ROAD TO NOWHERE : DCI MILLER 3: Another Manchester Crime Thriller With A Killer Twist

by Steven Suttie

  “I’ve e-mailed my superior. He’s asking the Chief Constable.”

  “Manchester Chief, or Lancashire?”

  “Well, the missing officer is from the Manchester force, and it’s us who’ll feast at the banquet of bullshit if we step a foot wrong…”

  “Sure. Well, I’m managing to keep them at arms length right now… but as soon as you know what the plan is, let me know please DCI Miller.”

  “No problem.”

  Chapter Nine

  Serious Crimes Investigation Unit – Manchester Police HQ

  “Team briefing in fifteen minutes please guys, and Dixon wants a word, so best behaviour.” DI Keith Saunders was talking to the small but busy group of detectives that were labouring away at their desks, all trying to solve crimes that had baffled Manchester’s divisional CID departments before being passed “upstairs” to the SCIU.

  Saunders was busily organising and tidying up the office and noticed the empty seat where Detective Constable Bill Chapman should be sitting. “Anyone know where Chapman is?”

  “He’s seeing a witness, over in Droylsden.”

  “Fry-up more like. Can you text him please Mike? Tell him he needs to be back sharpish. Tell him Jo’s eating his biscuits. That will hurry him up.”

  “Hey, leave me out of it Sir, cheeky bugger!” DC Jo Rudovsky was wearing a very vague look of outrage as she grinned at Saunders.

  “Where’s the big cheese?” asked DC Mike Worthington, trying to divert everybody’s attention away from his partner’s absence.

  “That’s one of the things that Dixon wants to talk to us about,” said Saunders, before pulling an invisible zip shut across his mouth.

  “Oh, piss off! I heard them on the radio this morning making out that he’s responsible for this heart-breaking story that the media are putting around about those two that killed their neighbour!” This time, Jo Rudovsky looked a lot more enraged as she spoke. “He’s not been suspended has he?”

  “Why would he be?” asked Jo’s partner, DC Peter Kenyon, looking genuinely lost by his colleague’s question. All three of the Detective Constables were looking at DI Saunders.

  “That’s what they were on about on the radio this morning. I can’t believe this. It’s total bollocks,” added Jo.

  There was a text message ping from Mike Worthington’s phone.

  “It’s off Chapman.” Worthington looked up at Saunders as he read out the message, “he’ll be about half an hour.”

  “Ring him up. I want a word,” said Saunders. He looked annoyed. Worthington pressed the phone icon on the screen and handed it to his DI.

  “Have you told him?” said Chapman as he answered the phone. “I forgot all about the team brief. What a fucking knob!”

  “Bill, It’s Saunders, you donkey.”

  “Oh, alright, sorry Sir. I’m… I was…”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Gorton.”

  “Worthington said you were in Droylsden?”

  “I… er…”

  “Fuck sake Bill, get your foot down and get back here pronto. Dixon is coming down, he wants a word with the team and he won’t be too chuffed that you couldn’t be arsed.”

  “I’m coming, now, I’m on my way back. Sorry…”

  Saunders disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Worthington. “He’s getting worse you know. He needs a few weeks back in divisional CID, help him to remember what a cushy number he’s got here.” The DI’s comment went ignored by the rest of the DC’s.

  Saunders seemed nervous. He couldn’t stand still and he kept walking around the desks where his officers were trying to get on with their case-loads.

  “Sir, have you got ants in your pants? You’re stressing me out, you’re putting me on edge!” Jo wasn’t a big fan of Saunders’ fidgeting, and she made no bones about it.

  “Eh? You what?” asked Saunders, not sure what the DC was referring to.

  “You, you’re pacing up and down, moving stuff, straightening chairs up. It’s bad feng shui Sir, I can’t relax.”

  “You’re not meant to be relaxing Jo, you cheeky bitch!” said Kenyon from across the desk, he shot her a sarcastic look as he screwed up a ball of paper and threw it. It bounced off the side of her head, which made her laugh out loud. Saunders bent down and picked it up.

  “Come on guys, just behave will you?”

  “Where’s the gaffer? Go on, tell us. We’ll keep dropping litter until you tell us, won’t we Pete?” Jo glanced over at her partner DC Peter Kenyon. He smiled widely.

  “I’ve told you,” said Saunders, re-zipping the invisible zip over his mouth.

  “Don’t worry Rudovsky,” boomed DCS Dixon, from behind her chair, making her jump with fright. “All will be revealed. DI Saunders, do you have five minutes please, I have a few items to discuss with you.”

  “Of course, Sir, shall we…”

  “Yes, we can use DCI Miller’s office. He won’t be needing it for the foreseeable future.” DCS Dixon knew that his comment would get the SCIU teams’ imaginations racing, and smiled as he walked across the floor towards Miller’s office. Saunders was grinning too, as he closed the door behind the big boss - but it was more of a career development grin than a genuinely warm smile of amusement.

  “That will keep them guessing!” said Dixon, smiling. He sat down on the visitor’s side of Miller’s desk, and gestured his arm towards Miller’s chair. “Go on, sit down.”

  Saunders looked awkward as he stepped around DCI Miller’s scruffy, overloaded and over-flowing desk and took a seat. He looked like he was out of his comfort zone, and Dixon could see that the young Detective Inspector was squirming inside.

  “You’ll grow into it lad. Andy was exactly the same when he first sat behind it.” That encouraging smile was back. Saunders smiled back politely, across the huge piles of paperwork that were creating a divide between the two men. “He’s a scruffy sod, isn’t he?” said Dixon, not really looking for a reply. “Right, okay, down to business. As I said to you first thing, DCI Miller is on another case, with another force. I’m sure that all will be revealed in the fullness of time, but for now, that’s all you need to know.”

  “Sir,” Saunders was almost leaning over the piles of different, dull coloured files that were obscuring his view. Chewing gum pink, mould green and paper-towel blue folders were stacked everywhere on Miller’s desk. “There’s a weird atmosphere today. Some of the team are asking questions about the Haughton Park case. Jo wanted to know if DCI Miller was suspended?”

  “Oh, what a lot of nonsense. That’s precisely what DCI Miller said to me himself this morning. I don’t know where all this has come from.”

  “Well, I mean… Sir, there is a media crew stood outside the building asking everybody questions as they enter or leave…”

  “No, please don’t concern yourself with such ideas. He has not been suspended, he has been transferred. I don’t know when he’ll be back. It might be this afternoon, or it might be a week next Tuesday. In the meantime DI Saunders, you are running the show here.”

  “Transferred to where though, Sir?”

  “I can’t really comment. Another force, that’s all I can say. He has been drafted in to help with an extremely sensitive investigation. The Chief Constable personally demanded that Andy work on the case.”

  Saunders seemed satisfied with the explanation, and visibly relieved that Miller hadn’t been suspended, and that the transfer explanation wasn’t just a cover-story for his boss being suspended. Saunders knew all too well that Dixon could be a bullshitting old bastard when he wanted to be.

  “Thank you Sir.” Once again, Saunders still looked awkward and embarrassed. He was blushing slightly.

  “That’s okay, I know that DCI Miller holds you in the highest regard Keith, so I have a great deal of faith in you. Right, so… anything I should know before the team brief?”

  “Er, no, not particularly, other than the fact that Bill Chapman completely forgot ab
out it and went out. He’s on his way back now, so he’ll be about ten minutes late.”

  “Okay, I’ll make sure that he is suitably embarrassed. Now, about the case that you mentioned, the Haughton Park trial… I’ve been having a little look at the press reports on the matter. I’m struggling to understand what we are supposed to have done wrong?”

  “Oh, you’re asking the wrong person Sir. It was Miller’s little side project that, none of us were privy to it at all!”

  “Well the long and short of it seems simple – the suspects have changed their story after the jury found them guilty. Quite why the media are making such a song and dance is highly unusual.”

  “I totally agree, Sir. But as I say… none of us had any involvement.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Understood. Now if you would be so kind as to show me your agenda for the briefing, I’ll have a good look through whilst we wait for Chapman.”

  “Sir.”

  Dixon began reading through the list of ongoing cases and live investigations that the team were currently managing. It was quite a list, with some files dating back several months. The length of the list helped to justify the paperwork mess in the office. Saunders felt like a spare part, standing there, in Miller’s office, desperately wanting to tidy up the great piles of paper, files and folders that had got a lot further than the usual “demand led, active and ongoing work zone” as Miller often described his scruffy office, albeit sarcastically.

  Beyond Dixon, Saunders’ attention was grabbed by DC Jo Rudovsky who was walking towards the glass-walled office, gesturing wildly at Saunders. He walked around the back of DCS Dixon, and mouthed “what?” through the glass, and stuck his chin out.

  Rudovsky held up the latest edition of the Manchester Evening News. The front page, for the second day running, had a photograph of their boss, DCI Miller, underneath the bold headline “SUSPENDED!”

  Chapter Ten

  Styal Women’s Prison, Cheshire

  “Here, what do you make of all that?” Maureen handed the newspaper across the table to her daughter, Rachel Birdsworth, who looked like she was down to about six stones now, if that. The bright orange prison bib looked enormous on the sad, pale, unhealthy looking young woman. The visiting room was noisy, echo-ey, and it smelled of dimped-out cigarettes, disinfectant and body odour.

  “Bloody hell. What’s all this?” Rachel looked confused, rather than elated. Maureen had really expected a more triumphant reaction to the news. The reaction she received made the hollow sadness in the pit of her stomach well up once again. She had spent the entire journey looking forward to seeing her daughter’s face filled with hope, or excitement or even a little smile. Something, anything. Anything but the empty look of neutral, disinterested ambiguity that she was receiving.

  “Mum, I…”

  “It’s good news isn’t it love?”

  “I don’t know what…”

  “Listen, you, cloth ears,” Maureen smiled as she touched her daughter’s ear, but Rachel was vacant. It was this look that was breaking Maureen’s heart, and the pain was getting worse each time she saw Rachel in that disgusting place. “It’s a start, love. We’ll have you a re-trial in no time, wont we?” Maureen touched Rachel’s hand, which rested on top of DCI Miller’s photograph on the front of the newspaper.

  “Mum, it’s not his fault… all this…”

  “Well, it wasn’t investigated proper. If it was, you and Mick would be facing different charges. The telly and all these papers thought that you two were evil bastards! That’s what they were saying, they had you down with Brady and Hindley, notorious Manchester killers! Well I’m not having it. I’ve put them straight love. I’ll go to my grave putting this right. I really will.”

  “There’s nothing you can…” Rachel’s voice was

  depressed. She had no spirit left in her, at least that was how it sounded to her mother.

  “Right, now listen to me, you!” Maureen had raised her voice, and she sounded nasty as she did so. A tiny bit of her temper had accidentally escaped, and it made her feel bad. A few other prisoners looked across, and there were a couple of laughs and chuckles. Rachel looked down at the table-top. “Sorry,” whispered Maureen, quite loudly. “But I’m doing everything I can, I really am. I need you to get something… I don’t know, get some fight in to yourself. We can do this, honestly love. But I need you fighting as well.”

  “I’m sorry mum, I’m just… I don’t know.”

  “Well, you think on. I’ve even got that Dan from the council helping me.”

  Rachel looked up, and there was a flicker of something. Maureen took great encouragement from the tiny spark that seemed to illuminate Rachel’s face, albeit for a split-second.

  “Dan… Dan Parker?”

  “Yes. He’s handed in his notice, so he can help me.”

  “What? Wait… what are you going on about mum?”

  “Well, he knows, doesn’t he? He knew all about the abuse you were getting and he knows the way the council were dealing with everything after you were arrested. He knows about Ashworth hitting his wife. It was Dan who suggested that the council should come to court and defend you. They knew about the cheque you were given by the guy who owns the estate as well…”

  “What, mum, slow down. Please, just slow down…”

  “Listen, I’ve only got ten minutes. But here, this is his address – he wants to come in and see you. He needs to talk to you.”

  “He’s left his job?”

  “Yes, love, for you, and Mick, and the kids. He is determined to get your story across.”

  “Well, how does he know my story?”

  “I’ve told him. I’ve told him everything Rachel, about Suzanne and Graham, and how she was just as involved as you two.”

  “Fucking hell, mum…”

  “No, don’t give me all that. Watch your bloody language Rachel Birdsworth! I said I’m going to sort this out, and that’s what I’m doing love. I feel confident at last, now I’ve got Dan helping me as well, he’s shit-hot Rachel love, he knows what he’s going on about, knows all the big fancy words and that. This has been on the front of the Evening News for the last two days, and it’s even on telly as well.”

  “I do appreciate this mum… I do. But, well… it’s done now.”

  “It is NOT done!” Maureen had raised her voice again, this time a Prison Officer walked over and politely, quietly asked the Birdsworths to keep the noise down.

  “Sorry, sorry Officer,” said Maureen, extremely nicely. It was clear that she felt embarrassed. Maureen looked across at Rachel, then remembered about the smoking items that she had brought. She reached down to her lap and presented a large packet of tobacco, some cigarette papers and a jumbo sized box of filter tips. Rachel looked glad to see the items as Maureen laid them out on the table-top.

  “I can’t be doing with you like this Rachel. I know you’re in a state, I know your heads up your arse but it’s breaking my heart love, seeing you this way. So, no matter what it takes, I’m getting you out of here, and I’m getting those bloody kids back as well. So come on love, give me summat, just give me summat, please.” Maureen was determined not to crack, not to cry in front of her daughter – but it was no good. The tears had broken, and they didn’t look like they were going to stop anytime soon either.

  “Thanks for these, mum.” Said Rachel, grabbing the smoking stuff off the table, ignoring her mother’s tears. “I’ll send Dan my next visitor pass, I promise. I’ll see you later mum, alright?” Rachel touched her mum’s hand as she stood. Her hand looked like a child’s, it was tiny, and so skinny. “Seeya mum.”

  It was obvious that Rachel was crying as she walked away quickly towards the prison staff who would take her back to her cell. Maureen took some comfort that her daughter was putting a brave face on it all, but not a great amount of comfort. She stayed at the table, alone for a few more minutes, sorting herself out, wiping her eyes, blowing her nose and trying to recompose herself.

&n
bsp; Maureen Birdsworth had learnt a lot about herself over the past eight months, and although the stress, the heartache and the frustration was making her ill, she was still extremely proud of what she was discovering about herself. The most striking thing that she had discovered on this journey, was that she knew how to get things done, and that she wasn’t worried about pissing anybody off on the way to her destination. For somebody who had lived her entire life being quiet, and apologetic, and shy, Maureen felt an enormous sense of empowerment now that she couldn’t give a shit what people thought about her.

  After a couple of minutes of getting her tears under control, she stood, and headed off to the visitors exit. There was still a lot to do today.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Ah, Chapman! Look everybody, the village idiot has decided to bring us some gold from the fountain.” Dixon looked very annoyed as DC Bill Chapman waddled into the team brief, looking hot, sweaty and bothered. DC Jo Rudovsky laughed out loud and clapped her hands together at the bizarre spectacle. Saunders looked down at the floor, trying his best not to laugh extremely loudly at this embarrassing entrance, and Dixon’s insane, completely surreal greeting.

  “Sorry, sorry Sir, sorry everyone.” Chapman’s bulbous face looked even fatter than ever, and the high blood pressure issue that he’d been talking about recently was plain to see. His face looked sun burnt, such was the rosy glow.

  “Okay, you can see me after this team brief Detective Constable. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” Dixon looked seriously annoyed, and it was a rare sight for the rest of the department to see him so dissatisfied with an officer. The mood in the SCIU incident room frosted over immediately, and the smiles, the jokey glances and relaxed, jovial smirks were gone.

  “Right, okay, we’ll start, fifteen minutes late. Two things I want to clear up before we review the case-loads today. Number one. DCI Miller has not been suspended from duty, regardless of what you are hearing in the media, or amongst yourselves in the canteen. He has been transferred to another force, on loan from Manchester, until a very significant police operation is brought to a conclusion. We all hope that it is a satisfactory conclusion – that’s why Andy has been requested and sent for. That’s all I can say at this moment in time. A press release regarding Andy’s ongoing and gainful employment within the Manchester City Police has been produced and sent out this morning – which will have seriously annoyed the editor of this particular paper.” Dixon held aloft the Manchester Evening News’ “SUSPENDED!” edition. “Are we clear?”