Hero series Box Set

by M A Comley

  Johnson sat down on the bench next to him. “All right, Crabbie. I just thought it’d be a blast to go down there. That’s all.”

  He kicked Johnson’s foot. “That’s exactly why all the thinking comes from here.” He tapped his own head and then poked Johnson hard in the temple. “And not here. Right, who’s up for some ag today? I thought we’d go over to the Rickman Estate and see what’s happening over there.”

  His brother, Stuart, nodded enthusiastically, and the other gang members followed suit. Crabbie grinned smugly and walked towards the car. He heard the others step into line behind him. His stomach churned with excitement at the thought of the aggro ahead. Nothing like a bit of danger to start one’s day. His brother revved up the Subaru they had stolen the previous night, and the four of them got in. The other estate was about a fifteen-minute drive from their own hangout. Stuart turned up the volume full blast, and the sub woofers in the back made the car vibrate hard. The heavy metal noise of Saxon filled the vehicle and continued until they reached their destination.

  “Leave the music on, Stu. Let’s make sure we get their attention from the start.” Crabbie pushed open the door and stepped out onto the pavement. The others followed him. The four of them surveyed the area with menacing glances. Anyone seeing them would have known instantly that they meant business.

  “Looks like a ghost town, don’t it?” Crabbie took a few strides up the deserted street towards the high-rise flats at the end.

  Because he was slightly shorter than his brother, Stuart’s pace was quicker than Crabbie’s. “What ya gonna do, bro?”

  “Watch and learn, little brother. Watch and learn.”

  Crabbie heard Barrett and Johnson snigger behind him. They knew what was about to happen, even if his dim brother didn’t. He glanced over his shoulder and issued Barrett with a taut smile when he saw what he was holding in his right hand.

  He heard running in the distance and knew that the lookout had gone off to warn the leader of the opposing gang of their arrival.

  “I hope you’re ready for this, boys?” Crabbie asked. The familiar sensation started to churn up his insides, and his anticipation grew the farther they moved in to the estate. His eyes constantly scanning his surroundings, he was on the lookout for the slightest movement.

  A voice rumbled down the alley in front of them, “What the fuck do you want, shithead?”

  Recognising the unmistakable voice, Crabbie smirked. His one-word reply made the rest of his gang laugh. “You!”

  Crabbie’s stomach twisted in knots, not with fear, but exhilaration when the opposing gang—all ten of them—came into view. He heard a few gulps from the boys behind and sent a warning glare over his shoulder. “Get your weapons out. Let’s show them we mean business, boys.”

  The sound of flick knives filled the air. Crabbie pulled a knuckleduster from one of his bomber jacket pockets and a six-inch kitchen knife from the other. That’s all he needed to prove his point that they could outmatch any gang north of Watford—and south, for that matter.

  The other gang members halted twenty feet ahead of them and spread out in a line. “Look, boys. We’re outnumbered two and a half to one.” He pointed at the runt on the end of the line and added, “He’s the half.”

  Insulted, the guy ran at him, but Crabbie stood his ground. As the short guy got nearer, screaming like a whistling kettle, he slashed him across the side of the head with his knife. Blood poured from the wound. Crabbie motioned with his head for the rest of his gang to pounce on the man. Johnson and Stuart held the panicked guy by each arm while Barrett held up the canister he’d brought and poured its contents over the guy’s head. Crabbie glanced up to see the fear resonating in the eyes of each of the other gang members as they observed their companion’s fate.

  With one eye still on the opposing gang, Crabbie stepped up to the guy and punched him in the mouth. “You shouldn’t have done that, little boy. Now you’ll have to pay the consequences.”

  “Yeah, like Trev is going to let you get away with hurting me! Do your worst, fuckhead!”

  Crabbie pointed at the leader of the gang, tilted back his head, and laughed. “What, that Trev there? The one who looks as though he’s crapping himself at the moment? Let’s see how fast they come to your rescue, shall we?”

  He took a box of matches from his pocket and struck one. The guy’s eyes widened in fear. He appeared hypnotised by the tiny flame. Crabbie signalled to the two men holding the man to release him. Johnson and Stuart let go of his arms and backed up a few feet. Before the tiny flame extinguished, Crabbie flicked it at the guy. It spun through the air in slow motion and struck him in the chest. He was immediately engulfed in flames, resembling a human Olympic torch. Screaming, he dropped to his knees as the skin started to peel away from his face. He rolled around of the pavement, trying to put out the flames lashing at his body, but it was no good. Within seconds, his movements ceased as the flames ate through his flesh and boiled his blood.

  Crabbie looked up at the shocked leader of the other gang. Their gazes met, and hatred electrified the air between them. Crabbie laughed and watched as the defeated gang drifted back down the alley. He turned back to his own gang members, who were all staring down at the dead man. “Don’t you lot go soft on me now. Laugh and show that you ain’t bothered, or I’ll dish out some punishment when we get back to our place. You hear me?”

  The three men laughed, giving him his answer, but they all appeared to be shell-shocked.

  Crabbie flung an arm around his brother’s neck then rubbed the knuckles of his clenched fist against his head. “Come on, boys, let’s get back to base for a conflab.”

  Chapter 6

  Hero and Julie stopped off at the pub near the station for a quick bite to eat before returning to work for the afternoon shift. After studying the menu on the blackboard, Hero ordered a roast beef sandwich, while Julie chose a cheese-and-pickle roll.

  “So, now Rob’s thinking of joining the TA. He’s been banging on about it all weekend. The Territorial Army pamphlets were still scattered over the coffee table when I left for work this morning. I tried to tidy them away yesterday, and he almost ripped my head off,” Julie said. She took a bite of her roll and opened her bag of cheese-and-onion crisps.

  Damn! That’s all I bloody need. Bryce is such a wanker. He tried to appear as though the news didn’t bother him. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know?”

  Julie picked up her glass of orange juice and frowned. “Really? You’re always banging on about how great it is.”

  Yeah, me and my bloody big mouth, and I bet you went running home to tell him. Now that screwed-up boyfriend of yours wants to join me on the weekends playing soldiers! Holy crap! Hero pushed his half-eaten sandwich to the middle of the table, having suddenly lost his appetite. “Not being funny or anything, but the TA is bloody hard work, mentally and physically, is Rob up to that?”

  Julie turned sharply to look at him, her lips pulled into a thin line in annoyance. “What are you saying, sir, that Rob’s a wuss?”

  If the cap fits, love. “Not at all, Julie. I’m just telling it how it is. You know, some people join up just because they want to play with guns. The TA isn’t about that.” He smiled awkwardly at his partner.

  “Christ, I think he knows that, sir. We’ve got all the leaflets, remember? Look, if Rob has his heart set on something, then he’ll go for it. Nothing stands in his way when he’s determined about something. Anyway…” She paused to grin at him. “It’ll get him out of my hair at the weekends.”

  “Yeah, out of your hair and into mine.” Hero grinned back, trying to give her the impression that he was sharing a joke with her, when the opposite was true.

  Before taking another bite of her roll, she said, “I can see you two becoming real pals.”

  Funny that. I bloody can’t. He didn’t say anything further on the subject, but his thoughts continued to turn over. He really didn’t want a wanker like Bryce spoiling his wee
kends. His kind thought of the TA as a place where they could practice what they had learned down at one of those paint-balling circuits. He’d also seen a number of frustrated coppers join the TA just so they could wave around a gun. There was much more to the volunteer army than that. Hero was in the Regional unit because of his demanding job, but if he didn’t have a family to consider, he would’ve jumped at the chance to sign up to the National unit. Friends of his had travelled the world with the TA, volunteered to fight alongside the “proper army” soldiers, or helped out after natural disasters such as tsunamis and earthquakes. Hero couldn’t see the likes of Bryce doing anything worthwhile like that. Maybe he was doing him a disservice, but his gut didn’t think so.

  When he and Julie had both finished their lunches, they went back to the station.

  Walking into the incident room, Hero could tell something major was afoot. “What’s going on, Foxy?”

  “We’ve just had news of a suicide on one of the estates, sir.”

  “And why should that concern the team?”

  “The attending constable didn’t think it was any ordinary suicide, sir.”

  “In what way?” Hero asked.

  “The guy poured petrol on himself out in the open,” Foxy told him, screwing up her nose.

  “In the open? On waste ground?”

  “No, sir. It was in the middle of the street.”

  “What am I missing here, Foxy?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, sir. Something just doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Hero tutted at her unwillingness to confide what she was thinking, and he decided that it would be best if they spoke alone. “All right, in my office.”

  Foxy followed him into his office and gently closed the door behind her.

  “Come on, Sally. This isn’t like you. If you have something to say, just say it.”

  “Well, I did a little checking into the area. Something at the back of my mind told me I recognised the name of the estate.”

  He interrupted her, “It’s not Brickfields, is it?”

  “No, sir. Although it is renowned for being the same as Brickfields, it’s another gang-ruled estate.”

  “I see, I think. Go on.”

  “I’m wondering if it’s more a gang-related crime—a murder, if you will—rather than a suicide.” Foxy drew a circle on the floor with her foot.

  “I see. Let’s see what the pathologist has to say about the death before we head off in that direction, shall we? But I do understand where you’re coming from. It’s not every day someone tips petrol over themselves, and most suicides take place inside the home, in my experience. Thanks, see if there was any CCTV cameras in the area, will you?”

  “I’m already on it, sir. There aren’t any in the immediate vicinity. I’ve enlarged the area, and I’m searching the roads nearby. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Good job, Sergeant. Send Shaw in on your way out.”

  A few seconds after Foxy left, Shaw knocked on the door before she pushed it open. “Sir?”

  “We’ll head out in five minutes. You’re driving.”

  “Yes, sir. I just need to make a call, and I’ll be with you.”

  The rain was coming down in torrents by the time Hero and Shaw arrived at the scene. Shaw ran to the boot of the car to fetch her umbrella. She offered shelter to Hero, but he refused it. Instead, he pulled up the collar on his jacket and ran inside the marquee the scenes of crimes crew had erected over the body.

  “Hello, Susan. Have you been here long?”

  “About twenty minutes, Patch. Had to wait for the tent to be put up before I could come near the body,” the disgruntled pathologist said.

  Hero couldn’t resist his next statement. “I bet the rain helped to put out the fire. Saved you a job!”

  Susan shot him a look, letting him know that she hadn’t found the stupid comment amusing in the slightest.

  Hero felt suitably reprimanded. “What do we have?”

  “Possible suicide. That’s what I’m saying initially.”

  “That’s officially. What about unofficially, Susan?”

  She turned to face him and gave him an expression that told him he should’ve known better than to ask her that at the scene. “I’ll let you know later when I’ve carried out a thorough examination as usual.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve found any ID on him or her.” He surveyed the crisp remains at his feet and tried to work out if the clothes belonged to a male or female. He couldn’t tell because the fabric had melted in parts and shredded in others.

  “Nothing yet, no. I think we’re looking at a male victim, though.” Susan’s gaze roamed the length of the charred corpse and stopped at the feet.

  “Ah, yes, I didn’t get that far in my appraisal,” he admitted after noticing the victim’s thick-soled ankle boots.

  “Right, now don’t get in my way, Patch. Go on, shoo, and get on with your police duties, and let me get on with my job.”

  “Ring me after the PM?”

  Susan nodded and gave him another one of her well-practiced looks. He took the hint and left the marquee. Turning to Shaw, he said, “Let’s see what uniform have to say and then start knocking on a few doors. Someone around here must have seen what happened.”

  Shaw opened her umbrella, and together, they approached the two uniformed constables taking shelter in their police car. The detectives opened the back doors and got in.

  “What can you tell us?” Hero asked.

  The two constables twisted in their seats to face them. The younger one said, “We got the call to say there was a small fire on the estate from one of the flats.” He pointed at the block to his right. “When we got here, we realised it was a body, called the ambulance and the pathologist right away.”

  “Did you see anyone hanging around or anything out of the ordinary when you arrived?”

  The other constable spoke next. “The thing that struck me was that the area was completely deserted. I know it’s raining heavily, but even on the journey over here, there are still people milling around in the streets.”

  Hero nodded, noting the accuracy behind his point. “Is this your patch?”

  The younger copper screwed up his nose. “Yeah, unfortunately. There’s a lot of drug-related crimes in this area.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem surprised by what’s happened,” Julie jumped in.

  The younger copper shrugged. “I’m not. This is gang turf. Everything and anything goes, basically.”

  “What gang are we talking?” Hero wondered if the Krull Gang spread this far east.

  “I think they’re called the Tidy Gang.”

  “The Tidy Gang? How come?” Hero asked.

  “Word has it that they always tidy up after themselves,” the older of the two constables told them.

  “Hmm… not in this case. Which makes me wonder if the gang was involved at all. What do you think, Julie?”

  “Not sure, sir. If the gang is involved and if it’s true they tidy up after themselves, would they really try to move a burning body?”

  “Good point. We better wait to see what the pathologist has to say and if we can ID the body. Have you two knocked on any doors yet?”

  “Nope. We were waiting for you lot to arrive.”

  Hero gave a brief nod. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Someone knows what went on here. Julie, ring the station, see if Foxy has had any luck with the CCTV footage yet. Then we’ll go up and question the woman who reported the crime. It was a woman, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, a Mrs. Tyler. She lives at number thirty-three, sir.”

  “Right, we’ll take this side. You two take the other.”

  The four left the vehicle. Inside the entrance to the block of flats and out of the rain, Julie rang the station while Hero knocked on the first door. The knock went unanswered. Hero glanced over at Julie, who was nodding and looking interested at what Foxy was obviously telling her. He made a sign to hurry things up
as he moved on to the next door along the corridor, which stank of urine and was dotted with patches of vomit.

  Julie hung up and joined him.

  “Well?” he asked impatiently. He rapped his knuckles on the next door, and they waited for someone to answer it. Again, he got nothing. Hero was beginning to get the suspicion that no one would be willing to talk to them.

  Julie sighed. “A couple of roads away, the CCTV footage highlighted a car speeding away from the area. Foxy ran the plates, and it came back as being flagged up stolen. She’s trying to trace the vehicle’s journey through the CCTV cameras across Manchester. She’s pretty confident she’ll have an answer for us soon. Some of the images are sketchy. One or two are actually good enough to see who the driver is. She’s put his picture in the database and awaiting the results on that, also. Do you want to give number thirty-three a try? At least we know the person is in.”

  “Bright spark,” Hero mumbled under his breath as he marched toward the lift at the end. The metal doors of the lift opened, and the smell that emanated from it turned his stomach in a flash. He moved away from the elevator and retched, almost bringing up his lunch. “Jesus, this place is a fucking shithole.”

  Julie stifled a smile and headed for the concrete staircase off to the side of the lift. Hero followed her up the faeces-encrusted stairwell. They reached the flat they were after, and Julie knocked three times on the door.

  Within seconds, a woman in her mid-fifties pulled open the door. She had her hair done up in large foam rollers and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. “Yeah, what do you want? You’re filth, ain’t ya? I can smell you a mile off.”

  Hero smirked at the irony behind her statement after the journey they’d been forced to endure on the way to her flat. “Mrs. Tyler? I’m DI Nelson, and this is DS Shaw. Mind if we come in for a chat?”

  The woman threw the door back against the wall and stomped up the hallway in front of them. Hero followed her, and Shaw closed the door behind them. The smell inside the flat matched, if not surpassed, the stench in the stairwell, and Hero found himself gagging as he stepped into the lounge. The room was full of boxes from floor to ceiling. When they walked into the room, three cats, which had been asleep on top of some of the boxes, all scattered, their legs going in different directions as they ran out of the lounge door.