The Psychopath: A Maitland Noir Thriller #1, page 22
I tug open the passenger door of the car, climbing in and over and dragging William behind me onto the passenger seat. I hear the policewoman call out politely as I lean across to pull the door shut. I ignore her again, pretending I have not heard, that I’m just an ordinary fellow.
But she must have seen William, mustn’t she?
Not sure, I can’t tell.
The car is between us, after all.
I’m now fumbling with the key, trying to put it into the ignition, but my hand is shaking. She calls once more, louder this time, more emphatic, and I can’t help but look across. God almighty, she is moving purposefully towards me. Still some distance away, though.
Key’s in. Lights kept off.
The car fires up.
I rev the engine, far too hard.
I reverse the car and turn around, One hundred and eighty degrees, so I can drive straight for the exit and away. The force as I hit the brakes jolts me back and then forward. William is thrown hard against the dashboard and tumbles into the footwell of the passenger seat.
Maybe the policewoman hasn’t seen him. She won’t now anyway. Perhaps she is just there, outside the house, to question passers-by, her first call to me nothing more than a polite request to ask for information. Too late now, though, my reaction giving it all away.
I look up, steadying myself to accelerate fast.
She is still coming towards me, walking, but quickly now, about to run.
Her hand is up in front of her, signalling me to stop.
I only have seconds to decide, but I have no choice. If I stay, I’m done for. She’s a big, muscular woman, as big as me, and fighting fit.
End of the road.
I have to go.
Right now.
I rev the car loudly, deliberately, so she hears it, giving her the chance to jump out of the way. Still she comes striding forward. I see her mouthing “Stop now” at me, her face contorting as she tries to shout above the noise of the engine.
She’s reaching for her radio, even though I’m about to drive straight at her. I ease off the clutch, pressing down on the accelerator. Hard, so the car moves loud and fast towards her. She knows she has to jump out of the way. Now. For fuck’s sake, jump now, you stupid ….
She doesn’t.
The car slams into her as she is about to shout into her radio.
Knocks her onto the bonnet.
I panic, first touching the brake, then pressing back hard on the accelerator. It throws the policewoman off and in front of the car, which hits her again with its full force. This time I stop; I can’t bring myself to run over her.
I’ve cut my forehead and William lies lifeless by the passenger seat. The policewoman is sprawled in front of the car.
Shakily, I reverse so I can see her. Utterly still. I can hear noise – static, an enquiring voice? – from her radio. Maybe I’m imagining it. Hard to tell. It’s difficult to think straight. I have to pull myself together. I look round. No one is in sight.
I draw breath, calming myself for a moment or two.
I reach forward for William.
He is dazed I reckon, but better left there, unseen.
Life or death now, well and truly. If the policewoman’s dead, the coppers won’t let me live if they catch me. Any excuse will do. They’ll bring in the marksmen and take me out no matter what. Even if I surrender. They’ll think of something.
That’s what they’re like, see: an eye for an eye. Take down a copper and it becomes a death race when you’re on the run. I have to go. I start the car up, inch slowly around the policewoman’s lifeless body, lights off, and drive to the exit of the car park.
Lights on.
Where now?
I have to get out of town as fast as I can.
62
5.19pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
“What’s that noise . . . what the hell is it?” Nat is the first to get to her feet and run across to the window, pulling back the curtains to look out.
“My God!” she shouts. “God, Rick, it’s Orrey. Look, it’s Orrey.”
Rick is at the door, snatching at the latch to open it.
“Dad, Dad. How do I . . .?” He pulls at the latch and swings the door open so he can see outside.
The policewoman is down, spread out across the ground.
Her radio is crackling.
The blue car is racing to the car park exit.
Nat shoves Rick aside, and is running barefoot after the car.
“Nat, Nat, wait . . . hold on,” cries Rick. “You’ll never catch him on foot. We’ll use the car. Where are the keys?”
He turns to the older couple coming up behind him, gesturing towards the policewoman on the ground in front of them.
“Quickly, Mum . . . Dad, help her. I need to find my car keys.”
He runs back into the cottage as the old man bends over the policewoman’s body.
“Help me . . . help me get her head up.” The old man lifts the policewoman’s head, looking at the old woman for support. “Your cardigan, let me have your cardigan.”
He leans close to the policewoman’s face, her head to one side, trying to tell if she is breathing. He moves his head as close as he can to her mouth.
“Feel for her pulse . . . here.” The old woman reaches for the policewoman’s wrist. She shakes her head. “I’ll get a mirror, from my handbag, you can use that to see if she’s breathing.” The old man looks sick with worry.
Then Rick is coming back out, without his misplaced keys but with a mobile phone, gesturing towards the older man to take it and use it. Rick runs after Nat.
The old woman moves behind the old man, holding a mirror.
The old man looks down at the lifeless body of the policewoman – dead, surely.
Then they hear a yell from Nat on the far side of the car park.
“Rick, oh God, it’s him, Orrey. I saw him. I can’t see if Will is with him, but it’s definitely him. Your car keys are in my bag somewhere. We have to go after him . . . before he disappears . . .” They turn together towards the cottage.
63
5.20pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
I’ve got to get away.
Out of town, and quickly.
No need to pretend any more.
I am at the exit. No one to be seen nor any cars driving on the road. I can turn right, up and out of town. Probably the fastest route; but most likely to have a police presence?
Or I can turn left, the road running along the seashore, up to the side roads half a mile or so on and then beyond that into a maze of lanes. Longer but safer, less likely to be coppers there?
I choose the fastest option – right, no time for delay. I turn and smile down at William next to me. “Here we go, little fellow, here we go – to Disneyland!”
I accelerate the car to thirty and then forty miles per hour down the high street. I daren’t look back, I don’t need to. The policewoman’s lying there. I have to go, be gone, before she’s found.
By the fish and chip shop.
By the cinema and the bookshop.
Left, and up the hill.
A mini-roundabout some way ahead. Two or three coppers stopping cars as they come in and out. I pull over to the side. Have they seen me? I don’t think so. There’s a car coming into town and another that’s pulled out ahead of me that’s going out of town. These cars have the coppers’ full attention. I swing the car round.
Stop.
Three-point turn.
Go.
I leave the lights on – daren’t dim them in case that attracts attention. Would look odd. A tell-tale sign. The coppers are behind me now and I glance in the rear-view mirror – I don’t want to risk turning around in case they spot me. It’s dark and still a little misty but a sharp-eyed copper might well see me watching, what with the street lights along here.
No one seems to have noticed.
Back to the seafront.
Straight across to turn left and away along the beach road towards Thorpeness and a mass of hidden lanes beyond.
The beach and sea are to my right. It’s darker here. Better that way. Easier to disappear into the night. Again, maybe one hundred yards distant, to the left, I see coppers. Two of them on either side of the road. There to check cars going out and coming in.
My luck still holds. The coppers are distracted again.
It looks like they are in conversation with a group of teenagers who want to walk along the road out of town but are being turned back, from what I can make out.
No way past for me then.
Once more, I pull over.
Start to do a turn.
William makes a noise, a sudden rush of breath. Seems to be coming to. No time for that now. I hush him, watching the coppers and youths in the distance. I keep the lights on again, to avoid suspicion – and reverse the car back so I am side-on now to the coppers.
William makes a gagging noise again. I push him to make sure he stays down and out of sight but then let go, hoping he won’t sit up. I can’t keep holding him. It will be near-impossible for me to complete the turn and drive away using only one hand.
Jesus, help me now.
I need you.
Have to take my chance.
Back into first gear, I edge the car forward, turning it away from the police as I do so. It’s all I can do to stay calm and not rev the engine, which would surely have the coppers looking up and over.
Easy does it, oh-so-slowly we go.
There. At last.
It seemed to take an age, but I’ve done it.
The car is facing away from the coppers. William is below the height of the headrest; no chance of being spotted. I know I should drive away nice and steady. But I can’t help myself, can’t help but stop for a moment and take a look in the rear-view mirror.
One of the coppers is still talking to the teenagers. He’s facing me but doesn’t seem to have looked across, absorbed in what those teenagers, almost dancing around him now, are saying. Some sort of argument, for sure.
The other copper is a woman. She’s not looking at the youths. No, not at all. She is gazing up and along the road at me. Stopping and turning must have caught her eye. She has her head crooked at a funny angle.
I can see what she is doing.
She is talking, saying something about the car, into a radio on her shoulder, as I pull away.
Has she seen the number plate?
I don’t think so, not from that distance. I think she will just alert other coppers – who and where? – telling those on the roads out of town to keep watch for this type and colour of car.
No choice now. Have to go right the way back along the seafront.
Make my way into those lanes at the far end.
Have to see how far they will take me out of town.
Back I drive, nice and steady, the same way that I came. By the bookshop. And the cinema. By the fish and chip shop. The town is still quiet and lifeless. Hardly anyone about. No cars on the move. One or two pedestrians, that’s all. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Maybe those lanes are the best place for us, after all.
Get as far as we can out of sight. Then dump the car in a barn or a field behind a spread of trees.
See what we can do from there and where we go.
I’m approaching the car park now, where I left the policewoman for dead. I can see lights on at the cottage and one or two of the houses. I slow further, edging by the car park. I guess a neighbour must have discovered the policewoman, and alerted others.
I stop the car a little way up the road just by the exit to the car park. Looking across, I can see a small crowd – three, four people – standing around the body. Dead? Alive?
I see it before I hear it.
Glancing in my rear-view mirror.
The police car, coming like the wind towards me, all lights flashing.
64
5.33pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
The old woman, kneeling by the side of the policewoman, makes a huffing noise as she looks up at the sight of flashing lights. She turns to the old man, now speaking softly to two elderly dog-walkers he’s called over to as they crossed the car park with their Labrador.
“Police car,” she says, getting carefully to her feet. “She needs an ambulance, not the police . . . she’ll need a hearse soon enough.”
“They’ll have medical training, will know what to do. We never learned,” he replies, looking at the dog-walking couple.
“We did a first aid course years ago,” says the male dog-walker. “Just keep her comfortable, head raised. It’s all you can do.”
“Mouth-to-mouth, mainly,” the female dog-walker explains. “For drownings . . . children on the beach. We were volunteers. I think we’re too late for this lady. Is there a pulse? I saw you checking.”
“It’s very faint. And there’s some breath, but it’s shallow.”
“What happened, did you say she was run over?” asks the male dog-walker.
“Has she spoken?” adds the female dog-walker.
The old man and the old woman shake their heads – no, nothing – as a young policeman comes sprinting over. He bends down, touches the policewoman’s neck and arm and then speaks urgently into his radio, calling for help.
An older policeman approaches, looking at the old couple and the dog-walkers as he runs up to them. “What happened?”
“It’s Orrey,” the old woman answers. “He came back for the car – you said you’d been keeping watch since last night but you obviously weren’t any more. He’s knocked your colleague down . . . and driven off in the car.”
“What car is he driving?”
The old woman stares back at him, snapping, “It’s the one that’s been sitting here for the past twenty-four hours while you chased all over the countryside on a wild goose chase. The one you were supposed to have under observation in case he returned.”
The old man steps forward, trying to soothe matters. “Listen. Orrey. Raymond Orrey – the man you’ve been looking for – came back, we think with . . . with our grandson, William, and stole the blue Renault that’s been parked out the front here.”
The policeman gazes down at the fallen policewoman as the old man goes on, “Your colleague must have tried to stop him. We don’t know the number of it, the car; we never thought to look. Our son and his wife will have it. They’ve gone after him. To stop him.”
“Which way did he go, Orrey?”
The old woman answers this time. “We didn’t see, we were tending to your colleague. We thought she was dead. She nearly was. She’s just about breathing. He would have driven out that way . . .”
The old man points to the exit to emphasise the old woman’s comment. His eyesight isn’t so good these days. He could swear that is a Renault over there. But it couldn’t be, could it? No.
“ . . . and then headed out of town as quickly as he could, I imagine. Wouldn’t you?” The old woman finishes speaking. “Well, wouldn’t you?” she adds, turning to the old man.
The old man, distracted by his thoughts, turns towards her to answer.
65
5.34pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
Engine and lights off.
I drop down, pulling William towards me so we are both below window level.
He makes a squawking noise.
Daren’t look up and back, to see where the police car is going. Left, into the car park to the huddle of neighbours around the fallen policewoman? Or behind my car, coppers out, running up to us, wrenching open the doors to arrest me and snatch back little William?
I wait, face pressed close to William’s.
He struggles a little.
I pull a silly expression and make a funny noise. He watches me.
Is this how it ends? Right here and now? Locked in a sweet embrace with William, me gurning and whistling gently, him reaching out to touch my raspberry-blowing lips? All the while, me straining to hear the sound of the police car stopping, doors opening, coppers’ footsteps approaching my car?
William doesn’t look well, to be honest.
Car sick, I reckon.
I can’t bear it. Is it all over now, is this it?
I wait, stiff and tense. Not wanting William to see how I feel, scared and frightened. What do I do if the coppers rip open the doors? All over in seconds, no chance to get to my feet and fight, just dragged out onto the pavement, in front of my sweet, gentle little boy, and manhandled away, never to see him again.
I am not going to give up without a fight. I’ve come too far.
Moving my arm, I reach out and press down the lock on the door.
As the coppers reach for the doors, I’ll sit up and drive off.
It would be the end, of course; I know that, deep down. The coppers, struggling to break open the doors as I move over to the driver’s seat and fire the car up, would soon be racing back to their own car.
How far would I get?
I’d have to take my chances – driving into the lanes with my lights off, taking the car up as fast as I could, fifty, sixty miles per hour and more, trying to shake them off. I’d not get far, not up against an experienced police driver. But I’d have a last few minutes with my dear, sweet William and we would have the choice of living or going out together. I’d not want to go on without my little boy. Nor him without his loving daddy. We will go together.
William looks at me. He’s troubled, a daddy can tell.
I go to kiss him.
His breath smells sweet and sickly.
Clumsily, he pulls away.
I hear footsteps and am ready to react, while treasuring our last few seconds of happiness.
“I love you, sweet William.” The first time I have said that to anyone in my life and meant it, really meant it, with all of my heart. I look at him, gaze into his soft blue eyes and will him to say the same to me. If he could say it, just once, before the coppers get to the doors, it would mean everything, the whole wide world, to me.
“William . . .?”
66
5.36pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
“Rick, where is he? Where’s he gone? You’ve lost him. How could you lose him?” Nat cries out in fear.
