ROAD TO NOWHERE : DCI MILLER 3: Another Manchester Crime Thriller With A Killer Twist

by Steven Suttie

  “You having a brew then mate?”

  “Yeah, nice one cheers. Coffee please, one sugar.”

  “Tea alright?”

  “What… er, yeah. Cheers.”

  “Not been shopping yet. In fact, I’ve not been shopping for fucking weeks! I’ve been sanctioned haven’t I?”

  “Sanctioned?” Dan managed to pull off his most concerned, most enraged face. “You?”

  “I know, yeah. They’re fucking sanctioning everyone. I’m telling you, Hitler did less than what these fucking Tory bastards are doing to people like me. They’re all gonna be sorry though, the day we fight back.” Kev’s rant had no soul to it. The words all came out in the right order, but they lacked the conviction. There was no passion there, it just sounded like the same, tired bullshit that everybody else was saying, but nobody really meant. Dan was amused by the Hitler remark though, and wondered if Kev had much knowledge of history. He managed to keep his amusement concealed.

  “They are taking the piss, no two ways about it.” Said Dan, exhaling a gust of exasperation. Kev seemed satisfied by the response. He threw a teabag in a mug that clearly needed a rinse, at the very least. Fucking hell, thought Dan, knowing that he’d have to drink from the disgusting cup.

  “So, go on, what’s all this about Tania? What’s that fat bitch done now? If she owes any money for that house – you won’t get jack shit off me. Look at me, I’m broke as a joke.”

  “Well, they reckon the damage was twenty grand.”

  Kev threw his head back and looked genuinely impressed at the figure as he laughed loudly. “Twenty grand!” He began shaking his hand and clicking his fingers manically, as though it was still nineteen ninety five. “Give me a grand and I’ll sort it out. Them builders are having you on! Twenty grand? Don’t take the piss!” He laughed again, seemingly pretty chuffed with his notoriety, and his name being connected to the twenty grand price tag. If only he had a mate he could boast to, thought Dan.

  Dan understood people like Kev, he’d worked with them for enough time to see the world from their perspective. He didn’t condone the stupidity of their actions, but he certainly understood them. Dan knew that inside Kev’s brain, it would make perfect sense for the builders to employ him to sort out all the damage he’d caused, saving themselves nineteen grand in the process. There was absolutely no point trying to debate or discuss things like this with people like Kev. Dan just agreed.

  “You’re not wrong. I had a door replaced on the Ridings estate, the bill was nearly two grand!”

  “You get me?” shouted Kev, clapping his hands together. “Fucking piss take mate, you know it, I know it, the fucking builders know it too! All the tax payers know it. It’s a fucking blag mate.”

  “You’re bang on! Public-money laundering of the highest order!” said Dan, smiling.

  Kev stirred his teaspoon around in the cup, then threw the teabag in the direction of the bin. “One hundred and aye tay!” he exclaimed loudly as it slithered down the wall and flopped into the bin.

  “Shot!” said Dan, feeling the need to move things on. Kev handed him the cup of tea, complete with dried mouth debris all around the rim. Oh for fuck’s sake, thought Dan as he felt his gagging reflex stir. He managed to calm himself and fought back the vomit.

  “Go on then, what’s up with Tania?”

  “Oh, right, yeah.” Dan was glad of the opportunity to think about something other than the disgusting cup of tea

  that was in his hand. He placed the cup down on the kitchen worktop and looked Kev in the eye. “I was shocked to hear that you guys had separated.”

  “Nah, she had it coming mate. Better off without the bastard.” Kev sounded completely flat, and the tone of his voice gave away the fact that he was gutted that Tania wasn’t around.

  “So where is she living now?”

  “What, I’m not fucking grassing on her. She might be a fucking cunt mate, but I’m not.”

  “No, no I don’t mean that. Nah, I’ve told you – I’m not working for Bury Council, I’m not connected to them.”

  “So why are you asking all these questions about Tania for?”

  “Well, look. I’m worried about Rachel and Mick.”

  “Rachel and Mick? Pair of fucking muppets. What you worrying about them dicks for?”

  Dan was thrown by Kev’s response. He wasn’t aware of any animosity between them. He looked surprised, and Kev saw it too. “They deserve everything that’s coming to them.”

  “Well, yes, but the guy they murdered…”

  “He was a fucking fruit and nut bar as well. Honestly, I felt like I’d landed in another country up on that estate!”

  “I know, yeah, anyway, I’m after a word with Tania about all this. Do you think she might talk to me?”

  “What for? I might be able to help you.” Kev had an irritating habit of slowing down the natural flow of a conversation and Dan was starting to get a bit stressed out. He reminded himself that he had absolutely no business being here, and would have to try and roll with all the bullshit. His smile remained unaltered as he replied to Kev.

  “Well, yeah, cheers. I really appreciate that. But Tania knew Suzanne quite well didn’t she?”

  “You can fucking say that again.”

  “Eh? What do you mean?”

  “Well, that’s why Tania has fucked off innit? That Suzanne gave her a shit load of money and now I don’t know where she is. Even our Brett won’t talk to me.”

  “Money? What do you mean…”

  “That Suzanne – she got a shit load of money when Rachel and Mick killed her husband. Life insurance, savings, selling the house. We’re talking millions in the bank.”

  “And Suzanne gave Tania some of that money?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. They reckon Tania has fucked off to Portugal. And I’m left here, on the bones of my arse.”

  “Shit, I’m really sorry to hear that, Kev.” He wasn’t.

  “Yeah, well, its one of them in it? I’m not arsed though, at least I’ve got my fucking integration though, innit?”

  “True.” Said Dan, looking down at the floor and trying hard not to smile out of sheer excitement. This was big news. Bigger than big. This was outstanding. But Dan somehow made it sound as though he felt gutted for Kev.

  “Hee yar, I got a letter off her. I’ll just get it.” Kev wandered past Dan, and into the living room. Dan stepped forward with the brew and tipped it silently into the sink.

  “So were they big mates then, Tania and Suzanne?” asked Dan as he placed his cup in the sink, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the rim.

  “Fuck’s sake. Can’t find it now. What was that?”

  “I said, your Tania, and Suzanne, were they big mates like?”

  “No, not really. They only got talking to each other a few weeks before Rachel and Mick got arrested. But they were all as thick as fucking thieves, the lot of them. They were meeting up every other day, whispering and all that shit. I thought they were up to summat – but obviously it all stopped when the dibble came and took Rachel and Mick off to the cells.”

  “What was the letter about?”

  “Oh, she was trying to make out that I was the reason we split up. Just bullshit mate, I think she was trying to do my head in to be honest, because she sent a photo of herself sat on the beach with a bottle of champagne, laughing. On the back of the photo she wrote summat like “Wish you were… what was it now, wish you…”

  “Wish you were here?”

  “Wish you were dead. That was it.”

  Chapter Six

  “Flipping heck, it really is a nice place for a bike ride! I might get a bike and come riding it round here, once I know what’s happened to Sergeant Knight of course.” John, the police driver was desperately backtracking on his clumsy comment. He was supposed to be helping DCI Miller with his major-priority VIP missing person enquiry, not airing whimsical opinions on the local countryside.

  “It’s the Queen’s favourite part o
f Britain. She owns most of it round here. They say she’ll retire here!” DS Lisa Talbot was gushing, her pride in the local area was unmistakable.

  “The Queen?” asked Miller, huffily. “She’ll never retire. What is retirement age for a Queen anyway?”

  “Speaking of which, this exact spot here, this is the Queen’s favourite view. It was The Queen Mum’s too.” DS Talbot was nodding to herself, as she took in the magnificent panoramic view of the countryside that was lay out in front of the police car as it negotiated the bend at the top of Quiet Lane and began descending the steep hill that meandered down to the Inn at Whitewell.

  “The incident room is just at the bottom of this hill, John,” said Talbot.

  Within a few minutes, the police car was parked up and both Miller and Talbot were heading into the huge mobile police incident room, which was basically a glorified single decker bus.

  “Ah, DCI Miller, a pleasure to meet you.” Said a middle aged police man, looking almost congratulatory as he stepped towards Miller, and dazzlingly smart in his parade uniform.

  “How do you do…?” Miller had an eyebrow raised, in a bid to ask who he was speaking to. It was clear from his uniform that the man was an Inspector, but Miller knew nothing more. The policeman picked up the hint.

  “My name is Inspector LeGrove, I’m the geographical Inspector for the Ribble Valley area. This disappearance is on my patch…”

  Miller couldn’t help but think that this kindly looking Inspector was somewhat excited by all of this activity in his usually sleepy constabulary area.

  “Okay, pleased to meet you. As you know I’m DCI Miller from Manchester. I’ve been put in charge, I believe?”

  “Yes, quite…”

  “This is DS Talbot, Sir,” said Miller gesturing the tall lady stood by his side. Inspector LeGrove looked away from the DS, as though he knew who she was. Miller thought it was rather rude of the Inspector, but smiled inwardly as he observed that DS Talbot looked at the Inspector with an expression that was equally as unimpressed.

  “So,” said Miller. “Where is everybody?”

  “Ah, yes, of course. The owners of the Inn at Whitewell have kindly handed over their function room. We are free to use that, until tomorrow if needs be.” Inspector LeGrove looked pleased with himself.

  “Show me,” said Miller as he stepped off the mobile incident room steps and walked noisily and confidently across the stone chips towards the two hundred year old Inn. The local police Inspector had no alternative but to quicken his step and chase after the DCI. It was a gesture that improved DS Talbot’s first impressions of Miller. She followed too, trying, but failing to hide her amusement at the spectacle.

  “Right,” said Miller as soon as he entered the huge room that was used for wedding ceremonies and parties and was currently bustling with roughly thirty police staff. “I’m DCI Miller. Close the doors, instruct the hotel’s staff to mind their own business and listen to me.”

  An uncomfortable quietness descended on the room. The people within the grand hall looked at the DCI as he continued talking. “Look around, look at one another. Do you all recognise each other as police staff?”

  The people of both sexes, of varying ages and rank were mildly embarrassed as they looked around at one another.

  “If any of you don’t recognise somebody in this room, tell me now. I don’t know anybody, so I could be in a room full of journalists for all I know.”

  The police staff continued to look around at each other, some more smiling uncomfortably.

  “So we are all confident that everybody in this room is here on police business?”

  The group were nodding quietly, awkwardly.

  “I SAID,” shouted Miller, “are we all happy that there is nobody in here that shouldn’t be?”

  “Yes, Sir!” came a loud chorus of voices. They’d all finally understood Miller’s invitation loud and clear.

  “Right, that’s better. Now look around once again. What do you see?”

  “Colleagues” shouted a lone voice.

  “Good, that’s right,” said Miller. “And we’re all here because one of our colleagues went out yesterday and never made it home. It’s our job to find out where he is, and get him back home for his egg and chips. We have got until, let me see,” Miller checked his wrist-watch. It read 10.06 a.m. “We have got roughly seven hours to find Sergeant Jason Knight. If we fail to find him by five o’clock this afternoon, then let’s be brutally truthful here - he’s probably dead.”

  Chapter Seven

  Miller was inside the big white bus which was covered in the illuminous yellow and blue checks, and emblazoned with the words “Lancashire Police Mobile Incident Room.”

  There was a small interview room at the rear of the vehicle. Miller was sitting in there with Inspector Neil Hood, a man who theoretically could have all the information that Miller needed to solve the puzzle.

  “Okay, warts and all, I want to know everything there is to know about our missing cyclist.”

  “What difference is this going to make?” Sergeant Knight’s divisional Inspector from Bolton was not too impressed with DCI Miller’s tone. But that did not matter a jot to the senior officer. The atmosphere was heavy.

  “Come on, this isn’t the time to fanny about. Answer my questions or just get the fuck out of this bus. I’ll talk to somebody else.”

  “All I am saying… I can sit here for thirty minutes droning on about Jason, I can tell you what you already know… but I’m more concerned with getting out there and finding out where he is.”

  Miller raspberried with his lips. He was sure that this Inspector, who had come up here uninvited, kitted out in his North Face hiking coat and Berghause walking boots, was acting stupid.

  “I need to build a picture of him from his close colleagues. I need to try and identify a reason why he may have disappeared, if that is what has happened. Now, I don’t know the guy. I’m not as emotionally involved as you are. So, deep breaths, listen to the voice of reason and please, help me to find Jason, by just answering my questions.” The DCI couldn’t hide his frustration at the Inspector, who really should be acting in a more professional manner, thought Miller.

  “Okay, let me see… he plays a bit of Rugby, he cycles, a lot, he’s averaging around two hundred miles a week I hear, he wants to do Lands End to John O’ Groats for charity. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t really go out – if he does go out, it’s to the theatre or the cinema with his wife. He does a bit of boxing at a gym in Cheetham Hill, he has two children, six and eight, boy and a girl. He has an exemplary work record, he’s well respected, good team player. His wife is a lovely woman, she works in the NHS, and as far as I know, they get on very well with everybody. Now, I doubt that is what you were hoping to hear Detective Chief Inspector Miller, but none the less, facts are facts.” Inspector Hood was being extremely sniffy and it was seriously annoying the DCI.

  “What makes you think that I want to hear anything contrary to what you’ve just said?”

  “Because the facts that I’ve just presented you with don’t stack up to a hostage situation, do they?”

  “I haven’t said a thing about a hostage situation. I haven’t ruled anything in or out. I’m personally hoping that he has broken his leg and the helicopter will find him lay in a ditch any minute now. But, make no mistake, there are a hundred possibilities of what might have happened here. Counter Terrorism are monitoring this case extremely closely Inspector Hood. You should be mindful of that. We all need to have wide open minds about what has happened to Sergeant Knight.”

  “I know that. But…”

  “But what, I’m wasting your time?”

  “Well, yes. Frankly, yes. All this was discussed with Lancashire CID through the night. You’re just covering old ground, and it would make more sense to be out there, looking for him.” Inspector Hood began fiddling with his zip on his breast pocket. Miller let the comment hang in the air.

  “Thanks for your help.” Mi
ller stood, and left. His voice, his body language left Inspector Hood under no illusion that he had seriously annoyed the DCI. But the Bolton area Inspector couldn’t care less. He stood too, and followed Miller off the bus.

  *****

  “Hello, is that the BBC?” said the kitchen porter into his mobile phone. He was standing by the river at the rear of the Inn at Whitewell. He was talking quietly, and his voice gave away a certain excitement.

  “Yes, BBC North. Can I help?” asked the operator.

  “Yes, I’ve got a pretty big story for you.”

  “A story? Go ahead…”

  “I know why all the police are down here,” announced the cocky sounding teenager.

  “What exactly are you talking about?” asked the man on the phone. He sounded quite irritated by the youngster.

  “There’s thousands of police here, I know why they are here, I know what’s going on.”

  “I’m sorry… I have no idea what you are talking about. I’ll put you through to North West Tonight’s news room.” The line went dead and then a ringing tone could be heard. Eventually, somebody picked the phone up and began speaking.

  “Newsdesk?” said an abrupt sounding lady.

  “Hello,” said the youngster, just a shade louder than a whisper. “I’m ringing up about what’s going on in the Trough of Bowland, there’s thousands of police here, helicopters all flying about. It’s meant to be a secret, but I know what’s going on, I heard them talking…”

  “You heard who talking?” asked the lady. She sounded posh, like somebody off the telly.

  “The police, they were having a big meeting in the wedding suite where I work. I can tell you what’s happened, I just listened to everything - but I just want to know how much money we’re talking?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How much do you pay, for exclusives like?”

  “Well, we don’t… I mean… I can’t really…”

  “This is a major big story this, I’m telling you now.”