by M A Comley
“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 4
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.”
“That ain’t going to be easy, sir, if what happened to your car is anything to go by, and there has been a police no-go placed on the estate for a while now.” Julie’s gaze was still on Rupert, who stood alone at the church entrance.
“There has to be ways around that, Sergeant. If other teams haven’t tried, then I want our team to be the first to try and succeed.”
“I’m not with you, sir.” Julie turned and frowned at him.
“I’m talking an undercover operation if we have to. We’ll chat later, back at the station. Right now, we need to support Rupert in his hour of need.”
The detectives left their vehicle and followed the small crowd walking up the pathway to the church. As Rupert shook the hand of each person who arrived, his smile remained absent from his strained face.
Hero listened to Rupert’s conversation with a tall man who was about the same age as Hartley.
“How are you holding up, mate?”
“I’ve been better. Have you managed to find anything out yet?” Rupert asked under his breath.
The other man nodded
and mumbled, “We’ll talk later. Okay?”
Hero saw a spark light up in Rupert’s eyes as the man left him and walked into the church. He shook hands with the grieving husband, who took the time to smile and hold Julie’s hand longer than was necessary. After entering the church, Hero made a beeline for the man whom Rupert had just spoken to. He held out his hand and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Hero Nelson, and you are?”
The man frowned. “Er… Dave Wheeler. Should I know you, Mr. Nelson?”
Hero sat in the pew next to Wheeler. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard what Rupert said to you back there. Mind if I ask what he was referring to?”
“Why?” the man asked abruptly. His shoulders straightened as he sat back.
Hero reached into his jacket pocket and produced his warrant card. He held it up so Wheeler could see. “I forgot to add that I’m DI Hero Nelson.”
“I see. And I forgot to ask when you first introduced yourself, has your mother got a sense of humour?” Wheeler smiled, and it was Hero’s turn to frown.
“I’m not with you.”
“Naming you Hero, I guess she must have.”
Hero stiffened in his seat. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a romantic. That’s why most of my friends call me Patch.” Wheeler raised an eyebrow, and Hero added, “Don’t ask.”
The gibe appeared to have broken the ice between them. Hero tried again. “So… what was that all about?”
Wheeler’s gaze drifted from Hero to Julie as she sat down in the pew beside Hero and leaned in to listen. “Are you the detectives investigating Rupert’s wife’s case?”
“We are.”
Wheeler looked behind Hero at the entrance to the church. “He’s asked me to do some digging for him.”
“Digging? In what respect?”
“I’m an investigative journalist.”
“Now, hold on a minute. I can see where this is leading.” Hero’s gut started to twitch and irritate him.
Wheeler shrugged. “He’s a mate. His family was everything to him. I know your lot are probably doing your best, but if a mate asks, then I have to help them.”
“You’re right. We are doing our best. Can I ask what you’ve found out?”
Wheeler’s mouth turned down at the sides before he answered. “Three words. The Krull Gang.”
“Yes, three dangerous words. And can I ask what you intend telling Mr. Hartley about this gang?”
“That they’re notorious hard nuts. That they’re the worst gang Manchester has ever encountered. What else should I tell him? That the police are scared of them?”
“Fair comment, although ‘scared’ isn’t really a term I would use. ‘Wary’ would be more accurate.”
Julie snorted, and Hero swiftly turned to look at her. His eyes widened, warning her to keep quiet.
Wheeler jumped in. “Have you got something to add?”
Under Hero’s continued glare, Julie shook her head. “No, not really. We’re doing our best, Mr. Wheeler.”
“Hmm… I doubt that’s the case. Murder is murder, no matter if a gang rules its territory or not. They should be brought to justice by the proper authorities. If not…”
Hero cocked his head. “If not? Please continue, Mr. Wheeler.”
“I was going to say, if the police don’t want to or can’t deal with the gang, it could lead to something else.”
“Now wait just a minute—” Hero began before the church organ started up.
Wheeler sat back and whispered, “It’s not that difficult to work out, Nelson.”
Julie nudged Hero as the pallbearers passed by their pew. He knew that any further conversation with the journalist would need to wait until the service had ended.
The two coffins were placed on the waiting trestles situated on the altar, and the ten pallbearers drifted away to take their seats. The vicar spoke proudly of Saskia and Laurence’s contribution to their commune and how their church had benefitted from Saskia’s extensive charity work over the years. Then it was Rupert’s turn to say farewell to his family. He left his seat at the front of the church and made his way slowly past the coffins up to the altar. His hands trembled as he withdrew a piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket and placed it on the stand in front of him.
He began reading from the sheet, his voice low and choked when he spoke of his only son, Laurence. The church was silent, apart from the odd snuffle from the female members of the congregation. Rupert’s words about his departed wife were fuelled by anger. He talked about his love for the woman he had plucked from obscurity in Russia, whose parents had disowned her for leaving their cherished country. This woman had become his best friend and had spent her days thinking constantly about doing what was best for both him and their son. His eyes welled up with tears. He paused to wipe them away with the sleeve of his jacket, then surprised his captive audience by going on the attack.
Hero cringed at the intensity of Rupert’s words, but he completely understood where the man’s anger and anguish was coming from. However, Rupert’s final words rocked him the hardest.
Hartley’s gaze rose up to the church’s vaulted roof, and he clenched his fist. “Saskia, my love. Your death will be avenged. You and Laurence died a horrendous death that no person on this earth should have been forced to suffer. I’ll see to it that the culprits are brought to justice.”
Murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. Julie nudged Hero in the ribs again and whispered, “Do you think he and Wheeler are going to join forces?”
“I have no idea. It does sound as though something is going to kick off, though. I think we need to have a quiet word with both of them after the service, don’t you?”
Julie nodded. With his threat voiced and out in the open, Hartley returned to his seat, touching the two coffins with his fingertips as he passed.
The organ music began playing again, and the pallbearers raised the coffins and carried them up the aisle, to the hearses waiting outside. The cars appeared to crawl around the churchyard to an area at the rear with waist-high wrought-iron railings around it. The congregation followed the vehicles to the family plot. The vicar continued his service, and the coffins were laid to rest next to one another.
Ten minutes later, the crowd dispersed, and the two detectives wandered over to Rupert, who was chatting with Dave Wheeler.
“Mind if we interrupt? Only we have to get back to the station.” Hero gave both men a brief smile.
“Sure.” Rupert turned to shake hands with Julie first, then Hero. “I wanted to thank you again, Sergeant, for all your help. I’ll be eternally grateful to you for your kindness.”
The colour rose in Julie’s cheeks. “It was all part of the job, Rupert.”
Hero cleared his throat, then he tackled the subject that was worrying him. “About what you said in your speech, Rupert, I hope I didn’t misunderstand the implication behind your angry words.”
“I’m not sure, Inspector. It depends what you read into my angry words,” Rupert replied.
Hero took umbrage at the way Hartley was talking to him, and he bit back. “One word, Rupert. Revenge. I believe that was what you were referring to. Am I right?” Hartley shrugged nonchalantly. “Revenge! Not entirely sure what you’re getting at there, Inspector. I thought bringing the gang to justice was a matter for the police.”
“It is, Mr. Hartley. I promise you that we are doing our best to do just that. I’d also advise you and Mr. Wheeler that any ‘outside influence’, shall we call it? Would be damaging and downright ludicrous. This gang—”
Hartley cut him off, “Oh right, so you do know who’s responsible for the death of my family then. Tell me, Inspector, why haven’t you arrested them yet?”
“It’s not as simple as that, Mr. Hartley. We need proof—hard factual evidence—before we can make an arrest.” Although he knew that the CCTV footage would be more than enough to bring in the gang, Hero was just trying to buy some time with Hartley to get his own plans in order for bringing down the gang.<
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Rupert only smiled in response, but it was a false smile. He could also tell that both Hartley and Wheeler would be continuing their conversation after he and Shaw left.
Feeling defeated, which didn’t sit well with him, Hero said goodbye to the men and returned to the car with Shaw. Hero sat in the passenger’s seat and slapped the dashboard. “I’m not liking this, Julie. Not one bit.”
Chapter 5
They were in the kiddies play area of the estate, where they did most of their planning.
“Why are you so fucking late?” Crabbie asked Johnson, the newest gang member. “Think before you give me any shit, man.”
“It’s only two minutes, Crabbie. Give me a break.”
He wasn’t in the mood for any backchat, so he gave the signal to the two other gang members present, and they pounced on Johnson. Each holding an arm, they held him while Crabbie punched him in the guts five or six times. “If you want a break, fuck off back to the other gang. Either respect me, or take a hike. You got that?”
Johnson coughed and groaned. Winded, he couldn’t talk properly, so to reinforce his point Crabbie laid into him again. Johnson mumbled an apology, and the leader backed off.
Johnson reached in his backpack, pulled out a can of lager and opened it. Under Crabbie’s watchful gaze, he downed the can in one gulp.
“Now, why were you late?”
Johnson drew in a breath and winced. “My old dear was on about the funeral of those two we run over last week.”
“Yeah, and…?”
Johnson smirked. “Well, I thought it would be a good idea to go down there and cause havoc.”
“Yeah, and I say you’ve got shit for brains, arsehole. We’re already on the cops’ radar thanks to Barrett not covering his face when he put the camera out of business. Sometimes I wonder if you guys have two brain cells between ya.”
