Loose Tongues

by Chris Simms

  ‘Yes. He was never happy with females being allowed to take his course. And he had a serious issue with phone usage during his classes. These two things meant the principal was dealing with accusations from a variety of students. Sexism, misogynistic behaviour, inappropriate language. All sorts. Even male students had lodged their own complaints in support of female students he’d targeted. Then came the slapping incident. Another student caught it on camera and put the clip online. He – and the college – started being hounded on all sides. The principal said that, when she suspended him, Miller went mad.’

  Magda tilted her head in question. ‘He wasn’t expecting that?’

  ‘No: he was expecting her to back him up – despite the whole thing being there, on film.’ Sean shook his head. ‘He actually accused her of betraying him.’

  ‘When was he sacked?’

  ‘Less than six weeks ago. I also ran his name through the system. He’s not on the Sex Offenders’ Register or on VISOR; understandable given his role as a teacher. I also did a search on GMP’s OIS database: two incidents, both go back years. Neither went further than a verbal complaint, so they were never entered on the national database.’

  ‘And these were?’ asked Shipton.

  ‘An employee at a builders’ merchants called Kingfisher. I think it was eventually taken over by B&Q. She said Miller had used threatening language when an order he’d placed wasn’t properly fulfilled: this was in 2003, before he moved into teaching.’

  ‘What was he doing at that point?’

  ‘Ran his own electrician’s company. Sole trader, by the look of it. The second complaint – also from a female – had come as a result of work he’d done on her house. She disputed what he’d billed her for and, in the following argument, she claimed he backed her into the corner of her kitchen, held a drill to her face and said he’d, quote, “fix her properly”. He claimed to the attending officer this was a reference to rectifying his work. The woman didn’t want to pursue it.’

  ‘Tell me again, what’s the connection with the principal of this academy?’ Shipton asked. ‘He called at her house with some sort of dummy package?’

  ‘I think it’s how he’s gaining entry to their homes,’ Sean replied. ‘The packages require a signature. Their guard will be down at that point – as they’re signing it. Though I still don’t see how he subdues them so effectively.’

  ‘Did he only train students to be electricians?’ Troughton asked. ‘Nothing to do with martial arts or anything?’

  ‘Sir,’ Magda cut in. ‘We need to get this principal to a place of safety: she’s obviously on his list.’

  ACC Shipton nodded. ‘How many people are currently at the property of this Petr Kadlec?’

  Ransford’s voice came out of the speaker. ‘Most of the team.’

  ‘Who’s the officer in charge?’

  ‘DI Levine.’

  Shipton briefly rubbed his chin. ‘OK. DI Levine needs to get everyone out of there and over to this Brian Miller’s address in Smithy Bridge.’ He looked at Sean. ‘Is he likely to be in? If not, have we any idea of where he’ll be?’

  ‘If the CCTV is anything to go by, he’s spending a lot of time just travelling around the city on public transport. It’s how he finds his victims.’

  ‘Christ. Then we need to alert the entire network of drivers, conductors, station staff. Everyone. For all we know, he’s out there right now. He could be already homing in on someone else. We also need to get the principal of this academy to safety.’

  Magda raised a hand. ‘I can do that, sir.’

  ‘Good. And DCI Ransford? You’re SIO on this and you’re currently on the wrong side of the bloody country. How long until you can be here?’

  ‘We have Kadlec in custody, so—’

  ‘Never mind about bloody Kadlec. How long until you can be where you should be?’

  ‘About two hours.’

  Shipton rolled his eyes. ‘Are you able to direct this operation in the meantime?’

  ‘Of course, sir. I’ll liaise with Inspector Troughton and brief DI Levine. It’s not a problem.’

  Shipton’s head turned. ‘Inspector Troughton? Do you feel comfortable with the resources currently to hand?’

  The office manager glanced uncomfortably at Ransford’s empty chair. ‘Absolutely, if I keep in close contact with DCI Ransford.’

  ‘Very well. And keep me up to speed with everything.’ He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

  No one spoke for a few seconds.

  ‘Who’s still there?’ Ransford asked.

  Troughton gave a cough. ‘DS Dragomir, DC Blake, Tina Small and myself, sir.’

  ‘DS Dragomir: get a move on. DC Blake: I want all of this in a report for when I get back. Inspector Troughton: set up a conference call with DI Levine, now. Tina? Stay here, I need a word in private.’

  ‘On it, sir,’ Troughton replied, leading the way out of the office.

  Sean stared resentfully at the blank Word document that filled his screen. Yet again, stuck in the office while everything happened elsewhere. Even worse, doing bloody paperwork.

  He studied the tabs still open across the top of his screen. CCTV footage for each victim. He flexed his fingers to start typing, but paused. He interlinked them instead, raised his hands and pressed his knuckles against his lips. This was tricky. When all the other CCTV was inevitably examined, what were the chances of his mum being spotted?

  He reopened the tab for Julie Roe and dragged the footage back to the point where she was still sitting down. He pressed pause. There, just a few rows behind her, was Brian Miller. Lurking. Sean gave a little shake of his head. It began to sink in just how close his mum had been. Right there, just out of shot. All Julie Roe had done was talk too loudly on her phone. He realized that his mum had rung him during that same bus trip. She’d wanted to know how his first day as a detective was going.

  As the realization hit home, it made him shudder. It could have been her. Jesus, he thought, it really could have.

  He came back to the present as it occurred to him that he still hadn’t called her back. Damn, he thought. She’s probably sitting in the kitchen, phone on the table beside her. Fretting about what I’m doing, where I’m staying. Why I haven’t rung to let her know? He selected the number for her mobile and pressed call.

  ‘Sean?’

  She sounded tired. Or was it apprehensive? ‘Yeah, it’s me. Mum, I didn’t get the chance to ring you back earlier. Sorry.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At home. Just getting ready to go out.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Just out. I need a change of scene from in here.’

  He checked no one was in earshot. ‘Mum, you were right. All the victims made a journey on public transport before their deaths.’

  ‘Really? All of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you said Heather—’

  ‘I double-checked. There’d been a mistake. She actually got a tram.’

  ‘My God. That’s … well done, Sean.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘Credit where it’s due. You worked this out.’

  There was a pause. ‘So, where did you go last night? I got up this morning knowing you hadn’t come—’

  ‘I stayed in a hotel.’

  ‘A hotel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what …’ She cleared her throat. ‘What will you do tonight?’

  ‘Let’s talk later, OK? I just wanted you to know that your theory—’

  ‘But, Sean. This is all so unnecessary. Surely you can—’

  ‘Mum?’ He had to stop her. He wasn’t going back to live with her. Things could not continue as they were. But there was no way he could discuss it there and then. Not in the office. ‘I’ll give you a call later. We can—’

  ‘You’re not going to leave me, are you?’

  There was a hitch in her voice that made his chest hurt. He w
as trying to think of what to say when he heard the chimes of the front doorbell. Thank God.

  ‘You’d better see who that is. We can chat—’

  ‘I was only trying to help you! How could I have known your boss would—’

  ‘Please, Mum. Don’t do this. Don’t. It’s not just that. It’s time for me to … you know. It will be better for us both.’

  The bell went again.

  ‘Mum, you should answer the door.’

  ‘Sod him, it’s only a delivery man. Sean, listen. I realize I’m guilty of—’

  ‘Mum, we’ll speak later. OK?’

  He pressed red before she could say anything else.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Janet angled the walking frame slightly then reached across the top of it so she could get the front door open. The man waiting at the top of the ramp was somewhere in his fifties. Glasses, clean-shaven. He had slightly mournful eyes that crinkled as he smiled. He looked rather smart in his uniform, even if it did seem a touch cheap.

  ‘Package for Janet Blake?’

  ‘Really? I haven’t ordered—’ She paused. ‘It’ll be my son, using my Amazon account again. It is Amazon?’

  He looked down at the brown paper wrapping. ‘Could be. I just make the deliveries. It’s a signature here, please.’

  He offered her a solid-looking pen that connected to the console by a coiled cord.

  ‘Of course.’ The phone was still in her hand, so she slotted it in the pocket of her cardigan.

  ‘Right there. Anywhere on the glass panel.’

  His voice sounded odd. Tight. She glanced up. He was staring intently at her hand as it reached out to take the pen. Something made her curl her fingers back in.

  His gaze lifted and their eyes met. Abruptly, she felt unsettled.

  He seemed to register this and let out a sigh. ‘I’m sorry.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘It’s just there’s a ticket warden coming and I parked my van …’

  She had a sudden insight to his day. Racing from one address to another, trying to not drop behind an inhuman schedule. No wonder he seemed stressed. The poor man. She straightened her fingers and took the pen. It was surprisingly heavy, the metal casing cool in her—

  Sean put his phone to the side and traced circles on his temples with the forefinger of each hand. What a nightmare. The tremble in her voice; she’d sounded so miserable. So alone. Should he move out? Maybe he was being hasty.

  He found himself staring at his monitor. Behind Julie Roe, Brian Miller’s head was bent forward. Where he should have had eyes, there was only shadow. But Sean could tell he wasn’t staring at Julie Roe. From the angle of his head, he was looking beyond her. Sean tried to imagine what ran through the man’s head as he approached his victim’s homes. As he knocked on their door or rang their—

  There’d been someone at the front door. He’d heard the bell ring. Twice. Mum said it was just a delivery man. Oh my God, I didn’t tell her that he poses as a—

  Brian Miller, he realized, was staring towards the front of the bus. Directly at where his mum would have been sitting. He snatched up his phone and pressed redial. A lurching, sickening sensation was ballooning up, pressing against the back of his throat. He was close to retching. Come on, come on. Answer. The ringtone repeated again and again. Mum, for fuck’s sake, pick up the phone! By the time her recorded message began, he was running for the doors.

  Brian Miller watched the woman slam backwards into the wall. Somehow, she stayed on her feet. The hand that had been holding the stylus was bent across her midriff, fingers transformed into rigid hooks. Her other hand was locked on the handle of her walking frame. His eyes travelled down the grey metallic legs to its wheels. Rubber.

  ‘Tkkskskkssssssssss—’ The sound escaped through her clenched teeth like steam hissing. Stiff cords in her neck, stare fixed on the ceiling.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. Get in the house, a voice screamed. Do that first! The door clicked shut behind him.

  ‘C-cc-caaahh—’ Her eyes swivelled toward him in terrified confusion. He was still holding the console out, stylus swinging to and fro around his knees.

  He needed her on the floor. He needed her hand off the bloody walking frame.

  She sucked in some air, used it to breath out her words: ‘Hhhelp meee.’

  She didn’t know what had happened! The stupid bitch had no idea.

  He grabbed her free arm and draped it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s lie you down, here.’ By bending his legs, he was able to lower her to her knees. ‘That’s it. Can you let go of the frame?’ She didn’t seem to be hearing him. ‘Your hand? Your left hand?’ He placed the console on the carpet then reached out and prised her fingers from the plastic handle. ‘There we are.’ Now he could lower her fully to the floor. She slumped against the skirting board, saliva glistening at the lower corner of slack lips.

  A phone started to ring. He looked about; she’d been holding one when she opened the door. It had gone into her cardigan’s pocket. Would the cursed things ever be quiet!

  He pulled the neatly folded plastic bag from his trouser pocket and started to shake it out. Once her hood was on, he could relax. This had all been very stressful.

  ‘Phow – phow—’ she murmured with half-shut eyes. Her fingers twitched. A pathetic attempt at retrieving the thing.

  ‘This?’ he asked. ‘You want this?’ He took the phone out of her pocket, ready to hurl it against the wall. The first two words on the screen made him stop. Detective Constable.

  He turned to the screen so she could see it. ‘Why is a policeman calling you?’

  There was the beginning of a smile on her lips.

  He sat back on his heels and looked at the screen again. A policeman. Why would a policeman be calling her at this moment?

  ‘C-coming,’ she murmured.

  ‘Coming? He’s coming here?’

  Her eyes had closed, but the smile stayed on her face.

  He placed the phone on the carpet, clenched his hand into a fist and bit down on his knuckles. No! No! No! No! He glanced about. There was no time to do it here. Where? Somewhere quiet, somewhere they wouldn’t be disturbed. He couldn’t risk his garage. What if the patrol car came back?

  A possibility came to him.

  He looked around and saw a fold-up wheelchair leaning against the wall. That would do. He snapped it open and locked the wheels. ‘Let’s get you in this. I’m going to lift you up.’

  He pulled her into a sitting position and hooked his arms under hers. As he raised her off the floor her head lolled against the side of his face. He felt a moist warmness on his cheek: her saliva. It took all his strength to not drop her and shriek with disgust.

  Sean’s car screeched into the top of his road and he immediately saw a small group of people. They weren’t directly outside his house, but they were close enough. The vehicle lurched to a stop and he jumped out, leaving the engine running.

  A woman of about forty was sitting on the kerb, holding a handkerchief to her head. A man was on his phone. A third person – another man – was crouched down, consoling the injured woman.

  Sean’s badge was already out. ‘Police!’ He walked sideways, heading towards his house, while addressing them. ‘What happened?’

  The man on the phone held it away from his face. ‘I called 999!’ He then gestured to his companion. That man pointed to the injured woman. ‘I … I only heard it. This woman, she tried to stop a bloke from forcing a lady into the back of a van. He punched her.’

  Sean ran up the driveway to his house. Her scooter was outside and the front door was ajar. He shouldered it open. ‘Mum? Mum!’

  Her phone was on the carpet, next to a blue plastic bag with a drawstring. The fold-up wheelchair was gone. He’d taken her. But she was still alive. Surely, she was still alive.

  He spotted a single walkie-talkie on the table behind the door. Sweeping it up, he sprinted back out onto the road. ‘Was this lady disabled?’

  The woman nodded. �
��He was dragging her out of a wheelchair. She didn’t want to go.’

  ‘She was alive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sean closed his eyes for an instant. Thank Christ. ‘How long ago?’

  ‘I don’t know. Two, three minutes?’

  ‘Less.’ Sean turned to see a different woman hurrying towards him with a glass of water in her hand. ‘A minute. Not even that. I saw it all from my kitchen window.’

  ‘Which way did they go?’

  The man on the phone nodded to the nearest side street. ‘Drove his van up there.’

  ‘Tell whoever you get through to you have a message for DCI Ransford, Serious Crime Unit. DC Blake is in pursuit of the van. Tell him it’s a kidnap situation. Got it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sean ran back to his car. As he veered round the little group, he lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth. He could remember the sales spiel for it on the packaging. Nautical grade. Waterproof. Shock resistant. Range 5 km. ‘Mum, it’s Sean. Mum? Can you hear me?’

  FIFTY-THREE

  The front door was hanging on by its upper hinge. ‘No one in the house, sir.’

  DI Levine turned away from the property. The driveway led past it to a large garage. The metal fold-up door at the front was padlocked. He scanned the side: there had been a window, but it had been bricked-up. He didn’t like the look of it. Cautiously, he approached a wooden side door. Tucked between the garage’s far end and the hedge beyond was a tarpaulin-shrouded vehicle.

  He walked over and lifted the rough material up at one corner. A van, white. ‘Bring the Enforcer! Let’s see what’s in this garage.’

  ‘Excuse me!’ The voice quavered with a mix of old age and outrage. He looked back to see an elderly lady at the point where the drive joined the pavement. She was wearing slippers and doing her best to get past the uniformed officer stationed there. ‘I intend to report your actions here, I hope you realize? What you are doing to Mr Miller’s property is disgusting.’

  ‘Are you familiar with Mr Miller, madam?’

  ‘Of course I am. He is a friend and a neighbour.’

  Levine spoke from the corner of his mouth to the nearest officer. ‘Bust the fucker open, I’ll be back.’ He walked up to the old lady. ‘Do you know when Mr Miller went out?’