Dixon had pleaded with him to stay, but he knew only too well that Miller would not be wavered. His mind was set, He had resigned. Miller was in his study, trying to enjoy an ice-cold can of Carlsberg while writing a strong letter to the Chief Constable regarding what he considered the corrupt conduct of the force, when Clare shouted urgently up the stairs.
“Andy! Come, quick! You have to see this!”
On reaching the living room and locking his eyes onto the TV screen, even he was shocked by this “latest development.”
Chapter Fourteen
11.20pm Sky News Headquarters
There had been nothing in Jerry Phillips’ twenty five year experience of journalism that could have prepared him for what had been without doubt the busiest and most exciting day of his long and acclaimed career in television news.
He’d engineered the day’s broadcast brilliantly. Sky News were responsible for putting together one of the greatest news reports that had ever been transmitted in the history of British broadcasting, it really was that good. He was taken aback by the constant supply of encouraging messages from both viewers and colleagues alike, which just kept pushing him, creating a non-stop conveyor belt of visual images and powerful dialogue. It was a broadcast that was to shine a whole new light on what, until today, Britain deemed to be its notion of morality.
Jerry felt high, such was the quality of the news channel’s coverage of the day’s events. It was as though he realised that he had reached the very pinnacle of his profession. Bob Geldof described the moment he sang “I don’t like Mondays” to a packed Wembley Stadium at the Live Aid concert he organised in 1985, as the moment in his life that would never be beaten. For Jerry, today’s broadcast had felt like he’d had his moment.
He felt slightly lost as the day drew to a close, when he realised that he would probably never get this high again. It was gone 11p.m. when he knew that things had finally settled down, and that he could get his first real rest since the first call he’d aired alerting the police to the dead man in Wythenshawe thirty or so hours ago.
Jerry was in his office, staring at the ominous gap on his awards shelf that he knew would now be filled brilliantly, when he finally felt his eyelids refuse to re-open from their latest heavy blink. He plunged into a deeply satisfied sleep sitting upright in his executive chair.
For Jerry, the day’s coverage had begun just before noon, when he’d been informed by one of his staff that Pop was on the line, wishing to go to air with a second phone call. The call had been aired, and within ten minutes of concluding the live broadcast conversation with Sky presenters, police were in attendance of his latest murder.
Jerry had tried to make as much of the story as possible, a main talking point was the lack of detectives who were supposedly in charge of the enquiry. Then, one of the company’s receptionists had been out for lunch, and came back early to tell Jerry that the pub she had been in was full of lunchtime drinkers and workers cheering at the screen, applauding Pop’s latest murder.
He sent one of his reporters there, and the pictures that he broadcast live were quite amazing, even to Jerry. He rang the reporter in the pub and told him to stay there, informing him that they would use him again within the hour. That was Jerry’s idea of how to keep this latest development interesting, he thought that by adding a few vox-pops from supportive members of the public and continuing to screen the reaction from inside the pub, he might just be able to keep this story about the murder of a child rapist going all day.
Jerry hadn’t needed to worry about how he was going to manage his day’s schedule. Pop was kind enough to provide him with plenty of material to keep his station reporting non-stop for the rest of the day.
It was precisely 2:02pm when a viewer rang to tell the station that a person had been shot while walking home from the paper shop. The address was in Clifton, a small district on the outskirts of Salford, about two miles from Farnworth. Jerry didn’t want to drag Lisa and Paul away from the scene in Farnworth, just in case this happened to be an unconnected incident. After all, this situation was unfolding in Manchester, a place not entirely unconnected with the thought of gun crimes, particularly in the inner city areas. In recent times, the city’s partnership agencies had worked tirelessly to shed the city of the infamous nickname adopted in the 1990’s of “Gunchester”.
Jerry, bearing in mind he had a plentiful budget to cover this story - rang Granada TV who said they could freelance up to five additional outside broadcast teams, with vehicles capable of providing live feeds to Sky’s London headquarters. Jerry booked one of them to attend this latest crime scene.
By the time that Granada had provided the reporter, technical operators and director, who arrived at the incident some twenty five minutes later and began to beam the pictures, reports and reaction from the scene live to Sky Centre, it transpired that Pop was indeed using his day profitably. News emerged that he’d just killed another in Lower Broughton.
The Lower Broughton area was on the very fringe of the city centre, an overspill community from Salford precinct. It was another viewer who had rung with this latest piece of information. It was just before 3pm.
Sue Bentley, the News Anchor, was quite visibly stunned by the pace of these new developments. Her facial contortions, as new information was being fed into her earpiece, testified that even the people broadcasting this news were as shocked and enthralled by it as the viewers were at home. The “breaking news” banner had pretty much remained on the screen - the information that it was to portray was being updated by the minute, accompanied by those dramatic sound effects, designed to alert the viewer that the banner was bringing fresh information.
Scores of American TV stations had dropped their usual schedules to join Sky’s output, as had Australia’s ABC network. Countless European stations were covering the story with interest also. Britain’s flagship channel, BBC One had suspended normal programming to join their twenty-four-hour news service, which was trying to keep up with the escalating developments of this incredible story.
By five o’ clock there had been a further three shootings, taking Pop’s total for the day to six. Six separate murders within five hours. It was almost impossible to believe.
The presenters kept repeating the fact as though the more they said it, the easier it would be to comprehend.
Jerry had been back onto Granada and had contracted the other outside broadcast teams. The expense to Sky would be astronomical, but the cost was utterly irrelevant. He instinctively knew that this story was about to project his channel to the dizzy heights. Sky News was very quickly becoming the most famous news channel on the planet.
He had also assigned his Midlands, Yorkshire, Southern Scotland and North East correspondent teams to Manchester. They arrived at different times, and all of them had been allocated tasks long before they crossed the Greater Manchester border.
Granada’s other vans were despatched to the murder scenes in Lower Broughton, Gorton, Openshaw and the latest murder by the start of Sky’s “Live at Five” programme, was in Ashton-Under-Lyne.
Sky’s studio analysts drew the pattern that was forming on the city map, they even deliberated on where they anticipated the killer to hit next.
As six o’ clock drew nearer they had another murder to report, by seven, there had been a further two within thirty-five minutes. Jerry sent his recently arrived correspondents to the scenes in Mossley, Oldham and Milnrow, a small town outside Rochdale.
Next, a murder had taken place in Middleton. It was eight o’clock when Sky News reported the eleventh fatal shooting, this time on a quiet street in Whitefield.
Nine o’ clock came and the day’s final murder, in Bolton, just two miles away from the day’s first, which by now seemed like it had happened days ago, in Farnworth.
It was an incredible, hectic day. The nation was finally told that it was all over by Pop himself, as he rang Sky News at 10:20pm. He was put on air with veteran news presenter Edward Birch, who had a
rrived at work completely stunned by the chaotic situation, unsure of what was going to happen during the segment that he presented, which regularly captured the station’s highest viewing figures. His programme was on between eight pm and midnight.
Edward was well up for the call, and when he was interrupted from his discussion with a reporter in Bolton, he could hardly contain his delight that he was about to cap the day’s coverage so remarkably; with one of the most eagerly awaited interviews in modern times.
“Well, John, I’m afraid I must interrupt you there, I’m being told in my earpiece that Pop, the man who we believe to be responsible for today’s massacre across the Greater Manchester region, joins me on the line. Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What a day, I’m bloody knackered!” he said. The comment stunned Edward, as Pop’s introduction to the other calls had wobbled the other Sky presenters. He took a second before composing himself.
“You certainly have been busy. Twelve murders in ten hours. Are you ringing to inform us that your activities are finished for today?”
Edward had worked the question himself. Jerry was desperately typing his own into the autocue machine. He never dreamed that Pop would call again today.
Pop’s trademark delay seemed to last slightly longer than usual before his familiar voice was once again broadcast to an enthralled world.
“Yes, I think I’ve done for today. It’s a truly awesome feeling you know, killing these bastards. I think I’m hooked! I only planned on doing about three or four, but my briefcase was there, with loads of details available and I guess I’ve just got carried away, it’s such a buzz! I could have done more, but there were a few of them not at home, which was lucky for them! Feels good though.” It was obvious from his voice that he felt as though he’d really achieved something. He was talking like a triumphant cyclist who had just won the Tour De France.
Jerry’s first question flashed onto the autocue. Edward read it out, still feeling quite stunned by Pop’s bearing, despite having heard each of the other interviews umpteen times previously.
“Some people might think that you are becoming reckless. Obviously, at this early stage we are not in a position to confirm that all of your victims from today are in fact, convicted paedophiles. How would you feel tomorrow if it transpired that you have mistakenly shot an innocent member of the public?”
“Well, that’s a good point, and it brings me nicely onto a point that I wanted to raise. I’ll answer the question first though. I don’t want anybody to think that I am going to shoot innocent people. I am more than one hundred per cent positive that every single monster that I have dealt with today is a convicted paedophile. The reason that I am so confident is because I have done my research over many months. I’ve checked and double checked, then checked again. I would be inconsolable if I shot an innocent member of the public, so I have eliminated any opportunity of that happening by constructing my plan carefully and responsibly. If I did by some freakish mistake shoot somebody who was unconnected with my campaign, I can assure you that the minute I find out, I will hand myself over to the police. That’s not an invitation for the police to start creating ridiculous propaganda, mind you. Further to your question, I think that it’s about time I make my proposals public. The point of me going around shooting these monsters dead is not merely to provide myself with great satisfaction, though I can assure you that it is very fulfilling. No, the reason that I have embarked on this project, as I have already mentioned last time I rang - is to bring about some changes. I’m not an idiot, I don’t expect that the government are about to change laws because I have started killing their pervert ex-prisoners. But I do believe that I can easily change the laws with the help of the public. Here’s what I want, and with everybody pulling together on this thing, we can easily achieve it, the timing is perfect…”
The appeal that followed was to become the headline of every British morning newspaper, the main report on every TV and radio news bulletin and bizarrely, the biggest selling record in the history of British pop.
As Miller sat on his sofa, his twins asleep under each arm, his wife as engrossed in the programme as she had been at the start of the rampage, so engrossed in fact that cooking tea had been cancelled and pizza was phoned and delivered so that her viewing was not interrupted.
As the programme had gone on, and excited news presenters revealed yet another new murder scene, Miller realised that he was delighted to have no further part in the hunt for Pop.
Something quite extraordinary had happened, and Miller felt light-headed as the realisation rang true. Today’s events and the eventual phone call had made him realise that he couldn’t catch this man. He realised with a nervous judder that he had fallen under Pop’s spell.
Andrew Miller’s eyes focused on his wife’s face. He laughed. Clare looked across at him, surprised and confused by his sudden giddiness.
“What’s got into you?” she asked.
“I think I’m with you on this one. Can I jump onto your side?”
Chapter Fifteen
Friday 19th May
It was inevitable that the morning papers would be sold out. The Mirror, The Sun, The Star and The Express had all run an extra 200,000 copies. But even that didn’t compensate for demand. Newsagent shops across the land had empty shelves where usually the news was piled high. Every single paper’s editorial agreed in principal with the demands that Pop had made, some of them even acted on his behalf by printing petition forms to be filled out by the reader and sent back to the paper to be presented to the government.
Every paper had printed Pop’s statement in full. The entire content featured on the front page of five papers. The Sun, which had claimed earlier in the week that Pop should run for the upcoming election, printed a comment he’d made to Sky’s Edward Birch as it’s headline, “I think I’m hooked!” Below that, they printed the entire content of Pop’s demands, over a backdrop photograph of the grim, unforgettable scene where little Tim Macdonald’s body had been discovered a few months earlier. It was a distressing picture of a police forensics tent on a frozen picnic area. One solitary police man was guarding the spot, while openly crying. It was a picture that had been etched into the minds of the British public.
“Firstly, if a person is convicted of sexual abuse of any child, they should be imprisoned for life. By life, I mean from now until the funeral. I don’t believe in circumstances, so it has to be mandatory, whether the individual has abused a six year old or a fourteen year old. They should never pose another threat. Do your research. Paedophiles cannot be cured. They want to have sex with children. Our government deny that so they can get them out of the prisons. Don’t listen to their lies. They should not be walking free, they will do it again. That’s what I recommend, but that will include everybody who has already been convicted, who is back living in our communities. They should be rounded up, locked up and the key thrown away. If they did it, they should pay properly while no longer enjoying the opportunity of re-offending. That’s what I want to happen, and no matter how ridiculous it may sound, it can be achieved. We just have to stand together on this. Parliament needs to tell Brussels, the European Court of Human Rights and any other do-gooder organisation that their interference on this matter is not required. Every single person in the UK, all sixty million of them, needs to write to the government and tell them that the system that has been put in place does not work, that the system that in place is a joke both to the victims and to the monsters themselves. Send your child to school tomorrow with an extra fifty pence, let the teachers teach them how to send a letter to the Prime Minister. Let’s tell this government what we want. Let’s not allow them to say that it can’t be done, that it can’t be afforded, that it isn’t allowed. They are there to make these decisions about what can be afforded and what can be allowed. Tell them to do their jobs or else you’ll get somebody else to do it for them. Let’s show them that we mean it.”
The statement ended with the words
“Cheers, Pop.”
Legally, the statement was quite naïve, but the sentiment was excellent. It struck a chord with every teacher, parent and grandparent who had heard it. People had bought the papers to read it, despite hearing it countless times already.
To many, this seemed like a revolution, and most of the people who had been touched by Pop’s sensibility wanted to take part. It was the only topic of conversation in every office, hospital, factory, dentist waiting room, bus station cafeteria, Wherever. It was the only thing that people were talking about.
Everybody wanted to talk about what was happening. The people felt what Pop was doing, he was being admired for his “balls out” attitude.
You just couldn’t escape the subject. Newspapers were running sixteen and seventeen spreads on the previous day’s activity.
It seemed that TV’s breakfast news shows had sent every single reporter they employed to Manchester. They reported none stop from going on air to coming off. Radio stations were discussing the situation, the breakfast show presenters asking traffic and travel girls what they thought. It was inescapable. Heart FM, a radio station that broadcasts to the entire north west of England debated Pop’s demands tirelessly. The music was suspended, nobody wanted to listen to it. The constant supply of phone calls from listeners offered almost absolute support. Of fourteen calls that were aired, only one person voiced her disagreement with the shootings. The caller’s opinion was that it was a sin to murder, regardless of the motive.
Elsewhere, the rest of the media were trying to make the story their own with interviews, comments and opinions from well-known celebrities and public figures. The Sun had started the ball rolling with a full-page spread of “celeb reaction.” Football players, pop stars, TV personalities and various retired politicians offered their admiration, though the more responsibly minded concluded their piece with cautionary advice, “maybe now is the time to give up.” “You have achieved your goals.” “It would be wise to quit while you are ahead.”
One Man Crusade : DCI Miller 1: The Serial Killer Nobody Wants Caught Page 17