One Man Crusade : DCI Miller 1: The Serial Killer Nobody Wants Caught

by Steven Suttie

  Karen watched the replayed press conference in silence, her teeth troubled at a painted fingernail as she heard this information for the first time. Bob was slightly troubled by his wife’s reaction.

  “Are you okay, Pet?” he asked but a hurried “Ssshh” met his question.

  Karen needed to hear this. The story dominated the first ten minutes of the news programme. As soon as the announcer changed the subject, she stood up - a frozen expression of concern was etched on her face. That healthy tan looked to have faded slightly. Bob asked the question again.

  “Are you alright love?” he was talking to the back of her. Karen was pressing the phone buttons.

  “Why hasn’t anybody told me?” she pleaded. Bob knew the question was purely rhetorical. He wondered who it was she’d rung when she started talking down the phone. He raised his eyebrows as little James heard his first swear word.

  “It’s Ellis. I’ve just heard. No, on the pissing news,” she realised that James was in the room and walked through to the hall.

  “Well, I’m amazed that you’ve taken that stance,” she said. Whoever it was she was talking to was getting a fair old ear-bashing thought Bob. He listened intently, searching for clues as to who it was she was reprimanding.

  “Don’t patronise me, I’ve had a fuc… I’ve had a baby, not a lobotomy. He’s fine, thanks. Okay, I’m going to have to call you back.” She hung up and came back into the living room. Bob knew that she’d been speaking to Miller by the voice she imitated.

  “Well, yoh need ter recuperate,” she said, mimicking his blunt Mancunian accent.

  “I can’t believe that nobody has called me about this, it’s total madness.” She was furious.

  “Hey, you’ve booked three months maternity leave. You’ve three months off, why should they phone you?” Bob knew what was coming and he knew that he wasn’t keen on the idea.

  “This is a massive case. Christ, have I waited for a case like this?” This was typical of Karen. She was still as ambitious now as she had been sixteen years earlier, when she was still at police training college.

  “Well, it’s unfortunate that the case has come right now, isn’t it?” Bob looked at Karen. In the couple of months she’d been away from work, he’d almost forgotten how fixated she could become. She went back to the phone.

  “I’ll ring Mum.”

  “What for?” pleaded Bob, scratching his thinning light hair, knowing the answer.

  “Bob, don’t act like a dense. This is massive, you know it is. I need to get back, get on this case.” Her tone of voice when answering closed the subject. Bob knew that tone well enough to know that his opinion wasn’t of any significance. That was how their lives went, Karen’s work was the one thing that was non-negotiable. Bob was no walk-over, but he had always accepted that anything relating to the police force was off limits.

  Bob began playing with James’ dummy again. He knew that she couldn’t just sit at home and watch the telly everyday, when her team were investigating possibly the biggest enquiry in Manchester since the mid-sixties. He smiled at the baby. James just stared back.

  “Mum, hi, it’s Karen. Listen something’s come up. Yes, I’ve just watched it…”

  *****

  Miller had been standing in the King Jen Cantonese Takeaway when the report had come on the small portable telly on the counter. He was annoyed but not surprised by the biased reporting, the BBC was definitely guilty of sensationalism. But then, even Miller had to concede that it was a pretty sensational piece. He felt bad towards the end of the report, as he watched himself stand up and walk out of the meeting. He realised that it made him look like an arsehole, though at the time it had seemed like everybody else was the arsehole. Miller felt a sudden sadness well up inside him as he watched Dixon try to make the best of the situation. As he watched, he wrestled with his conscience. Did I go too far with Dixon? Did he deserve all that in the office? Am I being a dick about this?

  He didn’t know. He grabbed the food that had been waiting on the counter for the past five minutes and headed home, he needed a rest.

  As he pushed open the takeaway shop’s door, his mobile began ringing. It read “D.I. ELLIS HOME.”

  After the conversation, or rather, severe bollocking, his spirits were lifted somewhat. Ellis wanted in, and if Ellis wanted in, then that meant that Miller’s finest detective, the formidable D.I. Ellis would be back at work in the morning. He hadn’t realised that he’d not even called her about the case. He smiled as he wondered what shade of deep red her face had gone as she sat watching it on the news. He got into the car and set off home. He wondered which bottle of wine to take with him. He also decided that it had been long enough, and that he would buy Clare a nice bunch of flowers.

  Things were looking up.

  Chapter Eight

  Wednesday 17th May

  S.C.I.U. Incident Room

  Miller arrived early, it was six twenty a.m. when he stepped into the office. He showed no surprise when he saw that Saunders was already beavering away at his desk. Ellis was next in, just before seven, to Saunders obvious delight. Saunders was madly in love with his senior officer, it was an open secret - he was the only person who didn’t realise that everybody was aware. He looked over the moon to see her, but tried, as he always did, to play it cool. Chapman and Worthington arrived together at seven thirty. They hardly noticed her, it was as though she’d been there yesterday.

  Miller spent the time until the briefing fine-tuning his plans for what he would be covering at the meeting. Ellis sat at her desk and checked through her overflowing pigeon hole; amongst baby talk, she and Saunders discussed the investigation. Dixon came in at about ten to eight, flanked by five uniformed officers. He left them to introduce themselves, while he marched into his old office to see Miller.

  “I know it’s not quite twenty five, but it’s a start. I’m working on it.” Dixon seemed to want to make the peace. Maybe Miller had made some legitimate observations yesterday. He hadn’t expected any more help, so Miller was pleased for the five extra bodies, but he couldn’t possibly show any gratitude. He needed twenty five, he didn’t just like the sound of the number.

  “Thank you Sir. I’ll make immediate use of the rest, when you fix it.” Dixon could read between the lines. He picked up a copy of the memorandum that Miller had printed off and perused the details for a minute.

  “Am I around for the briefing?” Dixon’s strange question met a confused look from the DCI. It hung in the air for a moment. It was his job to be at the briefing. Miller decided that if this was some kind of prerequisite, if Dixon wanted to start going over yesterday’s discussion, it was a pretty unreasonable time to do it. But Miller had felt quite regretful at yesterday’s outburst. He stood and closed the door.

  “Look, maybe I went too far yesterday, Sir. But I’m under a lot of pressure with this and I apologise if I reacted badly, but you know, everything I said yesterday is what I feel. I will catch this person. With or without the support of senior officers.” Dixon looked grateful for the apology. But he still looked hurt.

  “I know you’ve got a busy schedule, so let’s not dwell on this for too long. Thanks for recognising that an apology was in order, but I‘ll be honest with you Andy, you said a lot of things yesterday that made some sense. You know, I really wouldn’t have taken that outburst from any single other officer, if you were anybody else you’d be suspended right now. But, I’ve invested too much time, respect and hope in you to just drop you when you vent off. I wouldn’t recommend that kind of conduct in the future though.”

  Dixon wanted to avoid discussing the matter any further. He changed the subject with remarkable transition.

  “I see Karen’s in. Isn’t she supposed to be on maternity for a few more weeks?”

  Miller laughed at the question.

  “What?” Dixon was puzzled.

  “If you think you got a hard time yesterday, you should have heard what I had to put up with last night. She only fou
nd out about the case on the bleeding telly!”

  Dixon lifted his hand to his mouth.

  “My. I would have loved to have heard that!” The two men laughed.

  “I’ll go and say hello.” Dixon left the office feeling much calmer than he had been when he’d entered. Miller continued with what he had been doing.

  At eight o’clock on the dot he appeared from the office and introduced himself to the five uniforms. He loved getting uniform help, they were always so eager to be useful, hoping to make an impression that could get them on the talent list for future recruitment into the C.I.D.

  “Okay, if everybody’s here. We’ll get on with today’s pressing business.” He walked around the group handing out the three-page memorandum that he’d produced. He spoke as he passed them around.

  “I trust we have all welcomed the constables who have kindly joined our small, friendly, close-knit team? Phil, Simon, Jackie, Gareth and Steve. Good to have you on board.” Miller added an enthusiastic boost to his voice.

  “Right! First things first, we are looking for a man who shoots convicted child molesters dead. I’m sure you are all aware of that. I am going to ask anybody who is in the room that doesn’t feel the usual surge of energy for catching a killer to please leave. There’ll be no hard feelings; we are all entitled to our opinions. If you are of the opinion that our murderer is not that bad, or, like the Sun…” He held aloft today’s edition of the paper, the headline read “Vigilante!” With his other hand he displayed the Mirror, whose editor had opted for “Justice at last.”

  The headline was boldly typed above a photograph of the schoolgirl Dawn Thompson’s grave, which was littered with teddy bears, her savage rape and murder by a notorious paedophile was still firmly etched on the nation’s collective mind.

  “…and the Mirror, feel that he has a just cause, then please get out now. You will be no good to me if you are not one hundred per cent committed to getting this killer off our streets.” Miller stopped talking and looked at the ten faces. He let his gaze linger for a split second longer on Dixon. Nobody stood up and left.

  “I’m of the thinking that I’m paid to catch killers. That’s what I do and I’m not about to start deciding which killer I’m going to nick. Just like a footballer doesn’t decide which matches he wants to win.” Chapman couldn’t resist adding an analogy of his own.

  “Like DS Saunders Sir. He doesn’t choose which birds he shags!” His put-down got a hearty laugh from the rest of the group.

  “He’ll batter you!” said Miller, laughing himself. He waited for everybody to settle down. Saunders was displaying a false grin. It was obvious that he was embarrassed, but he seemed to be putting a false front on it.

  “Great. So we all want to catch this joker?”

  Everybody in the room nodded, a few of them voiced their enthusiasm. Miller was being genuine, he honestly meant it. If anybody had issues, he’d prefer him or her working on something else. He wouldn’t make a fuss if anybody left.

  Miller spent the next fifty minutes explaining everything that was understood about the killer, the motive, and to the shock and excitement of everybody in the room, the Sky News aspect.

  Over fifty minutes, he’d covered every single detail surrounding the case. The main question that he wanted to focus on was regarding the pattern of the killings. Firstly he wanted to know if there was one, if so, what was the list the gunman was following, or was the victim choice purely random, picked at will from the Sex Offenders Register? With a clue as to who may fall victim next, they could well have him.

  He spent the next thirty minutes assigning tasks to each of his team. DI Ellis and DS Saunders were given the rather mundane task of revisiting victims’ relatives and going over the victims’ known activities in the fortnight leading up to their deaths. He knew that this was a rather uninspiring job, but it could help to establish a lead. Did all the victims associate with a certain social group? Did any of the victims regularly visit a significant place at a significant time? These were vital questions that Miller wanted answers to.

  He gave Worthington and Chapman an even more laborious task, they were sent to do “door-to-doors” around the scenes of the shootings. Did anybody see anything, regardless of its apparent insignificance? Was anybody acting suspiciously? Was there an unusual car parked nearby? Had the victim seemed stressed or flustered or nervous about anything prior to the shooting? Miller knew it was crap work, but he also knew from experience that leads don’t just come in and sit on your desk.

  Miller held up a huge cheque like the ones that lottery winners are photographed with. It was left over from a charity presentation some years ago and it was constantly being dug out again in the hope of raising morale, if not just

  for the comic value.

  “And don’t forget, this beautiful two hundred and fifty pound cheque is waiting for the arresting officer. Go get me my killer gang!”

  Despite the menial tasks, Miller’s officers seemed refreshed and upbeat about the enquiry - a sense of positivity had crept back into this investigation.

  As soon as the regular officers had left to carry out the chores they’d been assigned and Dixon had returned upstairs, Miller gave the five young uniformed hopefuls their job. It was a colossal undertaking and one that was going to require lots of time and plenty of patience.

  Miller introduced the five rookies to the Police National Computer, which since its inception in the 1960’s had helped to arrest tens of thousands of offenders, and in which he was still a firm believer.

  He gave each of them a specific role that would create a chain of information to be put together, and eventually they could draw up a list of suspects. Miller’s formula was simple. The first person in the chain was required to search out all listed victims of paedophile activity in the Greater Manchester area. That individual’s information was then passed along to the second phase. This involved searching out that person, as well as that person’s close family and their addresses. In many cases this was an essential detail, because often the victim of the sex crime had been killed as part of the crime. In a distressing amount of other cases, the victim had since died prematurely, mostly through drink or drug abuse - but there was an alarming rate of suicides amongst them too. The PNC listed known deaths, but quite often that information had not been updated.

  Once the data about victims and the victims’ closest family had been collated, this was then to be passed to the next link in the chain. The source information had to be refined, basically focusing on when the offence took place. Three categories were drawn up to capture a specific age group. It was a complicated system and a huge gamble with the constables’ prized time. Miller wanted a detailed log to include all of the known information on all of the victims of paedophilia in the Greater Manchester area, but at the same time he wanted his rookies to develop a primary list to concentrate on people over the age of forty.

  In essence, Miller wanted a list of people who were either a victim, or the relative of a victim fitting into the age group that Jerry Phillips had guessed that “Pop” fitted into. It was a massively complex and time consuming task, but Miller thought that this method was sure to throw up some potential suspects.

  The final link in the chain would then have gained a fairly inspiring catalogue of names and addresses of people that fitted Miller’s theory of the demographic of the killer.

  Miller demonstrated the entire procedure on the first two names that the database presented, which eventually resulted in his first five potential suspects. He explained that the eventual list of suspects would be whittled down until he eventually possessed a “probable” list. He didn’t discuss the basis of his selection method, but he was totally animated about the potential of this method, and that enthusiasm rubbed off onto the five constables. As he left them, each of them was going about their tasks devotedly.

  Once everybody was working on their new projects, Miller set up the Sky News live stream on his PC and found some speake
rs to plug in, so he would be able to hear the call when it came.

  *****

  DC’s Chapman and Worthington were having an uneventful morning. They’d started their door-to-door enquiries around the neighbourhood of the scene of the first murder in the old, red-brick terraced streets of the former cotton mill town of Stalybridge.

  It was the same story at every door.

  “Hi. Really sorry to trouble you, my name is DC Chapman and this is my colleague DC Worthington. We are detectives from Central Manchester Serious Crimes Investigation Unit. We were just wondering if you might have any information regarding the recent murder in this neighbourhood. Did you see anything suspicious prior to the shooting?” It sounded wooden, like the well rehearsed introduction that it was.

  The pair had gradually become incensed at the sight of their interviewees conjuring a look of “contemplation” which involved focusing their eyes beyond the detectives, and fixing their sights on nothing in particular, coupled with the token of either scratching their nose or massaging one of their forearms as they “thought.” At almost every house they encountered the same scenario, which eventually led to a severely vacant look and then the reply,

  “Nah, can’t think of anything. Soz.”

  At one house, Worthington had the householder, a rather serious looking middle-aged woman with terrible breath, standing literally inches away from his face as she hissed,

  “You want me ter help you find this bloke who is killing all the beasts? FUCK OFF. I’ve never heard of anything so ridicerless in my life.” Worthington was caught off guard. He stepped back to avoid the repugnant heat and foul stench of her breath, but she was relentless and stepped with him.

  “And WHY was that fucking pervert living round ‘ere anyhow? This estate is full of kids!”

  By dinnertime, they only had one interesting piece of information. Chapman rang Miller with the details.

  “We’re flogging a dead horse here Sir. We’ve finished at the first scene.”