“POLICE, open up Janet, we need to speak to you urgently!” shouted Rudovsky. She started slapping her hand against the door. There was no sound from within the flat, but the constant thud-thud of some distant music in an adjacent flat was pumping at the same speed as the two detective’s pulses.
“Janet – this is the police! Open the door please!” shouted Kenyon. Rudovsky slapped her hand against the door, harder this time. There was no activity inside the flat. The place felt deserted. A glance through a small net curtained window beside the door showed that there were several letters on the doormat, several days worth, at least.
Rudovsky turned to Kenyon. She began speaking quietly, through the corner of her mouth. “Thing is Pete, if anybody should have rung us up about Kathy’s disappearance, its Janet. She knows exactly what’s gone on, doesn’t she?”
Peter Kenyon nodded. He had a sombre look on his face, as though he was reading his colleague’s mind. There was an excellent chemistry between the two DC’s, and they had a very strong connection. As they stood at this eerily silent doorway, they both knew what the other was thinking.
It wasn’t just Kathy Hopkirk who was unaccounted for. Janet Croft was also missing.
Chapter 41
“Good evening, and welcome to Sky News, I’m Alison Morris. Our top story this hour… the search for Kathy Hopkirk continues, but the operation at Hartshead Pike beauty spot in Greater Manchester has been scaling down all day. It would appear that whatever led police officers to this isolated, rural location through the night, was a red-herring. We are currently waiting for the latest press update from Manchester police, but in the meantime, here is a brief update of the situation right now.”
The Sky News screen changed from Alison Morris’s serious looking face, to a shot of Kathy’s publicity photo. Words began appearing on the screen, as the newsreader gave an update on the day’s events.
“Kathy’s husband Jack Greenwood remains in police custody this evening. Police should have charged him, or released him by now. We are trying to get confirmation on this matter… and, well…” Alison Morris suddenly looked flustered as some BREAKING NEWS graphics appeared on the screen, joined by loud “whoosh” sound effects. “…we are hearing some vital news, this just coming in…”
The newscaster suddenly sounded extremely stressed and concerned as she updated the nation’s news junkies on the very latest developments.
“I’m joined by satellite from Manchester, by our north of England correspondent Paul Mitchell. There’s been a significant development this evening Paul, what’s happening?”
“Yes Alison, thank you. I have in my hands a press release from Manchester City Police, which states quite categorically that Kathy Hopkirk’s husband has NOT been arrested by police, and that he has been helping police with their enquiries in a voluntary capacity. It goes on to say that Mr Greenwood is not being charged with anything, and that he is a free man, and that he is no longer in police custody. It goes on to repeat, quite categorically that Jack Greenwood is out in the community, and that he is not, as the press have been reporting all day, in police custody.”
“Well, that’s quite an unexpected announcement Paul, many people here in the press, and our viewers at home were anticipating quite a different outcome with regards the missing woman’s husband.”
“You’re quite right Alison, in fact, it’s clear that police want to end any speculation in this regard. They have put a sentence in the press release which states quite emphatically ‘Mr Greenwood is going through a most difficult time, and we would ask the press and the public to respect his privacy, and his feelings at this uncertain time.’ So it almost reads as though the Police anticipate that Jack Greenwood, Kathy’s husband is likely to face a hard time.”
“Well, this story has more twists and turns than any other I can remember Paul. Did the police say anything about the video which emerged on Tuesday, claiming to be posted by Kathy?”
“No, there is no mention of that in this press statement, Alison.”
“Presumably then, if Mr Greenwood has not posted the video on Youtube, then it would suggest that somebody else is responsible?”
“Quite, Alison, and I would imagine that this factor will be a major element of the investigation. But to confirm what I have in writing here from the investigation team looking into the disappearance of Kathy Hopkirk… Jack Greenwood is not connected to this mystery. They have also asked us, the media, to stop speculating about this case.”
“And why do you think that they want us to stop speculating?”
* * *
This news story was getting more and more complicated with each passing day. The news companies had pretty much sentenced Jack Greenwood to life for murder in the past two days, with no chance of parole. Now, he was the innocent, unfortunate soul who had been caught up in everything through no fault of his own.
“I can’t keep up with this!” Ken Watson, a retired engineer was getting sick of the news channels constantly changing their stories. “Half an hour ago, they were suggesting that this bloke had killed his wife, and now they’re saying he’s totally innocent! The other day, they said she’s turned up, and now they’re saying they don’t know where she is. I can’t make me mind up what’s going on with all this, so I’m putting the football on!”
“You are not Kenneth!” shouted Shirley, from the armchair. She placed her knitting down on her lap and gave her husband a harsh stare, despite knowing that he was joking.
“Oh, come off it Shirley, this is absolutely crackers! Next they’ll be saying that Kathy Hopkirk’s come back from the dead as a big zombie and she’s going to bite Prince William’s nose off, but then Gazza comes along with a fishing rod and three cans of Fosters and sorts it all out.”
“Have you washed them pots yet Kenneth?”
“No, I’ll do it in a minute. They’re soaking.”
“They’ve been soaking for two hours now you lazy old turd! The water will have gone cold now. Go and do them, and make me a cup of strong tea while you’re in there.”
“Right. I will, anything to get me away from this pissing Kathy Hopkirk bollocks!”
“Language Kenneth!”
“Sorry Shirley. Right you are.”
* * *
Outside Kathy and Jack’s home in Hammersmith, the press pack was beginning to swell again, the reporters and cameramen were returning to their spots, hopeful that Jack would be at home, or at least, would soon be there. There was a lot of anticipation for getting something from Jack, maybe a clue as to where the police investigation was centred. Following Jack’s bizarre entrance at work on Monday, the day after the news broke that his wife was unaccounted for, the press had good reason to believe that he would turn up. Newspaper reporters from the big four papers already had budgets from their editors, and were feeling anxious to get to Jack Greenwood first, and secure an exclusive agreement. Texts, e-mails and phone calls were all being made to Jack’s mobile, all of them very positive in tone.
“Jack, Hi, it’s Mal Donoghue from the Mirror, fantastic news that you are cleared of any involvement mate, result! How about you sign an exclusive interview with us, there’s a 75k pay day involved. Best, Malc.”
“Hey Jack, Susie Walker, The Sun. Talk to us exclusively for £100,000. Ignore any other offers, they only pay in instalments. Hurry with a reply. Oh and huge congrats.”
“Dear Jack, so sorry to hear about your ordeal. I feel now is the right time to offer you a few shifts on BBC Radio 2. Ken is off for half-term in a few weeks. Zoe Ball usually covers. She is okay but she can’t do Pop Master very well. Fancy the gig? Let’s meet and have a tall skinny soy frappachapacinno and discuss. Best Regards Bob.”
Dozens of texts were being sent to Jack Greenwood’s phone. None of the messages were receiving replies.
As the time wore on, the positive expectation began turning to negative scepticism, doubts were beginning to panic the media staff who felt that t
hey were missing the big story, because it certainly wasn’t taking place here. The weather was miserable in London, it had been a gloomy, wet day where everything looked grey and uninspiring. Outside the Hopkirk / Greenwood residence, the mood was tense, and turning quite hostile as the media crews, and general public grew increasingly disappointed that Jack wasn’t offering “his side of the story” which was now the most urgent thing that the Kathy story needed for continuity. There was literally nothing to say about this mysterious case now. It desperately needed a new angle.
Chapter 42
On the Boundary Estate, outside Janet Croft’s flat, Rudovsky and Kenyon had been trying to engage with the local community to find out if any of the neighbours had seen Janet around over the past few days. The response was dismal, very few doors were being answered, and any that did open contained confused looking people who seemingly had no idea who Janet Croft was.
Rudovsky had a morbid fascination with Janet Croft’s front door, which made her keep revisiting the old, decrepit red painted door. She had lifted the letterbox several times, and had caught a strange scent from in there. It wasn’t a pong, it didn’t pinch at her nostrils – but there was certainly an unpleasant whiff coming from inside the property, and Rudovsky had a strong suspicion that the smell was that of a decaying body.
It was an extremely frustrating situation for the two Manchester officers, as they couldn’t perform their duties in the manner in which they would do back at home. Because they were in the Metropolitan Police area, they were required to follow the procedure book to the letter. This meant that Rudovsky’s instinct to boot the door in and get inside to check if somebody was indeed rotting away was a none-starter. Rudovsky had to liase with DCI Miller up in Manchester, who in turn had to liase with the Met CID, and for all involved, it was an exasperating, red-tape dominated circus. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that there existed a very strained relationship between Manchester’s and London’s police services at the present time.
However, despite the anger and bitterness which existed between the two police forces over the handling of this case – there was still a very important job to do. At this moment in time, that job was to try and discover if the premier witness to Kathy Hopkirk’s activities over the past few weeks was alive or dead. The more Rudovsky lifted that letterbox and sniffed the cold air from within the flat, the more she was convinced that Janet was dead.
As soon as the Met CID and SOCO teams arrived and closed off the area, Rudovsky and Kenyon were asked to go and stand outside the block of flats.
“Are you taking the fucking piss?” asked Rudovsky, of a greasy, sweaty DCI who looked like a divorced, demoralised alcoholic with low self-esteem.
“Just go outside, this isn’t your crime scene!” He snapped back, waving his arm dismissively. Rudovsky did exactly as she was told, she raced down the stinking, concrete, echoing steps as fast as she could. It was that, or kick that stupid ugly bastard right in the balls. Kenyon followed his colleague, albeit at a noticeably slower speed. DC Kenyon walked down the stairwell, dreading the abuse that he was about to endure. Luckily, as he got to the entrance of the tenement, he found that it was Miller who was taking the abuse, via mobile phone.
“Oh my God Sir, I’m going to have a fucking stroke Sir! What the fuck are we doing down here, it’s a complete fucking shambles!”
Miller was stressed out as well, and this outburst, however understandable, wasn’t a positive contribution.
“Jo, just chill out!”
“No, you chill out! We’re having the piss taken out of us. Can we just hand this case over to the Met Sir? It’s a joke, I’m ashamed to be involved in this enquiry. It’s total chaos Sir from beginning to end, and I want out.”
“Jo, just calm down. I know you’re pissed off, but you need to deal with this in a professional manner.” Miller was talking calmly, and slowly, trying to put forward a measured reply to Jo’s outpouring of exasperation.
“I can’t calm down Sir! Me and Pete have just got the first concrete lead, and now the Met have kicked us out – I’m so fucking angry Sir, I just want to twat someone.”
“Don’t twat me,” said Kenyon, quietly. Miller heard it down the phone and smiled.
“Jo, listen to me, this sort of bollocks is normal. Trust me, if it was the same scenario, and the Met were up in Manchester, we’d have to follow the same procedures, and ask them to step aside while we investigated the scene. Just go and grab a brew somewhere, chill out. You’ve done a blinder on this job Jo, both you and Peter, so just think about all the positives. DI Saunders was absolutely buzzing when I told him that you’d cracked Greenwood. You know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said, ‘told you Jo would nail it.’ So think of how many arguments you’re going to win because of that, eh?” Miller thought he heard a smile down the line. “Seriously mate, just take five, calm down and you’ll be back in the driving seat in no time. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
“It’s alright, we all get wound up. You should be absolutely buzzing with yourself though. Right?”
“Right. I’ll high-five myself the minute I get off the line.”
“Well, you’ll look a bit of a dick doing that, but whatever floats your boat.”
Rudovsky and Kenyon took Miller’s advice, and headed off towards their car. They knew how notoriously slowly these kind of investigations ran, and in all honesty, they knew that it could well be several hours until all of the people were on the scene to break into the flat.
The two detectives decided to have their tea, and use this inconvenient interruption positively. They drove around the area, and parked up when they found a fried chicken shop.
“Are we sitting inside?” asked Rudovsky.
“Might be better sitting here, in the car. We might be overheard. Don’t want any of that shit Saunders had to put up with the other day!”
“Fair enough. Right well, I’ll have a zinger meal with a coke. It’s your shout.”
“Sake! It’s always my shout Jo!”
“Stop moaning! And get me a few extra wipes please mate. I just need to ring the wife.”
Kenyon stepped into the busy KFC while Jo phoned her partner, Abby, who was at home in Chorlton.
“Hi babes, how are you doing?” Rudovsky still sounded tense and wound up, and Abby picked up on it straight away.
“Oh, you sound stressed. But at least you remembered that I existed!”
“Don’t be like that. I’m more pissed off than you are, looks like we’re gonna be down here another night…”
“Aw Jo!”
“I know, it’s the pits this case. I hate it.”
“I miss you like mad, hate it when you’re not here.”
“I know. I was crying this morning.”
“Aw were you? What’s up chick a dee?”
“I was just thinking about how much I love you and it just made me cry, in a happy way.”
“That’s so cute. It’s clearly a lie, but it is very cute though. I haven’t cried myself, but I am missing you. I hate not being with you.”
“Well think of our reunion! I’ll take you out for tea when I get back!”
“Wetherspoons?”
“Better than that! Somewhere in town! Fancy?”
“Somewhere proper, with table-cloths?”
“Might do. And then a few cheeky drinks in the village?”
“Oh aye, go on then, that sounds alright!”
“Nice one. Well, I’ll have to go. Just wanted to say I love you, and I’m missing you.”
“Well it’s lovely to hear your voice. Don’t worry about me, just get Kathy found, dead-or-alive and get yourself back home to me, safe and sound.”
“Alright. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
“Love you the most.”
“Right, shut it. Seeya.”
Kenyon arrived back to the c
ar carrying a huge paper bag.
“Aw that smells fit!” said Jo, the sudden whiff of the KFC made her mouth water.
“Get stuck in, there was no-one looking so I filled my pocket with lemon wipes for you.”
“Aw, you’re a good egg you Pete! Cheers mate.”
“Who was on the phone? The boss?”
“No, Abby, I was just telling her that I’ll probably be staying here again tonight.”
“She alright?”
“Yeah, well, a bit pissed off about me not coming home, but I’ve told her I’m going to treat her to a night out in town when I get back so she’s suitably chuffed about that.”
“God, Tracey loves it when I don’t come home. Bed to herself, no farting, no snoring, no kicking off at the kids. She whinges at me for coming home, not because I’m staying out!”
Jo laughed out loud as she grabbed her food out of the bag.
“Aw, Pete, do you want a hug?”
“No, I want my chips to go in that gravy so get the lid off. And if you spill it again, you’re cleaning it up.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Rudovsky and Kenyon were back at Janet Croft’s flat. It wasn’t good news.
“There is a body inside,” the DCI explained quietly. “It’s looking around about a week since her passing.”
“Suspicious?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Shit. Fuck’s sake. It’s a week since Kathy disappeared,” said Rudovsky to Kenyon.
“Is it definitely Janet Croft?” asked Kenyon of the DCI.
“We have not had any opportunity to carry out a formal identification at this stage in the investigation, but it’s looking as though it is the tenant.”
“There’s no way that it could be Kathy Hopkirk?” asked Rudovsky, of the DCI. The question seemed to confuse him, and the two Manchester detectives saw very clearly that this DCI wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.
“Kathy Hopkirk?” he asked, as though he was trying to buy a bit of extra time.
Gone Too Far : DCI Miller 4: Britain's Most Hated Celebrity Has Disappeared Page 22