Poetic Justice

2-3

TWO FLOORS BELOW THE horrified constables, who were dealing with the aftermath of his escape, Kieran Wright made his way between the cars in the car park at the side of the hospital. He had no idea that the mess he had left in the x-ray room had been discovered, so he didn’t hurry as he headed towards the target he had picked out. His pace was slow and steady, and his route indirect, as he sought to avoid drawing attention to himself.

Kieran glanced around, searching the car park for potential witnesses, when he saw his target finally stop at a car, a forest green Ford Focus with several dents and scratches. He could see no-one, which both surprised and pleased him, and he hurried forward, moving quickly between the cars that separated him from the man he had followed from the hospital’s side entrance.

As he rounded the bumper of the last car Kieran flicked his wrist, extending the baton he had taken from Constable Pritchard to its full and deadly length. He raised it above his head at the last moment and brought it down with all his strength on the shorter man. His intention was to smash the baton down on the back of his target’s head, ending things quickly, but luck was not on his side.

At the last moment Kieran’s victim turned his head. The baton, instead of hitting him squarely and ending things quickly, glanced off the side of the skull before smashing into his shoulder.

Though he had anticipated that a single blow would be all he needed, Kieran was already prepared to deliver a second when he saw that the first had not gone as planned. He smashed the baton into the angle where the neck joined the shoulder, smiling at the loud crack that announced the destruction of the collar bone.

Again and again Kieran struck with the baton, battering the body that lay at his feet. He didn’t stop until he heard a noise behind him. He spun round, his arm falling so the bloody baton was at his side and out of sight, while he searched the car park for the source of the noise that had disturbed him. It was a few moments before he heard a car engine start up, and his searching gaze homed in on the roof of the vehicle as it pulled away from the space it had occupied.

He watched the car all the way to the car park’s exit, only turning away when it was no longer visible, and he was reasonably certain he was safe.

Kieran wiped the baton clean as best he could using the clothes of the man he had just beaten, and then he retracted it so he could put it in his pocket. After that he searched the pockets of his victim for anything of value or use; the keys to the car were in the door, so he didn’t need to look for them, but he did find a wallet and a mobile phone — he took the phone, and emptied the wallet of cash, just as he had done with Constable Pritchard’s.

Once he had finished the search and found everything worth taking, what little there was, he took the keys from the door and pulled it open, so he could slide behind the wheel. He had no idea where he was going to go as he started the engine and shifted into gear, but he didn’t allow that to trouble him. Just then it was more important that he put as much distance between himself and the hospital as he could, as quickly as he could, than it was for him to worry about something he could decide on later.