by M A Comley
Is it just me, or are criminals pushing the boundaries to make the crimes more gruesome?
“No change there then. Seems to me, I’m always in your bad books lately.”
“Really? I thought we were getting over that argument we had about your tosser of a boyfriend.”
Shaw exhaled loudly. “There you go again. He’s not a tosser, sir. Can we agree to differ on that point, at least?”
Hero shrugged and then got back to business. It suited him not to waste his time talking about Shaw’s boyfriend, Rob Bryce, anyway. “I said, while you were playing with your new toy, that it looks like yet another hit-and-run accident we’re attending. By my reckoning, this’ll be the third one in the last two weeks.”
“Do you think there’s a connection?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but it might be worth taking a look. Get on to it when we get back to the station, okay?”
“Okay.”
They pulled into the McDonald’s car park, which was a hive of activity. Numerous police vehicles and two ambulances were parked near a cordoned-off area. The two detectives left their car and walked across the car park to the scene. A uniformed officer lifted the tape for Shaw and promptly dropped it when Hero ducked to go under it. Shaw sniggered.
Tosser alert! I’ll get my own back on you, Bryce. No one takes me for a fool. Hero lifted the tape and glared at the officer when he walked past him, but he resisted the temptation to jab him in the stomach. He would wait for his chance to get payback.
Past the yellow tape, Pathologist Susan Rendell was bent over a woman’s corpse. She looked up briefly to acknowledge their arrival.
“Evening, Susan. Are we looking at another hit-and-run?” Hero asked, although he had a suspicion Susan would say it wasn’t.
“Not this time, Patch. This was deliberate.” She pointed at a man sitting on the steps at the rear of one of the ambulances. “You need to speak to that young man. He took a beating inside the building before the woman and boy came out.”
“Great. It should be an open-and-shut case if we have a crucial witness to help us.” Hero turned and started in the direction of the ambulance, but he stopped when Susan mumbled something.
“I doubt that.”
Shaw joined him. She withdrew her notebook and pen, ready to take notes.
Hero showed his warrant card and introduced himself and Shaw to the young man being attended to by the paramedics. “Mr…?”
“Stock. Phil Stock,” the victim filled in.
“Mr. Stock, can you tell us exactly what happened here?”
“They were fucking psychos, the lot of them.”
Hero frowned. “They?” He glanced questioningly at Shaw.
She kept her eyes focused on the pad she was holding.
Stock continued, “Four of them followed the boy and woman in. I was the only one to speak out against them. Wish I hadn’t bothered now. You can see the result.”
Hero winced at the puffiness around both the man’s eyes. “Did you know either the victims or the attackers, ‘the gang,’ if you like?”
The man stared at the ground off to his left.
“Mr. Stock?”
“I’ve only worked here four months. Not seen the woman before or the boy, for that matter, but the gang, yes. They’re kind of notorious around here.”
“Interesting. What are their names?” Hero queried.
Stock vehemently shook his head. “Hey, man, I ain’t that stupid. I got this bashing just from telling them to leave the kid and woman alone. Imagine what they’d do to me if they thought I’d grassed them up.”
This wasn’t new for Hero, especially where gangs were concerned. His frustration began to bubble under the surface. “So, this gang will be in our system, yes?”
“Yep, they aren’t afraid of no one. They rule the…”
“Go on,” Hero urged.
“Nah, I’ve said enough already. I value my life.”
“Fair enough. So they are notorious in this area or one close by?”
“About a fifty-mile radius, I’d say.” Stock winced as the paramedics treated the wound above his right eye with a cream.
Hero handed Stock a card. “Call me if you change your mind. If this gang are as bad as you’re making them out to be, surely it would be better to get them off the streets right away.”
“Hey, don’t listen to me. See the evidence for yourself, man. If a gang can do that in broad daylight, I dread to think what they’re getting up to on the streets at night. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
Hero and Shaw made their way back to where the pathologist was checking over the bodies. Hero asked, “Do we have any ID yet?”
Susan nodded. “According to the young man you’ve just been speaking to, they got out of that vehicle. I told one of the uniformed officers to run the registration for me. He came back with Mrs. Saskia Hartley, who lives—sorry lived—in Alderley Edge, Cheshire.”
“Thanks. We’ll sort out the address and drop by to deliver the news. Are you going to be long here?”
“Just about ready to pack up. The boy is an easier case than the woman, presumably his mother. She has other injuries connected to another crime. I’d like to exam her in more detail before I comment further. If that’s all right?” She stood, picking up her black medical bag, and headed for her car.
Hero followed her. He opened the door to her Lexus and rested his forearm on the top of it. “Care to enlighten me?”
Susan shook her head.
He held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger apart a little. “Just a tiny hint?”
Susan smiled and tugged the door out from under him, then closed it. Hero turned away and wrinkled his nose at his partner. “Same old Susan, won’t say a bloody word unless she’s a hundred percent certain of something.”
“The paramedics have just loaded up the bodies to take to the mortuary. Stock has refused to go to hospital to get his wounds seen to. What do you want to do next?” Julie asked as they walked back to their vehicle and got in.
“We’ll contact the station for the woman’s actual address and call around to see the husband. Did you have any plans for this evening?”
“Not really. Rob’s on duty, so I’d only be sitting at home watching TV,” Julie said, sounding pissed off.
“Good. It could be a late night. I’ll probably get another earbashing from Fay, but needs must, eh?”
“You mean Fay’s not used to you turning up past midnight after every shift yet?”
Ordinarily, Hero wouldn’t be put out by his partner’s sarcasm, but this evening, her comment narked him just a little. If he wasn’t on a late shift, Hero usually frequented the pub after work every night for some downtime, which didn’t sit well with his wife. He gave her the excuse that he liked to give her time with her four-year-old son, Louie, whom she’d had with her previous, abusive partner. What really kept him away from home was the fact that he’d found married life—more to the point, family life—all too demanding. He had two other human beings to look after, which was a scenario he realised took a whole lot of getting used to. ‘Give it time,’ his friends had told him. Really? How long? I should be used to married life after two years, shouldn’t I? Of course, he loved Fay to bits, but he was suffocating, and it bothered the hell out of him.
After Julie had obtained the necessary address from dispatch, they carried out the rest of the three-quarter-of-an-hour journey in silence.
Hero let out a high-pitched whistle when they arrived at the location. He’d heard the area attracted most of the wealthy footballers playing at the surrounding premiership clubs, but this house was unbelievably grand. “Some house.”
“Er…that’s not a house. That’s a bloody palace. It would put Buckingham Palace to shame,” Julie replied, equally in awe of the house’s grandeur.
“What’s the bloke’s name again?”
“Rupert Hartley. Do you think he’s gentry?”
“It seems that way to me. Hm
m…now that would be interesting, if it’s true.”
Julie exhaled loudly. “You’re talking in riddles again. Why don’t you just come out and say what’s on your mind.”
Hero glanced at her and grinned. “What fun would that be? Oh, and that would be ‘sir’ on the end of your complaint, if you don’t mind, Sergeant.”
Julie answered him by getting out of the car. “Whatever,” she said, apparently thinking she was out of earshot.
Hero shut his door and walked around the front of the vehicle. “Whatever. That bloody word gets on my nerves. I think you need to extend your vocabulary a little, young lady.”
“Whatever,” Julie mumbled again, much to his annoyance.
Before they could knock on the enormous front door, it creaked open. Standing in the doorway was a butler dressed in a penguin suit. “Good evening. May I help you?”
Hero produced his warrant card for the butler. “DCI Nelson and DS Shaw. Is Mr. Hartley at home?”
“Come in. I’ll just check to see if he’s up to receiving guests.”
“We have some news for him. He’ll want to see us,” Hero insisted firmly.
“Very well. If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll go and tell him that you’re here.”
The butler walked swiftly up the immense hallway, his footsteps echoing until he finally disappeared. Not long after, he retraced his steps. Another man followed him part of the way before dipping into a room off to the left. The butler smiled, stopped about ten feet from Hero and Julie, and turned on his heel. “Come with me, please. Mr. Hartley will see you in the library.”
After following the butler halfway up the hallway, he stepped into a vast room that was as high as it was wide and decorated floor to ceiling with leather-bound books in various colours.
“Mr. Hartley, Detectives Shaw and Nelson.” The butler exited the room and closed the door softly behind him.
“Detectives. What do I owe the pleasure?” Rupert Hartley was standing next to an old, worn reading chair—the only chair in the room.
“I think you might need to sit down, sir,” Hero said quietly, with compassion.
Puzzled, the man, whom Hero guessed was in his late thirties, sank his five-foot-eight frame into the chair. He positioned himself on the edge of the seat and waited for Hero to speak again.
Hero cleared the thickness that had settled in his throat. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Hartley, but I have reason to believe that your wife and son were involved in an accident earlier this evening.”
Rupert shot out of his chair, his hand ran through his thinning grey hair, and he stared at the detectives in disbelief. “My God, are they all right?” he finally asked.
Hero shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. They both died at the scene.”
Hartley dropped into the chair again and buried his head in his shaking hands. “No! Saskia…Laurence. My family.”
As he watched the other man’s outpouring of grief, Hero was himself lost for words. No matter how many times he reported bad news such as this, he would never get used to it. He would have to be a hard bastard to get used to something like that.
Hartley’s cheeks turned pale, and he glanced up at Hero. “Did their car come off the road? Oh, my God, we used a new garage for the service last week.”
Hero raised his hand to stop him. “No, it was nothing like that.” He swallowed hard before he added, “Your wife and son were involved in a hit-and-run incident, I’m afraid.”
“What? Where?”
“At a McDonald’s about twenty miles from here.” Hero looked around the room and saw a gilt-framed photo of Hartley with his wife and son.
Hartley shook his head. “I told her not to go in there.”
“Sorry? You mean your wife has had problems before?”
Hartley’s eyes met his, which expanded with confusion. “Not as such. I just don’t like…didn’t like Saskia and Laurence frequenting such places.”
Hero could understand that, considering where they lived. If he lived in a place like this, there’s no way he would eat out at McDonald’s. “Can you tell me why your family decided to stop at that particular McDonald’s?”
“I have no idea, other than that my son’s school is close by. End-of-term treat, I guess. Saskia didn’t mention it to me. I had no idea. Have you got them?”
“I’m sorry? Your wife and son?” Hero queried.
Appearing frustrated, the man stood. “The person or persons who did this to my family.”
Hero nodded his understanding. “Not yet. But we will.”
“These places have CCTV, don’t they?”
Again, Hero nodded. “They do. We’ll get them. There’s no need to worry about that, Mr. Hartley.”
“When?”
Hero was momentarily taken aback by the man’s abrupt question. If only the outcome to such a simple question could be as simple. “We’ll do our best to get a conviction as soon as possible. You have my assurance on that.”
Hartley appeared to take his word on that and walked over to run his hand down the photo of his family. A while passed before he spoke again. “They were my life. I hate all this.” He swept his arm around the library. “Not this particular room. This room is my salvation. I meant all this grandeur. Saskia was the first woman who treated me like a human being instead of a walking bank. Yes, I’m wealthy, but it’s a wealth I inherited. I loathe it. Saskia and Laurence made it bearable to be me.” His lip quivered, and he swallowed hard. “What the hell am I going to do now that they’re gone?”
“Is there a member of your family we could call to be with you?” Shaw asked when Hero didn’t respond.
“No. There’s no one left. Oh, maybe a distant cousin out there somewhere, but no one I consider significant in my life.”
Hero exhaled. “A friend maybe?”
Hartley shook his head, then picked up the picture of his family and crushed it to his chest. “My best friend has gone. We were everything to each other.”
Hero was beginning to feel a little awkward and maybe a little guilty about the way he treated his own family by neglecting them because of his work and his drinking habits. He coughed slightly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hartley. I have to ask you to come down to the mortuary in the next few days to identify your wife’s and son’s bodies.”
“Is there a chance it might not be them, after all?” Hartley asked hopefully.
“I don’t think that’s the case. It’s just procedure.”
Hartley’s shoulders sank again. He returned the picture of his family back on the small side table by his chair and continued to stare at it.
“We’ll leave you now and be in touch if we find out anything further.”
“If or when?” Hartley demanded, his gaze burning into Hero’s.
“When,” Hero corrected, embarrassed. He offered the man his hand to shake. Hartley shook it and walked towards the door to show them out.
“Well, that was awkward,” Shaw stated as soon as they were back in the car.
“How did you expect it to be? The man’s whole family has just been wiped out, for goodness’ sake.”
Suitably reprimanded, Julie remained quiet until they reached the station and went their separate ways.
“See you at eight on the dot, Shaw. We have lots to do in the morning.”
“Yes, boss.”
He watched Shaw walk away, her head low, until she opened her car and jumped in. He wondered if he’d been too harsh on her for a second, but then chastised himself for thinking that. He pulled out of the car park at ten and headed home. Automatically, his car slowed down at the entrance to the Red Bull Pub, where he usually visited after work. However, that night, he had a strange urge to go straight home to his family.
• • •
The minute the detectives left Rupert Hartley’s home, he bid the butler, James, goodnight and went up to his room. He took one step into the room, then almost changed his mind and backed out of it again. His wife’s floral perfume
filled the air. He’d grown used to the smell over the years, and he still loved it. How long will it last? He wondered if the beautiful smell would linger as long as the horrendous pain encasing his heart would. His legs felt heavy, as if someone had tied sizable weights to his ankles. His vision was blurred by the tears threatening to fall. He tried hard to refrain from crying, for fear it would be impossible to stop.
He wandered slowly over to Saskia’s art deco mirrored dressing table, which she had adored so much, and picked up her silver brush. He sniffed it and removed some of the hair, her hair, caught in its bristles. He took a tissue from the silver tissue box at the end of the dressing table, placed the hairs gently in the middle, then put it down on the mirrored surface and precisely folded the tissue into a neat parcel. He placed the tiny parcel in his trouser pocket. Rupert opened the door to the walk-in wardrobe and paused as the light blinked on. On the left were all her day-to-day clothes—her Chanel suits and matching blouses—and on the right hung her beautiful evening gowns that turned her into a fairy-tale princess whom everyone envied when she elegantly floated into a room.
Rupert ran his hands down the edge of each dress he passed as he moved farther into the wardrobe. He swore he could feel her curves through the differing textures of the fabrics. He imagined her twirling around in front of him, asking for his approval before each date. His answer was always the same, “You’re more beautiful now than the day I met you.” Tears painfully pricked his eyes, and his vision misted over when he stood in front of the dress she’d worn for their anniversary the week before. The beautiful sequined dress had cost him over £10,000. But Saskia had been worth that and so much more. She’d brought a ray of light to his darkest day, and that light had been extinguished forever.
Sinking to his knees, he tugged at the dress, which slipped gracefully from the hanger and into his arms. He buried his face in the folds of the fabric, inhaling her wonderful lingering scent hidden in the fibres. He shuddered at the thought of never holding her in his arms, of never making love to her again. Sobbing uncontrollably, he leaned back on his heels. He looked up at the ceiling and shouted, “Why? Why would someone take Saskia and Laurence from me? Why?”
