Torn Apart

by M A Comley

  “Poor sod! This has really hit him hard. I think I’ll come down there for a bit of moral support. Was there anything else?”

  “Nothing else. That was enough, I believe, Patch. I’ll see you later.”

  • • •

  Hero and Julie left the station at around five thirty and drove through the busy traffic to the mortuary, where they took seats in the hallway outside the viewing room while they waited for Rupert Hartley to make an appearance.

  Julie jabbed Hero in the ribs when Rupert walked in and slowly made his way up to them. “Is he drunk?” Julie asked out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Shit! It sure looks that way to me. Say nothing. Let’s see how things progress before diving in feet first, eh?”

  Hartley came to a halt beside Hero and flung himself, with his hands still in his trouser pockets, against the clinically white wall. Hero stood up and faced the man. He extended his hand for Hartley to shake, but the man chose to ignore it. His eyes were cast downwards as if he were ashamed by his drunken state. His chin stubble looked to be about twenty-four hours old, and Hero noticed that he was still dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing when he saw him last. He feared Hartley was going to deal very poorly with seeing the bodies of his wife and son in the viewing rooms, and he decided to go in search of Susan to warn her.

  “Damn. It’s tough enough when the relatives see their loved ones, but to view them when he’s drunk is going to be terrible for him. I’m not sure how he’s going to react. Maybe we should get security on standby, just in case?” Susan suggested.

  Hero noticed how tired she looked. “I’ll call them. Can you take a five-minute break before you deal with him? You look knackered.”

  Susan waved aside his concerns. “I’ll be fine. Nothing an early night won’t put right later. You call security while I finish signing some paperwork, then I can call it a day after I’ve dealt with Mr. Hartley.”

  “Deal,” Hero said as he placed the call.

  With two security guards standing at either end of the hallway, Hero and Susan made their way towards Julie and Hartley. Julie nodded a hello at Susan and stood up. She reached out and tried to guide Hartley into the room, but he shrugged her off. “I can manage on my own,” he slurred harshly.

  Julie stepped back and let Hero follow the man into the room. Hartley stopped in the doorway and drew in a heavy breath. “I can still smell her perfume,” he said, more coherently than Hero would’ve expected.

  Hero, too, detected the faint smell above the odours of the mortuary. Or is that my imagination?

  Hartley walked up to the white cross sitting in an alcove on one side of the room. He made the sign of the cross in front of himself and turned around. Once Hartley had positioned himself close to his wife’s upper body, Hero motioned with his head for Susan to pull back the cloth. The two detectives and the pathologist watched as Hartley again sucked in a large breath. Then he moved closer to his wife and ran a gentle finger down her lily-white cheek and across her blue lips. “Oh, Saskia, my love, there will never be a love greater than ours.” Hartley bent down to kiss her forehead. With his eyelids squeezed firmly together, he moved down and brushed his lips against hers. He reached out to steady himself on the table as his drink-addled mind sent him off balance.

  Hero walked forward and placed his hand on Hartley’s forearm. “Are you all right?”

  Hartley glanced up at him, confusion settling in his eyes and face. “I doubt that I’ll ever be all right again. Do you know what it’s like to lose a partner and a son?”

  Hero shook his head, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “No. I’m truly sorry for your loss. Do you need any help with the funeral arrangements?”

  Rupert Hartley looked momentarily dumbfounded. He pulled himself upright and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “My God, do I have to deal with that? Is it my responsibility?” He looked over at Susan for help.

  Susan nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Hero can arrange for someone to help you if you feel the task would be too much to deal with.”

  “That’s right. We can help if that’s what you want or need,” Hero affirmed.

  Rather than answering, Hartley covered his wife’s head with the sheet and moved to the door. “I’d like to see my son now.”

  Susan opened the door for him and pointed to the room opposite. The four of them entered the room, and Hartley went through the same angst as he had when he’d viewed his wife’s body. After he’d kissed his son and said farewell, he left the room and slammed himself against the wall in the corridor. His head banged against the wall several times as tears sprang from his eyes and coursed down his cheek. “Why? Why them?” he repeated over and over again.

  The two detectives and the pathologist remained silent, simply unable to answer his question. But they would soon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Before leaving the mortuary, Hero arranged for Julie to call at Rupert Hartley’s mansion the next day, to help him with the arrangements for the funerals. Hero shrugged off Julie’s annoyance with the burdensome task. Hartley had appeared relieved to be given the help, and as they walked to the car park together, he asked if Hero had any news on his family’s murderers yet.

  As Hartley got in the backseat of the taxi, which Julie had ordered for him, Hero admitted that the clues they had so far were sketchy. He promised that as soon as they knew who the people involved were, Rupert would be told immediately. The expression on Hartley’s face told Hero that he didn’t believe a word. But the last thing he wanted to do was give Hartley any ammunition to set him off on any kind of revenge mission. He’d had to deal with other grieving families who’d become vigilantes overnight.

  • • •

  Rupert woke up the following morning with a thumping headache. After going through the trauma of identifying his wife and only child, he had returned home, dismissed James for the evening, and gone to bed with a bottle of malt whiskey. He was regretting that decision. He knew the woman sergeant would be arriving around ten, which left him an hour to do what he needed to do. He picked up the phone and dialled an old friend—Dave Wheeler, an investigative journalist with the Manchester Evening News.

  “Dave, it’s Rupert.”

  “Rupert, God, man, I was going to ring you this week. I’m so sorry about Saskia and Laurence. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I’m devastated, Dave, but I’d rather not dwell on it, if you don’t mind. I wanted to ask a favour.”

  “Shoot.”

  Rupert inhaled and exhaled a large breath before he continued. “You’re aware of what happened, right?”

  “The hit-and-run? Yes, I’m aware.”

  Rupert sighed again. “That’s not how I’m reading it. If it was a genuine hit-and-run, why would the car reverse back over the victims?” He corrected himself, “Saskia and Laurence. The police have been hopeless up till now, and I suspect the lead investigator knows more about the perpetrators than he’s letting on.”

  “Really! Why would he do that?” Dave asked.

  Rupert smiled to himself. He knew he had piqued Dave’s interest. “I’m not sure. I was hoping you might do some digging for me?”

  The journalist sucked in air through his teeth. “You know, when I said I’m an investigative journo, I didn’t mean I spend all my time investigating the coppers, mate.”

  “I know. I just thought you would do me a favour, just this once.” Rupert crossed his fingers tightly in his lap. He was sitting in his favourite place, the library, surrounded by the only thing left that truly mattered to him anymore—his books.

  “I’m not sure. I can have a word with the boss if you like, but he probably won’t agree to it. As it’s you, I’ll see what I can do on the side.”

  “I’d appreciate that, mate. I’ve got someone coming over in a while to help with the funeral arrangements. Will you be at the funeral?”

  “Of course, Rupert. That goes without saying. Will Saskia’s parents be coming over fro
m Russia?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “No. To be honest, I haven’t informed them. They disowned her when she left Russia years ago. Do you think I should contact them?” Rupert asked, doubt seeping through him.

  “That’s a toughie. If they haven’t made contact with her for years, then she probably won’t be missed. However, she was their flesh and blood, and they have a right to know that she’s no longer with us.”

  “I’ll call them later. If they won’t accept the call, that’ll answer my question, won’t it?” Rupert opened the drawer in the side table beside him and extracted an address book. “I better go. This woman will be here soon. I’ll let you know what the arrangements are later. Please see what you can find out for me in the meantime?”

  “You have my assurance that I will do my best, Rupert. Speak to you later, mate.”

  Rupert hung up and spent the next half an hour looking through the address book. He made mental strike-throughs of the people he definitely had no intention of informing about the funeral because he thought they would show fake sympathy at the gravesides of his wife and son. No matter how much he tried to distract himself with other tasks, his mind constantly relived his family’s horrendous ordeal. How long will this torture go on? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear either the doorbell ring or the door to the library open.

  “Hello, Mr. Hartley.”

  The quiet voice of the detective startled him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that you had arrived.” He half-smiled an apology.

  “Where would you like to begin?” Julie asked. She shrugged off her coat and handed it to the butler.

  “Would you like a tea or coffee?” Rupert asked.

  “Coffee would be lovely, thank you.”

  “James, will you bring us two coffees, please?”

  The butler nodded and left the room.

  “It’s very good of you to help me with this, detective. I’m sure it’s not part of your job description.”

  Julie smiled. “You’re right, it’s not, but Hero—sorry, DI Nelson—likes to go the extra mile to help the families of the victims.” The detective cringed when she said the final words.

  “I see. Well, I hope I won’t be a burden on your time for too long. Would you rather do this in the office or the lounge, perhaps?”

  “I really don’t mind, Mr. Hartley. Whatever suits you.”

  Rupert stood, picked up the address book, and walked over to the door. “Then I think we’ll go through to the lounge.”

  He pushed open the door to the vast panelled room whose walls were covered with framed photos of him with his family. On the wall above the grand open fireplace hung a large family portrait. He motioned for Julie to sit in the chesterfield. Rupert crossed the room to retrieve a small padded wooden chair, which he positioned beside her. With his address book on his lap, he asked, “Where do we begin?”

  “I’m not really sure. I’ve never done anything like this before. Have you contacted all your relatives and informed them of the accident?”

  “Accident? Is that what you’re going to call it?” Rupert replied, stunned.

  “Sorry, I just thought it would be better to call it that. Of course, we won’t be treating it as such.”

  Rupert could tell the sergeant was embarrassed by her faux pas. He flipped through the pages of the address book one more time. “Maybe we could inform people together.”

  “If you’d like. I think it would be better to inform your family and friends about the incident before they get the call about the funeral, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  They spent the next twenty minutes sipping coffee between making the strained calls. On occasion, Rupert almost broke down when he had to break the news, but on the whole, he was proud of the way he’d handled the task. “What now?” Rupert asked the sergeant, who had softened since her first visit to the house.

  “I guess we need to sort out the funeral arrangements, flowers, any special tunes your wife and son liked for the service. Have you thought about which church or where they will be buried or whether you want your family to be cremated?”

  Rupert was silent for a few seconds before he responded, “We have a family plot at the local church. They’ll be laid to rest there. I’ll call the vicar next.”

  Rupert rang the vicar of the local parish while Julie called the mortuary to ask when the bodies would be released.

  By the time the grandfather clock standing in the corner struck eleven o’clock, between them, they had organised everything. Julie said farewell and left Rupert alone to mourn his loss again.

  Somehow, he found himself transported upstairs to the main bedroom amongst his wife’s dresses in the wardrobe. He stepped over the quilt and pillow still lying on the floor where he’d spent the previous night, then went to the rear of the wardrobe. From the shelf above Saskia’s cashmere jumpers, he pulled a large leather box. Opening the lid, he glanced down at the contents with tears in his eyes. He sank to his knees and rocked back and forth as he withdrew and kissed each item one by one. The box contained cherished keepsakes of their time together and of Laurence’s childhood—everything from his first tooth to the picture Saskia had taken of their son in his school uniform on the first day of school. He gently placed all the mementos of Laurence to the left of him and then picked up the few that reminded him of his wonderful life with his dear wife. His heart ached as he held the piece of paper that contained the first rose he’d ever given her. He sniffled when he picked up the lock of mousey-coloured hair Saskia had cut off before she had dyed it blonde for the first time. He broke down and sobbed when he started reading through the very first love letters they had exchanged. He read them over and over, until they became soggy with tears. Saskia, our love didn’t end when your life did. I will love and miss you until the day I die!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After being subjected to a hectic family weekend, Hero was actually pleased when Monday morning came around. Because his parents and twin sister had turned up on Sunday for the family get together, he’d been forced to ring in and cancel his weekend manoeuvres with the Territorial Army. The TA helped keep him grounded—and fit, for that matter. After each week of stresses and strains, his TA assignments acted as a stress beater. When he was unable to attend exercises, he missed the banter and the after-session drinks with his mates.

  During the drive to work, he found himself smiling when he remembered his sister, Cara’s, reaction to the obligatory family gathering. She had sat in the corner, pouting like a bored teenager. Every now and then, when none of the others were watching, she held up an imaginary gun at him and pulled the trigger. Hero had been forced to stifle a grin on several occasions before he felt his mother’s hand slapping him around the back of the head.

  He pulled into the station car park and exhaled a large breath, apprehensive about what awaited him, hence his regret for not being able to link up with his TA pals. At midday, he was due to attend the funeral of the Hartleys with DS Shaw, who by all accounts had carried out a remarkable job of organising the service. He’d been surprised when she had told him that it would take place so soon. He had also been amazed that she’d turned out to be a willing participant in the assignment. Maybe he’d underestimated her compassionate side.

  When he’d asked Shaw why they had arranged the funeral so quickly, she had informed him that Rupert had insisted his family should be laid to rest as soon as possible. While Rupert booked the church, Shaw had chased up when the bodies would be released to the undertakers. Everything else had slotted into place without too much hassle.

  Hero walked into his department and glanced around. The members of his team were already at their desks hard at work, either tapping away at keyboards or busy making phone calls. He was lucky to have them, all right. Lance Powell could be a pain in the rear now and again, but overall, Hero felt privileged to have such an enthusiastic team under him. His team usually accomplished good results, which
was why his frustrations were growing daily on the Hartley case and why he was apprehensive about his meeting with Rupert at midday. Not for the first time since his wife and son’s death, he could offer the widower no new information on the case.

  “Get ready to go at eleven thirty, Julie. All right?”

  Julie kept her eyes on the screen in front of her. “Yes, boss. Do you want to go in my car?”

  “Either, I’m not bothered.” Hero was still driving around in the borrowed car. Maybe it would be good for Julie to do the driving for a change. “On second thoughts, we’ll take your car.”

  Julie turned sharply to look at him. “Really? I get to drive?”

  Hero walked into his office and shouted over his shoulder, “Yeah, ‘drive’ being the operative word, Sergeant. I don’t want us crashing. So stay alert at all times.” He closed the door behind him before she could retort with a sarcastic comment of her own.

  His desk looked like a disaster zone. He slipped off his jacket and got down to work. Julie knocked on his door at eleven twenty-five.

  “Are you ready, sir?”

  Shocked, he looked at his watch and quickly stood up. “Christ, that must have been the quickest two and a half hours of my life,” he said, pulling on his jacket.

  The detectives set off in Julie’s car. Julie pointed out Rupert as soon as they parked the car in the church car park. “He looks as though he hasn’t slept in weeks.”

  Hero nodded. “I’m sure we’d be in the same state if the tables were turned, Sergeant.” He shuddered before adding, “It doesn’t bear thinking about, really. Let’s get this over and done with, and then I intend going after that gang with every trick in the book. We’ll get other teams on it, too, if necessary—vice, armed response. We have to stop them before the crimes escalate.”