“Bloody hell Sir, how long have I been off?” she asked, deliberately sporting a stunned look before returning her eyes to Dixon.
“Not for me thanks Andy, I’m fine with this. Driving.” Said Dixon as Miller went. Dixon looked back in Ellis’s direction as Miller patted his boss on the shoulder as he made his way past. Ellis continued, trying to make her point as diplomatically as possible.
“What I mean is, you can’t blame anybody for supporting the murderer in this case. I know that I’m walking into a political correctness minefield here, but, well I’m amazed that we’ve actually given the motive away. It seems bloody ridiculous. I can’t think of a single benefit we might gain, if anything it’s only going to hamper the enquiry.” Dixon looked irritated. He listened politely though as Ellis continued.
“It would have made a lot more sense if we’d just announced that we were looking for a random murderer. That would have created an incredible amount of feedback. As it is, nobody wants to help, and I can’t fault them, given the crimes that our victims are guilty of, and more to the point, the leniency of the punishments many of them have received.”
Dixon looked around the table. Everybody was in unison with Ellis as they stared at the Detective Chief Super, awaiting his response. When she’d started the topic, Dixon had suspected that maybe Miller was behind it, stirring his team up so they’d take their frustration out on him, but the more he’d listened, he doubted that Miller had even mentioned the subject.
Miller returned from the bar, carrying four pint glasses in his hands, which got the customary round of applause.
“How do you do that?” asked Worthington.
“When he does actually get them, he does it in style!” said Saunders. Miller placed the glasses down on the table and slapped his DS around the back of the head.
“Cheeky little shit. I get my fair share at the bar!” he said, pleadingly. The group met the outburst with ridicule. Dixon was laughing along too.
“Have I missed anything?” asked the DCI once he sat down.
“Karen was just saying exactly what you said yesterday,” said Dixon, searching Miller’s face for a reaction.
“About announcing the motive?” he asked. Dixon nodded.
“I was just saying, it can’t help our investigation much, can it?” repeated Ellis, for Miller’s benefit. The DCI looked at his superior with an apologetic raise of the eyebrows.
“Well, I want you all to know, without trying to sound like a bullshitter - I had the same argument myself. We had no choice but to release details of the motive to avoid any accusations of scare-mongering. I told Andy yesterday, it was totally unexpected and I agree with you Karen, it’s bloody obstructive.” Dixon seemed genuine enough and everybody accepted the situation, but he wanted to explain further.
“I know that we are all a little shocked by this whole case, I was telling Andy only yesterday - I’ve never encountered anything like it. But, what I get frustrated about is the public’s perception of us. While you were all over at Wythenshawe, I was watching the live broadcast and I was amazed at the anti-police message that was being broadcast. I think that, looking at the papers this morning and watching that channel this afternoon, it seems the media are intent on staging this situation as “a hero vigilante versus the police”, when in actual fact, this individual can’t really have any qualms with us. I agree with the arguments, the topic of sex offenders needs to be discussed, reformed, but at the end of the day it’s the Home Office, the CPS and the Probation Service who have the questions to answer, not us.”
Miller nodded, he always thought that Dixon was wasted as a cop - he ought to have been a politician and in moments like this, it really came through.
“I was showing those uniforms through the PNC this morning. I was gob-smacked to find that there are one hundred and ten thousand registered sex offenders out on license in the UK, all of them convicted!” Miller looked as though he couldn’t believe his own words as he said them.
“Fucking hell! Our man has his work cut out then!” said Worthington to an uproar of laughter.
“What does that mean, sex cases?” asked Chapman.
“Any offence relating to a sexual offence, rape, indecent assault, flashing,” said Dixon.
“But we’re only dealing with paedophiles, aren’t we?” asked Ellis.
“Is there a separate list that details the specific nature of the crimes?” Dixon prepared to answer but Miller cut in.
“No. The PNC won’t list specifics, so he’s sourcing his victims another way,” he reflected.
“Yes, I was just about to say,” offered Dixon, “the only government agency that actually keeps a specific log with details of spent convictions is the Probation Service. Each regional office will keep a record of every client that comes into their area, either on release from prison or, surprisingly, if they move in the area. Well, that’s how it works in theory, but I was talking to Peter Edmonds from Probation this morning and he said the system is well behind.”
“So that’s where he’s getting the info from!” Miller was buzzing, but Dixon cut him short.
“Yes, it certainly looks that way. However I asked him to check the system, I wanted to test the theory. The first name I gave him was Eric Bradshaw. If you remember he was the victim shot in Sheffield, where he’d moved to about three months ago from Bury. Peter got his details up immediately, his computer displayed the details of his offences. It keeps record of his DNA, fingerprints, blood group and what-have-you. The only problem was, the address had not been updated, and the system still logged the Bury area as his permanent address. As a favour, he rang the Hallam Probation Service in Sheffield and asked them to do the same search. Nothing. His presence in the area had been totally overlooked, which begs the question, how did our “Pop” character track him down?”
The group was stuck suddenly. That final detail had stalled the conversation.
“We can find out who has access to the database though, can’t we?” asked Miller.
“This is where we get a little cloudy. You see, the system was updated some six months ago, upgraded from whatever old fashioned operating system it had been using for the last twelve years, to the latest Microsoft system which gives them all kinds of benefits. Anyway, it appears that the company responsible for the changeover also managed the transfer of information, which means that any old Tom, Dick or Harry who hasn’t signed the Civil Service Official Secrets Act would have had access to the data.”
Miller was surprised, though not disheartened. “But, this firm must have a reputable background in similar fields, this can’t be their first job dealing with sensitive information?”
“Yes, of course. It’s not a Mickey Mouse firm. It’s one of these million pound an order IT solutions companies. Peter is getting the name of the business for me, he’s probably emailed it to me already. I’ll know more in the morning.”
“But it doesn’t rule out a probation officer?”
“Of course not. And I think that from tomorrow morning, that might be the strongest line of enquiry.” Said Dixon, Miller was impressed at how much progress the DCS had made while he’d been sat watching Sky News, waiting for the killer to phone the TV station.
With the end of Dixon’s discussion, the other detectives began chattering away feverishly. It would be quite preposterous to imagine a probation officer killing his clients.
Ellis gave her drink back to Chapman. “Here, I’m driving, I’ll have to get going now, that’s enough excitement for me.” She felt like she’d been through the mill today and could think of nothing she longed for more than to get home to Bob and James. She checked her watch as she stood up, it was five to ten. Saunders was holding his upturned thumb at her as she said her farewells.
“You’ll be stuck on that computer for two weeks if you start giving me any shit!” she exclaimed to the DS. The group, including Dixon, all made “meow” noises.
*****
Ellis arrived home at quarter pas
t ten. She let herself in very quietly and crept into the lounge. The house was lit up like Blackpool Illuminations. Her heart melted at the sight that greeted her.
“Aww,” she said as she went across to where Bob was lying on the sofa, fast asleep, with baby James cradled on his well-built chest. She grabbed her phone out of her handbag and quickly looked for the camera function. She didn’t want to miss this beautiful photo opportunity. The flash woke Bob and his sudden movement alarmed James who jumped, extending both arms before falling back asleep in his Dad’s embrace.
“Hello, sorry I woke you,” whispered Ellis. She looked like she was about to cry.
“Hiya love. You didn’t wake me,” said Bob looking confused.
“Yeah, I did, you were asleep when I came in, looking gorgeous the pair of you so I snuck a photo of you both.”
“Oh, I must have nodded off. How’s it been?” Bob was tired, it was obvious.
“Oh, don’t ask. Crappy day. What have you eaten?”
“Your Mum did my tea. We sat watching you on telly while we ate. She was so proud of you. I think she’s taped it for you.” Ellis laughed.
“What, she’s taped me stood outside a house? She’s getting worse.”
“Are you coming up?” asked Bob, rubbing the sleep from his dark-ringed eyes.
“Nah, I’ll see to James. When was his last feed?”
“About nine. I’ll have to go up to bed. I’m jiggered.”
He stood slowly and handed the sleeping baby to his wife, as he kissed her.
“Things any better at work?” she asked as he trundled out of the room.
“Not sure, we’ll see over the next few days. See you.”
Ellis sat down with the baby and held his head to her face and began to cry. She was sobbing uncontrollably when Bob came back from halfway up the stairs.
“Karen, what’s up love?” he looked naturally concerned.
“Oh nothing,” she blubbered. “Chopping onions.”
“Seriously love, what’s up?”
“Just my bloody hormones!”
*****
Miller arrived home just after eleven. Once Ellis had gone, the justification was there and everybody gradually made their own excuses. He couldn’t blame them, it had been a busy few weeks and personal time had slowly become quite a rare commodity.
Miller hated drink-driving, but he had to be up and out early. He’d arranged a team briefing for eight o’ clock and he’d have to be in a lot earlier than that to arrange the upcoming day’s strategic arrangements - so driving home was a necessary evil, he’d considered while downing his last pint.
When he got in, he was surprised to find Clare still up, watching TV. He grimaced when he saw what she had been watching.
“Hiya babe,” he said, pleased to see her, but not the wretched Sky News livery. He collapsed on the sofa next to her, burying his head in her breast. The smell of beer was overpowering.
“Well, I’m not bloody surprised you’ve been to the pub. This is unbelievable! It’s awesome! I’ve had it on all day. He twins were waving at you by the way, when you were outside that house,” she said, the tone of her voice suggesting that she was in awe of this news story. Miller smiled as he opened his eyes. He laughed, proudly.
“Are you making me talk about work?” he asked, realising as he said it that it sounded sharp and unpleasant, which hadn’t been his intention. He decided to talk about work anyway, to make up for his tetchy sounding remark.
“It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever come across, everybody seems to be rooting for this nutter!” he offered.
Clare adjusted her head so she could see him - she looked slightly surprised. “Can you not see why? Bloody hell, Andy!”
“Oh no! Not you as well!” he said. He swivelled up off the sofa and headed through to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, wildly assessing its contents, glaring for something to make a toastie with. Clare followed him.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Not you as well?” she asked. She seemed fired up - which was rather out of character.
Miller kept his head in the fridge, biting his tongue. The last thing he needed right now was a domestic about work. He stood and closed the fridge door, clasping a lump of cheese. Turning to face Clare, he wondered what he could say to her, the only person who knew him completely, to explain his mind set about this case. He quickly realised that there was nothing to say. He knew that by trying to palm her off with the attitude that he’d expressed to his team, it would only end in hours and hours of heated debate, and frankly, he was too tired.
He looked at that lovely face staring back at him - the inquisitive look in her beautiful blue eyes demanded his affection. He sat on the polished granite worktop and held his cheese between both hands.
“The truth is, I don’t know why I want to catch him, apart from that it’s my job, it’s what pays for all this.” He cast his arm around the stunning modern kitchen very dramatically, which forced a laugh from Clare.
“But, I just don’t go for this charm that everybody seems mad about. Fair enough, he hates paedophiles - I don’t blame him for that. But going around shooting them in the back of the head is not my idea of how a hero behaves. It’s just not my type of thing.” Clare listened carefully to what he was saying, but just couldn’t understand her husband’s viewpoint.
As far as she was concerned, the fact that a man had taken it upon himself to start such a valiant campaign, sacrificing his freedom in the interests of others, deserved at the very least respect. At best, unreserved adulation.
In Clare’s eyes, from what she had seen and heard from the TV, radio and newspapers all day long, this man was determined to make a safe and decent place for children to walk around in, where parents could allow their kids that little more freedom for discovery, without being constantly plagued by terrible thoughts of crimes that have broken the nation’s heart so many times before.
“This man is a hero, Andy. Whether you like it or not.” Her voice was soft, measured. “Let me ask you a question - if this was in America, exactly the same case was going on right now in say, New York or Los Angeles and you were watching it on telly, would you still feel as though the person responsible was such a scumbag?” He was about to speak but Clare continued, a trait that she’d picked up off him.
“Or would you say, like most people on the planet, “hey, good on you! At last somebody is standing up for something that shouldn’t be happening?” Miller considered the question for a moment.
“No. Honestly, I wouldn’t. I don’t believe in martyrs like that. It’s just a fashionable thing. If it was cool to hate traffic wardens, would it be okay to stab them to death as they print out your ticket? Would that be acceptable, if the general consensus was that traffic wardens are horrible?” Miller searched his wife’s face. It was frozen with a look of complete puzzlement. A humourless, cold laugh escaped her pursed lips.
“We’ve been married for fifteen years Andy, and that is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard you say. I’ll put it down to you being pissed. I’m going to bed.” She walked briskly out of the kitchen muttering to herself. Miller went over what he’d said and realised that it was pretty dumb, but none the less, the point was there.
He made two cups of tea and took them upstairs - he didn’t want to leave this unresolved. Miller’s appearance in the bedroom was met by a typically sarcastic remark from Clare.
“The window cleaner missed the front door again, that’s the second time he’s done that,” she said, seemingly changing the subject.
“Well, he’s a knob, isn’t he?” said Miller, pleased that the subject had been changed and that Clare was still talking.
“Yeah, well, he was. I hacked his head off with your axe when he came for his money.”
“Oh, don’t be so bleeding childish,” he said, angry with himself for being drawn in. Clare laughed. “I think it’s a good thing, a few more window cleaners get topped and you can guarantee that missed corners will become a thi
ng of the past!” Clare was still gnawing defiantly at her husband.
“Oh, come on. Christ, all I meant was, if paedophiles weren’t so exposed in the media all the time, then maybe half of the people who think that “Pop” is a great bloke would be a bit less enthusiastic about him.”
Clare just laughed. She looked at him as though he was trying to make fun of himself. She put on her TV quiz host voice.
“Okay, this next question will take you up to two hundred pounds. People don’t like paedophiles because A) They cause long queues in Tesco. B) They never indicate at roundabouts or, is it C) because they rape, abuse, threaten, hurt, terrify and torture little kids?” Miller couldn’t stand Clare when she was being like this.
“Right. Okay, what shall I say? Tomorrow love - I’ll go to work and hope that we don’t catch this murderer? I’ll do everything I possibly can to ensure that we don’t arrest this bloke what’s going around shooting people. Is that what you want me to start thinking?” Miller knew that Clare wasn’t joking when she nodded and smiled.
“Well I’m not about to start telling you how to do your job Andy, but the fact that you can’t see the big picture, the purpose of what this man is doing is quite disturbing. This job robs you of your basic humanity, you’re desensitised by it. You know what, if you come home from work tomorrow and told me that he’d been caught, I’d be gutted, and I wouldn’t be alone in that either.” She looked away from her husband who could feel an alcohol induced headache arriving. She picked up her book and began reading, her way of telling him that the conversation was over.
“Is that because you’d be sad that he’d stopped killing? Or because you don’t think he deserves to go to jail?” he asked, not hopeful for a response. Clare’s eyes remained on her book as she replied curtly.
“Both.”
Miller sat at the end of the bed for a few moments, mulling over what Clare had said. He knew that what she was saying was one-hundred-per-cent right, from a civilian’s point of view - but he was a police officer. He couldn’t be swept along with popular opinion, no matter how strongly he truthfully felt about the situation. His professional pride was at stake here. The simple fact of the matter was - a man was breaking the law, it was Miller’s case. The man had to be caught. End of.
One Man Crusade : DCI Miller 1: The Serial Killer Nobody Wants Caught Page 12