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

by Steven Suttie

  The famously outspoken Judge, Justice Stephens had left his opinion with The Express. “I have dreamed of this day for many years. I shudder to think of how many instances I can recall where I have sentenced a paedophile with the maximum sentence for the crime, and gone home wanting to kick the cat because it is so diabolically inadequate. Thanks Pop, I knew that somebody somewhere would finally wake everybody up.” That particular piece got quite a lot of attention itself - a compilation list of Justice Stephens’ past clangers was re-printed. Though this time, it didn’t seem quite so outlandish. In fact, this one statement seemed to make all of his others seem quite justifiable, except the one about chopping heroin addicts hands off to help them kick the habit. That one still created astonishment some fifteen-years after he’d said it.

  A new attitude was being born in the United Kingdom, a fresh, revitalised hatred for the disgusting scum that had almost become “accepted” as a sub-species by the population. It was almost as though a new war had broken out.

  All of Britain’s satellite news channels were running the story constantly, though they were obviously playing second fiddle to Sky, who were in possession of the crown jewels as far as Pop’s phone call exclusives went.

  Sky’s advertising slots were rescheduled with new rate cards. If you wanted your thirty second advert playing within five minutes of a “major development”, for example, a call from Pop or live image from a murder scene, then you could expect to pay in excess of £100,000, an incredible amount for advertising on a satellite channel - unheard of for a news channel. Coronation Street’s adverts can easily demand such figures, satellite news channels would usually charge seven hundred and fifty pounds for thirty seconds. Business was booming at Sky Television.

  *****

  The story was attracting a lot of attention in Miller’s house too. He’d enjoyed waking leisurely this morning, having a relaxing breakfast with Clare and their eighteen month old twins, Leo and Molly, before taking a run through town and along the canal. He did a lot of thinking on his run.

  It surprised him that he felt so casual about the fact that he was effectively unemployed. He had the mortgage, the car and the holiday to pay for, that was before he even considered the rest of the household bills. But, he wasn’t all that bothered.

  Miller was enjoying a sense of well-being, safe in the knowledge that he had done the best thing for his peace of mind. Clare had been one hundred per cent supportive yesterday when he had arrived home and told her his news. No, he was glad that he was out of it, glad that he would never have to regret having a lack of self respect.

  When he arrived home from his run he showered, played with the kids, ate some lunch and then set about planning to redecorate the spare bedroom, a job that had been overlooked for far too long.

  He was initially concerned that the phone hadn’t been ringing all day with Dixon, Ellis and Saunders trying to talk him into coming back. But the longer it remained silent, the more satisfied he felt about it, actually - it had been accepted. He was no longer running the Serious Crimes Investigation Unit - it was no longer his concern. He did wonder how things were going, with a kind of habitual curiosity. He knew that it would be tough going, trying to build any kind of evidence from the previous day’s chaos. The trampled and danced-on crime scenes had been visited by the gun man’s fans within minutes of the latest incident being reported. Total mayhem. He thought about it and knew that deep down - he truly wanted no part in it whatsoever.

  Miller enjoyed his first day as a free man. The reporting on Pop’s twelve murders had been relentless all day, but as he went to bed with Clare at eleven o’clock that night, he could feel that same, vague feeling of disappointment that the rest of the people in the country were experiencing.

  Pop hadn’t done anything today. Nothing at all.

  It felt as though a really good promise had been broken.

  *****

  Pop’s incredible day of carnage had whetted the appetite of the British public and with Pop’s sudden silence - a whole day of nothing - came the fear that he had decided to put a stop to his campaign. It was a genuine concern for much of the population, the worry that Pop had slipped back into anonymity. He’s started the fight, but had gone home just as it was getting underway.

  The debate about Pop’s issues was relentless, and the government was getting a real battering on the subject, both from voters and the opposition alike. At every opportunity, the points that Pop had raised were in turn raised to the government, who in turn stayed completely muted about the whole affair.

  It stunned the nation - the government was blatantly avoiding a discussion about the only topic of any interest to the population.

  The Mirror newspaper had received over 300,000 petitions on the first possible return date. They announced this fact with an even bigger petition article, urging their readers on with the sentence, “Pop is prepared to spend the rest of his life in prison for your kids…are you not prepared to sign the petition?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Preston, Lancashire

  Saturday 20th May

  The continuing good weather was becoming, ironically, quite a cause for complaint amongst the Great British public. Grumbles of “It’s too hot! “I can’t concentrate” and “it’s either too hot or it’s too cold, we can’t bloody win,” were typical complaints that could be heard almost anywhere that you happened to be, particularly in the weather-beaten north.

  The Preston Lions were playing at home today. The team of promising young nine-year-olds were playing against a team that they desperately needed to beat.

  The visitors, Chorley Rangers Under 10’s had beaten the Lions on every single meeting in the last ten years. It was a fierce rivalry that the present team understood well, testament to the enthusiastic approach of the team’s organisers.

  Colin Powell was the overall coach of Preston Lions, the man in charge of the six different teams that covered the differing age groups. Mr Powell had set the team up fifteen years earlier when his own sons were looking to play football, and he discovered that the area didn’t have any football teams that covered the younger age groups. He usually concentrated his energies on the under 14 team on match-days, but had made the effort and turned up especially to watch the under 10’s face their most competitive fixture.

  It had become a running joke between the parents and the football teams’ managers that Preston had no chance against the mighty Chorley and Mr Powell found it the most unbelievable of statistics, bearing in mind that the Lions under nines beat Chorley’s under nines comfortably in all three games last season, and the teams were relatively unaltered. The only difference really was the “under 10’s” title. This was to be the final time the two teams would meet as under 10’s, and the Chorley Rangers had thrashed the Lions on both of this season’s previous fixtures.

  Mr Powell joked that there must be some voodoo spell on the under 10’s team and that they would just have to try to live with it.

  Kick off was scheduled for ten o’clock, the Lions playing in their home colours, the white strip with yellow and black trim. The atmosphere was great prior to kick off. The travelling Mums and Dads built up the good-humoured heckling before kick off and kept it going throughout the game.

  It was a well fought match and, as half time arrived, the score was a confidence inspiring two all. Lions’ keeper Adam Jones had been kept busy by Chorley’s forwards and deserved a lot of credit for keeping the visitors score down to two.

  Eddie Jones, Adam’s father, had stood in his usual position behind the goals directing his son as each attack approached. He was extremely pleased with Adam’s performance so far, and had congratulated him as he walked off towards the half way line for the team talk and half time oranges.

  As the team sat around the centre circle and listened to the manager’s appraisal of the situation, Eddie Jones walked over to the rest of the parents as they stood along the by-line.

  “Hey, tell you what, your Adam’s kept
us in it Eddie. He’s playing bloody brilliant!” shouted Mike, one of the other Dads, as Eddie approached. Eddie smiled with sheer pride.

  “He’s been kept busy, that’s for certain,” added another of the group.

  “Well, we’ve put a lot of practice in this week, been on the park every night kicking balls at him. I bet he’s been saving them in his sleep!” The group laughed. Eddie’s methods had proved invaluable so far.

  Tony, another of the Dads who had been standing in the small crowd began to speak.

  “We were just saying, while you were over with Adam, Eddie. Do you see that old guy over there? Him that always seems to be stood under the trees.” Tony pointed at the friendly looking character who had become a familiar face at the games, yet always seemed to be keeping himself out of the limelight. Eddie nodded, acknowledging that he had seen the man.

  “Well, I was just saying to Mike and Kev - don’t you reckon that this Pop guy should be paying him a visit soon?” Everybody laughed, including Eddie. Tony continued, “I mean look at him. We shouldn’t be joking about it. Who says we go over there and ask him what the fuck he’s up to?” Tony was being completely serious. Kev and Mike were wearing peculiar grins as they looked on at Eddie. Eddie felt slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  “Hey, come on. He’s just come to watch the game. He’s harmless.” Eddie had no time for this kind of tittle-tattle. He didn’t view that kind of unsubstantiated malice favourably.

  “Yeah, right!” scoffed Tony. “I’ll bet you any money that he’s a fucking pervert, getting his kicks watching little lads playing footy.” He was sneering as he spoke.

  Eddie felt a sudden rush of resentment towards Tony. He considered Tony a bit of an embarrassment anyway to be honest, turning up to games in the thick of winter with his sleeves rolled up so that his half witted tattoos could be read. He thought that Tony’s skinhead made him look like a moron, he’d even stood there some weeks with a few cans of Special-Brew.

  Tony’s remarks had caused him offence and he couldn’t hide his annoyance.

  “Hey. Just a sec, mate. That’s fucking out of order. He’s just watching the game, same as us. Leave him alone, alright?” With that, he turned and left the group and headed towards the goals at the other end of the field.

  Tony went quiet. Eddie’s words had shot him down and made him feel like a bit of an idiot in front of the others. Tony knew that it was best to leave it at that, Eddie was well known for his temper. Tony didn’t want to push it that little bit more.

  Eddie was in position behind the goals as his son came sprinting over.

  “How do you think we’re doing Dad?” he asked as he reached the nets that made him look so tiny. Eddie smiled.

  “You’re doing magic son. I’m proud of you. Next time you get the ball, I want to see your strongest kicks ever - get the ball in the midfield. We need to score goals as well as save them.”

  “Alright Dad,” said Adam as he turned to watch the kick off. Eddie watched the second half with a bellyful of excitement. At times, particularly when Adam was saving the team from slipping behind again and again, he had to remind himself that this was just a kiddie’s game and not the World Cup final. But as the final whistle drew nearer and the score remained at two all, he couldn’t help the fact that his heart was pumping high in his chest.

  And then it happened. The home crowd roared with ecstacy as Lions’ midfield marvel Wayne Burrows got the ball just inside the box, and launched a beautiful toe-bunger into the back of the net. It was 3 - 2. Adam did a cartwheel in his nets as the rest of the team jumped all over Wayne, who was celebrating like a Premiership player who had just won his team the title. Eddie felt a tear form in his eye and wiped it away quickly. A couple more minutes of idle passing amongst the Lions team went by, before the final whistle resounded across the pitch and gave the Preston Lions under 10’s their first win over Chorley Rangers in ten years. For the first time since the players had been born.

  Mr Powell looked as though he was going to burst into tears. The players and their Mums and Dads were all jostling him around, singing “for he’s a jolly good fellow!” and chanting the club’s name.

  Eddie was walking over to the party when he spotted the man that Tony had been so damning about earlier. He was walking in Eddie’s direction, taking a short cut across the pitch. Eddie slowed his pace so that their paths would meet.

  “Enjoy the game?” asked Eddie. He’d been feeling wretched about Tony’s cruel evaluation, since being dragged unwittingly into the conversation. The old man smiled. His eyes connected with Eddie’s through his thick spectacle lenses.

  “Yes. That was a really great game. I imagine that it meant a lot to win today?” he asked. Eddie laughed.

  “You can say that again! It’s the bogey team. We’ll probably finish third in the league, but this game always gets played up, we’ve not beat these for absolutely years.”

  “Oh, I thought that it must be something like that. The goalkeeper had an exceptional game. I take it he’s your lad?” The man was kind, gentle. Eddie felt a tinge of sadness for him, it was quite obvious that he was lonely.

  “Yeah, yeah. Adam. I’ll tell you that’s the best I’ve ever seen him play. I wish I’d brought my video camera!” said Eddie. The pride was bubbling out of him.

  “Well, you pass my congratulations onto young Adam. Tell him to keep playing like that and we’ll have him playing for North End.”

  “P.N.E. Eh? I think they’ll have to spend some money this summer if they want to stay up next season.” Eddie really liked this old man and felt absolutely wretched for laughing at Tony earlier, however briefly.

  “Yes, don’t you worry. They’ll shock some folk next season. I hope so, anyway. You go and congratulate your lad. I’ll see thee again some time no doubt.”

  “Yeah, thanks. See you.” Eddie watched the man walk on and wondered how Tony could have got his opinions so messed up. Eddie decided, as he neared the celebrating team, that this Pop mania that everybody seems to have was making people mad. He turned and caught a last glimpse of the old man, as he stepped off the field and walked behind the wall.

  Eddie caught up with the jubilant parents and players. “Man of the match, no doubt about it,” said Kev. “Your Adam must be Lions’ most legendary player after that performance!”

  Eddie grinned. He was loving the feeling that his son had stirred up in him.

  “Hey, let’s not forget about Wayne’s wonder strike!” offered the beaming father.

  Eddie joined in with the rest of the group as they trailed the team around on their lap of honour. It was ridiculous, doing a lap of honour around an empty field, but great fun. As they approached the changing rooms, Eddie learnt of the plans of going to the pub and celebrating the historic result with Coca Cola’s all round, Mr Powell had already announced that he was footing the bill. Eddie looked around, he couldn’t see Tony.

  “Where’s Tony?” he asked Mike.

  “Oh, he’s told us to meet him at the pub, had to nip off somewhere. I’m taking Jake.” Eddie blew out loudly. He’d wanted to patch it up with Tony, if only for the team’s sake - it wouldn’t do for there to be an atmosphere between the parents. Eddie had decided to tolerate Tony for what he was and just put up with it.

  “Hey, he’s got it wrong about that old fellah you know. He’s a lovely bloke.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Mike.

  “You know, that old bloke he was taking the piss out of. I’ve just had a chat with him. He’s just an old bloke, P.N.E. supporter. He’s just come down to watch a bit of footy.” Kev joined the conversation.

  “He was only having a laugh, Eddie. I don’t think he meant to wind you up,” he said in Tony’s defence.

  “Well, it’s a bit bloody ignorant to say those things about a total stranger. He probably fought in the war, and that’s the kind of respect he gets. I’ll tell you, that Tony can be a right arsehole sometimes.”

  “Well he was just talkin
g about this Pop bloke. I think it’s got his imagination going,” said Mike.

  “Well maybe he should get a bloody job and stop sitting at home watching telly all day.”

  The kids started emerging from the changing rooms in their tracksuits. They were pointing at the visitors’ Mums and Dads who were standing quietly, waiting for their children. The triumphant players started singing loudly in the direction of the quiet supporters.

  “You’re not singing anymore! You’re not singing any - more!”

  *****

  Tony wasn’t putting up with this shit. How could Eddie stand there and defend this dirty old pervert, when it could easily have been his kid he was ogling at. He was incensed, this Pop was spot on; kill the fucking animals.

  He was walking slowly behind the old man, getting more and more frustrated at how leisurely he was walking. Tony had followed him through the park, along the main road and down the hill towards the estate.

  “Fucking hell, it can’t be much further now,” he muttered as he continued to track the pensioner at a snail’s pace.

  The old man stopped on Tennyson Street and started watching a couple of youngsters on their BMX bikes, as they pulled wheelies and flew over a rather rickety looking ramp that they had obviously built themselves. The old man just stood there, leaning against his walking stick. Tony had to cross the road and look into the window of the corner shop in a bid to remain unnoticed.

  After about ten minutes, the old man turned away from the daring youngsters and continued his journey down the terraced street.

  Tony was becoming furious, he couldn’t believe the old bastard’s open and obvious behaviour. He was seething with anger as he trailed the man around the corner into the estate. Why am I the only one who cares about this? He wondered as he felt the adrenaline pumping through his body.