by M A Comley
“Jason, I want you to try and piece together Wilmot and Portman’s final hours, just in case Lance’s search comes up blank. Perhaps the boys saw the car up to something suspicious and decided to investigate before the chase began. Let’s cover all the angles here and quickly. I want the answers within a couple of hours, got that?”
“Sure, boss. On it now.”
“Sally, I want you to concentrate on the car. All we’ve got is a blue Laguna. I know it’s a big ask, but let’s try and find out how many are registered in the Manchester area.”
“Want me to broaden the search, boss? Say a ten-mile radius of the city, just in case?”
“Why not? It can’t hurt. I’ll be in my office. Let me know what you find out ASAP, everyone.” He looked around, suddenly realising that Julie was missing. “Where’s Shaw? Any idea?”
Sally avoided his eyes. “She rang in sick today, sir.”
Puzzled, he asked, “What’s wrong with her? She seemed okay to me yesterday.”
“She didn’t really say, just said she was a little off-colour.”
He turned on his heel and stomped into his office, mumbling under his breath, “A little off-colour… at least she’s alive, unlike Wilmot and Portman.” He slammed his office door behind him. Before he delved into the daily paperwork clogging up his desk, he rang his sister, Cara. “Hey, sis. How’s things?”
“Hero? It’s unusual for you to contact me at work. What’s up?”
“Needed to hear a friendly voice and to know that you’re okay. Have you heard about the incident yesterday?”
“Two men down—is that the one?”
“Yes. If you go out there, be careful. Who knows? We could be looking at a copper killer on the loose.”
“Really? What proof have you got to think that?”
“We haven’t, apart from the shooting yesterday. Just stay vigilant. Anyway, that’s not why I’m ringing. Fay and I are trying to organise a holiday and wondered if you’d like to tag along. The kids would love to spend some quality time with you, sis.”
Cara laughed. “Nice try. You’re asking me to ‘tag along’ to be your babysitter, right?”
“Well, that would be a bonus of course, one I hadn’t thought of.”
“Who are you trying to kid? That said, I’d definitely be up for it. Depends when, as I’m already committed to one holiday to Spain in July with a few of my girlfriends.”
“Get you! Since when did you get to be so popular?”
“Cheeky git. I’ve always been popular. You’re begging to spend time with me, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it in that context.”
“When are you thinking of going on this wonderful family adventure and where?”
“Nothing too adventurous—thought we’d book a caravan in Cornwall at Easter.”
“Next month! Give us a break, Hero—have you tried to book somewhere at such short notice?”
“Ah, no. Okay, maybe we should look into that and get back to you. Would you come if we can find somewhere?”
“I’d love to. Doubt it’s going to happen, though.”
“I’ll run it past Fay when I get home this evening. Take care out there, all right?”
“My job is ninety-nine percent a desk job, Hero. There’s no need for you to be concerned about me. Make sure you practise what you preach, though.”
“I will. Speak soon.” Hero hung up, gazed out the window at the cloudy dark sky, and sighed. It would be nice to get away from the doom and gloom of Manchester if we can. He spent the next couple of hours tearing his hair out with the mundane task of going through dozens of police procedural changes and dreary nonsensical informative letters from head office, which were crying out for his immediate attention.
Sally knocked on his door at nearly eleven. “Do you have time for an update, sir?”
Hero pushed back his chair and followed her out of the room. “Of course. What have we got?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of writing things on the whiteboard. It’s not much so far: our two victims, Wilmot and Portman, and the car involved.”
“Thanks for that, Sally. What about the car? Any leads on that?”
She shook her head. “Looks like it’s one of the more popular colours and makes of vehicle for people to own in the Manchester area. Would you believe there are over two thousand registered around here?”
“Great, that’s not exactly welcome news. What about any crimes reported in the vicinity yesterday afternoon? Anything there, Lance?”
The sergeant shifted in his chair to face Hero, picked up a sheet of paper from his desk, and proceeded to count. “I’ve got around fifteen crimes that were reported yesterday afternoon, boss. A hit-and-run, four burglaries, a GBH, an ABH… the rest are anti-social behaviour incidents.”
“I take it they’re all in the area close to where our friends were gunned down.”
“Within a couple of miles’ radius, sir. Want me to keep checking?”
“Yes, concentrate on the crimes closest to the B5229. I could be wrong asking you to do that, but that’s all we’ve got at the moment. What about the CCTV footage in that area? Anyone looked into that yet?”
“I can do that for you, sir,” Lance said.
“Did you find anything out regarding where and what Wilmot and Portman were up to before the chase began?”
“Nothing, sir. The control room said they were just cruising the area, minding their own business.”
Hero chewed on his thumbnail as he thought. “So something spooked the driver. Perhaps he spotted the boys in his rear-view mirror and thought they were on to him, he put his foot down and sparked their interest—and bingo-bango! Let’s see what the CCTV cameras in that area show up, Lance.”
“Leave it with me, sir.”
“Give me the list of the crimes that were reported.”
Lance handed him the sheet of paper.
As he read, nothing really grabbed him as being significant or out of the ordinary. He was at a loss where to look next for clues, but he owed it to his lost colleagues to keep digging.
The team continued their exasperating search until lunchtime. Hero sent Jason out for sandwiches for the team, and by the time he’d returned, Hero had received a call of interest.
“Okay, gather around, team. I know it’s lunchtime, but I think that’ll have to wait for now. I’ve just received a call to say that a postmaster at a small post office on Eccles Old Road has been found murdered.”
“That’s close to where Wilmot and Portman were found, sir,” Lance said.
“It is indeed, and looks likely to be our link. I’m going to head over there now. I would normally take Julie with me. I’m not going to ask any of you to fill her shoes; I need you to keep digging into things around here. Concentrate on the CCTV cameras in that area for me, Lance. Sally, get me any background information you can find on the postmaster—sorry, I can’t give you a name for now. Let’s see if he had any enemies before we start linking this madman to the two crimes. I’ll be back shortly.” Hero grabbed his sandwich and rushed out the door as if a tornado had overtaken him.
With the aid of his siren, he made it to the scene in fifteen minutes. He slipped on a fresh set of white overalls and plastic shoes before entering the building. Scenes of Crimes Officers were already carrying out their preliminary examinations in the back room of the post office. “Have we got a name for the victim?”
A female member of the SOCO team stood beside him. “Donald Millward.”
Hero looked at the victim, who appeared to be in his fifties, and shook his head in disgust as he surveyed the multiple stab wounds to his torso. “Looks like the bastard tortured him before killing him. Is there anyone else here? His relatives, perhaps?”
“Nope. A member of his staff reported for duty at twelve and found him. Shock took a toll on her, unsurprisingly. The pathologist arranged for an ambulance to take her to hospital.”
“So, she had a key to the premises and le
t herself in?”
“It would appear so. I don’t know all the facts.”
“Who attended the scene first?” Hero hadn’t noticed anyone of significance outside the building when he’d entered.
“There was a young uniformed officer here when we arrived. Haven’t seen him for a while. He did look a little green around the gills, to be honest.”
Hero nodded. “That would explain it. I’ll call base and try and track him down. Back to the victim…”
The girl raised her hands. “I think you need to speak to the pathologist on that one, not me.”
Hero glanced around the room. “Where is he?”
“I think he went outside to fetch some equipment from his car.”
He left the premises to find his good friend. “Nasty business, Gerrard. Don’t suppose you can tell me much so far.”
“You’d be guessing right, mate. Shocking that someone could break in here and do this. I had a quick word with the member of staff who found him. She said she left here at around five forty-five two days ago. Yesterday was her day off; she had no reason to come near the place. My first thoughts are that this happened not long after she left the premises.”
“So, the killer entered the property and kept the man alive for a number of hours, torturing him to get the number to the safe, you reckon?” Hero glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to the shop.
“Looks that way to me.”
“I’m wondering if the killer left here, spotted Wilmot and Portman, thought they were about to pull him over, and put his foot down.”
“That’s a pretty long shot, even for you, Hero.”
He shrugged. “It’s all we’ve got. We’ve identified several minor crimes in this area in the same time frame, but this is the only major crime that has sparked my interest, shall we say. We’re tracking down the CCTV footage now. That’ll give us more to go on, but the car this guy used is more popular than Santa’s reindeer-driven sleigh at Christmas.”
Gerrard sucked in a breath and picked up his case. “That’s tough. I’ll rush the PM through and get the forensics team to put a priority on any fingerprints they find. I’m just as keen to get this guy apprehended as you are.”
“I appreciate that, Gerrard.”
“Let’s go back inside, see if we can give you something to get your investigation up and running.”
Hero followed Gerrard back through the building into the confined backroom. He sighed. “Seems like this killer needed to vent his anger on the bloke. Maybe Millward put up too much resistance, that’s why the killer went OTT dishing out his punishment.”
Gerrard crouched on the other side of the victim and held up Millward’s left hand, which was very bloody and missing the second and third fingers.
“Trophies?”
Gerrard shook his head and pointed at the jars of sweets sitting on a shelf behind Hero. “Check out the sherbet lemons.”
“Crap!” The man’s two missing digits were sitting prominently on top of the yellow sweets in the half-filled jar, his blood leaving a garish trail through the kiddies’ sweets. “That’s sick. I don’t think I’ll ever buy Louie or the twins a bag of those again after seeing that.”
“Agreed. Used to be my wife’s favourite sweets, too.”
“I don’t suppose there was a weapon found?”
“No, he’s too clever for that. The victim was beaten numerous times over the head and face. Again, I’ll be able to give you more information about that after I conduct the PM.” Gerrard lifted the man’s shirt to reveal puncture wounds to his stomach.
Hero frowned. “Wounds, but no blood. Were they caused after the victim was killed?”
“Yes, very likely to be post mortem.”
“Therefore, something angered the killer. Perhaps once the killer saw the contents of the safe, he was disappointed and took his anger out on the newly deceased victim.”
“Maybe. That’s your job to figure out that side of things. All I can give you are the facts, Hero.”
“Either way, we’re dealing with a sick fucker.”
“Okay, I’m going to get my boys to do the photos and then get him out of here and back to the lab. Hopefully, I should have the results for you soon.”
“Thanks, Gerrard. I’m going to take a look through the victim’s private accommodation, see if anything useful crops up there. I’ll be out of your hair, too.”
“Appreciate that. We’ll speak soon.”
He walked through the relatively small post office-cum-village shop and entered Millward’s private accommodation. The first room he came to was the kitchen. The countertops were littered with dirty plates, pots and empty packets of microwave food. The terrible stench made Hero’s nose twitch. “How could anyone live like this?”
Moving through to the small living room only compounded his first thought. The two threadbare couches were full of newspapers and car magazines, and in the corner, close to the old TV set, were a pile of takeaway cartons, anything from tinfoiled Chinese dishes to cardboard pizza boxes. The room smelt horrendous, too. Not hanging around, Hero walked up the stairs to the tiny accommodation upstairs, which consisted of one large bedroom that contained an unmade double bed. Hero chose not to investigate the state of the sheets, as he could smell the body odour from the doorway. Along one of the walls was a 1930s wardrobe, not dissimilar to the one his grandparents had owned when he was a boy. One of the doors was hanging off its hinges, while the other door was propped up against the wall. Clothes were strewn everywhere, covering every patch of carpet.
After witnessing the state of three rooms in the house, he decided to give the bathroom a miss, fearing what he would find. He shuddered and returned to the shop. Outside, he found two uniformed officers guarding the front door. “Either of you two first at the scene?”
“No, guv. That’d be PC Sean Talbot. He’s back at the station—wasn’t feeling too good, sir.”
“That’s understandable. I’ll talk to him back there. What about the member of staff? Do you have her name?”
The officer flipped open his notebook. “Karen Webster, I believe, sir. She lives a few doors down but is in hospital at the moment.”
“So I gather. Okay, I’ll get one of my team to drop by the hospital then speak to her myself another time. You guys here for the duration? Don’t let anyone else enter the building until Forensics have finished their job.”
“Yes, sir, we know the drill.”
Hero walked back to his car, disrobed and jumped behind the steering wheel. What’s your game, buster? No matter what it is, I’m going to take pleasure in bringing you down.
CHAPTER THREE
Grinning at the thought of the tills brimming with cash, Myers watched the people going in and out of the shop. The last place he’d turned over had been a disappointment. It didn’t matter, though—he’d taken pleasure in making the postmaster suffer for his lack of business. His day had got even better when the two coppers had chased him. Their punishment had been an adrenaline rush that he was eager to feel again. Nothing spurred a killer on more than seeing either his victims pleading for their worthless lives or, as in the case of one of the coppers who’d snuffed it, realising they were in deep shit and trying to escape.
He enjoyed a good chase. The hunter on the trail of his next prey, he watched a woman leave the shop, a little girl skipping by her side with her hands tucked into a white paper bag of sweets. Wondering if the child had sherbet lemons in the bag, he roared with laughter as he remembered severing the fingers from his last victim and placing them in the jar of sweets, just to tick off the coppers. He loved toying with the coppers, had done it for years. He’d started out pulling off a number of minor crimes but had soon become bored. He’d needed something far more challenging, so his crimes had escalated very quickly to more daring things like torturing his victims before he killed them. He would sit at home at night, trawling the Internet to find harsher, more gruesome ways to make his victims suffer. The coppers didn’t have a
clue who he was because he had become adept at deceiving them, changing his modus operandi whenever they thought they were close to arresting him.
He watched and waited until the night sky darkened, then he made his move. He leapt out of the car and glanced at his watch. Two minutes to five thirty. She would be shutting up soon. He’d already seen the post office assistant leave at a few minutes past five, so he knew the woman would be alone. Another minute slipped by before he walked through the shop door. The bell overhead jangled to announce his arrival. The shop was quaint, similar in size to the last place he’d done over.
“Hello, can I help at all? Sorry to rush you, but I’m about to close up for the night.” The woman gave him a warm smile, which made him want to vomit.
“Oh, sorry. I needed a packet of envelopes for some urgent letters I have to write.”
“What size?”
She walked towards the back of the shop.
He swiftly and quietly dropped the latch on the front door then rushed to join her. “No good on sizes. Normal letter size. How’s that?”
She chuckled. “Typical male response. I hear it all the time.” She picked up a packet of small white envelopes and showed him. “These?”
“They look perfect to me.” He searched in his jacket pocket, pretending to be looking for his wallet, and pulled out a flick knife. “I won’t be needing them, after all. I will be taking the contents of your till and safe, however.”
The colour quickly drained from the woman’s face, and her mouth opened as her gaze dropped to the knife. “Please, please don’t hurt me. My daughter is about to have her first child, and I’d like to be around to see it.”
“Does it look like I give a fuck, lady? The money, take me to it.”
Her steps were hesitant until he prodded her in the back with the blade. “Don’t try anything like letting the police know I’m here. The last person who tried that is now lying in a fridge down at the mortuary.”
“I won’t. I promise. You can have all the money. I don’t care about it.”
He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I intend to. I don’t need your permission. Now, let’s get this over with. Where’s the safe?”
