The Final Cut

by Steven Suttie

  “Yes, that’s right. I know that a lot of people out there will agree with me, when I say that these welfare reforms that are getting everybody so emotional, well, I think they are long overdue.” Anne sounded confident, and extremely nice.

  “So, you’re saying that the allegedly nasty activities of the DWP are acceptable?”

  “Absolutely, I think they are spot on. I go out and work my fingers to the bone, and the money I make hardly pays the bills. As soon as I clear one debt, the car breaks down, or the washing machine blows up! I’ve not been on holiday for four years, and I work bloody hard. Yet there are people on benefits who haven’t got a day’s work in them, who are living a better life than me! I’m sick of it!”

  “Yes, well, this is a point that comes up regularly. But surely the blame for that lies with your employer. Doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. If I get paid more, the costs of the business will go up, and then we’ll lose customers who’ll go to a cheaper supplier, and then I’ll be made redundant. It’s catch twenty-two.”

  “But it does seem quite harsh that you want people who are on benefits to suffer because your earnings aren’t adequate for you to lead the lifestyle that you would like. That’s grossly unfair.”

  “No, what’s unfair is that I work, I’m sat in traffic for an hour before work, then an hour after work, I only have about two hours a day to myself after I’ve done my chores, and every penny I earn is spent before pay-day. Yet there are people who don’t work who lead better lives than me. How is that fair?”

  “But the point I’m trying to make is that the people on benefits are getting a very small amount of money. It’s only enough to scrape by. It’s a myth that people on benefits are living the dream Anne, you might see the very rare examples on Britain’s biggest families on TV, but they are the exception to the rule. Quite frankly this idea that people are choosing a life on the dole is total codswallop, it’s a tiny minority of illiterate racist thugs, who wouldn’t get a job anywhere because they can’t count past eleventeen.”

  “It’s not, you’re wrong. I see them on telly, they’ve got their fags and their booze and Sky TV, they’re laughing their heads off at us, while their rent and council tax is being paid by me and all the other mugs who go out to work, and come home with less than them. I can’t afford Sky, I can’t, and it really makes me mad. So, I say to all these people who think that the benefit reforms are tight… come and live my life for a week, and see if you’re still sticking up for the idle ones!” Anne’s “nice” voice was starting to sound less so, a sharp, bitter edge had crept in.

  “I think you’re being quite outrageous Anne…”

  “I’m not…”

  “You can’t just say that people on benefits are idle. People are on benefits for a variety of complex reasons. Take our regular caller Joe in Hastings for instance. A lovely bloke who had a stroke at the age of thirty-five. He can’t work now, because he can’t use the right-hand-side of his body. I know for a fact that he struggles to get by on his benefits, and I also know that he would give anything to be cured of his disability, and get out working again, back amongst his mates, not depending on meals on wheels to provide his lunch, which is usually stone-cold.”

  “Yeah, but, that’s…”

  “That’s the fact of the matter Anne. What about people with MS? Should their benefits be stopped?”

  “Well, no, but that’s not what…”

  “Blind people?”

  “No, I’m…”

  “How about people who suffer from mental health issues?”

  “That’s not what I’m…”

  “Unemployed people then? Men and women who’ve been made redundant? What about the steel-workers in Port Talbot, the four-thousand that have just been laid off because of Tata steel closing? BAE are laying thousands off in the next few months in Lancashire. They’re going to struggle to find new jobs at first, after all, their skills lie in making aeroplane wings.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, unless an aeroplane wing factory opens, they won’t be working. So, shall we refuse those people benefits?”

  “You’re confusing the issue.”

  “I think that it is you who is confused Anne. But if we use your narrow view of the world, let me ask you a question. Do you know who the worst benefits free-loaders are?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to talk over me again…”

  “Pensioners. Those selfish old people, taking all our money, it’s almost one hundred billion pounds a year that we dole out to these scroungers!” The presenter was clearly taking the piss, but the sarcasm was lost on Anne.

  “Well, that’s too much!” She sounded indignant, and it was clear that she felt that she ruled the moral high-ground regarding this matter.

  “Oh, yes, definitely. Pay in all your life, taxed, taxed, taxed, your council tax, your VAT, even your petrol, booze, cigarettes, holidays, all being heavily taxed by the government. And then selfishly, they live beyond the age of sixty-seven and need a bit back, about a hundred and fifty pounds a week, after wearing their fingers to the bone supporting the system for fifty years! You’re as mad as a bottle of crisps Anne!”

  “No… I don’t mind the pensioners, that’s not as bad, but…”

  “But those battling cancer right now, those that can’t work because they’ve broken their backs falling from scaffolding… those people deserve to get nothing?”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  “Goodbye Anne. Wow, Anne there in Swansea, helping us to understand that there really are some very thick, bitter and twisted people out there in our communities. Here’s Gabby with the weather.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It had been a very interesting visit to Hattersley, and it had raised a series of important questions which needed answering as a matter of urgency. Saunders drove Miller’s car back to the SCIU offices. Miller wanted to concentrate as he spoke to a colleague from organised crime. DCI John Barnes.

  “John, hi, its Andy.”

  “Oh, alright Andy, how’s tricks?”

  “Busy as always, I’m on with this DWP business. We’ve got a real curve-ball with this. We’ve released the name of a suspect, but we’ve since realised that he’s a complete fuck-wit. There’s no way he’s the culprit.”

  “Oh shit, it’s all over the news. And now you need to reverse out of it. Nightmare!”

  “Well not exactly, we still need to talk to the kid. The only problem is, he’s been off the radar for the last five weeks. Nobody has heard or seen of him, but then he randomly turned up outside a DWP employee’s home last night. So, I’m pretty confused by it all.”

  The line went quiet. It was obvious that John was struggling to see why he was being told all this.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m waffling. I’ve just been with the mother, and we’ve managed to get it out of her that the door was booted in by two big massive black men, and they took our suspect and threw him in the boot. He’s not been seen since.”

  “What sort of car was it?”

  “A black beemer, massive rims apparently. The sister was singing like a canary. She said the two men were massive, looked like SAS soldiers, or heavy-weight boxers. Very scary men, but polite and well mannered! As well mannered as you can be putting a front door in, anyway.

  Miller’s opposite number in organised crime laughed.

  “Sounds like the Cole brothers. In fact, I’d bet money on

  it.”

  “Who are they? I’ve not heard of them before.”

  “They’re major league security, they started on the doors at Piccadilly 21’s years ago, early nineties and they’ve built a bit of an empire from making people’s problems stop happening.”

  “What like…”

  “Well, if you were having a spot of trouble off somebody, you could make the problem go away by paying the Cole brothers to sort it out. I don’t know their methods, but they’re good at
what they do. Well respected.”

  “Have they got any form?”

  “Not really, no. They’re very professional, very well respected. I’m pretty convinced that it’ll be them that’s taken your suspect away.”

  “What kind of thing do they get involved with? I mean, this guy is more at home with setting wheely bins on fire.”

  “Dunno. They usually work for the main heads, you know, club owners, dealers, gangsters. They looked after quite a few of Tony Wilson’s problems at the Hacienda back in the day. So, it looks like your suspect must have pissed somebody off who is pretty high up the food-chain.”

  “How do you know so much about these guys?”

  “Oh you know, their names come up from time-to-time. They’re well organised though, it’s not easy to stick anything on them. And to be fair, they never deal with any good people. It’s only the scum of the earth that they have to sort out.”

  “So, they’re a pretty good thing for Manchester then, eh?” Miller laughed.

  “Yes, to be honest. Our job would be a lot harder without them. I’m pretty surprised that you haven’t heard of them. There’s a file on the classified database, tap in and have a look. But to be honest, the general consensus is to just leave them be, they’re worth more to the community outside prison, than inside.”

  “Well, I might have to upset the apple-cart. I’m going to have to bring them in.”

  “It’ll be a big job. Armed response, two addresses. I don’t think they’ll come quietly.”

  “That’s not going to be my problem, that’s why armed response earn their big wages! Nice one John, I might text you later if I need to know any more.”

  “You’re welcome Andy. Hey, and it would be nice if you just phoned one time for a chat. I only hear from you when you want some free expert advice!”

  “I might just do that one day! Cheers mate.” Miller ended the call.

  “Did you hear all that?” asked Miller.

  Saunders looked at his boss as though he was taking the piss. “I’m sat right next to you! The call was on the hands-free system. I’d have been able to hear it if I was surfing on the roof.”

  “Alright, no need to be a clever-dick. Anyway, have you heard of the Cole brothers before?”

  “Once or twice. Not for a while though, I heard more about them when I was in uniform, than I have recently.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Not much, just that they were the guys to be scared of. Nobody is worried about the police, because the police aren’t a threat. But if you piss somebody off so much that the Cole brothers become involved, you’re in serious trouble. The kind of trouble that makes you move to another country.”

  “God… I can’t believe I’ve never heard of them! I wonder what this little knob has done to attract such esteemed punishment.”

  “Only one way to find out!”

  “I know, I’m becoming more and more intrigued in this with each passing hour. Let’s get back so I can read the file. I’m quite looking forward to meeting the Cole brothers.”

  *****

  In the SCIU office, the work was continuing at the same enthusiastic pace that it had been doing over the previous days. Despite the fact that there was now a name for the attacker, DI Saunders had told the team to completely ignore that fact, and carry on regardless. There had been a look of great confusion at that remark, but Saunders quickly explained that there were more holes in that theory than there was in a tea bag. The announcement had lifted the spirits of the team again, and the mood was electric, especially as they had all arrived into the office that morning, expecting their over-time cancelled and their marching orders back to their regular police work. Each of the regular SCIU team members, who were managing their own small teams, were thoroughly enjoying the positive, productive mood.

  Rudovsky was extremely happy with her team, who were quizzing DWP offices in the area, trying to build up a picture of who the biggest dickheads were that each office dealt with. It wasn’t exactly throwing up any strong leads, there were one or two people who seemed like they might just possess enough hatred inside themselves to carry such appalling acts against another person. But they were very few and far between. Each time a name was presented, Rudovsky’s team would carry out a deep investigation into their backgrounds, run them in, and carry out a very heavy interview with them. She didn’t actually believe that the attacker was likely to announce his intentions to staff at the Jobcentre or on the phone to the Disability. But none-the-less, she and her team were relentless in their efforts. It was extremely entertaining work, hearing and reading about some of the clients, and the kind of things that they do when they are in front of DWP staff.

  Each team was beavering away. Chapman with his team were reviewing the appeals, Kenyon’s door-to-doors, Grant’s social-media team and Worthington’s CCTV researchers were doing a fine job, finding lots of new, still images of the attacker. They still hadn’t managed to get a facial shot, but they all felt that it was only going to be a matter of time.

  Miller and Saunders arrived back just after two pm. Miller went into his office, and Saunders walked around the office floor, getting updates from each team leader, and doing his best to keep everybody focused and enthused. At this stage, it was to remain a secret that Miller was planning the arrest of the Cole brothers, with the head of the armed response section.

  But just as Miller was starting to plan the arrest, and was trying to come up with a few additional lines of enquiry which would keep the Cole brothers in custody for the longest amount of time possible, his phone rang. It was his boss Dixon, who was at home. He was ringing to let his DCI know that there had been a significant development, one which changed everything. Miller was informed that the body of a young man had been discovered in a suitcase. It had been thrown into a stream near Sheffield.

  Miller was unsure where this phone call was going. But Dixon’s next sentence sent shivers down his spine.

  “We’ve not had a formal identification yet. But the body looks extremely likely to be that of Curtis Kennedy.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Miller was transported to the crime-scene in the Manchester force’s helicopter. He took Saunders, leaving the rest of the team to continue with their tasks at HQ. The flight had only taken twenty minutes, and as the Manchester helicopter India 99 reached the scene, it soon became clear that this was a major operation for the South Yorkshire police. The area where this grisly discovery had been made by a group of hikers was close to a tiny hamlet called Hollow Meadows, just beyond Ladybower Reservoir on the Sheffield side of the Snake Pass.

  The whole area was littered with police cars, police vans and Range Rovers. A long line of police officers were searching the fields surrounding the crime scene. Sniffer dogs were leading their handlers along country paths, and as India 99 descended to land, the forensics tent came into view, it had been pitched beside a heavy-flowing brook with a stone bridge crossing it. Lots of dour looking forensics officers were standing around, talking.

  Seconds later, India 99 had landed, and Miller and Saunders were walking across the field, towards the crime scene, the down-draft force from the rotor blades made them a pathway through the long grass.

  The Manchester detectives were quickly brought up to speed. The South Yorkshire force had done a sterling job of containing the crime scene, and their officers had identified the route which had been made through the fields, up to the location of the suitcase. It had very quickly been established that two people had dragged the suitcase halfway up the field, a distance of almost a third of a mile. The grass had been flattened, and on either side of the track mark which had been created by the dragging of the suitcase, there were two sets of footprints. But then one set of footprints turned back, while the other set continued up to the location where the grim discovery had been made.

  At the scene where the suitcase had been pulled from the water, the Sheffield pathologist was examining the body.

  The
Sheffield DCI explained. “The car which transported this suitcase pulled into a church car park at the bottom of the field, you can see where they threw it over the wall, and have then created a perfect indentation in the grass. It’s clear that two persons have dragged it halfway up here, in the dark…”

  “How do you know it was dark?” interrupted Saunders.

  “There was a stray piece of stone in their pathway, you can see where one of them tripped on it, fell over, and flattened the grass. That person turned back at the point, leaving the other to continue the rest of the way alone.”

  “Oh, we’ll have to have a look at that.”

  “Of course. Forensics are examining the scene right now. They’re extremely confident that they’ll pick something up there, a stray hair or some other vital DNA sample.” The DCI pointed down the hill, at three white-suited colleagues crouching down.

  “Go on,” said Miller.

  “So, the one who carried on has dragged the suitcase here, pulled it onto the bridge there, and thrown the suitcase over the side, into the water below.”

  Miller looked confused. “Why did they bother to drag a dead weight all that way in the dark?” He asked, not of anybody in-particular.

  “Well, that’s the most gruesome part. Looking at the state of the interior of the suitcase, and the fact that there were bungee cords attached to the outside, it looks increasingly like the young lad was still alive when he was chucked in the stream.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Precisely. My thinking is that whoever did this wanted to cause him a nasty injury before he drowned when the freezing water started gushing into the suitcase.”

  Miller and Saunders looked at one another as they considered this grisly suggestion, before returning their attentions to the DCI.

  Just then, the pathologist wandered across to the three men. “Hi, I’m happy that he was still alive when that suitcase was thrown into the brook. He has died from drowning, the lungs are waterlogged due to inhalation. Had he already been deceased, we would not see that volume of water in there, if any at all.”