Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist

by Steven Suttie

  Miller had spent the journey to the old brick manufacturing town trying to imagine doing it at dawn on a Saturday with a dead body on the back-seat. Even at a fast rate of driving, the journey was already twenty five minutes. The options for driving east or west would panic the people in the car. They were forced to come into Accrington. Graham Ashworth’s final resting place was decided through sheer panic - by an overwhelming need to dispose of the body, considered Miller.

  Miller was stood on the bridge, looking down into the murky water below, while the police officers and forensics staff were packing up their kit. He was trying to figure out how Rachel and Mick had ended up at the canal. If they’d been forced off the road because of the upcoming motorway junction, how did they arrive here, at the canal?

  Miller was bothering his nails as he stood, looking across the horizon of the old northern mill town that had sadly become just another victim of high unemployment and urban decay.

  Two things were troubling him. Firstly, he could see with his own eyes that Mick Crossley did not wrap the body here. It was not possible, just as DCI Gibson had explained earlier. Several factors said that it wasn’t possible. Not only was this bridge on a dual carriageway, with no hard shoulder to park up - there simply wasn’t the space to lay a carpet down, pull a body out of a car, wrap it all up and then start wrapping tape all around the object. It wasn’t done here, and that was the first thing that Miller was bothered about. If not here, then where? And why say it was here? What difference does it make? Would the real place tell a different story? Miller’s mind was racing.

  And then it occurred to him. The sat nav in Graham’s car would have shown up a waterway on the map. Miller took his phone out of his pocket and opened the Google Maps app. Within seconds, the screen loaded up, showing Miller’s precise location, his marker was situated on a white road graphic with a blue waterway criss-crossing beneath.

  “They drove here, to the canal because they saw it on the fucking sat nav. Why else would they choose the most exposed location in the town?” Miller was talking to himself, zooming out of his location on the phone screen. Miller saw that there were ten, twelve, maybe fifteen bridges that crossed the canal in Accrington. But this one was the first that they’d come to as they drove through the town. They’d chosen the worst one, it seemed to Miller as he switched the maps app off and put his phone back into his pocket. He turned around and looked at the dual carriageway. The traffic was relentless. It was clear to Miller that even at dawn on a weekend, this place would have a steady stream of traffic coming out of the town towards the motorway, and vice versa on the opposite side of the carriageway.

  Miller cursed his O.C.D as it occurred to him that he wanted to come back and witness this location’s early morning Saturday traffic for himself.

  “Fuck that.” He muttered to himself, unconvincingly, annoyed that if he’d known, he could have done it earlier that morning. Maybe he could watch CCTV footage of the road at that time? He pulled out his pocket book and scribbled “Council – CCTV road over canal?”

  Miller started walking down the hill, back towards where his car was parked on the KFC car park. He hadn’t noticed it as he walked towards the crime scene, but there was no mistaking the Asda store on the opposite side of the road, as he made his way down the hill. Miller took out his notebook and made a few notes before continuing back towards his car, feeling pleased with himself for resisting the fried chicken smell that had started to make his mouth water. There were more pressing matters.

  *****

  Miller was feeling really tired now. It had been quite a while since he’d worked an all-nighter, and he’d forgotten how drowsy, almost drunk the fatigue could make him feel. He wondered if he was getting too old now. He used to get a buzz out of this peculiar, detached sensation. Now he was becoming quite disturbed by his weariness.

  As he entered the Asda supermarket, he headed straight towards the customer toilets and began rinsing his face with cold water, trying to freshen himself up as best that he could. A few minutes later, the Manchester DCI was walking through the aisles of the Lancashire supermarket, looking for something. His heart rate was quickening and he realised that he was becoming quite excited.

  The building had a huge sign on the roof. It said OPEN 24 HOURS. When he’d spotted it, Miller had realised with an excitable jolt that this supermarket was the only shop that Graham’s killer and his or her helpers would have encountered on the journey between the murder scene and the canal.

  He was excited, but was also feeling rather despondent. Although he had only just become aware of its existence, a lot rested on this visit to this supermarket. Miller had a deep sense that this place wouldn’t bear any fruit, due to the period of time that had elapsed. But, he clung to his hopes. If the killer had bought anything here and paid by card transaction, it would be evidence that would stick.

  Michael Crossley had very nearly said too much about the parcel tape that had been used to wrap the carpet up. The local officer, DCI Gibson had described it as duct tape. He’d said that three or four rolls were used. Who has three or four rolls of duct tape just lay around the house? Wondered Miller as he was walking faster around the superstore. He stopped dead in his tracks as he reached the aisle that he’d been searching for, hoping that they had in this store. At the top of the books, comics and magazines section was a small, blink-and-you’d-miss-it D.I.Y section. On the left hand side was a small selection of motor accessories. Oil, windscreen wash, shampoo and wax was surrounded by car air-fresheners and wiper blades, floor mats and car-care kits. Opposite these items was the section that Miller had been hoping to find. Home improvement.

  There was a small selection of basic items, from cheap tools and paint-brushes to wallpaper paste and polyfilla. There, right at the bottom of the display, next to masking tape and sellotape was the duct tape that he’d been hoping was stocked.

  “You fucking beauty.” He muttered to himself as an elderly male customer turned round and tutted in his direction.

  “Sorry,” said Miller as he took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his e-mails. He found the correspondence from DCI Gibson, with the photographs of Graham Ashworth’s body and the wrapping. He zoomed in on the duct tape that had been cut away from the carpet in the photograph. It was silver. The only colour that was on sale at this store.

  Miller was buzzing. He knew that the CCTV in this store would show the person buying the duct tape. He knew the date, and approximate time of the purchase. His only concern was whether the footage would still be available. He seriously doubted that it would be.

  “Hi,” said Miller as he reached the customer service desk. He was speaking to a lady with a bright green blouse on and a rosette that said “happy to help.”

  “I hope you can help. I’m a police officer with Greater Manchester police, I’m taking part in an investigation…”

  “Oh, is it about the body in the canal?” asked the middle-aged lady behind the counter.

  “Yes, it is. News travels fast…”

  “It’s terrible. It’s a little girl isn’t it?” The woman had a sad, but morbidly excited expression on her face.

  “It’s not a little girl. Is that what people are saying?”

  “Yes. Apparently, so I’ve been told, it was…”

  “Nah, it’s a man’s body. It’s been in there for over a month. I’m just trying to find out if the duct tape that was used to wrap the body was bought here?”

  “Ooh good God! How grisly!” said the woman, now feeling excited, like she was now a part of the enquiry. “Is that the one you’re on about?” she asked, taking the package off Miller. She scanned the barcode and pressed product inventory on the screen. A list of all sales of that item in the past three months appeared on the screen.

  “We don’t sell many of these, let me see. We’ve sold sixty units in this inventory period.”

  “What’s an inventory period?” asked Miller.

  “Quarterly, it goes i
n three monthly cycles.”

  “Okay, can you see all the sales in that period?”

  “Yes. You can come round here if you want love.” The lady opened the small door at her side and allowed Miller through.

  “Thanks a lot,” said Miller, standing next to her and scanning the computer screen. “Can you see any bulk purchases? Two, three, four rolls sold at the same time?”

  “To be honest, most sales are single. Here we are. Five rolls were sold at half past three in the morning, where are we, on the fourth of June.”

  “Bingo. That’s it. That’s the killer!” Miller smiled and the customer services assistant made a weird, excited noise as it occurred to her that she’d just done something really important. This was a story for her mates in the canteen at brew time, that was for sure.

  “My goodness!” she said, as Miller patted her back.

  “How far back does your CCTV footage go?”

  “To all of the aisles.”

  “No, I mean, how long is it saved for?”

  “Oh, ha ha, I see. Sorry, silly me, I thought you meant…”

  “Is it a week, a month, how long do you save it up for before it’s deleted?”

  “Ooh, now you’re asking. I don’t know. Let me get somebody who will know.” She grabbed the microphone at the side of the desk and pressed a button on its base. Suddenly, the lady’s voice was booming all around the store.

  “Staff call, can a member of our senior leadership team please come to the customer service kiosk immediately please.”

  Within seconds, a bossy-looking ginger-haired lady came over. She was wearing a suspicious, “what’s-wrong-now-you-useless-bastards” smile.

  “This is our store manager, Hazel. This is a policeman from Manchester, he’s here about the body in the canal. It’s a man, not a little girl.”

  Hazel’s face corrected itself, and she began looking at Miller with a little less of an “oh-for-fucks-sake” expression.

  “How do you do?” she asked.

  “I’m fine thanks. We’re just looking at this purchase here.” Miller pointed at the computer screen. “It’s of significant interest to the murder enquiry. I’m just wondering if you still have CCTV footage from that date?”

  Hazel was thinking hard. Miller could see that she was doing sums in her head.

  “It was thirty five days ago.” Said Miller, in a bid to speed things up.

  Hazel was still doing sums in her head and Miller was anticipating the almighty, disappointing no that was due any second.

  “Might have.” She said.

  Miller couldn’t disguise his delight. He was beaming from ear to ear. “Really?”

  “It might go back that far. It just records and records until it reaches the end of the hard-drive, then it starts again, writing over itself. I can’t remember how many days it is, but we had it upgraded last year to a terabyte of memory, it holds quite a bit. Do you want to go and see?”

  “Yes I do!”

  “Okay, I’ll take you up there.”

  “Thanks for all your help!” said Miller to the customer services lady, as he followed Hazel, who had set off walking quickly, keen to sort this out and then get back to what it was that she was supposed to be doing..

  “No problem,” said the lady, who looked as though she wanted to get back on the microphone and announce to the shoppers that it wasn’t a little girl in the canal.

  Miller was led through a door that was practically hidden in the wall by the side of the noisy, bleeping check-outs which went on for as far as the eye could see. It was Saturday afternoon and the store was heaving with customers. The DCI followed the store manager up some stairs and then down a long, shiny corridor. All along the corridor were mirrors that had writing across the top. “Smile. This is what our customers see!”

  Eventually, Hazel opened a door and ushered Miller through. There was a bank of CCTV monitors all along the back wall, and a happy, jolly-looking black man was sat inside there, watching the screens.

  “Nathan, this man is a detective.”

  “I haven’t done nothing!” he said, holding his hands in the air. He laughed loudly at his joke. Miller laughed too, and was instantly endeared to the security man. Hazel looked sternly at the security officer.

  “We need to find CCTV footage from inside the store on Saturday the fourth of June at… what time was it again Detective?”

  “Oh, er the sale took place at half past three.”

  Nathan started typing information into a box on his computer screen.

  “Oh that might be a bit too long ago, let me see.”

  Miller was watching Nathan, his heart was in his mouth. If the security guard could just say “yes, I’ve got it here,” then Miller would have the major piece of prosecution evidence.

  The screen flickered and Nathan’s text-box had disappeared.

  “Zero Four Zero Six.” Hazel was reading the digits in the top of the screen. “That’s it! Good work Nathan.” She tapped his shoulder tenderly.

  “What, is this it?” asked Miller, he looked like an excited kid.

  “This is the store footage, every camera, every angle from three o’ clock in the morning on Saturday the fourth of June.”

  “Holy shit! That’s amazing.”

  “Great. Well I’ll leave you to it detective.” Said Hazel. “Thank you Nathan.”

  “Thanks, cheers,” said Miller, reluctantly turning his face away from the monitor screens.

  Hazel closed the door behind her, setting off at a similar speed that she’d arrived at.

  “What time was the sale again?” asked Nathan.

  “Three thirty on the self serve tills. Can you get the DIY section on there?” asked Miller, who was sweating slightly, and desperately excited to see who would appear on the screen and buy the five rolls of duct tape.

  “Sure thing, no problem just give me ten seconds.” Nathan rolled the footage back to 3.20am, and activated the household goods aisle feed so that it was on full screen. “Do you know who you are looking for?” he asked.

  “No. Well, I’ve got an idea. One of two possible suspects, but I’ve an open mind.”

  Nathan pressed the forward x8 button and the footage speeded up slightly, noticeable only because the shelf-stacker further along the aisle was suddenly working extremely quickly.

  And then it happened.

  “I don’t believe it.” Said Miller. “Can you get a better picture of them?” said Miller. He could see Rachel and Mick, looking scared, looking around, over their shoulders. They looked suspicious and panicky. Mick bent down and picked up the rolls of tape and they both headed quickly toward the camera, on their way to the tills.

  “Got you!” shouted Miller, he was absolutely buzzing and it made Nathan laugh out loud again, his big booming laugh was infectious.

  “Is that what you wanted?” asked Nathan, smiling widely and still laughing at Miller’s reaction.

  “Yes, it certainly is. Thanks a lot. Can you save that for me, the whole section, from them coming in, to paying, and leaving?”

  “Sure. I’ll put it on a disc. It will take me a few minutes…” said Nathan.

  “That’s fine, I’ve got all day. Thanks for this. I really didn’t think you’d have this. These two are the ones who threw the body in the canal.”

  “No way, you’re joking me. Really?” asked Nathan. From his security office window, he could see the police vans and cars and the road closed signs further along the road. He suddenly looked more serious, and his smile had faded as the macabre nature of their crime caught up with him. “Will you be putting this on the news?” he asked.

  “What for?” asked Miller.

  “To catch them.”

  “Oh right, no, no. They’re both in custody. He’s saying that he did it on his own. That’s his wife. She’s committed the murder, and he’s trying to confess for it, and get her off. This evidence is all I have to link her to it. She’s going to jail mate, and it’s all thanks to you!”
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  Nathan suddenly looked quite moved. He turned to Miller and searched the detective’s face. “That’s a very sad situation.”

  “It’s more sad for the bloke they killed.”

  Chapter 39

  “Right, don’t start saying no comment, because it will make you look even worse when it comes to court. Do you understand me?” Miller was getting beyond tired now, he’d been on this mad case for over twenty four hours, and hadn’t been to sleep for fifty odd hours. He just wanted this final part to be fast and painless.

  “No comment.”

  “Rachel. If I present you with a piece of evidence that will tie you to the crime scene, will you please grow a pair of bollocks and stop saying no comment?”

  There was a judder. A flicker of panic flashed across Rachel’s face. But her stubbornness was unrelenting. Her poker face was strong.

  “No comment.”

  Miller reached into his plastic file. He rummaged around, taking a long time for added dramatic effect, until he found what he was searching for. He pulled it out, and placed it on the table facing Rachel Birdsworth. The colour drained from her face. Her number was up, and this A4 laminated picture of her and Mick at the tills of Asda in Accrington, paying for five rolls of duct tape at half past three in the morning was the proof.

  “I’m satisfied that I have enough evidence here to charge you both with murder. But I know that there were others involved. If not one, maybe two others who will share the same amount of guilt as you and Michael.”

  “No comment.”

  “Rachel, are you deliberately ignoring the seriousness of this situation?”

  “No comment.”

  “Who are you protecting?”

  “No comment.”

  “Rachel. Listen to me. I have enough here to charge you. You’ll stay here over the weekend, then you’ll be in court on Monday, and you’ll be remanded in custody. That’s a fact. So all I’m saying is, it’s game over.”

  Rachel looked up and nodded at Miller. She was accepting her fate.

  “Saying no comment is not going to help you. But if you answer my questions, you’ll start improving your chances.”