Had the car been possessed of a better
engine, and better tyres, he would probably have left tyre marks as he
accelerated away from the parking space. He didn’t even notice when the car
bumped over the man’s hand, crushing the bones in it, so intent was he on
hurriedly spinning the wheel to avoid hitting the cars in the opposite row.
It wasn’t until he reached the exit, where he
was forced to stop to look for approaching traffic, that he realised it wasn’t
a good idea for him to speed through the streets. Doing so would only attract
attention. He had no desire to do that, so when the way was clear for him to
pull out of the hospital car park he kept well within the speed limit for the
area, and made sure to abide by all the traffic laws he could remember.
FOUR
“Excuse me.” Constable John Lincoln laid his
hand on the arm of the youngest, and most attractive, of the three nurses he
was about to pass to get her attention. “Can you direct me to the x-ray
department?” he asked with a smile. “I’m looking for suite four.”
“It’s just down the corridor…” the middle,
and most senior, of the nurses began to answer; she quickly trailed off however
when it became clear that the constable was paying absolutely no attention to
her.
The young nurse blushed when she realised the
constable was focused solely on her. “Sure, you go down this corridor, turn to
your right, and it’s down on your left.”
“Thank you.” John gave her another smile,
which she returned shyly, while her two companions looked on with amused
tolerance, and a tinge of envy.
As he walked away, following the directions
he had been given, he couldn’t help looking back to cast an admiring eye over
the nurse’s form, particularly her rear. It was displayed very nicely in the
uniform that clung to her body in just the right places. He couldn’t help
thinking that if he were to end up in hospital for any reason, she was the sort
of nurse he’d want looking after him, rather than the two more motherly figures
with her.
He was so intent on enjoying the view he
didn’t realise his feet were following a less than straight path, not until he
walked into a gurney that stood against the wall between two doors. Half
falling over the gurney he quickly grabbed hold of it to keep on his feet and
looked around, hoping that no-one had seen his ignominious tumble.
To his dismay, the three nurses had turned in
response to the noise made by his collision with the gurney. Seeing the look on
the face of the nurse he had been admiring he suspected he had lost whatever
slim chance he might have had with her.
“There are you; where the hell have you
been?”
The comment diverted his attention from the
nurses and he looked round to see his partner, and fellow constable,
approaching from the junction.
“I had to have a crap,” he said, pushing away
from the gurney and doing his best to act as though there was nothing wrong,
and he hadn’t just made an idiot of himself. “What’s the problem?”
“You were supposed to stay with the
prisoner.”
“He’s unconscious, and that other constable’s
with him; what did you want me to do, crap myself?” Having recovered his
composure, and his footing, he made his way round his partner and strode
quickly to the junction, wanting to get away from the scene of his
embarrassment.
“What if he’s woken up?” Larry Martin, the
second constable, wanted to know, following his partner. “You saw what he did
back in the village. He killed two people, and hospitalised two others; that’s
just this morning. Didn’t you hear what they were saying about how many other
people he’s killed?”
“I heard, but what’s he going to do now? Even
if he does wake, he’s cuffed. Do you really think he’s going to escape?”
Larry shook his head at his partner’s casual
attitude but couldn’t fault what he had said; it was unlikely that the prisoner
would escape under the circumstances.
They reached the door to the suite at the
same time and, seeing no-one in the waiting area outside of it, John knocked on
the door. When there was no response after about thirty seconds, he knocked
again. “Oh sod this!” he declared following another half a minute without a
response and pushed the door open.
“What’s the matter?” Larry asked when his
partner stopped the door almost immediately. “Worried you’re going to get a
dose of radiation and become useless to all those women you can’t resist
chasing after?”
“No.” John shook his head, his free hand
dropping to his extendable baton. “There’s blood on the door,” he said as he
popped the catch on the holster and slowly pushed the door wide. “Shit!” he
swore suddenly, yanking out his baton and flicking his wrist to extend it to
its full length as he moved quickly into the room.
“What?” Larry wanted to know, taking out his
own baton as he moved to follow his partner through the door.
The moment John was out of the way he saw
‘What’, and he hurried forward to check the nurse with the bloody face, while
John followed the bloody footprints around the x-ray table to check the
constable, who was only partially visible.
Larry dropped to his knees next to the nurse
and reached out a hand. For some reason his first aid training chose that
moment to desert him and he realised he couldn’t remember where his fingers
should go to find the pulse. It took several long moments of moving his fingers
around to locate it, and he was immensely relieved when he did, since he was
beginning to think she must be dead.
“I’ve got a pulse here,” he reported with a
thankful sigh. “How about you?”
“Yeah, I’ve got one as well,” John said after
a moment or two. “Just about. This guy’s in bad shape, he’s taken a real
battering. You’d better find help, I’ll call this in.” As he spoke he unclipped
his radio to call in the escape, painfully aware that he should have been with
the constable beneath him instead of in the toilet. If he had, the escape might
not have happened.
FIVE
After leaving the hospital Michael drove
around aimlessly, not really sure where he was going, or what he was going to
do. He was adrift; he couldn’t turn to his family for support, and he couldn’t
go back to the village where he had grown up. He didn’t even have any money,
not enough to accomplish anything anyway.
He stayed away from the main streets,
sticking to the side streets as much as possible while he tried to decide what
he should do and where he should go.
The radio, which he continued to hope would
alert him to the discovery of his escape, remained stubbornly silent. The
longer it remained that way, the more he found himself looking over at it as it
sat on the passenger seat.
He was turning yet another corner when the
radio chose to squawk into life, delivering the news he had been sure was going
to come, though he’d hoped not to hear it. He was so intent on listening to the
report of his escape from the hospital that he didn’t see what was ahead of him
until he heard the shout of alarm.
Looking up he hurriedly slammed his foot on
the brake and spun the wheel. He narrowly avoided hitting the business-suited
man, who was squeezing himself against the driver’s door of a Renault to make
himself a smaller target. It was fortunate he wasn’t driving faster for the
brakes on the car he’d stolen weren’t great; if he had been travelling at more
than about twenty miles an hour he would never have managed to stop in time.
“What’s your problem?” the businessman
demanded, yanking open the passenger door of the Vauxhall so he could lean in
and confront the man who had just nearly hit him. “Don’t you know how to drive?
Watch where you’re going next time, you bloody idiot, you could have killed
me.”
Michael’s reaction was to throw open the
driver’s door and climb out, not caring that he was blocking the narrow street
with his stolen car.
“What’s your problem?” the businessman asked
a second time as he watched the young man approach from around the car; he
didn’t feel particularly scared, sure that the young man was simply trying to
intimidate him, which he wasn’t about to let happen. He was quickly proven
wrong.
Michael didn’t answer the question, he simply
swung the baton the moment he was close enough. He didn’t give any thought to
the possibility that there might be someone around to see him attack the man
before him. Just then, he didn’t care if his every move was recorded by a TV
camera crew; the only thought on his mind was to vent the anger he felt on the
nearest target. That happened to be the businessman, whose presence provided
him with an opportunity to unleash his pent-up rage.
The businessman was stunned by the sudden
attack and before he could react or do anything to defend himself the baton
crashed down on his head. The blow knocked him back and his knees buckled. He
grabbed at the car, trying to stay upright, but there was nothing for him to
grip onto and a second blow knocked him sideways into the street and away from
the car.
Landing on his back he threw his arm up to
try and block the next blow, which he knew, instinctively, was coming, even if
he couldn’t see it through the dizziness that was blurring his vision.
Michael was acting without conscious thought
as he continued his assault on the man, who was now at his feet. He kicked out,
knocking aside the arm that was raised to block the baton that descended to
smash his collarbone. A fourth blow shattered the man’s jaw and rolled his head
to one side, while the next landed on the side of the man’s neck, in the angle
between his head and shoulder, with a sickening crunch.
Without hesitation Michael struck again, landing
the baton in almost exactly the same spot. There was no reaction to the blow,
not even a groan of pain, suggesting his victim was either unconscious or dead.
That didn’t stop him. Michael continued his assault, battering the man until
his head and his shoulders were a bloody mess and he no longer had the strength
to lift the baton.
Straightening up, his chest heaving, Michael
finally became aware of the possibility that someone might have witnessed his
attack. Hurriedly, he looked around for any sign that he had been seen. To his
relief, he saw and heard nothing; the street was empty aside from him and his
victim.
He had left his previous victim in the car
park at the hospital, where anyone could find him, and he realised that had
been a mistake, one he didn’t wish to repeat. He had no idea how long it would
be before the body he left when he stole the car would be found, but he didn’t
imagine it would be long now that the police were looking for him. That would
lead the police to the Vauxhall he was driving, which meant it was no longer
safe for him to drive it.
His mind raced as he considered the mistakes
he had made that morning and how he could avoid repeating them. He had to get
rid of the Vauxhall, and the body, that much was clear; if he didn’t he would
be caught in next to no time. He was sure the moment the police knew what sort
of car the young man he had attacked in the hospital car park drove, they would
spread the description to every officer in town. They would all be looking for
him then.
A further thought occurred to him; not only
did he need to get rid of the old car and the new body. He needed to work out
where he was going to go and what he was going to do.
Where the idea came from he couldn’t have
said, it simply exploded into his mind unexpectedly, like a flash of
inspiration.
Reaching into the Vauxhall, Michael popped
the catch on the boot and made his way round to it. It came as no surprise to
him when he saw it was filled with junk; a spare tyre, an empty petrol
container, a small toolbox and a variety of other items took up most of the
space. Hurriedly, he began to empty the boot, removing everything he could
until he had enough space for what he wanted; at least he hoped he did.
Once he was finished he turned away from the
boot. He kicked the empty petrol container out of the way and walked round to
where the businessman’s body lay. Bending down, he grabbed the man by the front
of his jacket and heaved him up; it was an effort, and bending sent blood
rushing to his head, which left him a little dizzy, he ignored that though as
he carried the body to the rear of the Vauxhall.
By bending the knees up to the chest and
folding the head forward he was able to squeeze the body into the boot, with
the toolbox fitting behind the knees. He shoved the spare tyre and the petrol
container onto the back seat, as well as the other items he couldn’t manage to
fit back into the boot in the few small spaces around the body.
He was about to shut the boot on the body
when he realised he hadn’t searched the man’s pockets for anything that might
be of use. He already had the mobile phone he’d taken when he stole the
Vauxhall but for some reason he found himself pocketing the phone he discovered
in the businessman’s pocket. He also took the wallet he found, and the car
keys.
There was nothing else worth taking, so he
left the rest of it and slammed the boot on the body.
Closing the doors, Michael got behind the
wheel and drove the Vauxhall down the street, where he parked it between a
Hyundai and a Peugeot.
He chucked the keys into the Vauxhall just
before he slammed the driver’s door. He then made his way back up the road to
the Renault. He settled himself behind the wheel of the businessman’s car and
quickly started the engine so he could pull away and leave the side street,
before anyone came along and saw him.