“This is obviously a major investigation, and I am working in conjunction with the divisional CID departments all around the city. I can make a promise to everybody here, and most importantly, to Marija Ozols, who is gravely ill in hospital, the young woman who has just lost her whole family, and who has done absolutely nothing wrong. That promise is that I will get to the bottom of this crime, very quickly. If you are one of the individuals responsible for this, my advice to you is to hand yourself in right now, because at this moment in time, we want to help you to come to terms with what you have done.”
The DCI took another sip from his glass before looking back at the media staff. “Okay, the fire last night was phoned in at 1.07 am. The caller phoned 999 from a phone box on the corner of Windmill Lane and Hyde Road, which is roughly fifty yards away from the property which was on fire. I’m now going to play you this telephone call, as it is of the utmost importance that we identify the caller and speak with him as a matter of urgency. If you recognise this voice, I need you to contact my team straight away.”
Miller pressed another button on his computer and the audio began playing. The DCI sat, looking at every member of the press, watching their expressions carefully as they listened to the shocking audio. The man, possibly a youth, sounded upset, scared and traumatised. The incident which he was reporting had clearly had a very deep effect on him, this detail was made clear as he could be heard retching during the call.
Miller waited until the call ended. The entire thing only lasted twenty-eight seconds. But it felt much longer.
“I need to know who that is. I need to talk to him. I need to understand why he was in the area. I need to know why he ran to a phone box, rather than use his mobile phone. He is quite possibly just an innocent bystander, somebody who did the right thing and alerted the emergency services to the fire. But until I speak to this person, I cannot eliminate him from my enquiries. At least one person watching or listening to this broadcast will know that voice. I need that one person to phone the number up there,” Miller pointed at the screen. “And tell me who he is.”
There were a few moments of quiet chatter and whispered discussion amongst the media personnel, before Miller opened his mouth again.
“Any questions?”
The respectful mood in the room quickly gave way to a barrage of noise and shouting. It took almost a minute for the rabble to settle down and for a single question to be made out.
“Jill Bennett, Manchester Evening News. DCI Miller, there is growing criticism for the police’s rather lackadaisical response to the four previous incidents. A manager from one of the bookmaker shops has claimed that the police have shown no interest in catching the people who wrecked his betting shop. What is your response to this very serious claim? It does imply that if the police had treated the previous incidents a little more seriously, this tragedy might not have happened last night.”
That was a good question and had been anticipated by the DCI. Miller had to stall his answer for a few seconds as he thought of the appropriate response. He passed the time taking another sip from his glass.
“That is a very good question, Jill. Thank you. I wasn’t involved in the investigations into the previous incidents…”
“Well, with respect - it sounds like nobody was!” Said the reporter, keen to go in for the kill. Her vicious counter attracted a wave of chattering throughout the room.
Miller waited for the fuss to die down and was glad of the opportunity. This rabble bought him extra time to plan his reply. He knew that it was a valid point which was being made. He just didn’t need the aggravation of a bollocking from his superiors for answering it wrong.
“Well, as you know Jill, our officers have to prioritise the seriousness of crimes that are reported. Crimes which don’t involve injury or worse are not prioritised as highly as, let’s say for example a burglary where the home-owner was hurt or threatened. It’s not ideal, but let’s keep a sense of perspective. I don’t think that any of Manchester’s police officers could ever have imagined that these incidents would escalate to the horror that I have personally witnessed today, the horror that Marija Ozols is going to have to wake up to.”
“DCI Miller! Helen Reeves, Tameside Radio, I accept that police officers have a difficult job to do…”
“Thank you.” Said Miller.
“But that said, I have to ask the same question. If resources had been thrown at catching these individuals, last night’s tragedy could have been avoided.”
Miller looked at the reporter, and he looked sad as he spoke. “I agree. But we deal with thirty-five thousand reported crimes a month in this city. We have to prioritise the seriousness of them, and quite frankly, vandalism against a shop would not normally attract the same level of investigation as a mugging or an armed raid, or a rape or an arson attack. I wish we did have the resources to tackle every single crime with the same amount of investigation, but despite the circumstances that this point is being made around, we have to be realistic.”
“But you accept that if these crimes been investigated as top priority, last night’s tragedy might not have happened?” The reporter was pressing Miller. He was getting bored of this, it felt as though this was more about the media people getting their voices on the national news bulletins, than genuine outrage at the police’s culpability for the tragedy. Miller decided to call this witch-hunt out for what it was.
“Can I remind you that I’m investigating the deaths of two children and their father? The mother is lay in a hospital bed with nothing to wake up for. I really don’t think this is an appropriate time to try and get a sensational headline about policies that have nothing to do with me, or my colleagues. Go and talk to the politicians about these concerns, talk to the Mayor, talk to the Prime Minister. Please don’t attempt to use this tragedy as an excuse to attack the people who are working tirelessly to keep this city safe, in spite of the policies which restrict our capacity to thoroughly investigate every crime that comes in.”
Miller’s strong, to-the-point outburst managed to quieten the hecklers. Another familiar face in the audience held up his hand.
“DCI Miller, Paul Mitchell, Sky News. Sorry to repeat the same theme, but recent figures released by your own police force state that fifty-five per cent of all reported crimes in Greater Manchester are not investigated. What can you tell us about this worrying statistic, a statistic which says that if you are a victim of crime, there is only a forty-five-per cent chance that the police will look into it?”
Miller was beginning to look disappointed by the questions. He knew that every single member of the press knew that these matters had absolutely nothing to do with him. Everybody in the room knew that this was just the media pushing a political point.
“Cheers Paul. You know that question has nothing to do with me, or my department. I’ll take a couple more questions, but no more about politics please.” The DCI pointed to BBC Northwest Tonight’s crime correspondent Ellie Bradshaw, who had her hand in the air.
“Ellie.”
“Thank you, DCI Miller. You said earlier that there were a number of lines of enquiry, the previous betting shop attacks being only one of them, plus the phone-call presumably is a second. What can you tell us about the other lines of enquiry?”
“Great question Ellie.” Miller was glad to finally have a question about his work rather than police funding or resource management. “As with any investigation of this nature, we have to start with an empty page. Naturally, the other incidents at betting shops will form a significant part of this investigation and we are throwing everything at that. To put that into some sort of context, we have five CID teams working around the clock on this, and we are very confident that lots of information will come in over the next few hours following this broadcast. But, we have to explore every possibility and right near the top of the list is the question of the nationality of the victims. We have seen a ten-fold increase in xenophobic attacks against immigrants in the UK, and it is no
t beyond the realms of possibility that this may have been a racially motivated attack, and nothing at all to do with betting shops. There’s nothing to say that this fire wasn’t an insurance job, after all the building was very old and in a poor state of repair. We have a whole range of possibilities to look into and I can assure you all, and the public at home, we will explore every single one of them.”
Another hand was up, and Miller pointed at Ian Appleby from Piccadilly Radio.
“Last question please, Ian.”
“Thank you, DCI Miller. Regardless of the motive for this attack, there are growing concerns from the community following this appalling crime. What reassurance can you offer the community, in Denton, and across the wider city, that the police are doing everything they can to prevent any further attacks on betting shops?”
“Well, firstly Ian, I hope that everybody in the city, and the wider area realise that this horrific incident last night is being treated with the utmost seriousness by Manchester City Police. One thing is absolutely clear from me, my officers, and the CID teams working across Greater Manchester tonight – we will find the people who did this, and we won’t stop until we do.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t really…”
Miller stood up. He’d had enough for today. “Thanks everybody, I appreciate your support.” With that, he stepped down off the raised platform and headed out of the media-centre, leaving every single person under no illusion that the DCI was completely pissed off with their attempts to trivialise the situation, attempting to turn this appalling tragedy into a political football to knock around.
Chapter Twelve
“Nice press conference, Sir!” said Saunders as Miller entered his office.
“Did you think?”
“Yes, very powerful.”
“Seriously?” Miller seemed surprised by Saunders’ feedback. “I thought it got a bit watered down by all the shite the reporters were asking about political bullshit.”
“Well, yeah, to be fair it trailed off a bit with all that, but your bit, the bit that will be cut into all the news reports for the next twenty-four hours was rock-solid. I think we’ll see some great reaction from the public after that.”
“Reckon?”
“Would I be saying it if I didn’t mean it? You know if you do a shit press conference, I just say I haven’t seen it.” Saunders smiled as Miller laughed loudly.
“Wait a sec… you always say that you missed it…”
“See!”
The two men laughed at the daft banter. It had been a really shitty day in so many ways and it was nice to have a bit of a distraction with some stupid bitching and piss-taking. It always lightened the load. But it didn’t take Saunders long to change the topic back to the fire.
“Anyway, Sir, have you got a minute?”
“Yes.” Miller grabbed a chair from a nearby desk and wheeled it across to Saunders’ desk. “What’s occurring?” he asked as he sat.
“Just been Googling the betting shop attacks. I’ve excluded all news reports from my search preferences to see if anything came back from other sources. Just have a look at this stuff that’s come back.”
Miller leaned in towards the screen. There were a number of blogs, discussion forums and indie websites listed on the results page. He grabbed the mouse and scrolled to the bottom of the screen. There were at least another ten pages of similar results.
“This one here,” Saunders pointed to the screen, prompting his boss to move the pointer and click the link. “This is a discussion board that originates from a separate website. Have a look at the comments on the screen.”
Miller leant in even further and started to read the content. The first comment on the thread, at the top of the screen said, “Three Betting Shops in Manchester Put Out Of Business By Vandals. Thoughts?” The comment had been made by a member of the forum called FrogEyes1981.
“Three shops?” said Miller under his breath.
“Yes, this post was started the day after the third shop was done, the FreeBets in Romiley. The attack happened on the eleventh, this post is dated the twelfth.
“Right… so…”
“Well, the point I’m making is that this didn’t really get into the news until the thirteenth, that was when the Manchester Evening News made the link between the three betting shops being targeted. The other local news reporters picked up on it after that, BBC Manchester, Granada Reports, Key 103. When this post was published, it was a day before the media started talking about it.”
“So, to be perfectly clear, you’re suggesting that Frog Eyes has made the connection before the media?”
“Yes. It doesn’t mean that he is the attacker. But it does inspire a few questions. Firstly, how did he make the link before the M.E.N, who presumably noticed it after looking through our duty logs and just happened to clock that three betting shops had been smashed up within a week, before looking into it a bit deeper in the hope of finding a story.”
“Yes, I see your point. But where’s this going?”
“Look, just read the comments. Shall I do a brew while you’re having a look?”
“Yes. Nice one Keith.”
As Saunders stood to leave, Miller moved in closer to the screen and began reading. Over a dozen comments had been made underneath the initial one from Frog Eyes.
“Looks like it’s started.” Said Hotel Whisky 76.
“Hope so!” added another user.
“Trust me. This is it, the fight-back has begun!” added Hotel Whisky 76.
“I’m not a betting man these days lol. But if I was, I’d say this is going to be the fight-back! About time too.”
The thread went on like this, comments from users with completely random names, or “handles” making light of the attacks, and in some cases congratulating the perpetrators. Miller continued reading.
“This is going to be fkn epic!” said a user called BobTheBuilder.
“Hope they keep going!” added another unidentifiable name on the screen.
Saunders arrived back at the desk with two cups and placed them down. “What do you think?”
“Hmmm. Not sure. It’s a bit wanky, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s a good word for it. But it seems like these people were expecting something to happen. Look, there.” Saunders pointed at the top of the thread, the “looks like it’s started” comment.
“Yeah, saw that.”
“Well, I’m intrigued. I was going to start searching back through these message boards and see if a discussion has taken place earlier on, at some point before the first attack. What do you think, Sir?”
“What would you be hoping to find?”
“Well, if a few of these stupid names keep popping up, talking about starting some sort of campaign of vandalism against betting shops, it might bear fruit.”
Miller looked thoughtful. He definitely understood the point that his DI was making. He just couldn’t see how it could trace back. “Okay, let’s say you find something… let’s say that you find the person who instigated all this. How are you going to find out who they are from all these dickhead names?”
“There’s ways. There’s always ways, Sir.”
“Go on.”
“Well, if we adopted the same procedures that they do for child porn investigations, it wouldn’t be too hard to find out who is hosting the website, and from there we will find the account holder, and once we have that information, we can seize the server and download the IP addresses of all these random names. It will be a big piece of work, don’t get me wrong. But it’s achievable.”
Saunders was talking about the Internet Provider address which every internet connection uses. It may just look like a series of random numbers to the average person, but to a data communications engineer, IP addresses were traceable from the green BT street cabinets, straight to the router inside the owner’s house, or factory, or wherever it was located.
“Frog Eyes might think his stupid name provides him a cloak of anonym
ity. But he can’t hide his IP address, even if he’s using a mobile phone to connect with the website.”
“Is this on the dark web?” asked Miller, referring to the really murky world of internet browsing, the “hidden” internet which only attracted those who were interested in browsing the dark things, the kind of things that get you locked up, on their internet browsers.
“No, it’s not the dark web Sir, it’s just plain old Google. But the fact is that these lot are having a good yack about the attacks against betting shops as though it’s been on the cards for a while.”
Miller’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and saw that he had a text message from an Inspector in the MCP call-centre. ‘Got something interesting Sir. Please pop down asap.’ Miller looked pleased by the message, but returned his gaze to his DI.
“Okay, tell you what Keith, you crack on, see what you can find in amongst this lot. If you find something, I’ll have a word with Lloydy in Child Exploitation, and ask him to have a look. He’ll be able to advise on the tech support we’re likely to need.”
“Great stuff. Thanks boss.”
“What is this website, anyway?”
“It’s a gambling addict’s support group, Sir.”
Chapter Thirteen
Miller arrived in the call-centre less than two-minutes after receiving the text message. The huge, bustling room which contained thirty-five officers and civilian call-handlers was situated on the first floor, directly beneath the SCIU offices. The noise and chatter in the place always came as a surprise to Miller, the rest of the Manchester police HQ was a rather calm and composed environment. But there was no calm, nor quiet inside this large, stiflingly-hot room as the thirty-five call-handlers spoke to the constant stream of callers who were dialling in their report of crimes, or to report missing relatives or making bizarre requests for police support regarding a late pizza delivery or missing remote controls. This department also managed the non-urgent calls on the 101 number as well as any “incident room” calls.
Nothing To Lose Page 6