by M A Comley
“It’s in the back.” Her voice trembled, and tears formed in her eyes.
He wagged his finger. “Don’t start the waterworks with me, lady. It don’t wash with me, and between you and me, it really pisses me off.”
The woman wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
He glared at her. “Another thing that gets on my nerves is when someone keeps apologising. So stop doing it, right?”
“Understood. I’m s…”
His eyes narrowed. “Just show me to the safe.”
She glanced at the front door. “I need to lock up first.”
“I’ve done it. Stop dilly-dallying and get on with it. My patience is wearing thin.”
The woman pushed open the door that led into her personal accommodation. The place was immaculate, unlike the previous postmaster’s home. She took him over to an office area at the back of the room and pointed at the safe in the corner, underneath her tidy desk.
“I see it. All I need now is to get at the money sitting inside the damn thing.”
She knelt on the floor in front of the safe. Her hand shook violently as she turned the combination dial. She muttered something under her breath and looked up at him, fear swimming in her eyes.
“Something wrong?” he snarled.
“I messed up. I’m so sorry. I’ll do it again.”
“Once more. Fuck that up, and I’ll kill you, here and now. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes.” She gulped and turned back to try the combination again. This time, the safe door clicked open.
He blew out a relieved breath before he punched the woman in the face, knocking her out. He walked back into the shop, took the drawer out of the till, then switched the light off in the shop to avoid being disturbed. When he returned, he scanned the room. He snatched up the postal sack lying on the floor. The till was a bit of a disappointment—a couple hundred pounds in notes—but the safe was bulging. He estimated it contained at least ten thousand pounds. He shoved the bundles into the sack then turned his attention to the woman. He roughly sat her upright, placed her arms in front of her, and tied her hands together with a piece of string he found near the sack. Then he tied her feet together.
The woman stirred. She opened her eyes a little, and her head jolted back when she found him staring right at her, only inches from her face.
“Well, that was a disappointment. Why isn’t there more in the safe?”
“Because it’s Thursday, pension day. Our busiest day of the week. Some of the old folk prefer to come in on a Friday when the rush is over. You’re lucky there’s that much in there. I only usually keep two thousand here during the week.”
“Lucky? I guess I am, although the same can’t be said about you.” He looked over his shoulder. “Is there anyone else here?”
Sadness replaced the fear in her eyes. “No. My husband died of a heart attack last year.” Her eyes drifted off to the left.
He could tell she was lying. Taking out his knife, he placed the blade under her chin. “Shall we try that again? Is there anyone else here?”
“Yes. My husband. Please, he’s bedridden. He did have a heart attack last year—I swear that’s the truth. He hasn’t recovered from it. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’m all he’s got. If you hurt me, no one will take care of him.”
“Fond of lying, aren’t we? You told me you had a daughter. If anything happens to you, then she’ll have to step up to the plate and help out.”
“Please, I didn’t mean to lie, I’m just trying to protect my family. They mean everything to me.”
“I don’t doubt that, but screw with me, lady, and you’ll suffer the consequences.” He nicked her chin with the knife. Watching the blood trickle, he grinned as the excitement built inside.
The woman yelped. “I understand. I won’t try to deceive you again. I promise.”
“I have no fear of that.” He stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked out of the room and located the stairs, which he climbed quietly, placing his feet at the edge of each step to try and avoid any kind of creaking. The penultimate stair creaked under his weight.
A man’s voice called out, “Frances, is that you? Have you locked up for the night?”
He followed the voice along the hallway to the room at the end and pushed open the door. A frail gentleman with pure white hair lifted his head off the pillow to look at him. “Who the hell are you? Where’s my wife?”
Myers walked into the room, approached the bed, and stared down at the occupant. “Your wife is otherwise engaged. Can’t you get out of bed?”
“No, I’m bedridden.”
He frowned. “What happens when you want to have a shit?”
The man bristled and tried to sit up, but his arms gave way under his weight. “I ring the bell, and my wife has to help me.”
“I see. As well as run the shop, she has to tend to your every need? You think that’s fair on her?”
“It is what it is. I can’t help being ill. We made vows to each other when we got married all those years ago, in sickness and in health.”
“Don’t give me that crap. Would you look after her if the tables were turned?”
The man’s silence was his downfall, and within seconds, he was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“Please, don’t hurt me. There’s money in the safe. Take that and leave us alone.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard all the spiel from your wife. You have a daughter who is expecting a child, right?”
“That’s right. Take the money. We promise not to ring the police. We’ll cover the loss with our savings.”
His interest piqued. “Savings, you say? How much are we talking about?”
“Over twenty thousand in our savings account.”
“Is that all?” He fired the gun twice into the man’s chest.
The woman’s scream filled the air as the old man’s dead, empty eyes stared up at him. “You should have treated her better instead of expecting her to wait on you all day long.” He returned to the ground floor. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
She began to sob. “My husband… tell me you haven’t killed him.”
“I can tell you that if that’s really what you want to hear, but it wouldn’t be the truth. He was useless. You’ll be better off without him.”
“No,” she wailed. “He was a lovely man. It wasn’t his fault that life dealt him a crippling blow. He took care of me for years until his heart attack debilitated him. Why? Why kill an innocent man when you’ve got the money?”
“I don’t have to justify my actions to you. How dare you question me! Who said you could do that?”
“I’m s…”
“Sorry, yes, I know. But are you really? Words can be cheap in instances where someone’s life is in the balance. Don’t you agree?”
She nodded. “Please. I don’t know what else I can do. I’m so scared.”
“You have a right to be scared. Your husband mentioned you had a savings account with funds in it. Can you get your hands on that money?”
“No, I don’t have Internet banking. I can get to it when the building society opens in the morning, if you’re prepared to wait.”
“I’m not.” He shot her in the right kneecap.
She screamed and writhed around in pain. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she avoided looking him in the eye.
“I’m getting bored now. I need to get out of here before your screams alert the police. You really should have heeded my warning about keeping your mouth shut.” He shot the other kneecap.
The woman’s screams tripled in intensity. He grabbed another of the hessian sacks, placed it over her head, and tied it tightly around the neck.
“Please, I can’t breathe. Please don’t do this to me.”
“Too late. The time for bargaining for your life has run out. If you think your husband is so wonderful, you should take comfort that you’ll soon be with him again. Let’s hope both y
our incapacities are forgotten about once you get to the other side.”
She was gasping for breath. The sack retracted with each panicked breath she took. “Please… help me.” Her voice had become nothing more than a whisper.
He watched her desperation as her tied hands struggled to untie the other rope around her neck, until her hands dropped into her lap and her head slipped sideways onto her shoulder.
He prodded her. “Are you dead?”
She moaned slightly.
He untied the rope and removed the sack from her head.
She inhaled a large breath of air, filling her lungs to capacity, and sat upright again. Dazed, she looked up at him.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
She peered closely at the two fingers he’d raised in front of her. “Three, I see… no, wait, four.”
“Er, no, there are two. Yet another wrong answer.” He poked the barrel of his gun into the open wound on her right knee. She yelled out in pain. He punched her in the mouth, and two of her teeth dropped into her lap.
“Why?” she asked between sobs.
“Does there really have to be a reason why someone should want to cause another person pain? I don’t think so.” He picked up the sack again and placed it over her head a second time.
She twisted her head, trying hard to escape. “Please, don’t do this.”
“Too late.” He retied the string and watched the woman go through the same harrowing ordeal again. This time, he didn’t remove the bag. She slipped away while gasping for her final breath. A grin stretched across his face as he collected the sack with his money haul and went back into the shop. Brazenly, he left the shop, unconcerned if anyone had seen him leave. He had balls that other thieves lacked, and it was about time the police realised what type of maniac they were trying to find. He laughed loudly once he was inside his car.
As he drove past the open doorway to the shop, he had a feeling the police would be on the scene within a few hours. In the meantime, the local kids would enter the shop and fill their boots with sweets. He laughed again at the greediness of folks, even in extreme adversity.
On his way home, he stopped off at the local pub, downed a pint of best bitter and a whisky chaser, then returned to his detached home out in the country. He’d chosen a house surrounded by trees specifically because it was hidden from the rest of civilisation. It had worked well over the years, and he couldn’t see his luck running out any time soon. When he arrived home, he added another five notches to the doorframe: seventy crimes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Hero was about to head home for the evening when the call came in. Most of his team had finished for the day. Only Lance was still at work, completing some paperwork he was behind on.
“Leave that, Lance. You’re coming with me.”
He stood up. “Sir? Something important?” he asked as if he were about to object if it wasn’t.
“I’ll say. We’ll know more when we get there. Looks like another post office has been done over. Two victims at the scene. We could leave it for the morning, but I’d rather get a handle on things tonight.”
“That’s understandable, sir. Shall I bring my car? I could make my way home from the scene.”
“Good thinking. We’re going out to Bury New Road. That’s not far from where you live, as I recall. Let’s get cracking.”
At the scene, Hero pulled up next to Lance’s car and parked his own. The forensics team was already at the scene, and Hero spotted Gerrard’s car parked directly outside the entrance to the post office. Hero poked his head around the door of the shop and called out, “You in here, Gerrard?”
“Yep, I’m busy. Grab the appropriate attire from the boot of my car and join me ASAP, Hero.”
Hero and Lance swiftly pulled on their paper suits, covered their shoes, then rushed through the shop.
Gerrard was waiting for them in the private quarters at the rear. “Another bad one.”
Hero cringed when he saw the woman’s injuries. “Jesus! Maybe she put up some form of resistance that ticked off her attacker.” He nodded at the empty safe. “Looks like he took off with the cash.”
“You might want to have a word with the witness. According to her, the man walked out of here as if he’d just bought a packet of biscuits.”
“What? Are you telling me she got a good look at him?” Hero looked over his shoulder, tempted to leave the scene and get the facts written down for himself.
“I didn’t say that. She heard the shots and was looking out of her window and saw the man leave the shop. It was dark, not sure how accurate any description might be.”
“I’ll have a word with her. Anyone else in the house, or did she live alone?”
“Upstairs, the husband was lying in his bed. Shot twice in the chest. Whether the killer shot him before or after the woman, I’m not sure. The neighbour said he was bedridden after failing to recover properly from a heart attack he had last year.”
Hero shook his head in disgust. “Why kill a man lying in his sickbed?”
Gerrard shrugged. “Exactly. He’s a callous bastard, this guy. There’s no frigging denying that.”
Hero nodded. “I’ll second that. I’ll check what the witness has to say before I go upstairs.”
Lance followed Hero outside, where a small crowd had gathered around a middle-aged woman.
Hero produced his warrant card. “DI Nelson, and this is my colleague, DS Powell. I take it you’re the lady who witnessed the man leaving the scene?”
The woman sighed heavily and nodded. “Yes, I’m the one.”
“Mind if we have a private word? We’ll be questioning all the neighbours individually to ask what you might have seen and heard.”
The crowd took the hint and backed away from the woman.
“Take some notes, Powell,” he said before turning back to the woman, whose hands were shaking in front of her. “It’s Mrs…?”
“McQuire, Joyce McQuire.”
“Would you rather we do this inside, out of the cold? You look perished.”
The woman nodded.
Hero led her into the post office, where there was nothing gory to see.
The woman tentatively stepped over the threshold of the shop, her eyes darting in every direction. “Are you sure this is okay? I wouldn’t want to see a dead body or anything. She is dead, isn’t she? That’s why you’re here.”
“I’m afraid so. Did you know the postmistress well?”
“Frances was a very special lady. She didn’t deserve this. She’s a saint in my book. Having to care for her husband whilst still managing to run this shop single-handedly.” She gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. “What about Fred?”
Sadness descended. “I’m sorry, he’s also dead.”
“Oh, my goodness! They were just ordinary folk. Frances worked hard to serve the community. Six days a week, but she always opened up for the folk living here if we ran out of something, even when she was dead on her feet… oh dear, that came out wrong. I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is looking after Fred was an extra strain she could have done without, but she never complained about looking after him. She worked miracles working full time, running a time-consuming business such as the post office, and looking after him twenty-four hours a day.”
“It is heart-breaking. Did the couple have any children?”
“Georgina, she lives in Australia now with her Aussie husband. They’re expecting their first child. My God, she’s going to be devastated. Frances and Fred were going to battle against the odds and fly over there when the child was born. Georgina really hasn’t settled well over there. She’s been desperate to come back since her father suffered his heart attack, but her husband is very stubborn, put his foot down and said they couldn’t afford the flight.”
“I don’t suppose you know her married name or can give us an address where we can contact her?”
“Sorry, no. Frances would have kept the address written down in a notebook s
omewhere. I could have a search around in the back for you, if you like.”
Hero got the impression that the woman was trying to be helpful and not simply trying to snoop around. “We’ll look for it after SOCO have completed the forensic examination of the crime scene. No need for you to be involved in that, Mrs. McQuire. Have the couple lived and worked here long?”
“Twenty years or more. This is a quiet community. We’ve never had to deal with a terrible incident like this before. It’s just awful. How can something like this happen to such a lovely couple?”
“That’s what we intend on finding out. How well did you know Frances? Well enough that she confided in you?”
“Occasionally, although she could be a very private person at times, too. Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered if she’d been anxious about anything lately. I mean, has anyone tried to threaten her, regarding the post office side of things?”
“To extort money? That kind of thing?” She looked pensive for a moment or two. “No, she never mentioned anything to me, anyway.”
“This man, have you seen him around here before?”
“No, it was dark. I wouldn’t be able to recognise him from my lounge window. Doubt I’d recognise him if I saw him again, either.”
Hero’s heart sank. Great! We have an eyewitness, and she didn’t see enough for us to track the bastard. “I understand. What about his car? Did you see that?”
“Yes, it was a dark car, not sure if it was black or navy blue. Don’t ask me what his number plate was, either. It was too far away for me to see it, let alone write it down. Again, I’m so sorry to be so useless. I’d love to be the one to help you arrest this man, but I can’t give you more than that.”
“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad. Would you be willing to come down the station if we pull in a suspect for an identification parade?”
She shook her head again. “I really don’t think that would help. I hate to say that, but I’d rather be up front with you from the start.”
“That’s all right. I appreciate your honesty. Have any of your neighbours mentioned if they saw the man?”
