Once the laughter had subsided, Grant continued. “As you know, we’ve seized his PC, his phone and his work i-pad. There’s nothing on any of them which arouses any suspicion, like threatening texts or e-mails, or iffy websites he’s been looking at. Nobody we’ve spoken to can explain what’s gone on or offer any kind of plausible theory for what happened. We’ve found no criminal links in his past, no domestic problems in his present, his post-mortem showed no signs of drug or alcohol abuse. I hate to say it boss, but it looks like a worse-case scenario. The facts that we have are pointing towards a motiveless, random attack.”
Grant was right. This was the worst-case scenario. The idea of a random attacker carrying out such an horrific attack on a perfect stranger was unthinkable.
Rudovsky nodded, she knew that the facts pointed towards the conclusion that Grant had just suggested. But she wasn’t happy to accept that just yet. “We need to keep going, keep digging, turn Graham’s private-life upside down. I’m just not prepared to accept that this was a totally random act, the level of violence just isn’t consistent with that. The severity of the injuries tells us that this was an attack powered by raw hatred and passion. We don’t stop looking into this man’s life-story until we know for certain that Graham Hartley should receive a post-humous award for being the nicest bloke ever. Okay?”
“Sarge!”
“No problem, boss.”
“Ma’am!” said Chapman, trying as always to piss his new superior off.
“Imagine how much physical effort would go into battering another person to death with a golf bat. We all know how exhausting it is to do shadow boxing for 60 seconds from our PT examinations. Imagine what went into swinging that bat. 38 separate swings of it, using every ounce of strength you could muster. In fact, I want to prove a point on this.”
Rudovsky walked across to the corner of the incident room, where all of the team’s tactical equipment was kept. She began throwing police-issue batons to each of her officers, which they caught, whilst looking at her with quizzical expressions. With the last one thrown in DC Grant’s direction, she instructed her officers to spread out and start attacking the seat of their chairs, with as much power as they could muster, thirty-eight times.
“Come on, I want you to hold the baton in two hands and whack your chair as hard as you can. Imagine it’s David Cameron’s head.”
After a few dubious looks, they finally got started after following DC Kenyon’s lead. Each member in the SCIU department, Rudovsky included, went about hitting their chairs as hard as they could. They were all keeping individual count as each powerful whack from the batons rebounded loudly against the soft foam inside the upholstery. If anybody walked in here now, they’d be excused for thinking that the SCIU detectives had lost the plot.
But it was a good exercise to carry out, that much was clear from the exhausted, out-of-breath and sweat soaked detectives as they finished battering their chairs thirty-eight times. They were all knackered, including Rudovsky and Grant who were widely acknowledged as the fittest members of the team.
“So… you get my point!” Rudovsky was breathless and pouring with sweat. “Thirty-eight heavy whacks takes a lot of effort and energy. But the person kept going and kept going, presumably until he had nothing left. This adds weight to my theory that this attack was not random, the hatred and anger required to carry out such a physically exhausting attack was being fuelled by something and we cannot solve this mystery until we know exactly what that is. So, off you pop and find out!”
“Are you going to order us up some new chairs?” asked Kenyon, breathlessly.
Chapter Four
“It’s nine o’clock on BBC Radio Manchester and our top story. Police are investigating a fatal house-fire which happened in the early hours of this morning in Denton. Our reporter Nick Forbes-Warren is at the scene. Nick, what can you tell us about this tragic incident?”
“Yes, good morning Alan. I’m standing next to a police cordon line close to the scene of this tragic incident at the Bet-A-Days bookmakers shop on Windmill Lane in Denton. The noise that you can hear behind me is the sound of fire appliances and firefighters pulling wreckage away from the location. This was the scene of a ferocious fire at around one o’clock this morning, a fire which has left the entire building completely gutted. Several Fire and Rescue teams are still here, trying to make sense of the incident, several hours after the flames were extinguished. Just to give you some idea of how ferocious this blaze was Alan, I can tell you that the entire roof has collapsed, and the first floor between the shop and the flat has also completely given way. Crews from across Greater Manchester are here, working tirelessly to remove the debris by hand, searching for any survivors beneath all of the rubble and charred remains of the property.”
“It sounds like a hellish scene, Nick. And we understand that there have, tragically, been fatalities at the property?”
“Yes, sadly Alan, that does appear to be the case, Fire and Rescue teams here have indicated that they believe several people lost their lives at this address, we believe they were members of the same family. However, at this stage, for a number of reasons, we do not know very much more than that, and we are waiting for that information to be released from the official sources, in due course.”
“Is there any news on what might have caused this devastating fire?”
“Again, no official word on that, but there is lots of speculation that the fire was deliberately started within the betting shop, which quickly engulfed the entire property. Several police officers are here, working alongside the Fire Service investigators. Amongst those police officers are two of the best-known detectives in the city, DCI Andrew Miller and DI Keith Saunders from the Serious Crimes unit, we’ve seen them walking around the area all morning. So, the fact that the two most senior members of that department are here tells us a lot, I think.”
“Yes, it sounds like it Nick. This will of course be the fifth incident within the region, involving a betting shop. Over the past fortnight, we’ve seen four other bookmaker premises being completely trashed. This would appear to be connected, from what we are hearing?”
“Very possibly and I’m sure that will be the thought running through the minds of the police officers here this morning. But as you know Alan, we are only news reporters and can only really provide official information, so myself and many other colleagues who are here, reporting for various other news agencies are eagerly waiting to hear the official news. However, what I would say is that if this tragic incident does prove to be connected to the previous attacks against betting shops, then it would mean that things have suddenly become much more serious.”
“To recap those other incidents, starting a fortnight ago, on November the fourth, the Welcome Bet shop on Bury Old Road, near Heaton Park was targeted by vandals. The entire shop was trashed, the betting machines and television screens were smashed up, the electrics were ripped out and the people responsible had left the taps running throughout the night so the entire shop was flooded by the time that the staff arrived in the morning. Three days later, on the seventh of November, the Mintbet premises on Liverpool Road in Eccles were also trashed in very similar circumstances. Four days after that, another bookies was targeted, the FreeBets shop in Romiley, once again, the store was completely smashed up by the intruders, and the shop will require a complete re-fit before it will be able to trade again. And that attack was followed up just a few nights ago, on November the fifteenth at GoWin betting shop on Bolton Road in Farnworth, once again, smashed up and left needing some major building work. Now, with last night’s shocking and tragic incident, things are becoming extremely concerning.”
“That’s right Alan, and I’m sure as the day goes on, we will learn a lot more about these incidents, and what exactly the police are planning to do to catch the people responsible. If they are involved in the incident before me, then the criminal charges have just moved up considerably from vandalism and burglary, to arson and from what
I can gather, murder.”
“Okay Nick Forbes-Warren, I’m sure we’ll speak to you again soon. In other news now, and the Conservative MP Nigel Evans has created a storm by publicly complaining about the lack of police in his Ribble Valley constituency, despite consistently voting for the police service cuts himself…”
Chapter Five
Miller and Saunders looked quite preoccupied as they entered the SCIU department, heading straight into the DCI’s office without so much as a hello or a smile for their colleagues. Saunders closed the door behind his boss and took a seat across the desk as Miller sat down. The rest of the SCIU officers were looking through the glass walls, trying to lip-read the conversation.
“If we could all stop gawping at the boss and carry on with our own tasks, that will be great!” said Rudovsky, to nobody in particular.
“Just trying to work out if we’re going to be switching cases, Ma’am,” said Chapman.
“Yes, Bill, I know what you’re doing. But what you are supposed to be doing is finding the killer of Graham Hartley. I’d prefer it if we got that case sewn up before we start looking for another one.”
Chapman looked down at his desk and as he did so, a frosty atmosphere suddenly enveloped the office. He had always had a very turbulent relationship with Rudovsky and it was no secret that he didn’t like her much. Nobody really knew why, as Rudovsky was a good detective and she was a popular member of the team with everybody else. Some of the staff put the hostility down to Rudovsky’s success at such a young age. Bill Chapman had twenty years more experience than Rudovsky and hadn’t managed to get past the DC rank. Other staff thought that Chapman might have issues with Rudovsky’s sexuality, being an out-and-proud, flag-waving member of the gay community. Rudovsky herself put it down to bitterness on Chapman’s part, because she was funnier, more popular and she didn’t have a beer belly the size of a Space-Hopper.
Rudovsky wasn’t keen on the bad vibes that were hanging ominously in the air. She walked across to Chapman’s desk. “Bill, got a minute please, mate?” she asked quietly, before turning and heading towards the conference room on the opposite side of the office floor. Chapman huffed quietly and got to his feet, walking slowly behind his newly promoted DS.
Once inside the conference room, with the door firmly shut behind both detectives, Rudovsky wasted no time in coming to the point.
“Bill, I know it’s a bit of a pisser for you that I’ve gone from your daily sparring partner to your gaffer….”
“No, it’s… that’s not…”
“Let me speak please, Bill. Now I think we need a day out together, just me and you. What are you into? Walking, cycling, fishing, playing golf?”
Chapman looked down at his feet, his bulbous face was visibly heating up. “No, I’m… we don’t need to go for a day out…” He looked a little sheepish, not sure how to react to such a bizarre suggestion.
“What about a few pints and a game of darts then. Or pool, you beat me last time we played.” Rudovsky was smiling, and Chapman broke a smile too.
“Honestly Jo, we don’t need a game of pool.”
“I think we do Bill. I really think that if we spent a bit of time together outside work, away from the others, we might start to get along a bit better. We need to find a way of getting along.”
“We get along fine.”
“Bill, listen, I just made a very reasonable comment in there, about concentrating on our current case. If Miller had said it, there wouldn’t be an issue. Same goes for if Saunders had said it. But because I said it, there’s suddenly a load of hostile friction and animosity in the room. If we are going to work together, we need to keep it positive and constructive. Now, I know I’m guilty of giving you a bit of shit here and there over the years, we’ve both been as bad as each other. But I can’t behave like that in this job, as you know, I’d be guilty of workplace bullying or some bullshit if I said the kind of things that I used to say.”
“What, like when you said that you’re jealous of people who don’t know me?”
“Yes, yes, that kind of thing…”
“Or when you said that I’m so fat I should go to the beach and sell shade?”
Rudovsky looked down at her feet. It was true, she had been quite brutal towards Chapman in the past.
“Yes, I admit, I’ve used you for practising my best put-down lines. But don’t forget that you said that I’m the reason the gene pool needs a life-guard.”
The two SCIU officers smiled at one another. They had been quite equally matched in the insults department.
“But those days are over now Bill, okay?”
Chapman nodded.
“So, like one of the Four-Tops, I’m reaching out to you, saying we need to bury the hatchet, and not in each-others heads.”
“Jo, seriously, it’s fine. There’s no hatchet to bury.” Chapman wasn’t making eye contact, he seemed sincere and it looked as though he was a little embarrassed by this conversation.
“Listen Bill. The day I got this job, I said I don’t want anybody calling me Ma’am, because I’m not the fucking queen. Do you remember?”
Chapman nodded, with a smirk.
“And every day since, you’ve called me Ma’am. Now it might be a bit of banter, but it’s shit banter.”
“I’ll stop saying it, I’m only pulling your leg.”
“And what about if I give you an instruction? Do you promise to stop having a hissy-fit?”
Chapman looked up at Rudovsky and nodded.
“Alright, let’s shake on it. I’m not saying that you can’t take the piss out of me Bill, you know I’m not. But please stop trying to undermine me in this new role. The job’s hard enough as it is without somebody chucking obstacles in front of me.”
“Okay. Sorry Jo, it wasn’t intentional.”
“Thanks. I know that you are a brilliant detective, and I’d rather we were focusing on you showing me and the rest of the team that, instead of using all your energies in trying to piss me off.”
The comment about being a great detective seemed to have hit home. Chapman looked as though he had tears forming in his eyes as he looked down at the floor. He looked as though he’d needed that vindication.
“Well I’m glad we’ve had this chat. Let’s start again, starting now, okay?”
“Absolutely, you’ve got my full support.”
“Cool. Because if I haven’t, you’re coming raft building with me on a team-building weekend. I’ll pay!”
“It won’t come to that. Believe me!” Chapman smiled widely, and Rudovsky touched his shoulder gently.
“Thanks Bill. I know you and I have been at war in the past. But the best days lie ahead.”
“Sounds like you’ve been at a positive thinking book?”
“Yeah, I have as it goes. How about this one ‘if you want the light to come into your life, stand in the sunshine and welcome it.”
“Doesn’t really work for Manchester, does it?”
“Nah. It’s a pretty shit one that, to be fair.”
“Right, well, let me prove I’m not a total bum. Okay?”
“Deal. Thanks Bill.”
“Ma’am… ah, shit, sorry… Sarge!”
Chapter Six
Despite reprimanding her team for gawping into the office, Rudovsky was guilty of the same crime. She’d glanced across several times to try and figure out what Miller and Saunders were planning. As things stood, there was absolutely no way that the department could handle another case, not whilst there was the very real threat of a mad-man killer on the streets, supposedly attacking at random.
But she couldn’t make out what her senior officers were discussing. Rudovsky realised that she’d just have to wait and see. She glanced back at her paperwork and sensed a presence hovering by her desk. It was DC Bill Chapman, just twenty minutes after their clear-the-air chat in the conference room.
“Sarge, do we know if Hartley jogged along that route regularly?”
Rudovsky was impres
sed. Chapman had managed to call her Sarge, without her ever suggesting it. He sounded genuine and respectful. Best of all, the rest of the team had all heard him. That was an excellent start to this new working relationship pact.
“Oh, do you know what, I don’t know.” Rudovsky looked across to DC Peter Kenyon.
“Pete, do we know if Graham was a regular jogger?”
“Er… just a sec,” Kenyon started looking through his file. A few seconds of silence passed before he nodded at his paperwork and looked back in the direction of Rudovsky and Chapman.
“It says here, witness statement from his sister… says he tries to do an hour of jogging every night. Erm, says he was training for a marathon.”
“Anything about keeping to a specific route?” asked Chapman, still standing by the DS’s desk. Kenyon continued to scan over the report. A few more seconds passed before he replied.
“Nah, doesn’t say anything about that…”
“What are you thinking Bill?” asked Rudovsky.
“Well, I don’t jog much myself these days…” The comment received a big laugh from Chapman’s colleagues as he patted his enormous stomach. “But I imagine that somebody who does it regularly is likely to stick to the same route. It’d make it easier for keeping track of your speed and progress and that.”
“You sure you don’t jog Bill?” asked DC Mike Worthington, Chapman’s regular partner in investigations.
“No, don’t be a dick, look at me, I’d look pretty stupid in a running vest! I look like a giant egg.” Chapman’s self-deprecating gag received another good laugh from his colleagues. He waited for the laughter to subside before continuing. “I’m just thinking, we’re all worried that this is a random attack. But if Graham Hartley was in the habit of going on a specific route, at a similar time, it wouldn’t be too hard to keep tabs on him for a few days, learn his routine and then wait in the bushes along the route.”
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