Nothing To Lose

by Steven Suttie

  “We all just need to be glad we’ve been taken off the case. I don’t think I could handle the backlash that this is going to get.”

  Rudovsky nodded, realising that although she’d been gutted that her team had been taken off the enquiry, she knew that this had been a near-miss.

  “How many people are going to get sacked for this?” asked Chapman.

  “Don’t know. But I suggest we keep our heads down because this is going to go nuclear. This is going to have the Prime Minister involved, I’m telling you now.”

  “What do you mean by keep our heads down?” asked Saunders.

  “Well, we’ve been the public face of this inquiry since it started. We’ve been taken off it just a few hours before it’s turned into a major scandal, so we are bound to be approached for comments by the press. We say nothing. Understood?”

  Miller’s team all nodded sombrely.

  “They’ll try their usual tactics to engage one of us in conversation. We are not to say anything at all about the Hartley case from now on. It might be tricky, because we’re still going to be in the public-eye while we’re running the bookies investigations. So I need you all to stay sharp, and no comment any questions regarding this shit-storm.” Miller pointed angrily at the Sky News feed on his PC monitor. “Okay, as you were. Cheers.”

  *****

  “What the hell is going on in this country?” Read the headline from the Daily Mirror’s website. This was not a sub-editor’s choice of headline, but a quote from the leader of the Government’s opposition party. In a long and damning TV interview, the politician slammed the state of the nation’s most vital services, specifically the police, in a long and often bitter response to this appalling news coming out of Manchester.

  “It is an incredible thought, that a poor young woman has been murdered, and her best friend has tried to get the police to investigate her disappearance, and this lady’s requests for help have been ignored by the very people who are employed to be there for us. I have been a politician for a long time, over forty-years, but I have never known of such a scandal as the one which we are currently hearing about today. I find it inconceivable that this once great country, the very country which invented the world’s very first police force in 1829, can today find itself so under-funded, under-manned and over-stretched, that it cannot satisfy a most-basic task of police work, that a missing person’s report has been denied on the basis of a technicality. What the hell is going on in this country? We’ve got record levels of crime and disorder, we have murders on the streets of our cities every day, we have youths running amok, knowing that there are no police officers to challenge them. No matter which political party you support, we should all be angry, furious with the way things are going in this country, a time when our Chief Constables are campaigning for a ban on fireworks because whole communities are being terrorised by a small handful of yobs. We should be incensed that we have opened the door to disorder and criminality in order to save money. We have lost over twenty-five thousand police officers at a time where our population is growing faster than at any time before, our communities are becoming more and more fragmented and divided. This matter has to be addressed right now, and I am calling for a root and branch inquiry into the death of Lindsey Nolan, and the role of the Manchester City Police in the handling of her friend’s missing persons report. I call on every person watching this, or reading this, to tell the government that enough is enough. I’d like to send my deepest condolences to the friends and family of this poor young woman.”

  *****

  The news was everywhere, assisted by the photographs of the beautiful, promising young woman who’d lay dead in her flat for three weeks. This was a tragedy which pulled at the heart-strings of the nation. Sky News was the network with the most hours of live broadcast to fill each day. As a result, they were in the habit of adopting a particular story for maximum discussion. This news had all of the hallmarks for a Sky News Special Report.

  It was a very tricky job to do, discussing a murder case before a trial, and as such, the broadcaster could say very little about the alleged killer, Billy Nolan, until after the trial had ended, which may be anything between three months and a year away. It was helpful, from that point of view, that Sky had another element of this tragic case to focus on.

  The full glare of the national broadcaster was now on the activities of the police and they had dozens of journalists looking at all of the nation’s 47 police forces, looking for any other stories where the basic level of policing had been refused. The story regarding police negligence had already been a topic for discussion earlier in the week, when it had been revealed that fifty-five per cent of all reported crimes in Greater Manchester are not investigated.

  This latest announcement was destined to reignite the debate into the police service cuts which were having a devastating affect on the service. As a publicly funded organisation, paid for by the people who relied on it, there was not much sympathy when the service was being exposed as a failure.

  There had been a similarly shocking and disturbing incident in Scotland a few years earlier, when a young couple had lay undiscovered in a car-wreck for three days. Lamara Bell, 25, and John Yuill, 28, both died following the accident on the M9 motorway near Stirling, despite the incident being reported to Police Scotland at the time. Lamara was still alive when the car was eventually found in a wooded area by the side of the motorway, after the couple had been reported missing. It was an incident which brought with it huge sadness and shock, as well as anger at the failings of the police in investigating the reports of an accident. Had they done that, it is believed that Lamara, the young mother of two, could have survived.

  This news coming out of Manchester had shocking echoes of that case, and the news reports into the Stirling tragedy were being replayed as commentators made their comparisons. Politicians from all sides of the House of Commons were condemning the failure of the police to investigate the disappearance of Lindsey Nolan and this story was becoming far bigger than Michelle Christian had ever anticipated, a fact made clear by the broadcast vans and camera crews who had set up their base outside her small, terraced home in Swinton.

  Miller switched off his Sky News feed in his office, feeling a range of emotions. He was shocked and embarrassed that the police force he had always felt a great pride in, appeared to be guilty of such an inexcusable failure of duty. He also felt deeply sad for Michelle, whose heart was publicly breaking. And he felt selfish because he was gutted that all of this was clouding the information that he had released to the press that morning. The information that he had released just hours earlier was now off the collective news agenda, and in Miller’s experience, it was unlikely to rise to the top again. He’d learnt a long time ago that you don’t get to do a press conference twice. News is only news once. Miller decided that he should go home, on time for a change. He switched off his computer and packed his briefcase, feeling as though the day had been wasted.

  He switched off his office lights and said goodbye to his team who were all working away at their desks. It wasn’t great leadership, but he was only human. Miller wanted to get away from here, switch off for a few hours and spend some time with his family.

  Unbeknown to DCI Andy Miller, the matter of attacks against betting shops would soon be thrust back into the news, in spectacular fashion.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Miller arrived home ridiculously early. It wasn’t even five yet.

  “Daddy!” shouted the twins as they came running towards him as he entered the front door of his neat little semi-detached house in Worsley, about four miles west of Manchester city centre. He’d beaten the rush-hour gridlock and he felt victorious.

  “Hello my small friends!” said Miller, falling to his knees and embracing his five year olds in a huge hug.

  “Andy! What on earth are you doing home at a reasonable time?” asked his wife, Clare as she walked into the hall, her glowing smile was the first thing Miller sa
w as he looked up in her direction.

  “I came here to see if anybody wants to go to Crocodile Pete’s!”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes please daddy!”

  “I’d prefer Nando’s!” said Clare, half joking, half serious.

  “Well… let’s vote. Everybody who wants to go to Crocodile Pete’s, put your…”

  The twins already had their hands in the air. So did Miller.

  “Sorry mum, it’s three votes to one! We’re going to Crocodile Pete’s!”

  “Yay!”

  *****

  DI Saunders was at home, sitting on the settee with his girlfriend, DC Helen Grant. Helen was becoming increasingly annoyed at Keith’s constant messing with his phone.

  “Are we watching this, or not?”

  “Yes. I’m listening to it and looking up now and again.”

  “That’s not watching it!”

  “Don’t be passive-aggressive.” Said the off-duty detective inspector with a smirk, without looking up from his screen.

  “What? How was that passive-aggressive?”

  “You are trying to force me to put my phone down and stare at the TV, by using subtle hints that you are unhappy with me looking at my phone. You are compromising my safe space, you psycho.”

  Helen threw a cushion at Keith’s face.

  “Now that was just plain aggressive!” he said, smiling.

  “Are we watching it, or can I put something I want to watch on?”

  “Just give me a sec. I’ve got something here. Might be a lead.”

  “You’re always working Keith. Do you never just switch off?”

  “No.”

  “I know, stupid question. What’s the lead, anyway?”

  Keith Saunders looked up for the first time and made eye-contact with Helen. “The other night, I joined this web forum. It was all about the gambling companies, and all these dickheads were on there going on about how the bookies were going to get their comeuppance someday. It was a load of shit really. But I joined up and made a comment about the fire, saying that the people who’d done it were sick bastards.”

  Helen paused the TV. “Right?”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t think very much more about it. Anyway, I’ve just had a reply from one of them.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  He handed the phone over to Helen and pointed at the part of the screen where his comment was.

  “John Big Bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great name!”

  “Just read it, you turnip.”

  Helen read her partner’s comment before reading the reply out loud. “So, this is from Gomch81. It says ‘Everyone knows that fire was nothing to do with the fight back. The boss has put out a twitter message anyway, so the police are now aware as well. I take it you’ve not registered???”

  Helen glanced at Keith, she had a puzzled look on her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve got absolutely no idea. But I’m trying to think of a decent response and you keep trying to make me watch The Apprentice.”

  “What are you going to put?”

  “I’m thinking along the lines of… something like ‘if it’s proved that the fire has nothing to do with us, then I probably will.’ Something like that. What do you reckon?”

  Helen liked it and nodded enthusiastically. “What’s the worst that can happen? They ignore you?”

  “Yes. Well, no actually. The worst that could happen is they realise I’m an undercover detective snooping around and I get booted off the web-page. If that happens, I’ll be snookered.”

  “Bollocks love. If you get booted off the site, you can just sign up again. But choose a better bloody name next time, John Big Bad!”

  Within five minutes of sending his reply, Keith’s phone pinged with a new notification, forcing Helen to roll her eyes and press pause on the TV remote again.

  “Aw don’t be like that. Gomch 81 has sent me a response. Here we go. It says ‘don’t be a fool. Why would anyone start a fire? How many other fires have been started? Don’t believe everything you read in the press. We need all the help we can get so join in rather than make snide comments. You can sign up here.” Beneath the message was a long website link. Saunders clicked it and his phone screen quickly loaded with a new website. It was very basic, there were no fancy graphics or pictures. The website was called “Just Justice.” It looked more like a word-processing document than a website.

  Beneath the page’s title was a short paragraph. It read;

  “Welcome. You didn’t arrive here by accident. You cannot find this website through conventional search engines. We have hidden this page from all of the search engines. The very fact that you are here means that you are interested in signing up to our newsletter, which will give you access to your local Justice network. Please sign up by submitting your e-mail address in the box below. Do not share this link with anybody else unless you know that they feel the same way that we do.”

  “What the hell is this?” asked Keith. Helen was leaning against his shoulder, reading the same paragraph, thinking exactly the same thing.

  “That has got to be the vaguest message I’ve ever read!” said Helen.

  “It’s assuming that the person who is reading it already has a bit of an idea what its all about. I think Gomch 81 might have just fucked everything up for his mates!”

  “Bless him!” said Helen, realising that this could be of major significance to the enquiry.

  Keith leapt off the settee and stepped across the living room, grabbing his work bag. He crouched down and took out his jotter pad, flicking through the pages.

  “What are you doing now?” asked Helen, half collapsed on the sofa where Keith had just been sitting. He was supposed to laugh at her awkward position, but his attention was elsewhere.

  “Keith?” she tried again, lying at a funny angle on her side.

  “I’m just trying to find the e-mail address I set up to join this forum. Oh, it’s alright, here it is.” He stood up and walked back across to the sofa, finally noticing the uncomfortable position that Helen had landed in after he’d jumped up. He sat back down, trapping her twisted torso behind his back.

  “Get off me you saggy gonad!” pleaded Helen. Keith began typing the e-mail address into the page as Helen struggled out of her awkward position. A few silent moments passed before Keith spoke, with a real enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Right! Sorted.”

  “What now?” asked Helen, seeing that Keith had submitted the e-mail address and pressed the “register” button.

  “Now, we watch The Apprentice.” Keith switched his phone off and threw it onto the settee opposite.

  “Correct answer!”

  The couple sat and watched as the candidates on the TV show argued and bickered amongst themselves about who should be sacked from the show. Keith was fidgeting, biting his nails and shaking his leg. Helen knew the signs, she could see that the DI was thinking about the case and wasn’t watching TV at all.

  “Right, well, I’m going to go to bed.”

  “Why? It’s not even ten o’clock?” asked Keith, appearing surprised by Helen’s sudden announcement.

  “Well, it’s obvious that you want to get on with your work, and I can’t stand any of the contestants on here this year. So I’m just going to go to bed and try to stop myself from breathing.”

  Keith laughed loudly. “Bloody hell! That’s a bit melodramatic!”

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye.” Said Helen as she stood up and grabbed her glass of water off the coffee table. “Just so you know, I want Dancing Queen and I’m in the Mood for Dancing on as the main songs at my funeral.”

  “Why?”

  “So that whenever any of my friends or relatives are at a do in the future, those songs will come on and their night will be ruined with sad thoughts about my passing.”

  Keith laughed again. Helen bent down and kissed his forehead. “Goodbye. Forever.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, don’t be so depressing. Night H. Love you.”

  As soon as Helen left the room, Keith leapt up off the sofa, and grabbed his phone off the other, switching it back on as he walked through to the kitchen to make a brew. He was pleased that he was getting this opportunity to do a bit more work. It was just like the old days, when he was miserable and lonely and wished that he had a girlfriend to share his life with, cuddle up on the sofa and watch a bit of telly with.

  Lee Riley’s Story - Part Two

  Joanna had listened quietly to her little brother’s problems for the past hour. The wind was getting worse up on the top of Keighley Moor, and the van had begun shaking from side to side.

  Joanna was the person who everybody went to in a crisis. She was strong, dependable and the kind of person who could fix problems, finding practical solutions, no matter how big the mess. It was really saddening for her, listening to all of Lee’s troubles and it hurt a little that he hadn’t come to her for help. She’d had to go to him and practically forced him to come clean about the problem. She understood, she totally got it that this was a pretty embarrassing position to find yourself in. But it still bothered her that he hadn’t come to her. She felt confident that things wouldn’t have got this out-of-hand if he had of.

  Lee was crying again, and Joanna felt that everything that needed to be said, had now been said. She felt it was time to start the job of fixing this problem, time to make it go away.

  “Well, love. I think we need to stop sulking about it now. It’s horrible, what’s happened, no mistake about it. But I think you’ve learnt a very harsh lesson. Haven’t you love?”

  Joanna put her hand of Lee’s and left it there. He nodded.

  So, come on, push your tits out, stick your shoulders back, big smiles. We need to put it behind us, look to the future.”

  Lee smiled. It was reassuring to hear Joanna talking like this, instead of calling him a fucking dick. In his heart, he knew that Joanna would always be supportive, she was good like that. But he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had called him a fucking dick.