Hero series Box Set

by M A Comley

  “So, she had a key to the premises and let herself in?”

  “It would appear so. I don’t know all the facts.”

  “Who attended the scene first?” Hero hadn’t noticed anyone of significance outside the building when he’d entered.

  “There was a young uniformed officer here when we arrived. Haven’t seen him for a while. He did look a little green around the gills, to be honest.”

  Hero nodded. “That would explain it. I’ll call base and try and track him down. Back to the victim…”

  The girl raised her hands. “I think you need to speak to the pathologist on that one, not me.”

  Hero glanced around the room. “Where is he?”

  “He went outside to fetch some equipment from his car.”

  He left the premises to find his good friend. “Nasty business, Gerrard. Don’t suppose you can tell me much so far.”

  “You’d be guessing right, mate. Shocking that someone could break in here and do this. I had a quick word with the member of staff who found him. She said she left here at around five forty-five two days ago. Yesterday was her day off; she had no reason to come near the place. My first thoughts are that this happened not long after she left the premises.”

  “So, the killer entered the property and kept the man alive for a number of hours, torturing him to get the number to the safe, you reckon?” Hero glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to the shop.

  “Looks that way to me.”

  “I’m wondering if the killer left here, spotted Wilmot and Portman, thought they were about to pull him over, and put his foot down.”

  “That’s a pretty long shot, even for you, Hero.”

  He shrugged. “It’s all we’ve got. We’ve identified several minor crimes in this area within the same time frame, but this is the only major crime that has sparked my interest, shall we say. We’re tracking down the CCTV footage now. That’ll give us more to go on, but the car this guy used is more popular than Santa’s reindeer-driven sleigh at Christmas.”

  Gerrard sucked in a breath and picked up his case. “That’s tough. I’ll rush the PM through and get the forensics team to put a priority on any fingerprints they find. I’m just as keen to get this guy apprehended as you are.”

  “I appreciate that, Gerrard.”

  “Let’s go back inside, see if we can give you something to get your investigation up and running.”

  Hero followed Gerrard back through the building into the confined backroom. He sighed. “Seems like this killer needed to vent his anger on the bloke. Maybe Millward put up too much resistance, that’s why the killer went OTT dishing out his punishment.”

  Gerrard crouched on the other side of the victim and held up Millward’s left hand, which was very bloody and missing the second and third fingers.

  “Trophies?”

  Gerrard shook his head and pointed at the jars of sweets sitting on a shelf behind Hero. “Check out the sherbet lemons.”

  “Crap!” The man’s two missing digits were sitting prominently on top of the yellow sweets in the half-filled jar, his blood leaving a garish trail through the kiddies’ sweets. “That’s sick. I don’t think I’ll ever buy Louie or the twins a bag of those again after seeing that.”

  “Agreed. Used to be my wife’s favourite sweets, too.”

  “I don’t suppose there was a weapon found?”

  “No, he’s too clever for that. The victim was beaten numerous times over the head and face. Again, I’ll be able to give you more information about that after I conduct the PM.” Gerrard lifted the man’s shirt to reveal puncture wounds to his stomach.

  Hero frowned. “Wounds, but no blood. Were they caused after the victim was killed?”

  “Yes, very likely to be post mortem.”

  “Therefore, something angered the killer. Perhaps once the killer saw the contents of the safe, he was disappointed and took his anger out on the newly deceased victim.”

  “Maybe. That’s your job to figure out that side of things. All I can give you are the facts, Hero.”

  “Either way, we’re dealing with a sick fucker.”

  “Okay, I’m going to get my boys to do the photos and then get him out of here and back to the lab. Hopefully, I should have the results for you soon.”

  “Thanks, Gerrard. I’m going to take a look through the victim’s private accommodation, see if anything useful crops up there. I’ll be out of your hair, too.”

  “Appreciate that. We’ll speak soon.”

  He walked through the relatively small post office-cum-village shop and entered Millward’s private accommodation. The first room he came to was the kitchen. The countertops were littered with dirty plates, pots, and empty packets of microwave food. Hero twitched his nose at the terrible stench. “How could anyone live like this?”

  Moving through to the small living room only compounded his first thought. The two threadbare couches were full of newspapers and car magazines, and in the corner, close to the old TV set, were a pile of takeaway cartons, anything from tin-foiled Chinese dishes to cardboard pizza boxes. The room smelt horrendous, too. Not hanging around, Hero walked up the stairs to the tiny accommodation upstairs, which consisted of one large bedroom that contained an unmade double bed. Hero chose not to investigate the state of the sheets, as he could smell the body odour from the doorway. Along one of the walls was a 1930s wardrobe, not dissimilar to the one his grandparents had owned when he was a boy. One of the doors was hanging off its hinges, while the other was propped up against the wall. Clothes were strewn everywhere, covering every patch of carpet.

  After witnessing the state of three rooms, he decided to give the bathroom a miss, fearing what he would find. He shuddered and returned to the shop. Outside, he found two uniformed officers guarding the front door. “Either of you two first at the scene?”

  “No, guv. That’d be PC Sean Talbot. He’s back at the station—wasn’t feeling too good, sir.”

  “That’s understandable. I’ll talk to him back there. What about the member of staff? Do you have her name?”

  The officer flipped open his notebook. “Karen Webster, I believe, sir. She lives a few doors down but is in hospital at the moment.”

  “So I gather. Okay, I’ll get one of my team to drop by the hospital then speak to her myself another time. You guys here for the duration? Don’t let anyone else enter the building until Forensics have finished their job.”

  “Yes, sir, we know the drill.”

  Hero walked back to his car, disrobed, and jumped behind the steering wheel. What’s your game, buster? No matter what it is, I’m going to take pleasure in bringing you down.

  Chapter 3

  Grinning at the thought of the tills brimming with cash, Myers observed the people going in and out of the shop. The last place he’d turned over had been a disappointment. It didn’t matter, though—he’d taken pleasure in making the postmaster suffer for his lack of business. Myers’s day had got even better when the two coppers had chased him. Their punishment had been an adrenaline rush that he was eager to feel again. Nothing spurred a killer on more than seeing either his victims pleading for their worthless lives or, as in the case of one of the coppers who’d snuffed it, realising they were in deep shit and trying to escape.

  He enjoyed a good chase. The hunter on the trail of his next prey, he watched a woman leave the shop, a little girl skipping by her side with her hands tucked into a white paper bag of sweets. Wondering if the child had sherbet lemons in the bag, he roared with laughter, remembering the severed fingers of his last victim and placing them in the jar of sweets, just to tick off the coppers. He loved toying with the coppers, had done it for years. He’d started out pulling off a number of minor crimes but had soon become bored. He’d needed something far more challenging, so his crimes had escalated very quickly to more daring things like torturing his victims before he killed them. He would sit at home at night, trawling the Internet to find harsher, more gruesome ways to make his vict
ims suffer. The coppers didn’t have a clue who he was because he had become adept at deceiving them, changing his modus operandi whenever they thought they were close to arresting him.

  He waited until the night sky darkened, then he made his move. He leapt out of the car and glanced at his watch. Two minutes to five-thirty. She would be shutting up soon. He’d already seen the post office assistant leave at a few minutes past five, so he knew the woman would be alone. Another minute slipped by before he walked through the shop door. The bell overhead jangled to announce his arrival. The shop was quaint, similar in size to the last place he’d done over.

  “Hello, can I help at all? Sorry to rush you, but I’m about to close up for the night.” The woman gave him a warm smile, which made him want to vomit.

  “Oh, sorry. I needed a packet of envelopes for some urgent letters I have to write.”

  “What size?”

  She strolled towards the back of the shop.

  He swiftly and quietly dropped the latch on the front door then rushed to join her. “No good on sizes. Normal letter size. How’s that?”

  She chuckled. “Typical male response. I hear it all the time.” She picked up a packet of small white envelopes and showed him. “These?”

  “They’re perfect.” He searched in his jacket pocket, pretending to be looking for his wallet, and pulled out a flick knife. “I won’t be needing them, after all. I will be taking the contents of your till and safe, however.”

  The colour quickly drained from the woman’s face, and her mouth opened when her gaze dropped to the knife. “Please, please don’t hurt me. My daughter is about to have her first child, and I’d like to be around to see it.”

  “Does it look like I give a fuck, lady? The money, take me to it.”

  Her steps were hesitant until he prodded her in the back with the blade. “Don’t try anything like letting the police know I’m here. The last person who tried that is now lying in a fridge down at the mortuary.”

  “I won’t. I promise. You can have all the money. I don’t care about it.”

  He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I intend to. I don’t need your permission. Now, let’s get this over with. Where’s the safe?”

  “It’s in the back.” Her voice trembled, and tears formed.

  He wagged his finger. “Don’t start the waterworks with me, lady. It don’t wash with me, and between you and me, it really pisses me off.”

  The woman wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  He glared at her. “Another thing that gets on my nerves is when someone keeps apologising. So stop doing it, right?”

  “Understood. I’m s…”

  His eyes narrowed. “Just show me to the safe.”

  She glanced at the front door. “I need to lock up first.”

  “I’ve done it. Stop dilly-dallying and get on with it. My patience is wearing thin.”

  The woman pushed open the door that led into her personal accommodation. The place was immaculate, unlike the previous postmaster’s home. She took him over to an office area at the back of the room and pointed at the safe in the corner, underneath her tidy desk.

  “I see it. All I need now is to get at the money sitting inside the damn thing.”

  She knelt on the floor in front of the safe. Her hand shook violently and she twisted the combination dial. She muttered something under her breath and looked up at him, fear swimming in her eyes.

  “Something wrong?” he snarled.

  “I messed up. I’m so sorry. I’ll do it again.”

  “Once more. Fuck that up, and I’ll kill you, here and now. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes.” She gulped and turned back to try the combination again. This time, the safe door clicked open.

  He blew out a relieved breath before he punched the woman in the face, knocking her out. He walked back into the shop, took the drawer out of the till, then switched the light off in the shop to avoid being disturbed. When he returned, he scanned the room. He snatched up the postal sack lying on the floor. The till was a bit of a disappointment—a couple hundred pounds in notes—but the safe was bulging. He estimated it contained at least ten thousand pounds. He shoved the bundles into the sack then turned his attention to the woman. He roughly sat her upright, placed her arms in front of her, and tied her hands together with a piece of string he found near the sack. Then he tied her feet together.

  The woman stirred. She opened her eyes a little, and her head jolted back when she found him staring right at her, only inches from her face.

  “Well, that was a disappointment. Why isn’t there more in the safe?”

  “Because it’s Thursday, pension day. Our busiest day of the week. Some of the old folk prefer to come in on a Friday when the rush is over. You’re lucky there’s that much in there. I only usually keep two thousand here during the week.”

  “Lucky? I guess I am, although the same can’t be said about you.” He peered over his shoulder. “Is there anyone else here?”

  Sadness replaced the fear in her eyes. “No. My husband died of a heart attack last year.” Her eyes drifted off to the left.

  He could tell she was lying. Taking out his knife, he placed the blade under her chin. “Shall we try that again? Is there anyone else here?”

  “Yes. My husband. Please, he’s bedridden. He did have a heart attack last year—I swear that’s the truth. He hasn’t recovered from it. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’m all he’s got. If you hurt me, no one will take care of him.”

  “Fond of lying, aren’t we? You told me you had a daughter. If anything happens to you, then she’ll have to step up to the plate and help out.”

  “Please, I didn’t mean to lie, I’m just trying to protect my family. They mean everything to me.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but screw with me, lady, and you’ll suffer the consequences.” He nicked her chin with the knife. Watching the blood trickle, he grinned, the excitement building inside.

  The woman yelped. “I understand. I won’t try to deceive you again. I promise.”

  “I have no fear of that.” He stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  He left the room and located the stairs, which he climbed quietly, placing his feet at the edge of each step to try to avoid any kind of squeaking. The penultimate stair creaked under his weight.

  A man called out, “Frances, is that you? Have you locked up for the night?”

  He followed the voice along the hallway to the room at the end and pushed open the door. A frail gentleman with pure white hair lifted his head off the pillow and stared at him. “Who the hell are you? Where’s my wife?”

  Myers walked into the room, approached the bed, and stared down at the occupant. “Your wife is otherwise engaged. Can’t you get out of bed?”

  “No, I’m bedridden.”

  He frowned. “What happens when you want to have a shit?”

  The man bristled and tried to sit up, but his arms gave way under his weight. “I ring the bell, and my wife has to help me.”

  “I see. As well as run the shop, she has to tend to your every need? You think that’s fair on her?”

  “It is what it is. I can’t help being ill. We made vows to each other when we got married all those years ago, in sickness and in health.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. Would you look after her if the tables were turned?”

  The man’s silence was his downfall, and within seconds, he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

  “Please, don’t hurt me. There’s money in the safe. Take that and leave us alone.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard all the spiel from your wife. You have a daughter who is expecting a child, right?”

  “That’s right. Take the money. We promise not to ring the police. We’ll cover the loss with our savings.”

  His interest piqued. “Savings, you say? How much are we talking about?”

  “Over twenty thousand in our savings account.”

/>   “Is that all?” He fired the gun twice into the man’s chest.

  The woman’s scream filled the air as the old man’s dead, empty eyes stared up at him. “You should have treated her better instead of expecting her to wait on you all day long.” He returned to the ground floor. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

  She sobbed. “My husband…tell me you haven’t killed him.”

  “I can tell you that if that’s really what you want to hear, but it wouldn’t be the truth. He was useless. You’ll be better off without him.”

  “No,” she wailed. “He was a lovely man. It wasn’t his fault that life dealt him a crippling blow. He took care of me for years until his heart attack debilitated him. Why? Why kill an innocent man when you’ve got the money?”

  “I don’t have to justify my actions to you. How dare you question me! Who said you could do that?”

  “I’m s…”

  “Sorry, yes, I know. But are you really? Words can be cheap in instances where someone’s life is in the balance. Don’t you agree?”

  She nodded. “Please. I don’t know what else I can do. I’m so scared.”

  “You have a right to be scared. Your husband mentioned you had a savings account with funds in it. Can you get your hands on that money?”

  “No, I don’t have Internet banking. I can get to it when the building society opens in the morning, if you’re prepared to wait.”

  “I’m not.” He shot her in the right kneecap.

  She screamed and writhed around in pain. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and she avoided his gaze.

  “I’m getting bored now. I need to get out of here before your screams alert the police. You really should have heeded my warning about keeping your mouth shut.” He shot the other kneecap.

  The woman’s screams tripled in intensity. He grabbed another of the hessian sacks, placed it over her head, and tied it tightly around the neck.

  “Please, I can’t breathe. Please don’t do this to me.”

  “Too late. The time for bargaining for your life has run out. If you think your husband is so wonderful, you should take comfort that you’ll soon be with him again. Let’s hope both your incapacities are forgotten about once you get to the other side.”