by M A Comley
Saskia’s eyes flew open at the sound of his shaking voice just as another youth joined them and punched her son in the mouth. “No! No more. Take what you want from me, but leave my son alone.” Why in God’s name isn’t someone coming to help us?
The group laughed again, and the youth who’d been torturing her came around in front of her and leaned down to snarl in her face. “Oh, don’t worry, bitch. I intend to take what I want from you. I don’t neeeeeed your permission. Got that?”
Saskia nodded and sent another silent plea for her son to keep his emotions in check.
The man behind the counter shouted, “Leave them alone, or I’ll call the police.”
The thug standing in front of her slowly straightened up and glanced over at the counter, then motioned with his head to one of the other gang members. Saskia heard feet running, shouting, and a couple of girls scream behind her. The youth returned and high-fived the boy who appeared to be the gang’s leader. The leader addressed the onlooking crowd of patrons and staff. “If anyone else has any bright ideas like that fucking one, they’ll be dealt with in the same way. Got it?”
Saskia could hear a man groaning in pain, and she swallowed the acid burning her throat as the youth turned his attention her way once more. “If you want to keep your pretty face intact, sweetheart, you better come with me nicely.”
“Where? Where are you taking me?” Saskia pleaded. Laurence began sobbing loudly again, and she shook her head at him as tears continued to flow down her cheeks.
The leader didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of her chair, then pushed her through the restaurant. All she could think about was getting out of this situation alive. She would do anything she had to in order for that to happen. Her son’s screams followed her as the thug opened the door to the restaurant that led out to the toilets at the rear, where he thrust her in front of him, bent her over the sink, and searched under her skirt for her knickers. He ripped them in two and cast them aside. Saskia clenched her eyes shut as she heard the zipper on his jeans being pulled down. She felt a stabbing pain in her crotch. The youth pounded her from behind, hard and fast, so hard that her head hit the splashback and cracked the tiles behind the sink.
Much to Saskia’s relief, his thrusting didn’t last long before he emptied his load and collapsed against the wall. Fearful of his retribution if she moved, Saskia remained still, until he ordered her to move. Tears of shame escaped her eyes as she wondered how she could ever tell Rupert what had happened to her. Dread filled her when she realised there was little chance of Laurence keeping such awful events from his father. She had a feeling that the drive home would be spent searching for the right words to tell her husband about their ordeal. What her husband thought mattered more to her than ringing the police. In Russia, the police did little to combat gangs who raped women.
Will I ever be able to let Rupert near me again after today? The answer was yes. In her teens, she’d been through a similar ordeal back in her homeland, and it had taken her years to recover from the mental anguish, but recover she had. She would need time, but she knew deep down that she would be able to mend again.
“You’ve got a good figure for a Russian whore. I’ll give you that,” the youth said, breaking into her ruminations.
Saskia started to tremble as she watched his feet move towards her again. He roughly gripped her arm and swung her around to face him. Before she could turn her head away, his mouth captured hers in a violent kiss. She gagged and felt the bile rise in her throat, but she swallowed the burning liquid in spite of the urge to cover her attacker with it.
He bit into her lower lip, and an iron taste seeped into her mouth before he pulled away from her. “Good. I like my chicks to be compliant.”
Saskia bit back the sarcastic comment lingering on her tongue. She was surprised he would know the meaning of the word “compliant.”
He turned and walked out of the toilet. His action left her confused about whether he expected her to stay there, so that the others could come in and have their way with her, or if he expected her to follow him back to her terrified son in the restaurant. The thought of her son still in the clutches of the other thugs made her run to the door and open it. The leader was standing there with his arms crossed, waiting for her. “You took your time. Get back to your son, bitch. I’m done with you.”
Saskia rushed through the door and into the restaurant to see her son being pushed around between the youths. “Stop it, please.”
They laughed, and the ginger one thrust her son at her. She caught him and wrapped her arms around him.
The leader of the gang snapped his fingers, and the other gang members followed him out of the building. Saskia crouched and looked up at her son. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
Still sobbing on a harsh breath, he said, “I think so, Mummy. Are you?”
“Yes, darling. Come on, we should go now.”
She stood up and took him by the hand. However, Laurence dug his heels in firmly. “But… they’ll still be out there. Can’t we wait until they leave?”
He was right. They went back to their table to collect her handbag and to finish their drinks. Laurence tapped her hand and pointed out the window. “They’re leaving.”
Saskia stood and pulled him to his feet. “And so are we. Night will be setting in soon. We need to get back on the road. Your father will be home soon.”
She gave each of the staring people in the room a long, hard stare in return and mumbled under her breath, “Thanks for your help.” A few of the men had the decency to look away in shame.
Saskia didn’t care because she had done what was necessary to save herself and her son. They left the restaurant and crossed the car park to the Range Rover. Before they could reach the safety of their vehicle, a screech of tyres filled the air. Saskia threw protective arms around her son and turned to face the oncoming car. She had no time to react or shove her son out of the way. The car hit them at full speed. The last thing she heard was the tyres squealing again and the whine of the engine as it reversed.
Chapter 1
“Here we go again. Looks like another hit-and-run accident,” said Hero Nelson of the Manchester Murder Investigation Team.
In the passenger seat, his partner for the past two years, Julie Shaw, was fiddling with her new iPhone. The darn thing had been annoying the hell out of him for almost half an hour while Julie was busy going through the different ring tones, trying to pick a suitable one. Every time he thought she had settled on one, she disappointed him by picking up the phone again, only to begin going through the darn tunes for the hundredth time. Hero, or Patch to his friends, was generally known to be a patient man—until he was pushed. And he was being pushed to the limits.
“Are you listening to me, DS Shaw?”
“Er… sorry. I was busy playing,” Julie mumbled, tucking her phone away into her jacket pocket.
“You know how much those things annoy me. Trying to get in my bad books again, are you?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his partner’s head moving from side to side as she mimicked him. He smiled to himself. He loved winding her up; it was the only thing that made his day bearable most of the time. Being part of MIT was not for the faint-hearted. The main criteria for such a role were having a good sense of humour and having a very strong stomach. Sometimes Hero wondered if he had either of them.
Is it just me, or are criminals pushing the boundaries to make the crimes more gruesome?
“No change there then. Seems to me, I’m always in your bad books lately.”
“Really? I thought we were getting over that argument we had about your tosser of a boyfriend.”
Shaw exhaled loudly. “There you go again. He’s not a tosser, sir. Can we agree to differ on that point, at least?”
Hero shrugged and then got back to business. It suited him not to waste his time talking about Shaw’s boyfriend, Rob Bryce, anyway. “I said, while you were playing with your new toy, tha
t it looks like yet another hit-and-run accident we’re attending. By my reckoning, this’ll be the third one in the last two weeks.”
“Do you think there’s a connection?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but it might be worth taking a look. Get on to it when we get back to the station, okay?”
“Okay.”
They pulled into the McDonald’s car park, which was a hive of activity. Numerous police vehicles and two ambulances were parked near a cordoned-off area. The two detectives left their car and walked across the car park to the scene. A uniformed officer lifted the tape for Shaw and promptly dropped it when Hero ducked to go under it. Shaw sniggered.
Tosser alert! I’ll get my own back on you, Bryce. No one takes me for a fool. Hero lifted the tape and glared at the officer when he walked past him, but he resisted the temptation to jab him in the stomach. He would wait for his chance to get payback.
Past the yellow tape, Pathologist Susan Rendell was bent over a woman’s corpse. She looked up briefly to acknowledge their arrival.
“Evening, Susan. Are we looking at another hit-and-run?” Hero asked, although he had a suspicion Susan would say it wasn’t.
“Not this time, Patch. This was deliberate.” She pointed at a man sitting on the steps at the rear of one of the ambulances. “You need to speak to that young man. He took a beating inside the building before the woman and boy came out.”
“Great. It should be an open-and-shut case if we have a crucial witness to help us.” Hero turned and started in the direction of the ambulance, but he stopped when Susan mumbled something.
“I doubt that.”
Shaw joined him. She withdrew her notebook and pen, ready to take notes.
Hero showed his warrant card and introduced himself and Shaw to the young man being attended to by the paramedics. “Mr…?”
“Stock. Phil Stock,” the victim filled in.
“Mr. Stock, can you tell us exactly what happened here?”
“They were fucking psychos, the lot of them.”
Hero frowned. “They?” He glanced questioningly at Shaw.
She kept her eyes focused on the pad she was holding.
Stock continued, “Four of them followed the boy and woman in. I was the only one to speak out against them. Wish I hadn’t bothered now. You can see the result.”
Hero winced at the puffiness around both the man’s eyes. “Did you know either the victims or the attackers, ‘the gang,’ if you like?”
The man stared at the ground off to his left.
“Mr. Stock?”
“I’ve only worked here four months. Not seen the woman before or the boy, for that matter, but the gang, yes. They’re kind of notorious around here.”
“Interesting. What are their names?” Hero queried.
Stock vehemently shook his head. “Hey, man, I ain’t that stupid. I got this bashing just from telling them to leave the kid and woman alone. Imagine what they’d do to me if they thought I’d grassed them up.”
This wasn’t new for Hero, especially where gangs were concerned. His frustration began to bubble under the surface. “So, this gang will be in our system, yes?”
“Yep, they aren’t afraid of no one. They rule the…”
“Go on,” Hero urged.
“Nah, I’ve said enough already. I value my life.”
“Fair enough. So they are notorious in this area or one close by?”
“About a fifty-mile radius, I’d say.” Stock winced as the paramedics treated the wound above his right eye with a cream.
Hero handed Stock a card. “Call me if you change your mind. If this gang are as bad as you’re making them out to be, surely it would be better to get them off the streets right away.”
“Hey, don’t listen to me. See the evidence for yourself, man. If a gang can do that in broad daylight, I dread to think what they’re getting up to on the streets at night. Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
Hero and Shaw made their way back to where the pathologist was checking over the bodies. Hero asked, “Do we have any ID yet?”
Susan nodded. “According to the young man you’ve just been speaking to, they got out of that vehicle. I told one of the uniformed officers to run the registration for me. He came back with Mrs. Saskia Hartley, who lives—sorry lived—in Alderley Edge, Cheshire.”
“Thanks. We’ll sort out the address and drop by to deliver the news. Are you going to be long here?”
“Just about ready to pack up. The boy is an easier case than the woman, presumably his mother. She has other injuries connected to another crime. I’d like to exam her in more detail before I comment further. If that’s all right?” She stood, picking up her black medical bag, and headed for her car.
Hero followed her. He opened the door to her Lexus and rested his forearm on the top of it. “Care to enlighten me?”
Susan shook her head.
He held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger apart a little. “Just a tiny hint?”
Susan smiled and tugged the door out from under him, then closed it. Hero turned away and wrinkled his nose at his partner. “Same old Susan, won’t say a bloody word unless she’s a hundred percent certain of something.”
“The paramedics have just loaded up the bodies to take to the mortuary. Stock has refused to go to hospital to get his wounds seen to. What do you want to do next?” Julie asked as they walked back to their vehicle and got in.
“We’ll contact the station for the woman’s actual address and call around to see the husband. Did you have any plans for this evening?”
“Not really. Rob’s on duty, so I’d only be sitting at home watching TV,” Julie said, sounding pissed off.
“Good. It could be a late night. I’ll probably get another earbashing from Fay, but needs must, eh?”
“You mean Fay’s not used to you turning up past midnight after every shift yet?”
Ordinarily, Hero wouldn’t be put out by his partner’s sarcasm, but this evening, her comment narked him just a little. If he wasn’t on a late shift, Hero usually frequented the pub after work every night for some downtime, which didn’t sit well with his wife. He gave her the excuse that he liked to give her time with her four-year-old son, Louie, whom she’d had with her previous, abusive partner. What really kept him away from home was the fact that he’d found married life—more to the point, family life—all too demanding. He had two other human beings to look after, which was a scenario he realised took a whole lot of getting used to. ‘Give it time,’ his friends had told him. Really? How long? I should be used to married life after two years, shouldn’t I? Of course, he loved Fay to bits, but he was suffocating, and it bothered the hell out of him.
After Julie had obtained the necessary address from dispatch, they carried out the rest of the three-quarter-of-an-hour journey in silence.
Hero let out a high-pitched whistle when they arrived at the location. He’d heard the area attracted most of the wealthy footballers playing at the surrounding premiership clubs, but this house was unbelievably grand. “Some house.”
“Er… that’s not a house. That’s a bloody palace. It would put Buckingham Palace to shame,” Julie replied, equally in awe of the house’s grandeur.
“What’s the bloke’s name again?”
“Rupert Hartley. Do you think he’s gentry?”
“It seems that way to me. Hmm… now that would be interesting, if it’s true.”
Julie exhaled loudly. “You’re talking in riddles again. Why don’t you just come out and say what’s on your mind.”
Hero glanced at her and grinned. “What fun would that be? Oh, and that would be ‘sir’ on the end of your complaint, if you don’t mind, Sergeant.”
Julie answered him by getting out of the car. “Whatever,” she said, apparently thinking she was out of earshot.
Hero shut his door and walked around the front of the vehicle. “Whatever. That bloody word gets on my nerves. I think you need to extend your voca
bulary a little, young lady.”
“Whatever,” Julie mumbled again, much to his annoyance.
Before they could knock on the enormous front door, it creaked open. Standing in the doorway was a butler dressed in a penguin suit. “Good evening. May I help you?”
Hero produced his warrant card for the butler. “DCI Nelson and DS Shaw. Is Mr. Hartley at home?”
“Come in. I’ll just check to see if he’s up to receiving guests.”
“We have some news for him. He’ll want to see us,” Hero insisted firmly.
“Very well. If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll go and tell him that you’re here.”
The butler walked swiftly up the immense hallway, his footsteps echoing until he finally disappeared. Not long after, he retraced his steps. Another man followed him part of the way before dipping into a room off to the left. The butler smiled, stopped about ten feet from Hero and Julie, and turned on his heel. “Come with me, please. Mr. Hartley will see you in the library.”
After following the butler halfway up the hallway, he stepped into a vast room that was as high as it was wide and decorated floor to ceiling with leather-bound books in various colours.
“Mr. Hartley, Detectives Shaw and Nelson.” The butler exited the room and closed the door softly behind him.
“Detectives. What do I owe the pleasure?” Rupert Hartley was standing next to an old, worn reading chair—the only chair in the room.
“I think you might need to sit down, sir,” Hero said quietly, with compassion.
Puzzled, the man, whom Hero guessed was in his late thirties, sank his five-foot-eight frame into the chair. He positioned himself on the edge of the seat and waited for Hero to speak again.
Hero cleared the thickness that had settled in his throat. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Hartley, but I have reason to believe that your wife and son were involved in an accident earlier this evening.”
Rupert shot out of his chair, his hand ran through his thinning grey hair, and he stared at the detectives in disbelief. “My God, are they all right?” he finally asked.