Andy burst out laughing. After a moment he stopped and looked across at Ollie. “So you want me to see if he’s been banged up? Ha ha you nosey fucker Ollie, oh my days!”
Ollie laughed. “No, it’s not just that. The neighbours across the road, they are council tenants, seem nice enough and everything, no problem or anything. But, they’ve started using his car.”
“What?” Andy looked confused.
“Sorry, yeah. Right, the neighbour that I asked about her husband, the neighbours across the road have been using their car – but Graham – he’s the guy I haven’t seen for a while – he absolutely hates these council tenants. It’s just got me really suspicious. Something seems a bit fishy.”
Andy finished his cigarette and threw the dimp into the big ashtray and exhaled the last bit of smoke. “I can’t just do a police check on someone, I need to have grounds for doing it Ollie.”
Ollie raised an eyebrow and looked at Andy as if to say “pull the other one.”
“Honestly! I shit you not, we have to be able to explain all police checks with notes in our pocket books. There has been a lot of corruption in the past, a lot of secrets sold to folk, journalists and gangsters and things. Black-mail stuff.” Andy was nodding to Ollie to confirm his sincerity. “So I can’t just do a search to find out if this neighbour has been banged up. It’s more than my job’s worth!”
Ollie laughed at Andy’s “jobs-worth” statement.
“Fair enough. It just seems a bit suspicious, that’s all.”
“What, being taken away in a police van, and then not being seen since? I think you should trust your gut instincts on this one Ollie. It certainly sounds to me like he’s been banged up.”
“Yeah, fair enough. That would explain his wife being a bit weird about it all too. But I still don’t understand why she would be lending his car out to the neighbours across the road. None of it adds up.”
“Well, you know what, one thing that I’ve learnt down the years is this. People do weird things. Now if you are telling me that you are genuinely worried about this neighbour – you could phone the police station and tell them your concerns. That’s what I’d do, but as it stands right now – he could be in jail, or he could be away on business. He could have fucked off to get away from these new neighbours! For all you know Ollie, he might have moved in with his bit on the side. She’s bound to act awkward if that’s the case. And his wife is bound to do something that will piss him off. Like lending his car to the scruffy neighbours he hates.”
“Fair enough. I’m just being stupid aren’t I? But he is the kind of bloke you can imagine going missing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Andy laughed, but was genuinely intrigued by such a bizarre statement, particularly coming from the mouth of Ollie.
“Oh, he’s just your typical busy-body with a hate fuelled opinion on everything. His wife tends to sport a black eye every so often. She’s drop-dead-gorgeous as well, and half his age. He’s just one of those blokes that you try and avoid. It’s just got my mind racing that he’s the one who has created all this bad harmony up on the development, then he’s suddenly disappeared without a trace.”
Andy was staring off into the distance, watching people walking past, and staring out into space. After a long silence he grabbed his Benson and Hedges packet and offered Ollie another cigarette.
“No, one’s enough for me, thanks.”
“I’ll have one more. I won’t get another chance now until after Clare’s gone to bed. Even then she’ll be kicking off in her sleep!”
Ollie laughed, as Andy lit his cigarette.
“Okay, I’ll tell you what. You text me in the morning, give me this Graham’s address and I’ll have a poke about and see if I can find a rational explanation for him not being around. Give me the registration number of his car as well. What was it again?”
“What was what?”
“The car that the neighbours are using.”
“Oh, it’s a Range Rover Evoque. Nice car, only a year old - if that. That’s what I mean, it’s just so random that some new neighbours who’ve only moved in recently are going off for days out in it, going shopping and things!” Ollie was shaking his head, it really was eating at him. He sensed that something wasn’t right. Regardless of his personal feelings towards Graham, he was genuinely concerned for the welfare of the man, and his gut was telling him that he wasn’t in jail.
“When you moved up there, Clare was pretty gutted you know. She started trying to convince me that we should move up to Haughton Park as well.”
“And?” Ollie looked intrigued.
“And then it came on the telly that half of Manchester’s scummiest people were moving in and we just forgot all about it!”
“Ha ha, very good!”
“Okay, seeing as it’s your birthday, I’ll have a dig about. Alright?”
“Nice one! I’ll bet you fifty quid that something fishy is going on. And please, don’t try and make out that it’s a birthday gift – you weren’t remotely interested until I mentioned the attractive wife!” Ollie laughed loudly and Andy smiled too.
“Objection your honour!” he said as he smoked the last of his cigarette. “That’s a slanderous remark.”
“Over ruled!”
Chapter 21
“So, come on, what was Ollie talking about?” asked Clare as she changed into her pyjamas. Miller was stood by the chest of drawers reading text messages that had appeared on his phone when he’d plugged it into charge.
“Eh?” he asked as he scanned the details that Saunders had been sending through over the course of the evening.
“God, you’re like a zombie when you’re looking at that phone. What was Ollie talking to you about?” Clare pulled the duvet back and got into bed. Miller was completely absorbed in the texts that he was reading.
“Andy!”
“What? Oh sorry – what did you say?”
“I’m not talking to you until you put that bloody phone away.” Clare gave her husband the half-closed eyes stare, so he knew that she was seriously pissed off with him ignoring her. He got the message and put the phone away, for the time being at least, Saunders had spent the night texting his every thought by the looks of things, thought Miller.
“Right, sorry love – you’ve had my undivided attention all night, and now – you’re having a tantrum because I’m not gazing adoringly at you and hanging on your every word?”
“Correct.”
“The Elton John of Manchester, that’s you Clare Miller. High maintenance, super bitch!”
“I much prefer you calling me poppet!” she laughed as Miller began unbuttoning his shirt.
“I might get a shower. Unless, you know…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, answer my question. What did Ollie say?”
“God. You are a really, really nosey cow, aren’t you?” Miller was laughing at his wife’s extraordinary appetite to know other peoples business.
“Come on, don’t be so coy!”
“No, it’s private. If I told you what he said, you’d be texting Pippa. In fact, you’d probably ring her up straight away!” Miller had a dead-pan expression on his face.
“Why, what? Oh, come on, tell me Andy, don’t be such a spoil-sport!” Clare was sat up in bed, with the duvet over her knees, looking really excited.
“No. It’s men stuff. Sorry love, classified information.”
“Go on, tell me.”
“Okay, look, you mustn’t repeat this to anyone. If this gets out, Ollie will know that it’s come from me. So please, promise.”
“Scout’s honour!” said Clare. “You know I won’t say anything.”
“Well, you better not. He’s thinking of leaving Pippa.”
Clare was thunderstruck. That really was a bolt from the blue. “Shut up. What? Are you… why?” She had her hand over her mouth, and her eyes were wide.
“He’s been hanging around with this guy from work called Barry. He’s started d
eveloping feelings for him. Deep feelings.” Andy was sat on the end of the bed, pulling his socks off. Clare looked absolutely gutted.
“I can’t believe it. I can’t bloody believe it!”
“He said that the way this Barry looks at him sends him crazy, and he’s moving in with him on Friday.”
“Oh, my, God! Does Pippa know? Has he told her?” She looked genuinely upset, but also mildly excited. This news was massive.
“Told her what?” Andy looked confused.
“Told her about moving in with Barry? Der!”
“Oh, that! I made all that up. You didn’t believe me did you?” Andy started laughing. Clare threw her pillow at his head.
“Flipping heck Clare, you are so gullible! As if Ollie is gay, but even if he was, he wouldn’t go out with a bloke called Barry would he? You moron!” Andy was stood, shaking his head and pointing at his wife.
“Aw Andy. You are such a weapon.”
Andy walked off to the en-suite bathroom chuckling as he went.
“No wonder Pippa hates you.”
“No wonder she turned Ollie gay! Ha ha! You’re so funny Clare. I think you’re great!” Andy closed the door, giggling away to himself as he took the rest of his clothes off and got into the shower.
“You bastard!” Clare smiled to herself as she picked up her Kindle from the bedside table. “Barry.” She said, and laughed at her ridiculous gullibility.
Chapter 22
The following morning, Miller received the text from Ollie, as promised. It read; “Hi Andy, thanks for a lush night. The neighbour is called Graham Ashcroft. He’s a big deal at Bury council, six figure salary I think. His registration is PN66 YDW. Address is 9 Fir Trees Grove, Haughton Park. Thanks again for a great night, really enjoyed it. Ol.”
Miller read the message as he sat in traffic. The idea of looking into this missing neighbour of Ollie’s was quite irritating for the D.C.I. He currently had three cases on the go, plus the alcohol poisoning investigation. “I could do without this Ollie, you big spanner.” He said to himself as the traffic began to crawl through the Salford University district towards Manchester City Centre. And then the traffic stopped again, and all of the car drivers returned their attention to their mobiles. Including Miller who composed a reply before the lights changed to green. “No worries, and when he turns up safe and well, you owe me fifty quid.”
Once at the office, Miller was reminded that Saunders had given the team a late start. The place was deserted.
“Good enough!” he was delighted at the prospect of a bit of peace and quiet. But then his boss strolled in, with an urgent look on his face.
“Morning Sir.” Said Miller quite unenthusiastically, sensing that Detective Chief Superintendent Dixon was here with even more work.
“Only you in Andy?” His bushy white eyebrows that had gained him the nickname “Frosty,” were riding high up on his forehead, making him look quite astonished that Miller was the only officer in the unit.
“They were all working late last night, interviewing dossers about the alcohol deaths. Saunders has given them a late start… which means that I get some peace and quiet to get on with this.” He extended both of his arms to highlight his overflowing in-tray in dramatic fashion.
“Oh. Well, don’t shoot the messenger!” Dixon looked apologetic already.
“But?”
“We’ve had a murder in Longsight last night, the dead man is a community centre cleaner, fifty four years old, family man, cycling home at half past ten last night, stabbed in the back and in the side of the head. Longsight C.I.D. have upgraded it to an S.C.I.U job, you’ll be delighted to know.” Dixon handed the file over the desk to Miller.
Miller looked slightly pissed off, but not too much. It was becoming an almost weekly occurrence where jobs were being back-heeled his way by over-stretched C.I.D. departments that had lost all enthusiasm for their work due to the government’s irresponsible cuts to the policing budget. Across the police service, morale was at an all time low. It didn’t concern Miller greatly, the way that he viewed it - it just made his team look brilliant, and thus protected their budget.
“What was the justification for upgrading it?” asked Miller. A run-of-the-mill murder investigation would traditionally be handled by the divisional C.I.D. departments, but the more problematic cases usually ended up with the S.C.I.U involved quite early on, simply because they were the best detectives in the Manchester City Police force. This case didn’t look particularly unusual at first glance.
“The dead man was threatened with a kicking two weeks ago on his way home from work, and his wife reported it. A statement was taken at the time, but he’d said that he had no idea who the people were. All the details are in there.” Dixon nodded at the folder that Miller was holding between both hands.
“I’m sure they are, Sir. But that still doesn’t explain why it has been upgraded to my desk?”
Dixon frowned slightly. “Precautionary, I’m afraid. Longsight C.I.D think it will end up being looked at by the IPCC, because the dead man had recently contacted police in fear of his life.”
“Ah, okay. So it’s being treated as a police custody death?” Miller was slightly perturbed that Longsight were so paranoid about a potential inquiry by the Independent Police Complaints Commission, that they had collapsed the whole inquiry and chucked it onto Miller’s desk.
“I’ll leave it with you, if that’s okay?” Dixon looked eager to get away before he got talked into doing something.
“Yes Sir, but before you go, I wanted to mention something. It’s almost a year since Karen’s death.”
“Good God! My, you’re right.” Dixon looked stunned by the announcement. It really had just seemed like a matter of weeks, or maybe months, but certainly not twelve. The year had passed by very quickly.
“So, I was just wondering if the force were planning anything, a memorial service or something. I think we need to do something.”
“Absolutely Andy, you’re spot on.” Dixon looked embarrassed, and somewhat ashamed. He struggled to maintain eye-contact. “I’ll get onto it right away. Thanks.” He closed the door behind him as he left. Miller exhaled loudly and began reading through the file. He started scratching his head, deciding that his desk was looking too untidy and that he urgently needed to write a priority list and sort out a better functioning incident room. This new file had suddenly found itself right at the top of the list, so everything else would need re-scheduling.
“Fuck’s sake.” Miller blew out loudly again, wondering at what point in his career had the murdered people stopped being victims that deserved justice, and had become little more than an irritation.
Reading through the case file for the incident in Longsight, Miller quickly began to realise that he’d been stitched up with this one. He picked up the phone and rang Dixon. It went to voice-mail, which was a blessing as it meant there was no discussion required. Miller could simply leave his message without getting into an argument.
“Sir, can you get on to Longsight and tell them that S.C.I.U. aren’t taking this on. I will supervise the handling of their enquiry if they want, but I can’t see any justification for this being sent our way. If their only excuse is the potential for an I.P.C.C inquiry, then I’ll oversee that they are following procedure – but it just looks like a cop-out, can’t-be-arsed, back-heel to me. I see it is D.S. Faulkner who has signed it off, tell him to phone me directly if he has any issues, but under no circumstances are we doing his job for him. And yes, you can repeat that word-for-word. In fact, just play this message down the phone to him if you want. Cheers Sir.” He put the phone down heavily, knowing that it would leave a really annoying noise on the end of Dixon’s message. The slammed down phone noise was meant for Faulkner, if Dixon decided to play it back to the D.S.
Saunders arrived into the office at 10.30am, and looked full of beans as Miller observed him walking around the incident room hurriedly and excitedly. Miller threw his pen down on the desk and
decided to go and see how the young DI had got on with the street dwellers the previous evening. He stood, indulged himself in a rewarding, fully stretched yawn before popping out of his glass walled office and across the incident room floor.
“Alright Keith? Got a result?”
“Hi Sir, alright?” Saunders didn’t look up from the file he was rapidly flicking through. “Not a result, but I might have a couple of leads. One in particular that I’m pretty buzzing about.”
Miller loved seeing Saunders like this, completely focused, enthused and driven.
“Good, good. I’ll leave you to it, then…”
“Sorry Sir, I’m not being rude. I’ve not even had a brew yet, I wanted to get in and check this. Two minutes and I’ll come and see you. I’m not being ignorant.” Saunders face was fixed, and his eyes didn’t move from what he was reading for the entire time that he was speaking. Miller smiled and set off walking back across the open-plan office space towards his little “gold-fish bowl” office in the corner. He stopped at the little kitchen area and made himself and Saunders a coffee, taking the cups through to his office and sitting down beside the tall pile of paperwork that needed making into smaller piles.
A few minutes passed until Saunders leapt up off his chair, like a jack-in-the-box and practically jogged across the office floor before bursting into Miller’s office.
“Sir!” he said, “got a theory on the alcoholics. One of them I talked to last night, he said “I’ll bet it’s the street angel.” So I was like, who is the street angel, you know, going along with it, thinking it was drink or drugs talking. Anyway, check this out, the homeless in Manchester have a guardian angel who walks about checking they’re okay, that they’re tucked in at night!” Saunders was grinning.
“Shut up!” Miller laughed at the preposterous statement that Saunders had come out with. “Here, sit down, I’ve done you a brew.”
Saunders pulled out a chair facing Miller and took a slurp of the coffee. “Cheers, nice one. Right, listen to this. This guy I was talking to, he was only about thirty, but he looked fifty at least. Smelt even older. He was pissed, and I mean, completely hammered, couldn’t focus his eyes, he was slurring his words, but I could still understand him. He said that the five dead have probably been put to sleep, to help them.” Saunders was wearing his creepy “I’ve got this one in the bag” grin, the expression that he always wore when he was in the final furlong of cracking a case.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 15