Gone Too Far : DCI Miller 4: Britain's Most Hated Celebrity Has Disappeared

by Steven Suttie

  * * *

  Even after 9pm, the human activity within London seemed relentless. The traffic, the cyclists, commuters, tourists and revellers were all around. There were thousands of people out in the streets, and every one of them looked busy and focused on what they were doing, and it was Monday too.

  The traffic jams were still in full flow as though it was rush-hour. Big red buses full of people, all of them looking miserable and isolated. Black cab taxi drivers were honking on their horns and shouting at one another. The business people were rushing past, heads down, staring at the ground.

  “Why are they so robotic down here?” asked Grant. “Nobody ever looks you in the face. It’s scary.”

  “They’re all busy aren’t they, trying to get home. I bet they’re a bit more friendly in their local communities.”

  “It’s a shame though, it’s such a buzzing place, but its just lacking that human interaction.”

  “What like Manchester you mean? Excuse me mate, my wife’s just text me to say she’s gone into labour and in my excitement I dropped my wallet down a grid. You wouldn’t lend me a tenner for a taxi would you?”

  Grant laughed at Saunders example of a typical Manc blagger. The Mancs were too cool to beg, they preferred to tell you a load of bullshit until in the end you just submit and hand them a tenner just to get them away from you.

  “The difference between Manchester and London is mad. It’s like two different countries!”

  “Have you not been down here before?” asked Saunders.

  “No. Well, I have with school, on a trip years ago. But not as an adult. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  The look of wonderment in Grant’s face was as charming as all of the other facial expressions that she’d made throughout the day. Saunders had a really giddy, happy feeling when he looked at her. He could only compare it to a teenage crush he’d had on a girl in the year above. The girl in question, Annette Thomas, never even looked at Saunders, she didn’t even know who he was. But it didn’t matter, he still loved her. And the dizzy way that he’d felt for Annette Thomas, twenty years ago, was how he was feeling towards his new DC. Pure, undiluted infatuation. It was great, and fun and exciting and such an unexpected change from normality. But at the very same time, it was a total headache. It was a complete disaster. Saunders had a responsibility to be this newly recruited detective’s boss, and mentor. How could he be a decent role-model if he was going to be flirting and giggling and making daft comments because of nerves? This had all of the ingredients of a complete and utter nightmare, but Saunders didn’t want it to end just yet.

  Grant was looking all around, up at the buildings, lost in her own thoughts. Saunders was planning to find a Wetherspoons or a Yates’, and a chance to relax over some cheap grub. But the moment took him, and he found that he’d grabbed Grant’s arm and was running up towards the traffic lights with her.

  “Come on, let’s get on that sight-seeing bus!” he shouted as he ran. Grant was giggling as she tried to keep up with her DI. She was having an amazing time, it was just what she’d needed.

  Half an hour later, Saunders and Grant had seen the sights. The Houses of Parliament, The London Eye, Buckingham Palace and Tower Bridge, and Grant had loved every minute of it.

  Now, they were in a gastro-pub, waiting for their food order and enjoying a beer. The first pint, which Saunders sank pretty quickly loosened the DI up a little.

  “I was a right dickhead today.”

  “Eh? You what? What are you on about?”

  “Oh, I’ve had a frightful day. I can’t believe I let the bloody press take photos of my notes.” Saunders knew that it was all because of Grant distracting him. It wasn’t her fault of course, and he’d die if she found out what a massive impression she was making on him.

  “Sir, no way was that your fault! Those windows were covered in adverts and branding. You couldn’t see the press outside, so it’s perfectly reasonable to let your guard down. You shouldn’t beat yourself up about that!” Grant seemed passionate, and genuinely wanted Saunders to stop dwelling on his mistake.

  “I know but… well, I’m meant to be showing you how the elite detectives of the SCIU do things, and it’s just been a pile of shite.”

  Grant took a swig from her glass, and thought carefully about her response before she started to speak. “Well, I have loved today. You must be really OCD about your work if you get this upset by a tiny bit of bad luck.”

  “It’s not just that though. I was so pissed off with myself, I screwed up that interview with Greenwood. So, I just want to say, sorry, my performance has been pretty dismal today. I hope that normal service will resume tomoz.”

  Grant let Saunders’ comment hang in the air for a moment. She didn’t fancy becoming an emotional crutch, so she decided to let his self-absorbed unhappiness wash away by itself. After her boss had drained his pint, he spoke again, and she was pleased to hear a much more positive inflection to his speech.

  “So, anyway, I’ve had an idea. You were bloody brilliant with Greenwood today…”

  “Was I?” Grant’s face transformed from a neutral, comfortable expression to a wonderful, bashful, self-confident smile. She leant forward and began twirling a length of her long auburn hair around between her fingers as she blushed. Saunders felt his insides turn over again, a full 360 degree rotation which made him smile himself.

  “Yes, you did brilliantly. So, I’ve been thinking. How do you fancy looking after the interview with Greenwood on your own?”

  “What? Seriously?”

  “Yes. I’ve got a really shit chemistry with him. My own fault I suppose. But I think you’ll have him around your little finger in no time.”

  A waitress came across to the table, interrupting the conversation, just as Grant’s face beamed another beautiful, belly-flipping expression in Saunders’ direction.

  “Mixed grill?” said the young lass, she looked like a student who was just doing the job to make ends meet.

  “Yes, cheers, that’s mine.” Said Saunders.

  “And this is the fish and chips” she said as she

  placed Grant’s plate down. “Watch it, the plates are hot.”

  “Thanks a lot,” said Grant.

  “Can we order the same drinks again please?” asked Saunders.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to order drinks at the bar, Sir.”

  “Right. Okay, thanks. Back in a minute.” Saunders stood and headed to the bar. “And I know how many chips are on my plate, so don’t nick any!” he said as he left. Grant laughed, and gestured her hands at the mountain of chips that she had on her own plate.

  Saunders was stood in a queue at the bar, and Grant couldn’t decide what the correct etiquette was. Should she get stuck in and start her meal? After all, she was starving and the smell of the fish and chips, and the big chunk of lemon was making her mouth water. Or should she wait until her boss came back with the drinks?

  Grant found that she had no idea what to do for the best. This wasn’t a date. It was just a working tea. She glanced across and saw that Saunders was still waiting to be served. He looked around at Grant, and as their eyes met across the crowded pub, the DC grabbed a chip off Saunders plate and threw it in her mouth. It made Saunders laugh really loudly, and she burst out laughing too.

  Grant took her phone out of her jacket pocket and looked up her best friend Steph in the contacts.

  “OMG, I’m in London working on the Kathy Hopkirk case with my hot new boss! We’re staying in a hotel and it’s a double room! How bloody awkward is that! LOL.” Grant smiled as she pressed the send button.

  It was only a matter of seconds before Grant’s phone pinged with a reply from Steph. “OMFG! I saw you on telly before! I’m trying to get a stain out of my pants. Why are you always doing better stuff than me??? PS don’t screw your boss LOL X”

  Grant was still laughing at the reply when Saunders suddenly appeared at the table, holding the drinks
.

  “What are you laughing at?” he said, still smiling from Grant’s shameless chip theft.

  “Oh, just a text off my friend. She’s trying to get a stain out of her pants.”

  Saunders placed the glasses down, and had a bemused look on his face, wondering what was so funny about that. He was tempted to ask what kind of stain, but decided to just leave it. He grabbed a chip off Grant’s plate and ate it, grinning as he sat down. They both laughed, and then started to eat.

  “Good?” said Saunders, pointing down at Grant’s food.

  “Mmm, yeah,” she nodded, her mouth was full so she didn’t want to provide too much detail.

  “Cheers!” Saunders held his glass up and Grant bashed hers against his. They were feeling merry thanks to the ale, and both were glad of the food. But at the back of both of their minds remained the difficult situation regarding their hotel room. Grant decided to put it back on the agenda, and then swiftly move back to the matter of Kathy’s disappearance.

  “So listen, Sir, I’ve got no problem about the double bed… except, I just want to say… this is really embarrassing right, but sometimes, when I’m asleep… I fart. A lot.” Grant was smiling and Saunders was mesmerised once again by the sheer innocence of her face.

  Saunders blushed. He was clearly embarrassed by the conversation. Grant thought it was very charming that her boss was so shy. Most senior officers were very much the alpha-male type of gob-shite who would have come-back with some shite, acerbic reply. DI Saunders was a breath of fresh air.

  “Listen, its fine, I’ll sort out another hotel. I’ll put it through expenses. I’ve got that Late Rooms app on my phone.”

  “You don’t have to… its fine!” Grant almost sounded as though she was begging Saunders to share the room.

  “Well, let’s have a look anyway.” Saunders took out his phone and opened up the app. He clicked on the “nearby” button and looked genuinely gutted to see the “0 availability in this location” message.

  “What’s it saying?” asked Grant, through a mouthful of fish batter. Saunders showed her the phone.

  “Cool! That’s it settled then. Come on Sir, don’t be a big wuss!”

  “I’m not… I’m not… I just… I’m not keen on the idea of you farting all night!”

  Chapter 23

  Grant and Saunders arrived on foot at Shepherd’s Bush police station just before 8am. Neither anticipated the considerable media presence outside the building.

  “Shit!” said Saunders under his breath.

  “Flipping heck,” muttered Grant. As the first press photographer started clicking, the rest followed. As the detectives made their way closer to the front doors, the deafening sound of camera clicks, pops and flashes was being drowned out by the shouts from the journalists and reporters.

  “Has he killed her?”

  “Why’s Greenwood been kept in?”

  “Why isn’t Miller handling this?”

  “Have you found a body?”

  “Why aren’t the Met investigating this case?”

  Saunders and Grant managed to push their way through the scrum and were soon inside the building, although the camera flashes continued to strobe through the windows.

  “They’re such dicks!” said Saunders, brushing himself off. “Are you okay?” he asked of Grant. She nodded, but she looked a bit shook up by that unexpected, stressful start to the working day. That one had been a bit too physical compared to the previous days experience outside The Midland.

  “See, I’m bloody losing it. It was obvious that the press would be camped out, and I’ve not even considered it. I’m going to be back in uniform in no time!” Saunders was joking, but it was pretty obvious that he was pissed off with himself. Worst of all, he couldn’t make light of the reason his mind wasn’t fully functioning. Grant was the reason. Saunders’ heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her. The thought panicked him, for a variety of different reasons. He decided that he needed to try and put this latest balls up to the back of his mind for now, but he knew that it would be easier said than done.

  After agreeing an interview room and suitable time with the custody sergeant, followed by a strong cup of tea in the canteen, and a long discussion on the way that the questioning needed to go, it was time for Grant to speak to Kathy Hopkirk’s husband. Alone. It was all agreed. Saunders was to wait outside the interview room, where he would be eaves-dropping on the conversation. If he needed to prompt or direct her, he was going to do it by text message.

  By 9am, Jack Greenwood and DC Helen Grant were sitting face-to-face across the desk in interview room three. Greenwood was in very low spirits, and seemed extremely annoyed.

  “Are you okay to be interviewed?” asked Grant, with a kind, caring edge to her voice.

  “Of course I am. I just want out of this shit-hole.”

  “Well, if you can answer the questions that I need to ask, we’ll be done in no time.”

  “And I suppose these are the questions that I could have answered at work yesterday?” Greenwood was being sarcastic, but it wasn’t clear why. The answer to his derisive question was self-defeating. Grant just looked at Greenwood, and gave a gentle, sympathetic nod.

  “So where is the Detective Inspector this morning?” Greenwood appeared to be quite indignant, thought Grant, and she wondered why he seemed to believe that he had the moral high ground. It was his own stupidity and bizarre behaviour the previous evening that had earned him his night in the cell.

  “DI Saunders is interviewing another witness this morning. I said I’d like to finish things off with you, and get you on your way.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Well, if you prefer I can wait for DI Saunders to finish up with what he’s doing, and we can start then?” Grant was so lovely about it, the veteran DJ was completely wrong-footed.

  “And in the meantime?” asked Greenwood, staring down at the table-top, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

  “Well, you can go back to your cell, and…”

  “No, forget that, lets just get on with this bullshit!”

  “Okay,” said DC Grant, calmly. She started the recording, and read Greenwood his caution for the benefit of the tape. All the time that she was reading out the familiar paragraph, she was wondering why Greenwood hadn’t asked her if there’d been any news about Kathy. She wondered why he’d not said “so she hasn’t turned up yet, then?” or something like that. It was strange, and it reinforced Grant’s view that this man knew perfectly well where Kathy was, and what had happened.

  On the other side of the interview room door, Saunders was thinking precisely the same thing.

  “So, if we can just pick up where we left off yesterday. We need to know if you’ve had any contact with Kathy since you spoke on the phone just before eight pm on Thursday evening.”

  “Not spoken to her.”

  “Have you communicated in any other way… text, internet, face-to-face?”

  “No. Not heard from her since Thursday. Said all this to the police on Sunday. We’re just repeating ourselves dear.”

  “Have you tried to communicate with Kathy since Thursday?”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, have you phoned her? Have you messaged her via text, or Facebook or whatever?”

  “No. Well, yes, I phoned her a few times on Friday, to see what time she’d be home, but she didn’t answer.”

  “Okay, so when did you start to think that something was wrong?”

  “In what respect?”

  “Well, the fact that Kathy was missing.”

  “Oh, right, oh I see. No, you don’t understand. Kathy’s work takes her all over the place. She doesn’t keep a diary with me, and I don’t keep a diary with her. It’s quite normal that we don’t see one another for a week, often two at a time.”

  “But even if she is working away, I would have thought that you’d talk to one another, on the p
hone or over a text.”

  “Why?” Greenwood wasn’t being sarcastic now. And he didn’t seem to be doing the hammy acting that he’d been performing in that very same interview room the previous evening.

  “Well, I just… it’s what a normal couple would do.”

  “Honey, Kathy and I are not a normal couple! Not by the most elasticated stretch of the imagination!” Greenwood laughed, but it was a cold, fake laugh full of bitterness.

  “Well, as I said to you. We need to locate Kathy, we want to check that she is okay. In normal circumstances, the next of kin is the person who can unlock the mystery. We really hoped that you might have a piece of information which would help us to reach the next stage of this inquiry.”

  “And with the greatest respect detective, I have already answered the questions. On Sunday, and then last night. And now, here I am again.”

  “You didn’t answer the questions last night. And the answers you gave to the officers on Sunday were just as vague as the answers you’re offering me.”

  “How can you possibly say that?” Greenwood suddenly threw his hands in the air. It was all very camp.

  “I’ve got their report, here.” Grant pulled the missing persons form out of her file. “Let me see, ah yes, it says here in the comments ‘husband seemed quite unwilling to assist. Very snappy remarks. Quite rude.’ Does that ring any bells?”

  “No. Look, I’m just about done with all of this nonsense. Can I go home now?”

  “Not yet Mr Greenwood. I have some more questions for you to answer.”

  * * *

  Saunders was standing in the corridor outside the interview room, listening intently. He could feel his blood-pressure rising. This Jack Greenwood was a complete tosser. He was playing some sort of a game. Saunders’ mind was racing with ideas of why this man would behave in such an odd manner. Thoughts of different scenarios were flying into his mind. Maybe he’s trying to land a big newspaper deal. “Why the police think I’ve killed my wife! EXCLUSIVE” would be worth at least six figures. But then again, this guy already had plenty of money. He’d been a famous DJ since the seventies. He had been a regular presenter on Top of the Pops in the eighties too. God, he was probably mates with Jimmy Savile back in the day. The thought made the DI shudder as he continued to listen by the door.