by M A Comley
“Yes, boss.”
“Okay, I have the conference to attend in an hour’s time. Thought I’d treat us all to lunch. It’ll have to be sarnies, though. Sally, fancy a trip out to the baker’s?”
Sally stood up and slipped on her coat. “The walk will do me good. I’ll make a note of what everyone wants.”
“Brilliant. Mine’s a cheese and ham on white. Julie, can you organise the coffee for when Sally returns? Oh, and this isn’t me being sexist, asking you girls to organise lunch—you’re the two people who just do it best.”
Sally laughed as she walked out of the incident room, while Julie looked at him and shook her head in disgust.
Oops… that didn’t go as planned.
During lunch, Hero jotted down some notes to remind him what points he wanted to raise during the conference—things had a tendency to veer off-track once the journalists began asking their, sometimes inane, questions. Then he made his way downstairs to the designated press room.
He shuffled in his seat until the press liaison officer brought the crowd to attention and introduced him. Then he switched to professional mode.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending this very important conference. I’ll be covering two, actually three, cases that we believe could be connected. You’re probably aware two of our colleagues were brutally murdered this week. Our hearts and thoughts go out to the families of Constables Paul Wilmot and Chris Portman, but their killer is still on the loose. We believe he was driving a blue Laguna. Unfortunately, the licence plate had been obscured. The incident took place on the B5229, and we’re appealing for witnesses who have information about the crime or who might have overheard someone bragging about the crime. Please do not approach this dangerous man. If you have any information, please contact my team immediately on the number I will be giving you at the end of this conference.”
“DI Nelson,” a cocky-looking young man in the front interrupted him. “You mentioned three crimes. Are all the crimes related to murdered coppers?”
Hero tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. He recognised the man as Mr. Harjet from the Sun newspaper. “I’m about to mention the other crimes we believe are connected to this man. If you’ll bear with me, Mr. Harjet.”
“Sorry, go ahead,” Harjet replied, sporting a smug grin.
Tempted to swipe the grin off Harjet’s face, Hero continued addressing the rest of the well-mannered crowd. “As I previously suggested, we believe this man had possibly committed another heinous crime and was on the run from that when Constables Wilmot and Portman spotted him. This is pure speculation on our part at present, but we’re aware that another crime took place at the post office on Eccles Old Road roughly around the same time. The postmaster, Donald Millward, was found dead at the scene. Not only was the man murdered, he also suffered a great deal of torture before his life was ended. Forensics are still taking samples from the scene.”
“How do you know these crimes are connected, Inspector?” the cocky young journalist interrupted him again.
Hero glanced at the press liaison officer and raised his eyebrows at her.
“If you’d kindly refrain from interrupting the inspector with your questions, we’d appreciate it. Thank you,” she said, looking directly at Harjet.
He had the grace to apologise before Hero continued, “As if those two crimes weren’t enough, my team is also dealing with another crime that took place yesterday at a second post office in the area. This time at Bury New Road, where Frances Kilburn and her husband, Fred, were both killed on the premises. Again, I’m asking for any witnesses to come forward. This was a truly atrocious crime, carried out by a monstrous and callous criminal. We’re urging members of the public not to approach this man, and again, if you’ve overheard anything relating to either of these crimes, please contact us as soon as humanly possible. It remains our priority to get this man off the streets of Manchester, but we’re going to need your help to do that.” Hero gave out the telephone number of the incident room before he opened the floor up to questions. Harjet raised his hand, but Hero intentionally ignored him and pointed to Dave Wheeler, one of the more pleasant journalists he’d had the fortune to work with over the years. “Yes, Mr. Wheeler.”
“I take it there was no forensic evidence left at either of the scenes, Inspector?”
“We’re still carrying out the tests at present. These things take time, especially as there are three different crime scenes to examine. Next?”
Harjet raised his hand again. Hero reluctantly pointed in his direction. “Mr. Harjet?”
“Will there be an extra police presence on this case, Inspector, due to the fallen officers being involved?”
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Harjet—I think the general public would expect it, wouldn’t you? Any individual willing to take down not one, but two, serving police officers, in the line of duty is not to be taken lightly.”
“I agree. So, we’ll expect an influx of officers to be patrolling the Manchester area from now on?”
“You can take that as read, yes. But I don’t want this to be about the regrettable loss the Greater Manchester Police Force has incurred. The main criteria for us at this point is to arrest this person and to make the streets of Manchester safe once more.”
When there didn’t appear to be any further questions, Hero said, “I would like to end this conference by appealing to all the post office mistresses and masters in the Manchester area to remain vigilant until the assailant is caught. You’ll be the first to know when that happens. Thank you all for attending today.” He rose from his seat and left the room. He sighed, glad to be out of the camera’s focus, for the moment.
CHAPTER SIX
Myers watched the evening news, leaning forward in his chair when the DI investigating his cases made his plea. He laughed until tears ran down his face.
“You’ll never catch me, idiot. You haven’t got the brains to outwit me—none of you have.” He refilled his tumbler with malt, downed the contents in one large gulp, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
The map was lying on the table beside him. He picked up his pen, closed his eyes, and prodded the map. Opening his eyes, he held the map up to see the location he’d pointed out. “Didsbury. Hmm… well, now, that’s different. Over the other side of the city works well for me. If nothing else, it’ll keep the coppers on their toes.” He looked through the yellow pages beside him and ran his hand down the list of post offices, settling on the one in West Didsbury. The area was more built up than he was used to, but he was prepared to raise his game. Challenging himself would end up challenging the coppers, too.
“It’s time to start upping the ante, Tiger.” He stroked his loyal, chubby tabby cat under the chin. Tiger purred and closed his eyes, revelling in the adoration his owner always bestowed upon him.
“This one will have to be planned meticulously. I’ll need to stake it out for a day or two, see when their busy times are, that sort of thing. It’s definitely going to be one of the more challenging jobs I’ve contemplated over the years. If I don’t plan it out properly, I’ll fail, and that’s never been a word in my vocabulary. Hey, Tiger, want to come on a job with me? The women would be all over you, then I could rob them blind while they’re distracted.” Laughing, he picked up the heavy cat and snuggled into his fur. “Just kidding, buddy. I’d never put you in danger. Want some food?”
He placed the cat on the floor and stepped into the kitchen. He opened the tin of cat food and spooned it into the cat’s silver dish. “I suppose I better think about feeding myself, too. Better keep my strength up with a big job ahead of me.”
As he prepared his evening meal, he argued with himself while he ran through the plan for robbing the next location. By the time he’d rustled up his steak, chips, peas, and mushrooms, he had his plan firmly thought out and was eager to get started on the surveillance in the morning. “Maybe I’ll go in disguise this time. I’ll definitely need to steal
another car to keep the coppers on their toes. I’ll do that on the way back home tomorrow.”
The following day, he rose at ten, much earlier than usual. After feeding Tiger, he bolted down a bacon sandwich and set off. He scanned the area to see if the coast was clear then began the long journey over to Didsbury. On the way, thinking he’d need to ditch the Laguna, he surveyed the roads for cars he could steal on the return journey. The Laguna had served him well, but it was time to dump it.
He parked at the rear of the post office car park and made notes of the busy times throughout the day. Once the doors closed at five thirty, he headed back home, taking the shortcuts to avoid the rush-hour traffic build-up that was a constant bane of the residents’ lives in the area.
Down one of the quiet streets, he spotted a white Avensis. He drove around the block a few times, found a piece of wasteland a few streets away, and jumped out of the Laguna. He removed a spare shirt and a petrol can from the boot. Taking a lighter out of his jacket pocket, he opened the tank of the Laguna. After twisting the shirt into a tight roll, he inserted it into the tank opening then lit the end. Immediately, he took the petrol can and set off on foot. He managed to get several metres away from the car before it blew up. He doubled back to where the Avensis was waiting and tried the driver’s door, which opened. Not believing his luck, he tampered with the wires, started the car, and drove off. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw a heavily built man shaking his fist and shouting.
“Ha, that’ll teach you to lock your car, sucker.”
After keeping to the back roads, he finally made it home by seven. Upon his arrival, he went directly to the garage, where he stored a set of number plates in one of the cupboards. He drove the car into the garage, replaced the plates, then entered the house. Tiger rubbed himself against Myers’s legs. He swooped the cat into his arms. “Have you missed me, big boy? Time for dinner.”
His cat leapt out of his arms and ran into the kitchen in front of him. Once he’d fed the cat, he smiled at what he’d already achieved that day then laughed at what lay ahead of him the following day. “What are we going to do with all this money, Tiger? I know—I’ll stop off at the pet shop before I hit the post office tomorrow and buy you a treat or two.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A day after the appeal, Hero was disappointed by the response it had garnered. Most of the calls offered only snippets of useless information. His team was in the process of chasing up a couple of calls regarding blue Lagunas, but Hero had a feeling they, too, would turn out to be a waste of time.
At almost ten in the morning, Sally took a call that sparked everyone’s interest. Hero was standing at the vending machine for his coffee fix when she looked over and motioned for him to join her. He perched his backside on Julie’s desk and craned his neck to look at the sheet of paper Sally was writing on.
She ended the call. “This sounds interesting, sir. Someone reported a burnt-out car on a piece of waste ground in Withington.”
“Don’t tell me—it’s a Laguna.”
“It is, sir.”
“Okay, let’s think about this for a second. The appeal went out the night before last. I mentioned the Laguna in that appeal; maybe that spooked him into getting rid of it. Sally, first I need you to check the database and see if any Lagunas were reported missing. Also, if this was the murderer’s car, he’d be on the lookout for another one. Check if any cars were reported missing in that area around the same time.”
“Yes, sir.” Sally tapped at her computer keys and had the answer within seconds. “Here you go, sir—a white Avensis was reported missing a few streets away from the wasteland. Looks like your hunch was right.”
Hero nodded. “Okay, just check that no Lagunas were reported stolen; let’s put that theory to bed first. If not, then I think we might have shaken this fella up a little. I’ll get onto SOCO, make sure they’re aware that this vehicle might be the one we’re looking for. Maybe they’ll find something in the vehicle to lead us to this guy. Anything on the CCTV footage?”
“I think I have something finally, sir. Just taking another look to be sure,” Jason replied excitedly.
Hero walked over to his desk and eyed the monitor over Jason’s shoulder. “Here’s the man coming out of the Kilburns’ post office. I followed the car on the other cameras around that area and have spotted it here on Liverpool Road. After that, I can’t seem to locate it.”
“Good work, Jason. Although, there’s not a lot we can do about tracing the vehicle to an address if it turns out he’s dumped it.”
“What if I continue to monitor the CCTV, take it on a day or so, and look for the Avensis? Maybe I’ll have better luck there.”
Hero patted him on the shoulder. “Great idea, let me know if you find anything.” He went around the rest of the team to see what calls they had taken. There had been two about the Laguna, but when the information on the cars’ owners turned up highlighting a young woman and an older lady, they’d cleared the vehicles of any involvement in the crimes. Hero returned to his office and rang the pathology department.
“Gerrard, it’s Hero. We’ve got reports of a burnt-out Laguna that could be connected to the cases I’m working on at present. Is there any chance you can send a team out to assess and examine the car before it gets towed away?”
“If you give me the location, I’ll get on it right away. I was about to ring you. I have the results from all the PMs. Want me to run through them with you now or send them over via e-mail?”
“Can you give me a brief rundown over the phone?”
“Okay, I have another PM due in ten minutes, so it’ll need to be quick. The thing that strikes me most is that a different weapon was used in each case. With our two police friends, the culprit used a shotgun. On the second post office robbery, he used a smaller weapon—our initial findings are pointing us in the direction of a Smith and Wesson. And at the first post office, he used a knife.”
“So, what you’re really telling me is that this bastard has an arsenal of weapons at his disposal and if we don’t catch the fucker soon, there’s no telling how long the victim list is going to get. Maybe we’re looking at different culprits here.”
“I doubt it, considering the amount of torture involved in each of the crimes. I’m willing to hazard a guess that it’s the same offender. Maybe we’ll find some matching DNA to corroborate that assumption. The wounds found in Millward’s stomach were caused by a six-inch kitchen knife. Whether he brought that with him to the crime scene or took it from the victim’s kitchen, I have no idea. Either way, it wasn’t found at the scene, so bear it in mind when you finally arrest the person and look for evidence.”
“I’ll do that all right. I take it you’ve yet to discover any DNA evidence at either of the scenes?”
“Nothing, this killer is a canny bastard. You’d do well to remember that if you ever catch up with him.”
“You mean when we catch up with him. Is that it?”
“Sorry it wasn’t more. I’ll send the full reports over to you within the next few hours.”
“Thanks, Gerrard. Don’t forget to send a team out to the waste ground at Withington.”
“I’ll organise that as soon as I get off the phone. Have a good weekend—are you doing anything nice?”
“Not really. I’m planning on meeting up with the TA team. Portman was a member, and we’re going to say a private farewell to him.”
“Good luck with that, Hero. Take care.”
“Speak soon, Gerrard.” He ended the call and began penning plans for his weekend meet-up with the TA, wishing they were meeting up under happier circumstances. Still, Cara would be there to help him through it; she always was. He rang his sister and arranged to pick her up the following morning at eight thirty.
Cara was as quiet as Hero during the journey. They arrived at the barracks ten minutes before their duty started. The rest of the team were already there, and the lack of jovial banter in the dorm spoke volumes about how eac
h of them was feeling. Hero bumped fists with each of the men, and one or two of his closer buddies even hugged him.
“Hey, guys, I know we’re all really upset about Chris, but think about it: would he really want us to feel down? He was always the joker around here. Why don’t we make this weekend about celebrating his life, not mourning his death?” Cara said, wrapping her arm around Hero’s waist.
“She’s right, guys. The last thing he’d want is for us to be here with long faces.”
Sergeant Milton entered the room, looking solemn. “Nice of you all to show up this weekend, lads. Sorry that we’re meeting up again under such grave circumstances. Portman was a fine man, one of the best this unit has ever seen. I’ve arranged for the chaplain to come by at lunchtime and say a few words for our fallen colleague. Until then, let’s try and remain busy, occupy our minds. The equipment hangar needs a good clear-out. Are you all up for that?”
The team stood to attention and shouted in unison, “Yes, sir.”
Sergeant Milton nodded, saluted his men, and left the room.
Hero thumbed over his shoulder. “Looks like it’s hit him bad.”
“It’s hit all of us bad, mate,” Smythe said.
Hero nodded. “I know. Just didn’t expect it of the boss, that’s all. He’s always seemed a little distant.”
“Nah, it’s your imagination, mate. He’s sound. Right, we better get down to the hangar before he comes by and really lays into us.”
The team stepped through the doorway to the large hangar, and everyone looked at each other. It was a mess. Sergeant Milton had pulled all the equipment into the centre of the room.
Hero sighed. “Bang goes our cushy weekend mourning our friend.”
Cara nudged him. “This really is how Portman would have wanted it, Hero. Let’s stop whinging and get to work. This lot won’t sort itself out.”
