MIKE HAMILTON TAKES A BREAK from writing his opinion piece on the artist-cum-killer who calls himself @nonymous. Zoning out from the ubiquitous pounding of plastic keys, never-ending telephone rings and newsroom banter he flicks through his photographs of the cabinets containing the pickled tramps. He stops at the shot of the toppled cabinet containing the twisted corpse of Billy Perrin. Standing over it like some queen bee is the female detective.
He has since learned her name is Grace Archer and that she doesn’t have a presence on Facebook, Instagram or any other social media platform. Why is that? he wonders. Does she have something to hide? After digging around the electoral data on the Internet he was able to discover where she lives. It’s an address in Little Venice that is also occupied by a Mr Dominic Parker. He tracked Parker down on Facebook, where he also found pictures of Grace Archer. Parker’s mobile number was on his home page too.
The fool.
He called Parker and told him who he was. Parker seemed genuinely delighted to know that Mike Hamilton was on the phone. He was a fan of his blunt reporting style and willingly surrendered his girlfriend’s phone number to run an article on the murders.
Archer.
The name rings a bell somewhere in the recesses of his mind.
Archer.
His journalistic instincts tingle like a sixth sense. He knows that name but . . .
A shadow appears at his shoulder and coughs politely.
He rolls his eyes.
‘Hi, Mike,’ says Katy.
Newbie reporter Katy Michaels is young and frumpy and nerdy as her large round spectacles testify.
‘I’m busy.’
‘Ed needs your copy . . .’
‘Yes, I’m working on it!’ he snaps.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘Two sugars, please,’ he interrupts.
‘Erm . . . but I didn’t ask if you wanted coffee . . .’ she replies, timidly. Although he does wonder if there is a hint of rebellion in her tone.
Mike turns his neck slowly to meet her gaze and gives her ‘the look’. His tried and tested expression like a jaded priest looking at an altar boy who has just shat himself in the middle of mass.
Katy’s face drops.
‘Two sugars coming up.’
‘Idiot,’ he mutters.
He returns to the conclusion of his opinion piece.
Our thoughts and prayers remain with the friends and families of Noel Tipping, Stan Buxton and Billy Perrin at this most difficult of times. May their troubled souls rest in peace. It has been hard to watch the unfolding reaction on social media. Many of our readers believe the homeless have only themselves to blame. My response to that is the homeless are people too. Some are degenerates, but they are people and we must not forget that. Regardless of your opinions on these unfortunates let there be no doubt this @nonymous character is nothing more than a dangerous psychopath. No one can deny that. He has murdered and displayed the bodies of three vagrants in the most undignified manner. No one deserves that. Not even the homeless. So let’s not beat around the bush. @nonymous is a top-class loon and an attention-seeking crackpot with a failed GCSE in Art. He needs to be stopped! But who is going to stop him? The Met? I doubt that. I hear the senior investigating officer is a newly promoted detective inspector. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was a graduate employed through the fast-track system. How can we expect our homeless people to be safe with inexperienced officers like that in charge? Perhaps the Met should think about employing the Chuckle Brothers to take over. Now that’s something I could get behind.
He rubs his nose, folds his arms and considers his lines on DI Archer.
Too much?
Nah.
He is a serious journalist, who writes from the heart. His opinions matter. They matter to his readers and to his bosses, who are grateful for the sales.
‘Your coffee,’ says Katy as she places an overflowing bucket-sized mug of black instant on his desk.
He grumbles a thanks, takes a sip and grimaces. ‘Christ, Katy, how many sugars?’
‘You said two.’
‘Two teaspoons not tablespoons!’
‘But they are teaspoons.’
‘I’m already borderline diabetic.’
‘I can make a new one. I’m sorry.’
He tuts. ‘It will do.’
‘Let me make you a new one.’ Her voice trembles.
He rolls his eyes again. ‘Chill out! It was a joke.’
Her face scrunches at him with a look fusing hurt and puzzlement.
He resists the urge to laugh and turns back to his article.
Katy’s shadow is still present.
He sighs. ‘What now?’
‘Ed wants me to review your opinion piece.’
Mike’s face tightens.
Katy sniffs. ‘He thinks some of the language might be too strong. He thinks it’s stoking the fire on social media.’
‘Does he now?’
‘He thinks I could help give it a more human angle.’
Mike grits his teeth and gives Katy his most insincere smile. ‘I’ll just finish it off and send it to you.’
Katy’s round, bespectacled face brightens causing his mood to darken further.
‘Thanks Mike. I can’t wait to read it.’
He saves the copy and emails the finished article. In the body of the email he types:
Ed mate,
My opinion piece for tonight’s edition. Let’s go for that beer soon.
Cheers,
Mike.
PS Katy has reviewed and given the OK.
He presses the send button and takes in a mouthful of the coffee, which isn’t half bad. Aside from being annoying and a bit too clever for her own good, the girl can make a good cup of coffee. He would never tell her that, of course. That is beyond him. He reflects for a moment and recalls that he was once like her, although maybe not so green.
His attention turns back to Detective Inspector Archer. He googles her, digs deeper into the search results and stumbles across an article relating to a recent NCA drugs investigation that a certain DS Archer played a significant role in. He reads the article and stops at one line.
DS Grace Archer, the only daughter of deceased DI Sam Archer . . .
Mike feels his heart rate quicken.
He remembers DI Sam Archer.
But more importantly he remembers his daughter and what happened.
That was almost eighteen years ago. It was big news back then.
Hamilton rubs the patchy stubble on his soft grey chin.
It will be big news now considering Miss-Wet-Behind-the-Ears Detective Inspector Grace Archer is the senior investigating officer in charge of the @nonymous murders.
He smiles. It looks like he has his next story.