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

by Steven Suttie

  That short term ideal, that fresh ambition that would get George going again and distract his desperate mind-set was how the new phase of the campaign came about. Peter recognised soon after the training had begun, that this was for real – it was much more than a distraction. He and Margaret had little option but to accept it as the idea grew and developed into a well thought out murderous vendetta. They soon conceded that they would much prefer to visit George in prison, than visit his headstone in a cemetery.

  Now, Lisa had her university life upcoming, her boyfriends, her parties, her Ibiza holidays. Now, Lisa was a well adjusted, beautiful young eighteen year old, who - if everything went according to plan, would be studying veterinary medicine within two more years. Lisa had become an incredible young woman amid the most trying of circumstances.

  It was the thought of gaining vengeance for Sarah and Alison that had always driven George Dawson on. Anybody he was close to would tell you that his “campaign” had been a long, hard fought battle for eight years.

  The success that had so far been completely unattainable suddenly looked possible. George would begin this new aspect of the campaign on what would have been Sarah’s twentieth birthday. He was ready. Mentally, George felt as strong as he had ever known.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  MCP Headquarters

  This was beyond belief. The news that was coming through was worse than anything Dixon had ever heard before.

  He knew instantly that it was down to the way the investigation had been run. He knew that Ellis had ordered her men to make the arrest without mentioning any of her plans to him. He knew that it was his fault. Ellis was dead, it was Dixon’s fault. He knew.

  It was his fault and there was no getting away from that horrific fact.

  Miller felt exactly the same. Once the news had filtered through, once the initial denial gave way to comprehension, he knew that if he was still heading the team, if he’d been watching out for her then this wouldn’t have happened. He knew that it was his fault.

  He cried. For the first time that Clare had ever known, Miller was crying. She had still to find out why. She had yet to learn that her friend was dead.

  But that had to wait. Miller shrugged off her enquiries, pulled away from her concern. He went through to the kitchen and grabbed the car keys off the side.

  “Andy! What’s going on? ANDY!” Clare was stunned. It was obviously bad, but how bad that he couldn’t just tell her. She followed him out of the house and watched him get into the car. He didn’t look at her as he reversed down the drive and out onto the street. His face was bloated, all puffy and red.

  Clare knew that it had been Dixon who’d called - she’d answered the phone herself. She decided to ring Karen, surely she’d know what the hell was going on.

  Clare went back inside and tapped the numbers into the phone. It took a second to connect and Clare was dismayed to hear Karen’s voicemail message come straight on.

  “Hi, you’re through to Karen, must be busy - leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Clare declined the offer of leaving a message. She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. This was urgent, she really had to find out what it was that had broken her husband down like that. She looked through the family phone book for Karen’s other number, the other mobile, the “business” number that only Andy rang. She found it right beneath the number she’d just tried. Clare typed the numbers into the keypad, taking slightly longer this time because of her unfamiliarity with the digits.

  It began to ring. Clare’s eyes were glued to the stairs of her house as the ringing continued. After a while, the voicemail came on. Clare felt hindered, but decided to leave a message this time. She waited until she was prompted.

  “Hiya Karen, it’s Clare, listen, I’m really sorry to call you on this number, It’s just… I don’t know what’s going on… Andy’s just stormed out in tears. I don’t know what happened, Dixon rang and then… I’m scared Karen. Give me a call as soon as you get this. Thanks babe.”

  *****

  Saunders drove as though he was practising to drive a hearse. Nobody cared that he was driving so slowly. The tense silence between the detectives was overpowering, but nobody had any reason to try and plug it. They all knew that they were headed back to base. They knew that heading back to the crime scene would be too disturbing. They all sat in conflicting worlds of their own, desperate to get back to HQ, desperate to never set foot in there again.

  Nothing had been discussed, no adrenalin fuelled discussions about what they were saying, how they were going to play it. They just sat there, looking out at the afternoon traffic, looking at the other people in cars, people who were smiling, laughing, chatting. They wondered what had been more crushing, the death of Ellis or the realisation that they had lost the killer. The radio was fizzing and spluttering none stop but not one of them heard what was being said. They all felt completely useless, in varying degrees and for differing reasons. It was obvious that Worthington was feeling the worst of all, but neither Chapman nor Saunders could help. They knew that and so refused to offer any bullshit. This was Worthington’s shit – only he could deal with it.

  As the car continued in the direction of the city centre and the impending trouble grew nearer, Saunders foot eased even further off the accelerator.

  *****

  Miller just wanted to punch somebody. Anybody.

  He’d encountered every conceivable arsehole on the way here and now he was being subjected to this.

  “Catherine. Jesus. Look, just ring Dixon. He called me - told me to come.” He was standing in his Manchester City shirt and dirty denim jeans, spitting the words at the receptionist.

  “I’m sorry. I cannot allow you into the building. You know the procedure….” She was about to continue but Dixon appeared at the door. He looked even graver than Miller. He signalled Miller toward him.

  “As if I’d lie, you stupid cow!” he hissed as he walked past her desk and towards Detective Chief Superintendent Dixon.

  “I’m sorry - but I have to…” she started. Miller walked, he wasn’t listening. Dixon extended his arm as Miller approached. Miller offered both and the two men stood at the reception of Manchester City Police HQ hugging like long lost relatives, but without the slightest hint of joy.

  The embrace attracted many glances, but few people were shocked - whispers had begun shooting around the place already. The tragic news had reached almost everywhere. Except the reception desk, it seemed.

  Both men had noticeable tears as they drew away from each others comforting yet useless hold. All those years of closeness seemed to gel back, the wars of recent times forgotten in an instant. Dixon needed Miller right now and Miller felt exactly the same. Dixon rested his hands on Miller’s athletic shoulders as he held him at arm’s length. He stared deeply into Miller’s sad, blue eyes for a long time before finally speaking.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, nodding as though to confirm his sincerity. He let go of Miller and turned away to begin the walk up the stairs to his office. Miller looked down at his shoes, then glanced up at the retreating DCS. He followed his old teacher up to the third floor in total silence, the usual daily hustle and bustle that was continuing all around the building seemed totally inappropriate.

  Eventually they arrived at Dixon’s office. Dixon opened the door and held it while Miller entered. He offered a seat before sitting himself. He took a deep breath before speaking.

  “I’m afraid there is a lot to say. I need to make certain facts clear to you, so if you wouldn’t mind just listening for five minutes.” Miller just nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll make one thing perfectly clear before I explain everything. Once this has all been tied up - I’m resigning. As soon as I have the Pop character behind bars.”

  Miller looked stunned. “What? Whoa. Whoa! You mean that Karen’s killer is Pop?” There was no way that Miller had even considered this fact. He stared at Dixon incredulously. The details that he had heard were sp
arse - basically, Ellis was dead. She’d been shot. No connection with Pop had formed in Miller’s head at all. How could it, he had grown to feel the same sense of affection towards the killer as the rest of the population - he knew that Pop was decent. He knew that Pop wouldn’t kill a copper. Dixon shook his head.

  “The details are extremely sketchy as yet. We haven’t even had an opportunity to speak with the other officers who were at the scene.”

  “Who?”

  “Your team. Saunders, Chapman and Worthington.” Dixon’s phone rang. He showed the palm of his hand to Miller before picking up. He didn’t speak much, just listened to the information that was pouring out of the earpiece.

  After a minute he spoke into the phone.

  “Okay, listen, I want to see them all the moment they walk into the building. That’s an order.” He placed the hand-piece down on it’s cradle and returned his attention to Miller.

  “We’ve finally managed to get contact with them. They are heading back here. The picture will become much clearer.”

  “I’m not having that Pop did this. There’s no way, Sir.” Miller was staring wildly at his old boss. His eyes were pleading.

  “Don’t worry Andy. It will all become clear soon. Now, I need to tell you some vital facts before Saunders and the others arrive. It’s with great shame that I tell you this, and I will resign at the earliest opportunity.” Miller looked on, whatever Dixon had to announce was trivial. The only piece of information that Miller was giving any attention to was the death of Acting Detective Chief Inspector Karen Ellis.

  He looked on politely, but felt a dull wave of resentment at Dixon’s unsuitable yet typical self indulgence. What could be so important? He wondered as Dixon began his speech.

  It soon became apparent. “You were right. All along, you were right about the investigation. I lied to you time and time again. I stood here and looked you in the eye and lied through my teeth.” Dixon began undoing his tie with one hand. Miller just sat there, staring, feeling nothing. He already knew this. He didn’t even feel the desire to point the fact out. Dixon seemed to be waiting for some kind of reply and looked surprised to find there was no response. He shuffled uncomfortably in the chair before continuing.

  “Pop, as he calls himself has been known to the authorities for the past seven years. He had bombarded every imaginable national and local home office department with his petitions and suggestions and endless lists of questions. In February, just after Tim MacDonald’s body was discovered up in Keighley, the Home Office junior who had been dealing with his constant enquiries received a letter which stated his intentions to kill paedophiles. It stated quite categorically that he would shoot them one by one and to hell with the personal consequences.” Miller was still staring ahead, listening intently but showing absolutely no surprise at the information.

  “His name is George Dawson, he lives in Little Lever near Farnworth. It was on his street that Karen died.”

  Miller looked damaged by this announcement. It was he who had advised the team, advised Ellis specifically. He hadn’t wanted to hear this, to hear that Ellis was shot, that Ellis was dead, all because of some advice that he had offered.

  “I know,” he said, slightly louder than a whisper. All of the muscles in Dixon’s face contracted, the blood soaring to the vessels. “She told me. Said she wanted to make the arrest, she was worried that she would get swept away if the investigation was handed to somebody else.”

  “She told you that she knew who it was?” Dixon’s voice was strained with emotion, but it was clear that this was a shock.

  “Yeah, it was some freaky coincidence. He was eyeballed by some woman that he used to teach. She wanted to do a deal with Ellis, I’m not exactly sure what.”

  “She never told me! I would have stopped her,” said Dixon, stating the painfully obvious. “The silly girl. I promised her that she was safe. Jesus, I practically told her that she didn’t even need to make the arrest. That nobody did.”

  “Yeah, well maybe that’s easy for you to say while you’re sat here - you know how much she wanted to rise.” Miller snapped the words at Dixon, though they sounded empty. Hollow.

  “Yes, I know.” Dixon didn’t want to get into a fight, he felt enough responsibility for what had happened already.

  “I want you back. I need you to come back, get this bastard behind bars. Will you?” Miller gave it no thought at all. He answered in a heartbeat.

  “Yes. Of course. Who has told Bob?” he asked, surprising Dixon with both the answer and the question. Dixon looked hard at Miller.

  “Naturally, a formal ID needs to take place first.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t know, does he?” Miller was glaring, he couldn’t believe this.

  “Andy, it only happened fifty minutes ago. Nobody knows what happened yet.”

  “Well, when we’ve found out what happened, we tell him, you and me. Right?”

  Dixon looked scared. For the first time that Miller had ever known, his boss was scared. He nodded, appreciating that it was the decent thing to do.

  “Okay. Of course.”

  A moment of quiet passed, both men were contemplating the sheer magnitude of what their announcement would mean to Bob. There could be nothing more horrific a job to face. But Miller wanted to do it as soon as physically possible.

  “So, this guy at the Home Office, what did he do with the threat?”

  “It wasn’t a threat as such, it was more of a proposal, it was as though Dawson felt that he had exhausted every other possibility. He stated that by killing them randomly, it would create a brilliant opportunity for a referendum about sex offenders. His daughter had been abused, some auxiliary at her school who had previous. She killed herself. Dawson was hell bent on not letting this type of thing happen again. The letter was handed to the junior’s superiors and the first we knew about it was after the second murder, on the fourth of May in Eccles. I was called into a briefing with a few of the top brass and informed of the situation. Obviously, I wasn’t given any specific details about who was calling the shots, but it was made extremely plain that no arrest was to be made, nor was any detail of the meeting to be discussed with anybody, at any time. I had to sign an affidavit, so I’m losing my pension by just talking about this with you.”

  Dixon looked sad. Miller softened slightly, realising that there was little Dixon could have done. He would have been crazy to resign in protest, after all - this was some fine upstanding citizen who had endured an horrendous loss, getting rid of hopeless, perverted monsters. Dixon could have had no idea that things would turn out the way that they had.

  “Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll not discuss this with a soul. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Dixon looked alarmed by Miller’s kindness, under these unimaginable circumstances.

  The phone rang again. Dixon answered, and a look of relief crept over his face.

  “Thanks.” He placed the phone down once again and looked at Miller.

  “They’re here.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Rivington Pike

  Sykes finally stopped the car by a retaining dry stone wall. The location was familiar to both men, they’d been up here many times learning how to shoot. Trees surrounded the area, and they’d always liked it because it felt so secluded, despite it being just a few miles from the town centre. Behind the wall was the reservoir where they used to set up camp, before they’d discovered this remote little place.

  Neither had spoken during the twenty-five minute drive. Sykes had muttered the occasional expletive, Dawson had just stared impassively ahead. Now that they were stopped, Sykes knew that he needed to bring his friend around. He needed both of them to be thinking clearly so that they could discuss their options.

  “I’ve got the tent in the boot George, just like we planned,” he said, patting his hand against his friend’s. Dawson was referring to plans that had been made during the previous forty-eight hours when it became clear that Saunders was
keeping surveillance on Avenham Close, and the Dawson household in particular. It was obvious that the arrest was imminent, so Sykes and Dawson had decided to make a run for it and make one last call to Sky News in a bid to ask the public to keep the campaign alive once Dawson was behind bars. The plan, was to have a good drink, toast the past and for Peter and George to spend a final night together before their quarter-century friendship was ended. George would then head off into town and hand himself in.

  That had been the plan. But this afternoon’s tragedy changed everything.

  “Come on then, let’s pitch up.” Said Sykes, trying to comfort his friend as best as he could. Dawson turned slowly and stared at Sykes, his normally gentle eyes had turned wild, they were filled with unreserved rage.

  “You killed that poor woman. You killed her. That wasn’t what we planned and now you’ve dragged me up here, for what? To go into hiding?” Dawson’s harsh tone unnerved Sykes. He’d not heard George mutter a single word until now.

  “Hey! What? Do you think that I killed her intentionally? You believe that I killed that woman on purpose?” Sykes was hysterical. He needed his friend’s support, his understanding - not reproach.

  “That woman,” begun Dawson, “is called Karen Ellis.”

  “I know that,” Sykes snapped back.

  “Well try to remember that, because you will be hearing a lot of it from now on. Fucking hell Peter, what on earth possessed you?” Dawson looked disgusted. Sykes was speechless. He wondered to which version of events his friend and ally was referring back. It was quite apparent that what happened had been nothing short of a tragic accident. A freak mishap. Sykes opened the car door and got out of the driver seat.