Fortunately, Miller’s gestures towards the chopper seemed to have been understood very clearly by the pilot, and he quickly began retreating away from the area. Miller was relieved, but also extremely angry. But that would have to wait. He walked along the road, up to the giant wooden gate that concealed the white van. Peering through the gap, he saw what so many other of the officers had seen. It was definitely the right van.
The van that had smashed Sergeant Knight off his bike.
The van that had transported the injured cyclist back from the middle of Lancashire, and had been spotted on CCTV outside the flats. This was the van. Splattered with blood at the back. The sight of that dried blood sent a shiver down Miller’s spine.
Miller walked back to the ad-hoc rendezvous point that by natural configuration had become base camp. Two tactical aid police vans, a police dog car, an ambulance and the ARU Range Rover were all parked in a square formation.
at the rear was a fire engine which was on standby to provide access to the roof space, should it be required. All this was just a hundred metres or so from the abandoned mill that very probably contained Sergeant Jason Knight.
Miller walked into the middle of the group of officers that were huddled together.
“Hello everyone, I’m DCI Miller.”
The various ranks of police officers, paramedics and fire officer nodded. The “stay quiet” tactic was being respected brilliantly, even though Miller was still furious about the helicopter. That stunt would definitely have alerted the occupants of that mill that something was going on outside.
“What do we know?” asked Miller, looking at the Tactical Aid Sergeant stood closest. The large, six foot, sixteen stone, strapping policeman looked desperate to engage in the impending raid on the premises. He began speaking quietly, his pent–up adrenaline was given away by the speed of his speech.
“We’ve mic’ed the place up as best we can, there’s not much going on in there. Occasionally, we hear a sharp intake of breath, sounds as though it’s a gasp of breath, through teeth.” The sergeant demonstrated, sticking his teeth out and inhaling heavily, making the sound he was trying to describe.
“Just that?” asked Miller, desperate to hear the officer say that the coast was clear and that nobody else was there.
“We’re not sure. The mics are some distance away, so it’s not an exact science. The one thing that we do know, somebody is in there.”
“Thanks.” Miller looked to his left, back down the long straight road that ran parallel to the railway to the front, and the canal to the back. It was almost silent on that industrial road, and Miller wondered how it was possible that such a massive presence of people could possibly remain so quiet. It made him feel proud, and it gave him a tingle, especially when he considered that the van’s discovery had only been phoned in twenty-five minutes earlier.
“Right. Well done, this is absolutely first class. Have we got anybody by the rear, guarding on the canal towpath?”
“Not sure, Sir.”
“Okay, well, if you can organise that. Out of sight, but get some of your men round there in case he swims for it.”
“Shit, yeah. Right away, Sir”
The sergeant turned and marched away, heading straight towards his officers, leaning in and whispering the instructions, using his hands to demonstrate the logistics.
Miller turned to the Firearms Inspector. “I’m thinking that he’s done one. That sound is probably Sergeant Knight. We need to get him medical intervention – that has to be our over-riding priority.”
“Understood Sir.” The Inspector was whispering, nodding as he spoke.
“India Nine Nine is en-route,” said Miller. “We’re going to fly over, low down, and communicate wth Peter Meyer through the megaphone. While India Nine Nine are telling him to come out, the place is surrounded, the heat seeking thermal imaging kit will ascertain if there is one or two bodies. If they say its one, we’ll smash the doors off and in we go. If they say there’s two, we need to start negotiation bullshit.” Miller’s face said it all.
“Let’s pray for one thermal impression, Sir.”
Miller looked up, he thought he could hear a chopper. He hoped to God that it was India Nine Nine and not that bloody TV news crew again. Within a few seconds, Miller was delighted to hear the familiar, reassuring boom of the police chopper’s rotor blades chopping furiously through Manchester’s night sky.
“Okay, this is it.”
“Standby.”
The noise grew louder, and louder, until the deafening sound of the helicopter was all you could hear, and feel. India Nine Nine was hovering just one hundred and fifty metres above the derelict mill. The white-noise of the helicopters’ engines and blades was soon added to by the voice of the police officer on board, the powerful megaphone on the base of the aircraft was soon drowning out the whack-whack-whack of the rotor blades.
“This is Manchester City Police. We have the building completely surrounded by armed officers. Come out of there with your hands above your head. I repeat, come out of the building now. Armed officers are about to enter.”
Miller was rooted to the spot, watching the drama overhead when his radio crackled alive. “This is India Nine Nine to DCI Miller. Over.”
“This is Miller. Over.” Said the DCI, quietly into his handset.
“Yes, Sir - we have thermal imagery for one person, I repeat one person inside the location. I must warn you Sir, it’s a very weak heat source that we are receiving. Over.”
“Shit. Okay. You are sure there is nobody else in there? Over.”
“No, Sir. There is only one heat source. It appears to be on the ground floor location, it’s situated to the left hand side of the building. It is not placed in front of any doors or stairwells. But I repeat, the person is not very warm. Aerial advice is to proceed urgently with medical support over.”
“Thank you. Over.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Maureen Birdsworth was in her living room, looking out of her tiny flat’s window, watching the gang of youths on the corner of the walk. They were congregated under the street lamp, and they looked like they were up to no good as usual. Maureen was keen to see what they were getting up to. If they were planning on breaking into this block of flats again, she’d be ready to phone one of the lads from downstairs. They’d soon get them on their way, no doubt with some force. She hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, she absolutely hated any hassle on the estate, but it was getting worse, and the police hardly ever bothered coming up here nowadays, anyway.
Maureen was lost in her own bubble, watching these lads messing about. Some were doing stunts on their bikes jumping up and down the kerb, or doing wheelies down the steps. Another was bouncing a football up and down against the floor repeatedly. A few others were throwing stones at the streetlight, and making big “yes!” cheers when one of them banged against the orange glowing bulb. They looked like they were fifteen, maybe sixteen, and definitely bored. The council had managed to get Lottery funding to pay for an all weather 3G sports pitch which was fully flood-lit and free for them to use. “It’ll keep them out of mischief” was the mantra that had attracted the funding. But somebody in one of the nearby houses had become so sick of the noise that the hundreds of youths were making every night, and had doused the entire thing in some flammable liquid. Then, in the dead of the night, they’d tossed a match on it and scarpered into the shadows, as the toxic fumes filled the air. “Half a million pound super pitch - up in smoke!” screamed the local newspaper headlines. The youths were quickly back to making a nuisance of themselves all over the estate. Nobody ever admitted to starting the fire.
Without realising it, Maureen’s mind was completely free of all the hassle that had been wearing her down for these past eight or nine months. She gasped suddenly, startled by the phone ringing, and looked up at the wall clock. It was nearly nine. Who the hell was ringing at this time? She wondered as her insides flipped, and a panic hit her tummy. What�
�s wrong? Rachel? One of the kids? Aw God, I can’t take any more heartache, she thought, as she walked through to the small hallway by the front door, and picked up the handset.
“Double five three nine.” She sounded scared.
“Maureen. Hiya, it’s Dan.”
“Oh. Bloody hell. Aw, let me sit down a minute. God, I shat myself then Dan, I was, God I thought something was wrong.”
“Sorry! I didn’t think. I should have text you to say I was going to ring…”
“No, no. It’s alright, I’m relieved. It’s usually bad news if someone rings after the soaps. Anyway, what’s up?”
“Well, I was going to phone you tomorrow. I saw Kev today, that obnoxious character who lived next door but-one to Rachel and Mick.”
“Oh right, yeah, I remember you saying you were going to see him…”
“Yes, well, it’s good news I think… Tania has left him, she’s moved to Portugal.”
“Portugal?”
“I think so. I’ve a bit more digging to do, but it sounds to me as though Suzanne has given her a pay-off.”
“What?”
“Exactly. I just need to prove it now.”
There was silence that lasted just a little bit longer than was comfortable.
“And, well is that why you phoned?” Maureen was intrigued as to why Dan had phoned her tonight, at such an hour.
“Oh, sorry, yes, no, that’s not why I phoned. I wondered if you were watching Sky News?”
“No. I don’t think I’ve got that one.”
“You have. Everyone’s got it.”
“Why, anyway?”
“I thought you’d be interested to see our mutual friend DCI Miller on the TV. He’s looking for that missing
Sergeant.”
“Oh, I don’t follow the news Dan. It’s all boring to me. But I thought he’d been suspended?”
“No. That’s what I wanted to say, all that in the paper about him being under investigation over our case was wrong.”
“Oh. That sounds like a step backwards to me.” Maureen couldn’t hide the sound of irritation in her voice. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Maureen? Are you alright?”
“You shouldn’t have phoned me up about this Dan. I’m all wound up now, love.”
“Oh, er, right. Well, sorry Maureen. I just thought you’d want to see Miller on the telly…”
“No, Dan. I don’t. If I never see that smug bastard again, it’ll be too soon. Good night.” Maureen put the phone down on its cradle and felt the familiar, hot sensation in her eyes, as tears of sheer frustration and bitterness burnt the skin of her eyelids and her cheeks. She’d thought that they were actually getting somewhere – that somebody was sitting up and listening. But, if Miller was on telly, working, then it was obviously not the case. Nothing had changed. Maureen had never felt so helpless in her entire life. That brief interval this afternoon had been a pleasant respite. But as the time had ticked on, and the silence of the lonely flat got louder, and her thoughts turned to her four grandchildren who were feeling just as desperately miserable in the children’s home, she was soon reminded of how crap life was. It was such a shit time, and Maureen really did wonder if she had the strength the make it through to the other side, if indeed there was ever going to be another side at all.
A few minutes passed. Maureen had made a brew, and was back at the window, hidden from view behind the net curtain. The gang had gone now. She scanned up and down the street, but couldn’t see them. It was all quiet out there now. They must have gone over to the shops, she thought, they’ll be terrorising people up there, now. Little gets. Maureen decided to sit down and stick the telly on, but the phone started ringing again.
That tension, that stress hit Maureen’s guts again. It must be one of the kids. Or Rachel. Something’s happened to Rachel. With a heavy feeling in her chest, Maureen walked back across to the hallway and lifted the receiver to her ear.
“Double five three nine.”
“Hello. Is that Mrs Birdsworth?”
“Yes, speaking. And I’ve not had an accident, I didn’t buy PPI Insurance, I don’t qualify for free insulation, I’m happy with my electricity suppliers and I already give monthly direct debits to three charities. Besides, it’s gone nine and it’s illegal to ring folk up after nine!”
“It’s Sandra. Sandra Jones. Styal Prison. We spoke earlier.”
There was an awkward silence for a moment. “Oh, bloody hell. Right, God. Bloody hell, thank, I mean thanks for phoning me!” Maureen was embarrassed that her sarcastic telesales speech was mistakenly heard by the lady that had been so kind to her earlier that afternoon. “God, I feel right daft now!”
“Oh, don’t be. I’m just annoyed with myself that I haven’t thought of saying that! We get about three calls a night here!”
“Aw, well. Thanks. For phoning, I mean. That’s amazing! So good of you.”
“Not at all! I wanted to apologise properly about my colleague. He’s such a dick. We all hate his guts, the staff, the inmates. He’s a horrible man. Even his wife thinks so, she’s shagging one of his colleagues from G Wing. Everybody knows about it. Except him, mind.”
Maureen laughed loudly. That little bit of gossip really cheered her up, after being on the receiving end of his horrible behaviour earlier today.
The two women would spend the next twenty five minutes chatting like old friends on the phone. Maureen spoke about her worries and concerns about her daughter Rachel, and her son-in-law Mick, and the kids. Sandra put her mind at ease. The prison officer talked about how it was a real pleasure
to have inmates like Rachel to work with, and told Maureen about a few of the more troublesome characters that were in the women’s jail out in Cheshire, not so far from Manchester Airport. The two women seemed to be getting along well, and Maureen really wanted to thank the kindly prison officer for such a generous gesture earlier in the day, and for phoning her this evening too. They talked a little longer, before they agreed to meet up the following day. Maureen wanted to treat her to a spot of lunch.
When Maureen finally put the phone down, she realised that she couldn’t wait to go and meet Rachel’s prison officer. She seemed such a lovely woman, and it was a massive reassurance that Rachel was being looked after by somebody with such compassion. For the second time that day, Maureen caught herself smiling, and feeling a weird, strange sensation that she’d long since forgotten. She wasn’t sure if it was happiness or what, but whatever it was, it had been too long since she had experienced this phenomenon. Maureen was singing a song under her breath as she tidied up her cup and plate, and turned everything off in the living room.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“We are still waiting to hear the very latest news from Manchester City Police regarding that major incident which our Sky-copter managed to capture pictures of. As we wait for the latest information, let’s take a look at these pictures again. Just to re-cap, these images were taken a little earlier on, around about ten minutes ago – our pilot was asked to leave the location and as you would expect, we have no wish to cause any disruption to this very live, very dramatic situation. We are extremely confident that this location is of significant interest to the missing police sergeant case which we have been covering for most of the day here on Sky News. Sergeant Jason Knight, the forty-one year old police officer who lives in the Bolton area has not been seen, or heard from since lunchtime yesterday. Now, a map of the location of this mill is up on the screen, there we are, we are looking at Whitelands Road, an industrial area, and in particular, this mill here by the junction with Texas street. As you can see, there is a quite considerable police presence around this location, and it does seem to us that police officers on the ground are getting ready to storm that building, any moment.”
*****
Miller marched across to the “base camp” set-up that had been hastily thrown together as the various vehicles and emergency services teams arrived at this lonely, eery ol
d forgotten road.
“Okay, we’re going in. There is a cold body in there, at the rear of the ground floor, canal side, to the left. It’s not giving much of a heat source to the thermal imaging unit so we need to hurry up.”
“What’s the plan Sir?” asked the Inspector who was overseeing the ARU teams.
“I want tactical aid to reverse a van straight through the front doors, just demolish that front section. As soon as it’s smashed, pull forward, and I want Armed Response in
there first, just to double check that nobody else is there. India Nine Nine are confident that there is only one heat source but if the suspect heard the chopper, he could easily be hiding in a metal bin or something similar that would shield his heat source.”
“Sir.” The Inspector looked eager to get on.
“As soon as you give the all clear – we need to get the medics in there.”
“Sir, understood.” The paramedic’s first responder was turning to brief his staff, and the doctor.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
Within seconds, the engine of one of the huge dark blue “Tactical Aid” police vans exploded into life. The noise brought with it a great sense of fear and anxiety for all of the emergency service staff on the scene.
The van set off quickly, and then pulled up in front of the mill, before launching into what looked like the first stage of a three point turn. Once the back of the van was facing the large, old wooden doors of the mill, the driver put his vehicle in reverse and pressed hard against his accelerator. The wheels screeched as the van set off travelling backwards on its ten metre journey.
The crunching noise of the collision suggested that the van hadn’t been successful in defeating the doors. The driver drew the van forward again, and put the gear into reverse once again. The second impact was much more audible, and the cloud of dust that appeared around the rear of the vehicle made it clear that the doors had been breached this time.
ROAD TO NOWHERE : DCI MILLER 3: Another Manchester Crime Thriller With A Killer Twist Page 19
