you go, I want you to all take a good look at this lad in the suitcase. Burn that image into your mind’s eye.”
“Sir.”
“And I want you to look at these pictures of Kath Palmer, paralysed, and Jason Brown, lost the use of his arm, and Gary Webster, won’t stand up again, and Margaret Wilkins, blind.” Miller was touching the photo of each victim. “Remember these people, and the awful situation they are now in. I want to know why, I want to know what the fuck this is all about, and I want to know today.”
“Sir!”
“Great stuff. Good luck, and don’t forget these.” Miller handed each of the three teams their reports. “Before you set foot in the interview room, I want you to know all this stuff off by heart, and backwards. Right, go on, speak later.”
*****
Miller was the first to start his interview, shortly after 7.30am with Lenny Cole. It wasn’t going well, Lenny Cole, a huge black man, built like a heavy-weight boxing champion looked completely impervious, he didn’t seem remotely apprehensive about the interview. He just sat there with a huge grin across his face, displaying the whitest teeth that Miller had seen. He was unnervingly calm.
“No comment.” Was his cheerful reply to every question thrown at him.
“Why did you take Curtis Kennedy away from his house in Hattersley?”
“No comment.”
“Where did you take him to?”
“No comment.”
“Was Curtis Kennedy a drug dealer?”
“No comment.”
“Why was your vehicle spotted in Hattersley on the night Curtis Kennedy was abducted?”
“No comment.”
“Is Hattersley a place that you visit frequently?”
“No comment.”
Lenny Cole gave the same, confident, relaxed response to dozens of questions. If this man was worried about his involvement in the abduction and murder of Curtis Kennedy, he wasn’t showing it. Miller wasn’t getting frustrated, but he was disappointed that his interview was concluded just before 8am.
“Interview terminated at seven-fifty-eight. That’s all of my questions for now, but I will have some further questions later. You will have to be locked up until I am in a position to interview you further.”
“Yeah, no worries man, take your time. I’ll get my head
down, not used to getting up so early!”
*****
At Swinton police station, on the opposite side of Greater Manchester, it was exactly the same s
cenario for DCs Chapman and Worthington as they interviewed Linton Cole, Lenny’s younger brother.
“Why does your name keep coming up in relation to the abduction of Curtis Kennedy?”
“No comment.”
“Are you responsible for the murder of Curtis Kennedy?”
“No comment.”
It was clear to Worthington and Chapman that this big, massive guy knew the drill. It was not his responsibility to help the police by answering their questions. It was the police’s job to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Linton Cole was involved, and that he was responsible for the abduction and murder of Curtis Kennedy. This guy obviously knew that answering questions would do nothing more than help the police to build a case against him. He was not commenting, that much was for certain, as his interview also ground to a premature conclusion after just twenty-five minutes in the interview room.
“Interview suspended at zero eight hundred hours. You’ll have to go into a cell until we resume this interview later.”
Worthington was visibly frustrated by Linton Cole’s evasive interview technique. He really wanted something good to take back to Miller. But there was to be nothing good to report from this fruitless interview.
“Yeah, yeah, I know the score man. Just try and be quick though yeah, I’ve got badminton tonight.”
*****
Saunders and Grant were a few miles up the road, at Pendleton police station, more commonly known as Salford precinct. They were interviewing Simon Wilson, the driver, and owner of the Range Rover that had been stopped and searched in Sheffield, just an hour and a half after Kennedy had been spotted in the ginnel behind Kerry Taylor’s property in Glossop.
He was an old-school ‘Jack-the-lad’, the kind of man who had dozens of women on the go. It was obvious that he fancied himself a little bit. He had a twinkle in his eye for DC Grant. He was trying to exude his confidence, and presumably, this tactic was the reason that he had declined the offer of a solicitor to be present during his interview.
“Can you tell us why you travelled to Sheffield on Friday night please Mr Wilson?” Asked Grant.
“Yeah, my mate was feeling a bit upset, women issues, he wanted to talk, you know, needed a bit of a shoulder to cry on. Unluckily for me.”
“Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. Why were you in Sheffield?”
“I’ve just said, I was just listening to my mate’s problems. I was just driving him around. Listening to his sob story.” Wilson smiled widely at Grant. He seemed quite taken with her.
“That seems like a strange thing to do. Where did you start your journey?”
“At his house.”
“And to confirm, you are talking about Daniel Hart?”
“Yes.”
“What is your relationship with Mr Hart?”
“We’re just mates.”
“But you work together, is that right?”
“Well, work together, no, we just hang out together.”
“What is the line of work you do?”
“Security consultant.”
“And does Daniel Hart work with you in this role?”
“Sometimes. Look, he’s just a mate who’s been going through a tough patch. I can’t really see what the issue is here?”
“Do you have any injuries on your body at the present time Mr Wilson?” asked Saunders, snapping Simon Wilson out of his cosy, pointless conversation with Grant.
“Any… what do you mean any injuries?”
“Well, it seems a perfectly reasonable question. Very straight forward.”
“No…I’m, no I don’t have any…”
“Do you know if Daniel Hart has any injuries on his body?”
The smug expression was starting to fade. “I don’t know… you’d have to ask him about that. Look, what’s this all about, I’m starting to get the fucking hump with all these stupid questions.”
“Well, we are investigating the murder of a young man, and you seem to be linked to the offence. We’re just going through…”
“Murder, are you having a laugh?”
“No. Not at all. I’m deadly serious.”
“How the fuck am I linked to some murder, then?”
“Well, there are a couple of things, but your vehicle is currently being examined by forensics officers, so we’ll probably have more to go on later.”
“Ha ha, brilliant! You mean you’ve got fuck all to go on, and you’re praying for me to make a confession to a murder I haven’t done? Good one.”
“Has Daniel Hart got an injury on his body?”
“I don’t know!”
“Has he had a bleed that you know of?”
This question definitely rocked Simon Wilson’s jowls.
“A bleed, no, I don’t know of any bleed. Like I said, ask him.”
Grant took over the questioning as Wilson looked as though he was becoming stressed.
“So, you drove over to Sheffield to listen to Daniel Hart’s troubles…”
“Yes, how many times.”
“You chose a peculiar route home.”
“You what?”
“One of South Yorkshire’s ANPR cameras picked your vehicle up, coming along the Woodhead Road, back towards Manchester. It just seems a funny route to take.”
“We were just on a drive…”
“But I’m curious as to why you didn’t come back the way you went? You added an extra thirty-odd miles onto your journey by going across to Barnsley, after you’d been stopped by police.”
“I dunno… oh, it was because I didn’t want to go through the road-block again.”
“Why not?”
“Why… because I can’t stand being mithered by police.”
“But you told the officers who stopped you that you were going to pick your daughter up from Sheffield University?”
Simon Wilson was on the ropes. That had been a juddering blow. He looked down at his lap. He was becoming agitated. Saunders decided that he and Grant had revealed just enough information for now. He thought that it would be a good idea to get Mr Wilson into a cell, and let him stew for a few hours. Let him work out for himself that he was absolutely fucked.
But before he did that, Saunders wanted to prod him again. This was going to be the head-wobbler.
“Can you tell me why this CCTV camera has footage of Curtis Kennedy getting out of your vehicle on Wednesday night, in Shaw?”
Wilson’s head definitely wobbled.
“And why this footage shows him getting back in, forty-five minutes later?”
There was no reply. Saunders placed the photograph on the table.
“This footage was captured from CCTV at the Spar store on Oldham Road. That is your car, isn’t it Mr Wilson?”
“Nah, listen, this is a fit-up. I’m not saying anything else, it’s a fucking stitch up. You lot have been gunning for me for years. Now you’re trying to blag some bullshit murder bollocks on me. It’s not going to stick, I’ll tell you now.”
Saunders smiled. “I’m not happy with what you are telling me Mr Wilson. Your story just doesn’t add up. We have reason to believe that you went up to Sheffield after dumping a suitcase which contained Curtis Kennedy, into a stream, and that you somehow guessed that there would be a heavy police presence in Glossop, so you went back via Barnsley in order to evade the police. But you didn’t count on us giving the police in Sheffield a buzz, did you?”
“Yeah, whatever you say officer.”
“Right, I’m going to carry out a few more enquiries to see if that is the case. Interview suspended at zero eight forty-five hours. Okay, let’s get you in a cell for a bit while we check your story out. You might want to think again about not having a solicitor present when we reconvene.”
Wilson was led out of the interview room. He looked considerably less confident than he had done when he’d entered, and the flirtatious manner that he’d displayed for Grant had vanished completely. It was as though a different man was leaving the room.
*****
Rudovsky and Kenyon had been asked to hang fire with their interview until Miller gave the nod. They were sitting in the interview room at Longsight police station, desperate for the go ahead. It was frustrating for the two detectives who were absolutely pumped up and ready to get going with Daniel Hart.
Miller had wanted to see how the other three interviews panned out first. He suspected that Daniel Hart was the weak link, and he wanted the chain breaking at the earliest stage.
Just after nine, Rudovsky’s phone finally started ringing.
“It’s the gaffer. Hi Sir,” she said.
“Hi Jo, thanks for hanging back. Is your phone on loudspeaker?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Hi Pete.”
“Hello Sir.” Said Kenyon.
“Right, quick heads up. I’m glad you’re going in after the rest of us. Saunders and Grant have given Simon Wilson a judder.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he started off being a bit cock-sure of himself, but they’ve dropped a few hints that he’s in deep shit. They’ve suspended the interview, and now I want us all to play a game of chess between these two.”
“Go on.”
“Well, there’s nothing too dramatic going on at this stage, but Wilson’s been banged up for a bit of a stew, so there’ll be fireworks when he goes back in.”
“Interesting. Sounds positive.”
“Yes, well, we’ll see. But I want you to add a few more questions to your list.”
“Go on, I’ve got my pen.”
“I need to know if Hart denies working with Wilson. For some reason, Wilson has denied it. Also, I want you to start a psychological game on Hart, asking how much he trusts Wilson. You know the drill, start getting in his head, make him paranoid. Finally…”
“Yes?”
“It’ll be a bit later in the interview, but, we need to know where the suitcase came from. We’ll see if the answers match up.”
The Final Cut Page 30
