by M A Comley
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?”
Chapter 2
Hero arrived at work the following morning in a reflective mood. His wife had been so pleased to see him home early the evening before that she had cooked him his favourite meal of fillet steak and chips. They had talked properly about their family and marriage for the first time in ages and then gone to bed and snuggled up in each other’s arms. He hadn’t expected the Hartley case to affect him so much, but it had. He attributed his strange feelings to guilt. The drive home the previous evening had ensured that he thought about his family in
depth. Seeing his marriage through his wife’s eyes for a change had made him realise how badly he had treated Fay and Louie. The Hartley case had taught him a major lesson—to cherish what you have, because you really don’t know when or if the things that matter most to you will be snatched away. Life had no guarantees that everything would be hunky dory most of the time. Life was for living and for sharing with loved ones.
He removed his jacket and placed it on the back of his office chair before he dived headfirst into the sea of post awaiting his attention on his desk.
A few minutes into Hero’s post-tackling session, Julie Shaw knocked on the door. “Morning, boss. What do you want me to do?”
He frowned at her. “Everything all right, Julie? You look pissed off about something.”
She shrugged and glanced out the office window at the high-rise block of flats next door. “It’s Mum. The doc thinks her cancer has come back.” As if saying the words had exhausted her, Julie sank into the chair opposite him.
“Boy, that’s tough. I’m sorry.”
“Hopefully, she’ll get through it again, although this is the third time she’s had it in five years. This time, it’s shifted to the liver, apparently. Never mind, didn’t mean to burden you with it, sir. Do you want me to start making enquiries about this gang?”
“Send your mum my regards. Yes, I’d like you and Foxy to start delving into this gang. Also, can you ask Powell to drop over to McDonald’s to pick up the CCTV footage of the event? I think that’ll give us the evidence we need to bang this gang up.”
“I’ll get on it right away.” Shaw left the room, and again, Hero contemplated how short life was. Shaw’s news had devastated him for the second time in twenty-four hours.
He picked up the phone and rang his own mother. He hadn’t spoken with her in months.
Janet Nelson answered the phone after the third ring. “Hello?” she asked breathlessly.
“Hi, Mum. Have you been overdoing it again, as usual?”
“Hero. How wonderful to hear from you. Is everything all right, dear?”
“It is. I just thought I’d ring to see how you and Dad are. Sorry it’s been so long. The workload around here has been horrendous lately.”
“I understand, sweetie. Fay told me how hard you’ve been working when she rang me last week. I’m surprised you ringing, dear, seeing that your father and I are coming over for dinner at the weekend.”
He cringed; he had no idea. Why hadn’t Fay mentioned it? “I’m looking forward to it, Mum. How’s Dad’s hip since the operation?”
“He’s been running around like a spring lamb. It’s given him a new lease of life, more’s the pity. He’s making me feel my age. I’m finding it a struggle keeping up with him. Don’t tell him that, though.” His mother laughed.
“He’d better be careful that he doesn’t put pressure on the old hip. Has the doc said if they have any plans to replace the other one in the future?”
“Lordy, not that I know of. I’ll be sure to pass on the message to slow down, although I think I’ll be talking to myself. I better go now, love. I was in the middle of making some pastry. I thought I might bring over one of my special apple pies for you. How’s that?”
Saliva filled his dry mouth. His mother’s apple pies had been the talk of the Women’s Institute in her younger days, not that at sixty-two, she could ever be considered as past it. “Sounds fab, Mum. What day are you coming over?”
“Sunday. Don’t tell me Fay didn’t let you know.”
“She did tell me. It just slipped my mind. We’ll see you then. I love you, Mum.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, which was eventually filled by the sound of his mother blowing her nose on a tissue. “That’s nice, love. I love you, too. Take care now.”
The next call Hero made once he’d composed himself again was to the pathologist, Susan.
“Hi, Susan. It’s Hero. Any news for me yet? Have you carried out the post mortem on the Hartleys?”
“Hero, I may be a lot of things, but superwoman I ain’t! I’ll be making a start on the mother in an hour or so. Do you want to attend?”
Hero turned up his lip. “Do you need me to?”
Susan chuckled. “Wuss, if you’d rather give it a miss, I can call you later with my findings.”
“Hey, you, less of the insults. You haven’t seen the pile of crap sitting on my desk that I have to wade through.”
“Hmm…Well it can’t be worse than the pile of crap sitting on my desk.”
Her quick retort made him back-pedal. “Ah, point taken. I’ve seen your pile of crap, and it’s double the size of mine. You win, hands down.”
“I usually do, Hero. I’ll call you later.”
“Always appreciated, Susan. Thanks.”
Hero hung up and set to work on his mail again. After that, he worked through all the calls he had to make for the day.
About an hour later, he walked into the outer office to buy a coffee from the machine. He glanced over at the two women he’d assigned to researching the likely gangs in the area. Sally Foxley—or Foxy, as she was known—was talking with Julie and gesticulating wildly.
“Everything all right over there?” He picked up the steaming polystyrene cup and wandered over to their desks.
“If, I repeat if, this is the same gang we think it is, then we’re in trouble,” Julie said.
“Why’s that?” Hero asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
“We think, and at this stage, it’s only an assumption, that the gang is the Krull Gang.”
Hero frowned. “Why do I recognise that name?”
“They’re trouble with a capital T.”
“Ah, it’s all coming back now. They rule the Brickfields Estate, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s the one, sir,” Foxley said, shaking her head and looking frustrated. “They get away with murder at times. Usually get the lesser gang members to take the rap for them, at least that’s the word on the street.”
If anyone should know about gang activity, Foxley should, because her other half was in the Vice Squad, and very little got past its team. “Any chance you can find out a bit more about them from Frank, Foxy?”
She picked up the phone on her desk. “Yep, right away.”
“Okay, so has Powell returned with the CCTV footage yet?” Hero asked Julie. Before she could answer, the portly sergeant barged through the entrance, with a tape in his hand.
“Is this what you’re looking for, sir?”
Hero and Julie followed Powell over to the TV in the corner. Powell inserted the tape into the machine, and the three of them watched the events unfold in stunned silence.
After the car had driven over Saskia Hartley and her son, one of the gang members got out of the car to check the bodies, then he used spray paint to block out his image on the camera. But it was too late. Julie had recognised Jez Barrett immediately. “He’s definitely a member of the Krull Gang.”
“Okay, get his address. We’ll go and have a word, Sergeant.”
Shaw hesitated for a moment or two before she walked away from Hero and Powell.
“I don’t think you going to see him will prove very fruitful, sir,” Powell stated, wrinkling his nose.
“What do you mean?”
“This gang have people in authority watching their backs. At least, that’s how it looks to me.”
Confused, Hero asked, “Come on, Powell, let’s have it.”
Powell drew in a heavy breath and eased back onto the edge of the desk behind him. “I’d have to check into the details first, but from what I remember, the gang was busted for something major a couple of years back. However, a well-paid brief managed to get them off. This estate they run has been earmarked as a no-go area by the police.”
“You’re bloody joking, right?”
“No, sir. Most of the gang have anti-social behaviour orders against them. Every time they’re hauled up in front of a judge, they’re handed down a community se
ntence instead of a prison term. What kind of deterrent is that?”
“Well it’s not, is it? And you believe it’s because this gang has friends high up. Is that what you’re implying, Powell?”
The balding sergeant nodded. “Yep, sums it up nicely, sir. All we have to do is find a way of catching these guys out. I can’t see any point going in there all guns blazing and hauling Barrett in for questioning.”
“What? So you’re telling me that you think this gang should get away with this heinous crime? Are you insane, man?”
“No, sir.” Powell hoisted his large frame off the desk and threw his arms out to the side. “But I assure you, there will be little you can do to bring this gang in.” He turned and made his way back to his own desk.
The past half an hour had made Hero wonder if he’d been out of the loop for the past several months. He knew he’d been distracted by his heavy workload and things at home, but thinking that his staff apparently knew more than he did about this gang and their activities bothered him. He feared if word got back to the superintendent, his job would be on the line.
He decided to rejoin Shaw and Foxley to go over the gang’s records. The list of offences turned out to be longer than the Nile, which left Hero scratching his head. What the fuck? How is this gang able to get away with this? Discouraged, he tapped Shaw on the shoulder. “Come on, get your coat. We’re going to take a ride out there.” He could tell by Shaw’s face that she wasn’t happy about his plan. After they’d made their way to the door, he asked her, “Are you all right with this, or would you rather I take Powell with me?”
Shaw thrust her shoulders back and puffed out her chest. “Nope, I’m fine, sir. Let’s get it over with.”
They drove to the Brickfields Estate on the other side of town, just on the outskirts of Salford, Manchester, where only a year or two before, the boarded-up houses were selling for just under £10,000 each. For mid-morning, the streets appeared to be reasonably quiet. Admittedly, the kids would have been at school on a Friday. Or would they? “Have the kids broken up for the summer holidays yet?”
