Hero series Box Set

by M A Comley

  He kissed her temple gently. “Then, the decision will be yours. I think Louie would love it, and I really don’t think it’s anything like travelling on the sea. The rivers are calm, so calm you don’t know you’re moving half the time. You’re only allowed to travel at a maximum speed of seven miles per hour.”

  “Let me think about it, do some research into what holidays are available. It’s getting late in the season now.”

  Hero frowned and gave her a bemused look. “What? The kids have only just broken up for the summer.”

  “Idiot! Most people book their holidays months in advance. You know, some people have organised lives, unlike us. Now, let me get on with the dinner. I’m starving.”

  He kissed her again. “Yeah, me too. Only not for food.”

  She playfully slapped his arm and pushed him away.

  Hero sat down at the kitchen table and watched his wife prepare their meal. In his mind, he planned out what he was going to say to her over dinner. He thought the talk they’d had the other day would have put their lives back on the right track. However, going to the pub to socialise with his team the night before had already derailed his vow to try harder. Visiting Rupert and seeing how distraught he still was, almost a week after his wife and son had died, had reinforced his need to pull his family together and start afresh. As an aside, he wondered how long Rupert would have to suffer. Could one ever put a time limit on grief?

  “Penny for them?” Fay broke in to his contemplation.

  “Just thinking.”

  He smiled and studied her pretty face, the endearing features that had attracted him three years ago when they had met at the supermarket checkouts. She had been struggling to cope with a crying Louie and placing her goods on the conveyor belt. Being a gentleman, he’d helped her out. The following week, he made sure he was at the supermarket at the same time, just in case he bumped into her again, which he did. After noticing that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, he plucked up the courage to speak to her and ask her out. He didn’t care that she had a child in tow. They had an instant attraction that proved hard to ignore. Their dating had consisted of family days out to the zoo, instead of him wining and dining her at fancy restaurants. They hit it off so well that Fay and Louie had moved into his flat within three months of that first meeting.

  Hero had surprised Fay by purchasing their three-bed semi a year later. The house was in dire need of decorating, but neither one of them had the time to get involved in it. Fay worked from home four days a week as a recruitment officer. On the odd occasion when she had to meet a client out of school hours, her mother Deirdre cared for Louie. Luckily, that didn’t happen too often since Fay was adamant she would always put her son first and had made a promise to herself years before that she would never let her work interfere with his upbringing. If it came down to a choice between her son or her career, Louie would win hands down every single time. That’s what Hero loved about Fay—the fact that she put her family first. But that was the foundation of his own guilt, at times, and correcting that issue was at the forefront of his mind.

  Fay dished up the chilli and rice, and they shared a bottle of Chianti with their meal before they snuggled up on the sofa and chatted.

  The first topic they discussed was Hero’s idea for a holiday, and then the conversation drifted into Hero making a pledge that his after-work activities down at the pub were drawing to an end.

  “Why?” Fay asked, sitting upright next to him.

  “Because… well, I want to put you and Louie first for a change. I really don’t know how you put up with me never being here, what with my involvement with the TA at the weekends, as well. I’ve been an absent father for far too long, and I’m calling a halt to it.”

  “I’m going to say this once, and once only, Hero. Louie is my responsibility, not yours. I’ve never once thought you were letting us down by not being here every night. I totally understand how stressful your job is and the need for you to unwind at the end of a shift. I couldn’t handle dealing with dead bodies every day and not let it affect me. Yes, we’re a family, but ultimately, Louie’s upbringing lies at my door not yours. You hear me?”

  “I hear you. I’d be foolish to argue with you when you put it like that. Nonetheless, I’ve come to a decision, and I intend sticking to it. From now on, I promise to be home at a reasonable time every evening, the only exception to that would be if I have enforced overtime. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep up with my TA duties at the weekend. It helps put perspective back in my life. Although, I could cut back on that side of things if you wanted me to.”

  “No. Don’t you dare! I know how much the army means to you. As for coming home every night at a reasonable hour, if that’s what you really want, then who am I to stop you? It’ll be novel having you around at night to help put Louie to bed. He loves you reading his bedtime story.” She leaned forward and gave him a deep loving kiss that made them both moan with desire.

  Hero pushed her away gently and stood up. When he held out his hand, she took it, and they made their way upstairs to the bedroom.

  The night was colder than she had anticipated. She switched off the moped engine and pushed it to the end of the next road. Through the helmet’s visor, she watched the members of the Krull Gang leap into action. She had followed them to this quiet road in Didsbury, a well-to-do suburb of Manchester, sensing their intentions were anything but honourable. She wanted to see for herself just how vile these so-called men could be.

  It was obvious who was in charge by the swagger in his walk and the way he kept pointing at the other teens, issuing orders to them.

  She crept to a safe corner and settled down in a crouch to view the gang’s activities. The four youths began at the far end of the road and worked their way up towards where she was spying on them. Every now and again, she looked over her shoulder to ensure her getaway route remained clear. She had made sure she was wearing suitable attire, so she wore jeans and a sweatshirt rather than the designer clothes she had worn the night she had killed the prostitute. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head to ward off the chill rushing past her.

  At the bottom of the road, the four youths flitted from one side of the road to the other. They carried something in their hands, but the distance was too great for her to make out what they were holding. She was perplexed by their actions. Why are they moving between the cars like that?

  After a few minutes, the gang stopped at the end of the row of cars approximately twenty feet in front of her, then high-fived each other, appearing to congratulate themselves. They looked back down the road. She shuffled forward a little to gain a better view, but she grew frustrated when she couldn’t see anything. What am I missing? What the fuck are they so triumphant about?

  She saw a dull light at the bottom of the road. She gasped and placed a hand tightly over her mouth when she realised the light was a tiny purple-and-orange flame. Within seconds, the flame had zigzagged back and forth across the road. The gang members were laughing wildly. Her heart pounded so hard that she thought she could hear it beating a panicked rhythm. She turned to look behind her, tempted to jump on her moped and get the hell out of there, but the temptation to see what the gang got up to next made her stay.

  Suddenly, a loud bang filled the air, and orange flames lit up the night sky. The gang did another round of high-fives and then turned to observe the next car in line, which was parked on the opposite side of the road, go up in flames. With the area well lit, she feared that she might be discovered at any moment. After three more cars went up in flames, she ran back to her moped and quickly left, thankful that neither of the youths had seen her driving away. She thought about stopping at the nearest phone box to ring the fire brigade, but figured one of the residents would have already done so. She continued on her journey, shaking her head at the sheer audacity of the gang to carry out such an awful crime. They care so little about other people’s possessions, why? Was it all in the name of entertainmen
t?

  She’d only driven a couple of hundred metres when she heard the distant sirens of the emergency services. Her stomach churned as she thought about the youths’ reactions. She felt relieved that none of the locals had left their homes to see what had happened. These boys gave her the impression that they didn’t give two hoots about being caught in the act. They had done little to disguise the fact that they were moving between the cars. Anyone looking out a window would have seen the youths acting suspiciously. Maybe someone had called in the incident before the cars had ended up as balls of fire. Maybe the police had shown little interest. She could come up with a lot of scenarios, but they all came down to one thing. The gang had once again displayed how dangerous they could be.

  A plan was already forming in her mind by the time she arrived home. All she had left to do was work out if she had the guts to go through with her intentions. It would take an immense amount of planning on her part, but after witnessing the evening’s events, her determination was gnawing at her conscience.

  In the dead of night, when the rest of the household was asleep, she made herself a coffee and took it up to bed. Beside her bed was a notebook and a pen. She spent the next hour or so writing things down and crossing them out again until a eureka moment arrived that caused her pen to fly across the paper with lightning speed. The plan, horrific in parts, made her shudder several times during its formation. But she knew it was imperative that each stage of the plan, particularly the gruesomeness of it, be meticulously planned out in order for it to work.

  In the early hours of the morning, her plan moved into another stage. She booted up her laptop, and once she’d entered her obscure password, she typed in certain words for the research she had to carry out before she could finalise her plan.

  Knives. Forensics. Pathology.

  Notes jotted down, she ventured out into the night once more.

  Chapter 12

  Hero arrived at work feeling light footed, as if the floor beneath him had a cushioned layer of air. That day, his marriage and indeed his family life started over. However, as soon as he stepped into the incident room, the expressions on his team’s faces wiped the smile from his own.

  “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got another one,” Julie shouted from her desk.

  Hero walked over and stood beside her. “Another what?”

  “Prostitute murder.”

  Hero slumped down on the empty desk behind him. “Where? The same place?”

  “Nope. In one of the other locations around the Brickfields Estate.” Julie handed him the map they had been using the previous evening, and marked with a huge cross was the location where the second prostitute had lost her life.

  “What do we know about it?”

  Julie sighed. “Nothing much yet, sir. Looks like the same sort of thing. The girl was the only one left in the road after the others had been picked up by punters. That’s what the uniforms reported. Do you want to take a ride out there?”

  “Maybe later, if there’s nothing much to go on. I’ll ring the pathologist, see if Susan can shed any light on what’s happened. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a coincidence.”

  Julie turned back to her computer and mumbled under her breath, “Yeah, and there’s a pig flying past the window now.”

  Hero heard her, but chose to ignore the sarcastic comment. He left the incident room, grabbed a coffee from the vending machine, and rushed into his office. Flinging his jacket over the back of his chair, he picked up the phone and dialled the pathologist.

  “Hi, Susan, it’s Hero.”

  “You took your time calling. I wasn’t aware that coppers—or DIs, should I say—worked part time in this day and age.”

  “Right, and pathologists always work longer hours than us, don’t they?”

  “Ahem, this one does, Patch.” The banter over with, Susan got down to business. “I suppose you’re ringing about the murder last night.”

  “That’s right. What can you tell me, if anything?”

  “I think Polly Arnold was stabbed the same as the other girl. She bled out. I can’t tell if the murderer is a novice or whether they like to see these girls suffer before they die. Polly died in the ambulance en route to the hospital. Looking over the post for Sara Brown, she would have suffered in the same way also.”

  “Torture, you mean?”

  “The jury is still out on that one, Patch. Let’s just say it’s not cut and dried, excuse the pun. Something is puzzling me, and I’ve yet to discover exactly what that something is.”

  “Have you completed the PM yet?”

  “I have. I was here at six this morning. Unlike others, my day invariably starts at dawn and ends way after dusk has descended.”

  “All right, Susan. Hey, I was out until about nine last night myself,” he retorted, harsher than he had intended.

  “Exercising your right arm down the pub doesn’t count, sweetie.”

  “Christ, you have a low opinion of me sometimes. Actually, I was out and about questioning the other prostitutes about the first murder. We, Julie and I, drew a blank and called it a day.”

  “Maybe the killer was watching your movements last night,” Susan said.

  Hero could tell by the quiet way Susan had voiced her opinion she was saying what was running through her mind more than she was giving him an observation. “Christ, I never thought of that. Any chance you can send the two reports over to me ASAP, so my team can go through them?”

  “Sure. As far as I know, no one has informed the family of the second girl yet. I would have thought that would be at the top of your priority list this morning, Hero. Not that I’m trying to tell you your job or anything.”

  “I’ll get on to it straight away. Thanks for the nudge, Susan. Let me have the reports by the end of the day if you can, huh?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Hero hung up and immediately picked up the phone again. He called the desk sergeant to obtain the address of the latest victim and checked to see if anyone at the station had been out to inform the family of the girl’s death. No one had, so he pulled on his jacket and marched through the incident room again. “Get your coat, Julie.” He called out just before leaving the room.

  He heard his partner’s heels clicking on the concrete floor behind him as he started to descend the stairs.

  “Sir? Where are we going?”

  Hero waved the sheet of paper at her on which he’d written down the victim’s address. “We’re on our way to inform the victim’s family. Is that all right with you, Shaw?”

  Out of breath already, after trying to keep up with Hero’s long strides, Julie replied, “Yes, sir. Sorry, I should have thought about that before and looked up the address myself.”

  “Yes, you should have. Don’t let it happen again,” Hero told her as they got in his car in the car park. He knew by the sour look on his partner’s face that he was in for another round of the silent treatment. He was grateful for that at least because he wanted to prepare what he was about to say to the victim’s family. The victim had lived on the edge of the Brickfields Estate, close to the area where she’d been plying her trade.

  Pulling up outside a row of council houses, most of which were boarded-up, Hero looked for the number he was after. Number twenty Jackson Way turned out to be one of the better properties in the row. Surprisingly, the windows still had glass in them, but as the detectives walked up the path, they had to dodge numerous obstacles blocking their path. When Hero saw the child’s bike and the plastic doll’s house, which were shabby and appeared to be on their last legs, his heart sank. Had Polly been a young mother? Or was she sharing this house with other women who had children. He prepared himself for an onslaught of words. No one liked the coppers turning up on their doorstep, and by the looks of their surroundings, he had a feeling their arrival was going to be met with mixed emotions.

  He rang the doorbell and whispered, “Are you ready for this? Whatever happens, remain calm and sympathetic a
t all times.”

  Julie shot him a disgusted glare as if questioning his perception of her in such situations. He shrugged an apology as the front door opened.

  A woman in her early forties stood in the hallway. She had a sobbing toddler balancing on her hip. The child’s right hand was gripping the woman’s rather large breast, tugging her T-shirt to one side, exposing the old dingy grey bra beneath. “Yeah, what do you want?” The woman placed the cigarette she was holding in her free hand into her mouth and shifted the child to a more comfortable position.

  Hero cringed at the thought of the baby being burnt by the cigarette, but he knew it would make no sense to suggest that the woman not smoke in the child’s company. Instead, he withdrew his warrant card from his pocket and showed it to the woman.

  She squinted at his ID before her gaze drifted back to him. “What’s she done now? I knew she’d been banged up. I told Maureen last night on the phone that she was up to no good again.”

  “Mind if we come in?” Hero asked, taking a step forward.

  “Like I have a choice,” she snapped at him. She turned and stomped up the hallway, which was scattered with rubbish of one form or another, mostly advertising leaflets people had shoved through the letterbox, the type most people throw in the bin as soon as they arrive. This woman apparently did not.

  “Am I right in thinking that you’re Polly Arnold’s mother?” Hero asked once the three of them had walked into the lounge-cum-dining room-cum-kitchen, which was also littered with toys.

  The woman sat in an easy chair by the window and bounced the crying toddler on her knees. The TV in the corner was blaring, making it difficult for Hero to be heard or even think straight. He searched for the remote control, then switched off the TV, much to the woman’s annoyance. He asked his question again. “Are you Polly Arnold’s mother?”

  “I am. Mother, unpaid babysitter, general dogsbody, you name it. The girl treats me like shit from first thing in the morning till the time she goes out enjoying herself at all hours of the night. What’s she done, I asked ya?”