“Hi love, how did you get on?”
“Hiya mum, okay. It was okay. Have you heard anything from Suzanne?” Rachel’s face was filled with hope. Maureen knew that expression. She felt bad that she was about to change the optimistic look on her daughter’s face.
“No. She’s not been home. I’ve been keeping an eye out. Noel saw her though, when he was on his way home from school. She was in the back of a car, being driven away. Noel said he waved to her. She saw him, made eye-contact, but she didn’t wave back.”
“Arrested?” whispered Rachel.
“Looks like it, love, I’m sorry to say.” Maureen nodded sympathetically.
“Well, it’s just a lottery now. Mick’s in there confessing. If Suzanne is in there, we just need to hope that’s she’s denying everything. If that happens, we’ll be home and dry mum.” Rachel looked old, haggered. She looked about twenty years older than she was. It upset Maureen greatly to see her in this state, but she suspected that things were going to get a lot worse before they would improve.
“Let’s be positive then, eh? No point in worrying about it now, is there?”
“No mum, I know. I keep trying to tell myself that, but it’s no good. I’m just frantic, I need to know what Suzanne has said. I need to know that the police believe Mick. Once I know all that, I can relax a bit. Start planning how to tell the kids.”
Rachel’s eyes had lost their twinkle. The kindness and positivity that usually gleamed from them was replaced with a void. An emptiness, a soul-less, sad, hollowness filled them now. She looked lost.
“Come here and give me a big cuddle love.”
Rachel and Maureen squeezed one another tightly. They stayed like that for a minute at least. Both took enormous comfort from the embrace. After a while, Maureen spoke.
“I’ve told the kids you’ve got something important to say to them. It might be best to do it sooner rather than later.”
“Where are they?
“Scattered all around the house.”
Rachel smiled, for her mum’s sake.
“Noel’s in the front room watching Brainiacs with Shania. Liam’s upstairs, revising, or so he says. Britney’s asleep in her room.”
“Has she said anything to any of them, do you think?”
“No. I don’t think so love. She’s been really grown up about everything. I’ve been so impressed by her. She’s been through a lot you know, her head’s in bits.”
“I know. I know. Right, I’ll make her a brew and wake her up.”
“I’ll do it, love.”
“No, please, let me, I need to be doing stuff. I can’t sit still. I’m fine mum. I’ll be fine.”
“Alright. Fair enough love. Do you want one of these?” Maureen held out her cigarette packet.
“No. I don’t even want a fag! That’s how weird I feel.”
“Right, well, I’ll go and ask Liam to come down, and you make a brew for Britney and take it up. They all know something’s up. Something bad. So, well, don’t worry too much – they’re all expecting bad news.” Maureen set off to go upstairs.
“Cheers mum. You’ve been absolutely amazing about this. You really have.”
Five minutes later, Rachel, Maureen and the four Crossley-Birdsworth children were all sat together in the living room. The TV had been switched off and Britney’s phone had even been surrendered from her clutches. It was sat on the coffee table.
Rachel felt strange. This was so formal. She’d never had a formal relationship with her kids, except when it was parents evening at school, when she tried her best to talk slightly posh at the kids, which they’d tease her about for weeks after. With this family, everything had been very informal, and that was just how Mick and Rachel liked it. They thought of their kids as their little mates.
But, now, Rachel needed a little formality, just for a short while.
“Okay, I’ve got some very important things to talk about, right?” She was sat on the big pouffe, facing her kids. “And I just want you all to listen. There’s going to be plenty of opportunity for asking questions and all that lot in a bit. But for now, I just want you to be quiet and hear me out.” Rachel looked so sad, it scared the children. They looked as though they were all braced for something really awful.
The children all nodded. They all looked scared, but also a bit embarrassed, a bit sad, a bit confused. This was a very unusual situation, and they all had their own fears about what was about to be said. Was somebody dying? Had somebody died? Were they getting kicked out of the house?”
Each person that was sitting around the L shaped settee had their own little worry, their own notion of what the bad thing was likely to be.
“Your dad is in a lot of trouble…” The kids’ eyes all flicked up at their mother. “With the police.”
That was unexpected. That hadn’t been anticipated by any of them. Least of all Britney. Her baffled reaction to this news was the most apparent of them all. Shania didn’t really understand it too well and the boys just looked searchingly at one another, trying to figure out what on earth their mother was talking about. Their dad was as straight as they came. He wouldn’t even buy a stolen flymo off a smackhead.
A noise erupted. It was a babble, four different voices all asking different incomprehensible questions at the very same time. Rachel put her hand in the air. It worked, and the children were silenced.
“Your dad…” Rachel could hear the emotion in her voice. “Is a very, very good man. He is doing something to protect you all. He is making a big sacrifice, for all of us in this room. He is going to go to prison, for a crime that I have done.”
The babble erupted again. The hand gesture worked again.
Rachel spent the next thirty minutes explaining what had happened over the road, what had happened since, and now, how Rachel and Mick had agreed to handle it. Rachel told the family that they were going to be the only people who would know this. And that it had to remain a secret, no matter what.
“Now, I could have made life a lot easier for me, and not told you all this,” said Rachel, in conclusion to the sermon. “But I really want you all to know that your dad is an incredible man. And if your mates at school start calling you, start calling your dad a murderer, and all that, I want you to smile, feel proud, knowing that it wasn’t him. But you must never, ever tell anyone. Not even your best friend. Right?”
The children nodded. They understood.
“Pinky promise?” asked Rachel. It made the youngest two smile. Liam nodded, as though immune to the old family joke while Britney just stared impassively at the floor.
“Why?” asked Britney. The question made no sense at all and Rachel looked confused. Why what? Why do a pinky promise? Why not tell your friends? Why what?
“Why what, love?”
“Why is dad taking the blame?”
“He’s not taking… he’s not, what I mean is…”
“He is taking the blame. Don’t start talking a load of shit mum! You just told us all, you killed that bloke. Dad’s going to jail for it. Sorry, but how’s that not taking the blame?”
“Shut up Britney. Stop being such a bitch.” Liam shoved his sister in the arm.
“Whoa! Stop!” said Rachel loudly. One level below a shout. “Don’t start bickering. Not now. I’ll bang your bleeding heads together! Right?”
“Why?” said Britney, cheekily.
“Because I said so. Right?”
Britney and Liam looked down at the floor, although both of them really wanted to blame the other.
“Listen to me. If your dad wasn’t saying that it was him, then we would both be going to jail. Me for killing Graham, and your dad for helping me to hide the evidence. Now, your dad thought it would be best if he took all of the blame for everything.”
“But, why mum,” asked Noel. “Why did you kill him?” his sad, watery, eleven year old eyes were full of enquiry, and a yearning to fully understand all of this life changing information, that just seemed to be coming f
rom nowhere.
“I’ve told you love. It was an accident. I was trying to help Suzanne. He was beating her up, really badly. He was spinning her around by her hair and punching her right in the face. I didn’t go over there to kill him, love. I just wanted to stop him, I wanted to help Suzanne. It was a bad accident, that’s all. None of this was ever meant to happen. Do you know what, if Suzanne had her curtains shut, it wouldn’t have happened at all. If your dad wasn’t watching Live at the Apollo, I wouldn’t have been outside having a fag. It was all down to fate. And now, your dad wants to make it right.”
*****
The PC returned to the interview room where Mick had been sat for the past thirty minutes.
“Hiya, right, sorry about the delay. I’ve had a quick check and what you’re saying seems to check out. The computer is showing Graham Ashworth’s disappearance as an ongoing live inquiry by the serious crimes team. I’ve given them a call, and one of their detectives is going to come over and speak to you.”
“Right.” Said Mick, relieved that the officer seemed to be taking it seriously. He’d half expected to be sent home, based on the initial, couldn’t-give-a-shit reaction to his confession.
“So, what will happen next?” Mick looked happy. Things were starting to happen. The constable looked a bit confused, and raised an eyebrow at Mick’s reaction.
“Well, I’m glad that’s cheered you up!” she said, without a smile.
“Nah, it’s not that. I have wanted to do this for weeks. Since it happened. I’ve only just got the courage.”
“Ah, I see! I was starting to think that you were a bit retarded. Fair enough, you’re grinning because you’ve made peace with yourself. I get it. Right, let’s get you banged up in the cells until the detectives come. They said it’ll be in the next few hours.”
“So does that mean…” Mick’s face was full of hope.
“Yes, it means that Michael Crossley, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court, anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Oh, thank fuck for that! Thought Mick, desperately wanting to do a celebratory air-grab, but thinking better of it.
So far, so good, he thought as a wry smile crossed his lips.
Chapter 34
Miller was having a night out with his wife Clare. Nothing much was planned, just a meal at the nearby White Horse in Worsley. It was a favourite haunt of both of the Miller’s. Andy loved the food, especially the steak. Clare loved seeing the celebrities that popped in randomly, especially Manchester football legend Ryan Giggs, who lived just up the road from the pub.
“It’s always a cracking atmosphere in here. I love it!” Clare was grinning from ear to ear. The place attracted a lot of highly attractive, minimally dressed young women, especially on a Friday evening.
“Do they really think that one of the United or City players is going to come in, and ask them for a date, and that’s the rest of their lives sorted out?” asked Miller, looking across at the ladies, grumpily.
“Well, they’ve certainly kept your eyes busy Andy!” Clare was mocking her husband. She knew full well that he was acting grumpy and talking about the young women, just to buy him all this extra time to stare at them.
“Don’t be so ridiculous! Jesus, you’re putting me off my onion rings!” Miller waved his arm in dramatic fashion, and the over-dramatic gesture made Clare laugh out loud, throwing her head back at her husband’s dreadful acting.
“What?”
“You. God, you’re funny. You used to look at me like that, once-upon-a-time.”
“Like what?”
“The way you’ve just been looking at those young women.”
“Clare, seriously love. Have you got a bit of lettuce in your eye? I haven’t looked at them in any way that you’re on about. I was just saying, they look like slags. What footballer wants to meet a woman who looks like a daft little slag? If anyone is going to get pulled by a Premier League football player in here tonight, it’ll be somebody who’s a bit more sophisticated. Someone who dresses sexy, confident, without letting too much flesh escape. Elegant, understated, slightly coy. Someone who absolutely oozes red hot sexuality, but says nothing about it – just keeps it smouldering. In fact, I’d better hope that you’re still here when I get back from the gents…” Miller stood and smiled at his wife, licked his finger and pointed it at her, making a “tsssss” sound. “…because you’re smoking hot tonight Clare Miller!”
“Ooh, very good! Excellent recovery there, you cheesy bastard!” Clare threw her napkin at him as he walked past the table. He caught it and threw it back.
“Back in a minute.”
Clare smiled as her husband walked down the steps and took his phone out of his pocket. She knew that he probably didn’t need the loo, he just wanted to check his phone, check his texts and e-mails. It wasn’t ideal that he was doing it during a night out – but as far as Clare was concerned, it was a damn sight better than him doing it over the table. Words had been said in the past about that, and Clare’s opinions were extremely well known to her husband. The fact that he slid off every thirty minutes for a toilet break was the unspoken, unmentioned compromise.
“You could at least wait until you’re round the corner, you dip-stick.” She said as she raised her large glass of Pinot Grigio to her lips.
Clare had been right. Miller wasn’t using the lavatory. He was just checking his phone for any updates from work. He’d had a text from Saunders, he’d felt it vibrate on his hip. It was one of those random, unexpected messages which completely filled his head with intrigue and enthusiasm. The worst possible kind of message to receive when on a night out with the wife.
“Sir, got a weird one for you. RE that miss–per case up in Bury. Some neighbour of hers has walked into Bury nick and confessed to killing the miss-per. Suspect is called Michael Crossley. No previous. Not exactly sure what’s going on with this, but I’ve instructed them to lock him up. Time of arrest 20:50. Thought you’d want to know. Cheers. Saunders.”
Miller was stood in the middle of the noisy, busy gents toilets, staring at his phone, seemingly oblivious to the venue and the activities taking place all around him. Men were urinating to his left, and washing their hands, bantering and joking loudly to his right by the hand driers. The text message made absolutely no sense at all to Miller. Saunders wasn’t even aware that he had brought Suzanne Ashworth in today, considered Miller. He wrote a quick reply.
“That’s really odd. Get me a bit more info please Keith, previous address, work background, family, friends. Whatever you can find on him. Smells fishy this. Cheers.” Miller put the phone back into his pocket and breezed out of the toilets, wafting the stench of pine cleaner, stale urine and wet farts behind him as he walked quickly back towards his table.
“Everything alright?” asked Clare. She had a twinkle in her eye.
“You what?” asked Miller, unsure of what his wife was talking about.
“Is everything alright? When you went to the loo, you were joking and smiling. Now you’ve just come out of there looking all glum and worried. What’s happened?”
“Eh? Nowt. What you going on about?” Miller picked up his pint and took a greedy sip.
“Come on Andy. You know, that I know, that you went in there to check your phone.”
“I didn’t. I went for a pee. I was bursting.”
“Well, look, your hands are bone dry. You always wash your hands when you’ve been for a wee. If you’d have dried them on the hand blower, you’d still be in there, and wouldn’t be out for another half an hour. You’ve not dried them on your jeans, because you’d have still been wiping them when you came out of the toilet. That’s what you always do.” Clare smiled at her husband, who had a sheepish look on his face. She was glad to see that Miller absolutely knew that his wife had the upper hand. He was busted.
“You’re r
ight. Okay, look, I’m sorry. But like I’ve said before – you should be a detective. You’re very good. Very thorough.” Miller looked slightly embarrassed. He did want to switch off from work. He really did want to spend a night out with his wife and completely relax. But it wasn’t that simple, not in his job. It’s a cliché, it’s a yawn creator, but it was true.
“I’m sorry. Honest.”
“Well what’s going on?” Clare started playing with her hair. “Is it a big case? I mean it’s Friday night Andy. You were supposed to have done your years of pissing about with work at weekends. I thought that no weekends was supposed to be the best thing about your rank?”
“I thought you didn’t want to hear any more of my work stories?” asked Andy, picking up his steak knife and getting ready to attack the last third of his medium to rare rump.
“Not if they’re boring ones. I only like the juicy ones!” Clare smiled. She didn’t want to ruin the mood. She admired her husband’s dedication to his work. It was the main reason that he was so good at his job. He never really switched off from it, and she was lying to herself if she thought that he could.
“Well, you’ll love this one actually. Right up your street!” Miller looked excited to spill some gossip.
“Ooh, that sounds good. I’ll just nip to the ladies, and you can recharge our drinks. Back in a tick.”
Miller stopped carving his beef, and placed the cutlery down. He drained the last of his beer as he walked to the bar.
A few minutes later, Miller returned to the table with a fresh pint of beer, and a new glass of wine for his wife.
“Thank you love.” Said Clare.
“Cheers,” said Miller, holding up his glass. The couple clinked glasses before Clare pressed her husband for his story.
“Do you remember I was telling you about Ollie, and his missing neighbour?” Miller took a sip of his drink and wiped the froth from his top lip.
“Ooh yes,” Clare’s face lit up. “I was meaning to ask you about that as well!”
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 25