“How does Marco have access to police radio?”
“Marco can get his hands on anything he wants. He’s got loads of police radios. Every time one of your officers claims they’ve lost one, you can pretty much guarantee that Marco ends up finding it.”
“What’s Miggy’s address?”
“I’m not sure, we never went to his address. We’d meet him at bus stops or in ginnels and stuff around Haughton Green. Always somewhere low-key, no witnesses.”
Miller was writing pages of notes as Hart spoke. It was all starting to sound a bit unlikely, and he was beginning to think that he was being led up the garden path with this.
“We have a significant problem with your story Daniel. We only have evidence placing you at the murder scene. When this comes to court, Wilson’s defence team are going to argue that you were the one who dumped the suitcase, and their argument will be strong, because there is evidence linking you to the location. There’s nothing connecting your mate to that place, other than being in the car, seven miles up the road at the roadblock. I need you to think hard, and give me something that proves Simon Wilson was there. We’re going to interview him again in a bit. I need something that will trip him up, without mentioning that we know the full story.”
“Okay, well, he took a shit at the church, just in the bush near the back door.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, seriously. Go and check.”
“We will, well, I won’t but I’ll send someone along. My days of looking in bushes for turds are behind me.”
“Don’t look at me!” said Rudovsky. There was a brief halt to the tension in the room.
Miller had been desperate to ask his next question, but had decided to hang-fire until the end.
“When I came in here, you made a rather strange comment, you said that this was all my fault. Would you like to expand on that?”
Hart blew out a big breath. This was going to be the moment of truth. The point of no return.
“You were seen looking around outside Marco’s mill, a couple of weeks back. Then Marco heard that you were asking a few people a few awkward questions.”
Miller looked surprised. He’d always taken a great pride in how discreetly he conducted his enquiries. He had been at the mill, trying to figure out a way in, for the forthcoming raid on the address. That was true. But he’d stayed well out of sight, hidden at all times by shrubbery and foliage. It wasn’t as if he’d been pulling on the gates or climbing over the barbed-wire topped, steel-spike fence.
“That’s true, I have been carrying out certain enquiries. But I’m surprised that it came to Marco’s attention.”
“Nothing gets past Marco. He’s got the whole building locked down, there’s CCTV in the fucking bushes outside. He’s obsessed.”
This really was a surprise. Miller looked mildly embarrassed by the announcement.
“Okay, so, I hold my hands up, I have been investigating Marco MacDowell, and his illegal cannabis farm. We’ve known about it for several months, every time the helicopter goes up, they joke about the building being on fire because of the effect the place has on their thermal imaging kit.”
“He’s always wondering about that…”
“The thermal imaging?”
“Yeah, he’s put loads of heat-reflective sheets all around the walls and windows. But he was always paranoid that it would still leak past.”
“Oh, it leaks out alright. The building glows up orange because of the heat that’s in there, it would be less obvious if he erected a two-hundred metre-high arrow with the words “cannabis factory” written on the side in illuminous yellow glitter.”
Hart grinned. It was the first sign of him relaxing since Miller had entered the room half-an-hour earlier.
“So, anyway, back to me. How the hell are my investigations into Marco MacDowell linked to the murder of Curtis Kennedy, and the DWP attacks?”
Hart breathed in sharply. This was another difficult moment. “Well basically, the whole point of it was to get you off his case.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that Marco MacDowell has organised the attacks on the DWP staff in order to stop me investigating his drug factory?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Miller exhaled loudly. This was becoming more and more bizarre by the minute. He looked at Rudovsky and Kenyon. They too seemed to be struggling to follow the logic.
“But surely, he mustn’t have thought that I’d just forget about him. He can’t seriously believe that he can get rid of me just like that?”
“Well, yes, he did do, didn’t he?”
Miller smirked at Rudovsky and Kenyon. This was completely insane. After a minute of thought, he decided to speak again. “Well, he’s got a shock coming now, hasn’t he? Because I’m back on his tale, so it was all completely pointless, wasn’t it?”
“No, it wasn’t. Can’t you see. He’s done this to distract you, while he dismantled the factory. He’s sold all the growing kit, he’s sold all the weed. He’s even sold the fork-lift trucks and the vans. Seriously, he’s closed it down, he’s made millions in the last week. His factory doesn’t exist anymore.”
The look on Miller’s face said it all. He had been well and truly mugged off. He felt as though he’d been winded.
“Where is he now?” asked Rudovsky, filling in for her boss as he tried to come to terms with that devastating announcement.
“Marco? He’s dust. His plan was to make as much cash as he could, and as soon as it looked like the factory was coming on top, he planned to cause a massive diversion, and set off into the sunset, early retirement. Why else do you think he was so obsessed with running such a small team, and putting thousands of CCTV cameras up? He’s had something like this planned for years. It was originally going to be prison officers that were going to be attacked, but when he saw the shit that the DWP were doing to people, he thought they’d be an easier target, and it would really push you lot off his back.”
Miller looked like he had dealt with the initial shock, but he hadn’t really. His head was spinning, he couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t upset that Marco had disappeared, that wasn’t the issue at all. His thoughts were on Kath Palmer, and Jason Brown, and Gary Webster, and Margaret Wilkins. And Curtis Kennedy. He was struggling to comprehend that the trail of unspeakable violence, against some really lovely people, was not about the DWP cuts and sanctions at all.
Marco MacDowell had just hijacked a cause, in a bid to divert attention away from himself for a while. It was evil, and Miller really couldn’t remember feeling so appalled by such selfish and heartless behaviour. The crime gangs generally kept their nasty activities amongst themselves, it was rare that an innocent member of the public became a victim. The idea that the DWP staff had been injured so seriously, so mercilessly, as part of a stunt, really didn’t sit well with Miller. He felt as though he was going to be sick.
“I need a break.” Said Miller. Stop the tape.”
“DCI Miller is leaving the room. Interview suspended at 15.25.”
Chapter Forty
Miller had been standing outside the interview room for several minutes when Rudovsky came out to see where he was. He was stood, holding the wall in a standing push-up position. When he saw Rudovsky, he quickly dropped his arms and began wiping his face. Miller had been crying.
“Alright boss?”
He wasn’t alright, that much was obvious.
“Come on Sir. You alright?”
Miller resumed his standing position, leaning against the wall as though he was trying to push it down. He didn’t speak, and Rudovsky felt hugely uncomfortable in this awkward, thick silence.
Eventually, he spoke. “How am I going to break this to Kath? How the f… how the hell am I going to go in there and explain that she’s going to be staring at the ceiling for the rest of her life, because some evil little cunt wanted to get one over on me and sell all his drugs?” The tears were forming again in Miller’s ey
es. He continued talking. “He could have just gone. He didn’t need to do this.”
“Sir, I….”
“Kath’s of the view that this was down to a mental illness problem. She’s trying to find peace in that, trying to tell herself that it wasn’t malice, it wasn’t personal, it was just one of those things. It was bad luck. This is going to kill the woman, Jo.”
Rudovsky was speechless. She couldn’t think of anything to say to comfort her DCI.
Miller stayed like that for a moment, before pulling himself together. “I promised her that I’d catch the bastard that did it, and that’s what I’m going to do. Go in there and find out when MacDowell left town. I also want you to find out what the Cole brothers involvement was in all this. Finally, get some info that is going to upset Wilson, details of crimes he’s committed. He’ll know something, they can’t help themselves from bragging.”
“Sir.”
Miller wiped his eyes and his face and looked at
Rudovsky.
“Hay-fever.” He said.
“Bullshit.”
Miller didn’t smile, where normally he would at one of his DC’s cheeky remarks. “See you in a bit. Got to make some calls.”
*****
One hour after Miller had learnt the truth about the sadistic crimes he’d been investigating, he’d managed to rationalise his feelings, and get his head around the vile trap that he’d fallen into. Those initial feelings of outrage, humiliation and guilt were now receding. He knew that he had plenty of time to indulge himself in those feelings, but that would have to wait for the time being. Miller had his work cut out. His first task was to contact the Home Office’s Border Force, and request a database search for Marcus MacDowell on the exit check records.
This database contains the names, addresses and travel documentation details of all passengers leaving the UK. He also needed the man behind the attacks, Jamie Miggins, aka “Miggy” bringing in as a matter of the utmost importance and DI Saunders had been given his instructions to find out every detail about the man, and organise his detention at the earliest opportunity.
Miller had contacted his opposite number, the DCI in Sheffield, and requested his CSI officers go and search for Wilson’s excrement in the bushes around the back of the church. The DCI was happy to oblige, which pleased Miller. There was a very good chance that DNA typing could be obtained, linking Wilson to the exact location where the suitcase trail began. It was fingers crossed on that, and there was a good bit of relief that Miller and his team wouldn’t be required to get “hands on” with that aspect of the investigation.
Miller was about to contact Dixon to provide an in-depth update on the day’s developments, when his phone rang.
“DCI Miller.”
“Ah, good afternoon, its Brian Oldham, Border Force.”
“Hiya Brian, got anything?”
“Yes, it looks like good news for you.”
Miller felt his heart-beat quicken. He felt his face tighten.
“Yes please!” said Miller with a smile.
“Marcus MacDowell has nor presented himself at any British port since 2015, his last recorded journey leaving the border was Manchester to Amsterdam, and he returned three days later. There are no records of him leaving the UK since that time.”
Miller punched the air, and said “yes” through clenched teeth. It meant that MacDowell was still in the UK, and could be put on an international travel ban immediately.
“That’s amazing. Unless…”
“Unless he’s sneaked out with fake ID?”
“Precisely.”
“That’s probably not the case DCI Miller.”
“I know, I know, but we can’t be 100% sure, can we?”
“Well no, but we can be 99.9% sure.”
“How come?”
“He’s booked on the 19.50 flight from Liverpool John Lennon airport to Marrakesh, flight number FR3028, this evening.”
Brian Oldham, the Border Force officer had just given Miller the best news that he had heard for years.
“You absolute beauty Brian. Thank you so much!”
“It’s alright, happy to be of assistance.”
“Is he travelling with any companions?”
“No, it doesn’t look like it, just one ticket was booked on the flight. The booking was made online, last night at 23:18.”
“And was that the first available flight to Marrakesh.”
“I’ll just check…” There was a moment of silence as Brian checked his system logs. “Yes, there is one flight a day to Morocco out of Liverpool.”
“Are there any flights from Manchester to Marrakesh?”
“Yes, several a day.”
“So, he’s specifically chosen to fly from Liverpool, thirty miles away.” Miller was thinking out loud.
“That’s often the case. They seem to think that smaller airports have smaller security systems. Most northern criminals choose flights from Liverpool, or Leeds Bradford. It always makes us laugh.”
“Excellent. That’s so good, well done mate.”
“I hope it goes well.”
“Oh, it will. Just do me a favour, put Marcus MacDowell on your watch list, he’s wanted for murder and several violent crimes. It’s just as an added layer of insurance.”
“No problem. That’s done now for you. As soon as MacDowell presents himself at any UK Border Control, the officers will see that he can’t travel, and they’ll detain him.”
“Excellent. Thanks a lot Brian.”
Miller was confident that with MacDowell on the Border Force’s watch list, he wouldn’t be able to slip through the net. It occurred to the DCI that if MacDowell was prepared to go to such sickeningly violent lengths to divert attention away from himself, it was perfectly reasonable that this scum-bag was capable of booking a flight that he had no intention of catching, to distract any police that might be waiting to ambush him.
*****
“Keith, alright?”
“Oh hi Sir. I’ve got all the info on Jamie Miggins. Just setting up an armed response and tactical aid team now, Tameside are getting back to me in the next few minutes.”
“And there’s nothing on radio?”
“Nothing Sir, it’s strictly off-air.”
“Okay, good.”
“Is that why you phoned?” Saunders could tell that Miller’s mind was on something else.
“No, as soon as you’ve got that boxed off, I want you and Grant back in the interview room.”
“Oh? Developments?”
“Oh yes. Lots.”
Miller spent five minutes bringing Saunders up-to speed with everything that had turned-up since the two had last spoken. Saunders was impressed. Things were moving at the pace he liked.
“Okay, I’ll chase Tameside up now, and see what’s what.”
“They need to take the prisoner to North Manchester Custody Suite.”
“No problem.”
“Okay, get the rest of the interview done, then get Wilson in bed for the night, and call me. We’ve got a big night on.”
“Sir.”
*****
Simon Wilson had been going over things in his mind. It was made obvious by the stressed, jaded look on his face as he was led into the interview room. Grant and Saunders could not mistake the change in his demeanour from the last time they’d met seven or so hours earlier, in this same room.
“Okay, we’ll start the interview now, if that’s okay?”
Wilson nodded to DC Grant, and she read him his rights and explained the interview procedure again.
Once the official stuff was done, Saunders launched straight in. “We think you were talking a lot of shit to us this morning. But it’s okay, because its shit we want to talk.”
Wilson looked confused.
“You do know that we’ve got your DNA on file from the last time that you were arrested?”
Wilson nodded.
“Do you understand the implications of that?”
He n
odded again.
“And do you understand that it is possible to take DNA traces from human excrement?”
He didn’t nod this time. He looked confused again.
“Mr Wilson, did you have a plop anywhere on Friday night?”
“What?” It looked as though the penny was starting to drop.
“Did you get caught short?”
“What…I…”
“You see, we’ve found a poo that contains your DNA profile. It was discovered remarkably close to the location where Curtis Kennedy’s body was discovered.”
“Plus, Forensics have found traces of Curtis’s blood in your vehicle, along with small traces of his urine in the boot.”
“Are you still suggesting that this is a stitch up?”
There was no reply. Wilson was just staring impassively at the table-top.
“It’s quite ridiculous saying that we’re stitching you up, when we have your car’s tyre marks at the church car park. We also have your turd at the church. We have your travelling companion’s blood on the stone in the field, plus the victim’s blood the rear-seat upholstery in your car. Let’s see, what else, do we have?” Saunders looked at Grant with a wide smirk on his face.
“Don’t forget the bungee tie that was found by the spare wheel. Looks identical to the ones which were used to wrap the suitcase, the one which was used to kill Curtis.”
Wilson didn’t respond. He was stressed, no doubt about it, but it seemed as though he wasn’t prepared to allow these two coppers to see him cave in. There wasn’t a hint of remorse.
“Would you like to try and explain why we have these major pieces of evidence which link you to the murder of Curtis Kennedy, beyond all reasonable doubt?”
“No comment.” Wilson was staring down at his lap now.
“Well, I think that’s enough for now.” Said Saunders.
Wilson looked up. “Am I being charged?” he asked.
“Not yet. We’re confident we’ll get even more conclusive evidence from your car. I’m surprised that you’ve allowed yourself to take the blame for all this on your own, though.”
The Final Cut Page 33
