Poetic Justice

4

4

Kieran had been driving around town aimlessly for about half an hour, unsure of either where he was going or what he was going to do, when the news was announced on the radio.

To his horror, the lead story was about the escape of a murder suspect from Southdene hospital. His name wasn’t mentioned, but that was small comfort when the news reader revealed that the body of the man he had assaulted in the car park had been discovered, and the police were looking for the man’s stolen car.

It was too late for him to change what he had done, nonetheless he couldn’t help thinking that he should have taken the wallet instead of tossing it after emptying it of money. Without the wallet the police would have had a harder time knowing who had been attacked and what vehicle to look for.

An even better idea would have been for him to put the man he had attacked in the boot of the car he had stolen. That would have robbed the police of any clue to how he had left the hospital grounds; it would also have made it almost impossible for them to figure out what vehicle he was using.

There was only one thing he could do, he realised, and that was ditch the car he was driving and get himself a new one. Ditching his current vehicle was easy enough, all he had to do was park it and walk away, but without another vehicle to replace it he would be too visible — it was only a matter of time before the police released his name and a description of him. Once they did that, being on foot was almost guaranteed to lead to him being spotted, recognised and reported.

It was another ten minutes before Kieran found somewhere he thought would be a good place to dump his stolen Ford. To be more exact, he almost ran someone down while looking for somewhere to dump his car, at which point he realised he might not get a better chance to replace his current vehicle with one the police didn’t know about.

He braked to a screeching halt about fifteen yards further on from the man he had just nearly run down, shifted into reverse, and quickly backed up, forcing the smartly-dressed man to flatten himself against his car again to avoid being hit.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could have bloody well killed me, twice.”

Kieran was caught by surprise when the passenger door was yanked open and the man thrust his head and shoulders into the car. He wasn’t scared by the display of aggression, just surprised by it, it wasn’t what he anticipated from a man looking like the one he had almost run down. He reacted by throwing open the door at his side and all but launching himself out of the car.

By the time he was on his feet he had the baton taken from Constable Pritchard out. He gave it a flick to extend it as he hurried around the car but held it low and out of sight.

“Are you bloody crazy?” the man demanded, backing out of the car to watch warily as the teen approached. “Are you trying to intimidate me, because it won’t work, I’m not afraid of you.”

That comment, so obviously a lie, was enough to make Kieran laugh. He continued to do so as he raised the baton in his right hand and brought it down with all his strength. His target was the man’s head, he wanted to cave in his skull and finish things quickly before someone could come along and witness what he was doing, but a jacketed arm got in the way. A loud crack announced that the blow had broken the arm, but that didn’t make Kieran feel better about being denied his objective.

He put his frustration into his next blow, and the one after that. Again and again he struck the man, battering at him with the baton until he was on the ground, and even the involuntary twitching of his muscles had stopped, by which time his chest was heaving and sweat stained the armpits and back of his t-shirt.

Kieran looked up and down the side street while he got his breathing under control and he recovered from his exertions. Thankfully there was no-one around, which meant what he had done had gone unwitnessed, and if he was lucky and he worked quickly no-one, especially the police, would have any idea what car he had switched to.

Once he was sure there was no-one around he wiped the baton clean and shoved it into his pocket out of the way. He then rifled through the pockets of the man he had just beaten — Kieran didn’t know if he was dead or merely unconscious; he would rather he was dead so he couldn’t be a problem in the future, but he didn’t really care just then — searching for his car keys, and anything that might be of use.

It was while he was going through the man’s wallet, which he emptied of what money it contained, that the idea came to him. He had the address for his victim, and he had his house keys; he could lay low at the man’s place, at least for a short time, while he worked out some kind of plan for where he could go and what he could do.

It didn’t take long to finish his search, which turned up little, and with that job done Kieran turned his attention to concealing the body. He didn’t fancy driving around with a body in the boot of the car he was about to steal; getting stopped and found with a body would only make his situation worse, not that he could really imagine how his situation could be any worse — he had killed and attacked so many people that he supposed it was only a matter of time before the press came up with a nickname for him, something they thought was both clever and witty — fortunately, there was a simple solution to that problem.

Opening the boot of the Ford Focus revealed that his simple solution was not going to be as simple as he thought. The boot was filled with an assortment of things he had to quickly dump out so he could heave the body into it. Fortunately, the Focus had a good-sized boot, and once he had emptied it he had little difficulty fitting the body in; there was even space for him to squeeze some of the smaller items back in around it.

The rest of the items that littered the road behind the car, which included a spare wheel and a heavy toolbox, he had to shove onto the rear seat. It was all going to be noticeable to anyone who happened to glance into the car on their way past, but he didn’t think that was going to matter. He was confident that anyone who did see it would simply assume the car was owned by a careless and untidy person, an impression that was likely to be helped by the vehicle’s outward appearance.

By the time he had finished hiding the body and clearing everything away, Kieran’s muscles were screaming in protest. He didn’t understand why they should ache so much, he was used to spending all day working on the farm without feeling the way he did then. The only explanation he could come up with was that everything he had been through that morning had drained him, more than working did.

Despite the aches and pains he was suffering — reminders of the crash and the fight he had been in prior to being captured by the police, in the form of Constable Melissa Turner, and the interfering Zack Wild — Kieran didn’t have time to stop and rest, he still had things to do before he could leave his current location.

Slipping back behind the wheel of the Ford he reversed it up the road so there was space for him to drive Howard Skinner’s car out of its parking space — he got the name of his victim from the driver’s licence he found in the man’s wallet. He swapped cars, drove the BMW, which was much more comfortable than his temperamental Land Rover had ever been, a short distance down the road and then parked the Ford in the vacated space.

He accomplished that as quickly as he could, and once he was done he locked the Ford, tossed the keys under the car, and returned to the BMW.