Panic swept through the airport, as hundreds of families dumped their belongings, grabbed their loved ones and began running away from the danger. There was screaming and crying and shouting. It was total chaos. The airport staff had all hidden beneath their check-in desks. The only people remaining in the airport lobby were the undercover police officers and MacDowell, and Amber’s family. The young girl was still screaming and wriggling and trying to kick the man who had her in a head-lock. Her little brother was crying uncontrollably.
The Merseyside DCS was hearing all this on his radio, and he had video from CCTV. He recognised that this needed a swift conclusion. “This is Gold Command. Do we have a clear shot of the hostage-taker, over?”
The radio crackled. “This is Firearms Sergeant Wilson. We have a clear shot, head area only, over.”
“This is Gold Command. The girl must not be placed in any danger. Permission to fire when absolutely safe to do so.”
“Received over.” Said the Firearms Sergeant. He then spoke to his officers. “Who has the cleanest head shot, as far away from the hostage, over?” The officer sounded calm, and collected. There was no hint of panic present in his voice.
“This is Firearms Officer 232, Sir. I have a clear shot, estimating forty, that’s four-zero centimetres clearance from hostage. Over.”
“Permission to fire when confident to do so.”
On the airport floor, MacDowell was still shouting his orders. “OPEN THESE DOORS, AND NO TRICKS. I WANT TO BOARD THAT PLANE R….”
The shot had been silent. The top of MacDowell’s head exploded, and he fell to the floor. The nearest police officer ran towards him and grabbed Amber, scooping her up and sprinting away from the dead man, shielding her face so that she couldn’t see what had just happened.
Within seconds, a dozen police officers were surrounding the body, assessing whether CPR was required. It was very quickly established that this gunshot wound was not consistent with life. As the pool of dark red blood expanded over the polished floor, it was soon apparent that MacDowell’s brains had just been blown out of the back of his skull, a necessary, emergency course of action to protect the little girl.
It was all over.
Chapter Forty-Three
Rudovsky arrived home just after 9pm. She was tearful.
“Hiya love,” said her girlfriend, Abby.
“Alright?” Rudovsky sounded flat.
“I’ve had Sky News on all night. Bloody amazing work! Well done!” Abby sounded excited. But her excitement soon changed to concern when she saw Jo’s face.
“Love, what’s up?”
Rudovsky sat down and pressed mute on the remote. The Sky News reporter was standing outside Liverpool John Lennon airport. The reporter looked excited, waving her arms around as she spoke to the camera, describing the drama that had occurred just a few hours earlier. Soon, the screen changed, and Rudovsky was looking at herself, and her boss DCI Miller as they presented an emergency press conference to reveal the news that the DWP attacks were finished.
“What’s up Jo, come on love.”
Rudovsky felt emotional, and her eyes were welling up. Abby’s affectionate concern had tipped her over the edge. She started rubbing Jo’s arm. “S’up love? You should be buzzing, from everything that was said at the press conference. I thought you’d be buzzing, love.”
“I’m just… I’m feeling pretty shit.”
“Why?”
“Because it was all for nothing. Obviously, we didn’t say nowt in the press conference, because it’s all got to be a secret until the court case. But, basically, it was just a piss-take. The guy who was shot, he set it all up to get Miller off his tail. He knew that if somebody started attacking DWP workers, Miller would be put on that case. It gave him enough time to clear out his weed factory.” A tear rolled down Jo’s face, and Abby wiped it away with her thumb.
“And now, I just can’t stop thinking about the victims. Especially Kath. She’s a gorgeous woman. And… aw God, I just can’t cope with it…”
Abby hugged Jo, and held her close. It wasn’t like Jo Rudovsky to get emotional, but Abby could see that she was really feeling this case. And it was raw.
“Come on Jo, it’s not your fault. At least you got it all sorted pretty quickly. It’s an amazing result.”
“I know, I know.” Jo laughed nervously. It wasn’t amusement, she just felt very embarrassed and vulnerable, crying openly like this. She took the tissue that Abby had offered her and blew her nose.
“Don’t feel stupid Jo. Not in front of me.”
“Do you know what the worst thing is?” She asked, dabbing her eyes with the tissue.
“No, what?”
“Well, not only was it all for nothing, but it’s all just going to carry on. That’s the end of the story now. But the fucking horrible bastards who run this country will carry on treating the poor just as badly, and the public will go back to pretending they can’t see it. I feel so fucking conned, and let down, and confused.” Rudovsky started crying again.
“Nah. The government haven’t long left now, Jo. They’re as much use as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest, mate.”
“Yeah, I know. But they’ll still sanction the one-legged man and everybody will just ignore it again. They’ll say it’s his own fault for only having one leg. I fucking hate what half of the people have become in this country. Self-righteous, self-obsessed freaks with their ‘I’m alright Jack’ attitude.”
“Well, do what I do, Jo.”
“What’s that?”
“Start a petition on Change.”
Epilogue
The crimes which shocked the nation were soon forgotten about by the media, as other news stories about sleazy politicians, tax avoidance schemes, insane Presidents, cowardly acts of terrorism and Brexit once again took over the front pages and the top-of-the-hour headlines.
But life would never be the same again for Kath Palmer, or for Jason Brown, Gary Webster and Margaret Wilkins. They were left to face a life of misery and disability, and were sadly, very quickly forgotten about by the general public, with the exception of Stewart Grimley, the man who had escaped serious injury thanks to his IKEA chopping board. He went on to appear in Celebrity Big Brother, and with his dog Barney, began a lucrative career advertising insurance policies for pet and personal injury cover, using his catch-phrase “As luck would have it.” He no longer works for the DWP.
The Crown Court in Manchester heard the case against Simon Wilson and Jamie Miggins. Wilson was found guilty of the murder of Curtis Kennedy, and was also charged for his involvement in the DWP attacks. He was sentenced to a minimum of twenty-seven years.
Jamie Miggins pleaded guilty to all five charges of attempted murder against the DWP staff, and was sentenced to a minimum of seventeen years in prison. With the death of Marco MacDowell, his side-kicks Simon Wilson and Jamie Miggins became the living faces of the atrocious crimes.
Daniel Hart was cleared of all counts. The jury accepted Hart’s version of events, that Hart was only there for a drive out, and had pleaded with Wilson not to kill the young man. The Witness Protection deal which had been organised enabled Hart to present evidence against Wilson, via video-link. Hart denied all charges of being complicit in the DWP attacks. He is now settling into a new life working as a postman in Springfield, Missouri.
The Cole Brothers never faced any charges for their involvement in the disappearance of Curtis Kennedy. There was insufficient evidence to build a case, as Kennedy’s mother and sister refused to give evidence against the two gangsters.
The British government continue to torment and attack the poor and vulnerable, ramping up their hatred to a new level with the roll-out of Universal Credit, which is creating even more misery and homelessness, more addiction and ultimately more death amongst the poorest, and neediest. The government maintain that their benefit reforms “are working.” The people that they are designed to “help” are not working, and you can find them in most c
ity-centre doorways, soup kitchens and food-banks.
Many people look back on Britain’s recent history with a sense of utter disbelief. One example being the general election of 1964. Just a few weeks before the Supremes were topping the UK charts with their best-known track “Baby Love,” the Conservatives were running an election campaign with the slogan “If you want a nigger for a neighbour, vote Labour.”
Now, some fifty or so years on, most rational thinking people genuinely cannot comprehend this type of language or attitude as ever being acceptable in Great Britain, let alone an election slogan. It is right that society now looks back on that time with a great deal of shame and embarrassment.
In a similar way, fifty years from now, when the true scale of the horror is reported as fact, and all of the data has been collated, people will not be able to comprehend the despicable way that Britain, one of the richest countries on earth, treated its frailest, poorest and neediest citizens between 2010 and ????
The End
The Final Cut Page 35
