Right to Kill

by John Barlow

  He wondered how long he should wait before mentioning it. A double murderer, but he felt deeply ashamed for the pain he was about to cause her. Meanwhile, she looked around the dining room, watching as another couple wandered in and got settled at a table.

  ‘I read the report on your son’s death.’

  She sat forward, rested her chin on her hands.

  ‘Did it make you cry?’

  He nodded. He felt like crying now, for her, for everything.

  But she wasn’t crying. Her eyes were wide open, unwavering, unhinged. He could see that now. Mad and desperate, yet defiant.

  He decided to wait, let her speak. Pity? He no longer knew what he felt.

  She swallowed hard.

  ‘You thought I’d crumble when you mentioned Thomas, right?’

  Before he could answer, the onion rings arrived, along with her wine.

  ‘I’m in a new place, Joe!’ she whispered as the dish was placed between them in the middle of the table. ‘Beyond your justice.’

  The waiter turned and left without a word.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘are we doing the whole act? I mean, I quite fancy that steak and ale pie.’

  ‘Whatever you want. I’m not hungry.’

  The beginnings of a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth as she considered the onion rings, eyeing them up from various angles. A deranged mind? Diminished responsibility? This couldn’t go on.

  ‘Did you see The Sopranos?’ she asked as she stared at the dish between them. ‘The last episode, how it just stopped? It’s the same here. This is gonna stop. It’s over.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘I’ll stop. Never do anything again. I promise.’

  He took a long breath, watching her as she sat back and drank some wine. Promise? He had no idea what she meant.

  ‘That’s not how this ends. You must know that.’

  ‘You, your partner outside in the car park, and whoever else there is waiting for me? You should all know.’

  He tried to stay absolutely still, maintained eye contact.

  She took an onion ring as though it was a trinket that had caught her attention.

  ‘I’m going to walk out of this pub and get on my bike, as if the whole evening had gone completely according to plan.’

  ‘How could you even begin to think I’d let that happen? Anyway, your bike’s still up at the library. Why don’t we…’

  ‘I’ve done something, Joe.’

  ‘I think we need to…’

  ‘Something else. Something terrible.’

  She took her glass and drank the whole of it down in one draught. He watched her neck flex as she strained with the effort of it. Then she set the glass down and wiped the back of a hand across her mouth. She was shaking visibly, and her words came out unsteadily.

  ‘Kieron Burnett. I didn’t know what… what else…’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Kieron. Yesterday in Tesco’s car park? The kid who damaged that car?’

  He felt his body go rigid.

  ‘You don’t need to do this, Chris.’

  Her hands shook even more. The onion ring dropped from her fingers, glanced off the edge of the table and fell to the floor. What little colour there had been in her cheeks was gone. She looked scared, but still quick-witted, like an animal. Her chest rose and fell as her breathing became faster.

  ‘Kieron Burnett?’ he said. ‘You don’t have to play games. Chris? Chris? Where is he?’

  ‘Who, Joe. That’s the issue.’

  ‘Where? Please, tell me what you’ve done.’

  ‘I took him after school today. He’s at a secure location. I wish I hadn’t…’

  ‘Took him? Is he conscious?’

  ‘Now? Perhaps.’

  ‘Tell me where.’

  ‘I can’t. This is how it’s going to be. I didn’t want to do it.’ Her lips were glistening, and her eyes were streaming with tears. ‘It was all I could… Oh God!’

  He grabbed his phone.

  ‘I’m going to throw up,’ she said, pulling herself unsteadily to her feet. ‘Don’t make me do it here, Joe, please. I need to…’

  He sprang up, panicking, fingers prodding the screen of his phone.

  ‘OK.’

  With the phone pressed to his ear he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to a passageway that ran down the side of the pub. With every diner in the place watching them, he pushed her towards the toilets and positioned himself on the corner, just a few strides away.

  ‘Rita? Rita! Kieron Burnett. He’s a kid from her school. Thirteen years old. She’s got him locked up somewhere. Repeat: Kieron Burnett. Kieron Burnett.’

  42

  I’ve got no choice now.

  A woman about my age has just gone to the ladies’. She’s in a bright-red jacket and cream trousers. Her hair is dark, a bit like mine. The trousers? Mine are black. I’ve got no choice.

  As I follow her in, Joe’s standing at the beginning of the passageway, a couple of paces behind me, shouting into his phone, telling them about Kieron.

  The woman is going into one of the cubicles when I get there. I slam my foot into the door before she locks it. The door batters into her. She topples forward, hugging the toilet basin as she falls. There’s a little gasp, shock more than anything. I stand over her, punch her in the temple. Twice. Three times. Not very hard. It doesn’t need to be.

  I drag the jacket from her as she whimpers. She’s already peeing herself, arms above her head in self-defence, but her body’s loose, and she’s only semi-conscious. I ditch my jacket, swap it for hers. Her glasses are on the floor. I grab them, put them on. I look in her handbag. I take a phone in a white wallet, a cigarette from an open packet and a lighter. I get my car keys ready.

  I pause at the door for one deep breath. Red jacket and glasses; white phone up to my face; cigarette between my lips, lighter and keys in the other hand, the lighter also held up to my face. It’s the best I can do. Plus, the car’s right outside.

  As I emerge into the passageway I’m nodding into the phone, flicking the lighter, my back to Joe. Just past the toilets, at the end of the passageway, there’s a fire door that leads outside to a gazebo for smokers. The push bar on the door is a bit stiff, but it opens OK. I tried it earlier.

  Outside there’s a copper in the car park, about fifteen feet away, just beyond the gazebo. He looks at me. I stop, nod, light up and start talking into the phone, nice and loud, animated. He watches me for a second. I take one hard draw on the cigarette and exhale, blowing smoke between us.

  He’s not sure. He starts to move in my direction. I walk around the other side of the gazebo. He’s looking at his phone as he comes towards me, getting faster. I have the key ready. The car’s right there. It’s not locked.

  He’s running now.

  ‘Excuse me…’

  I pull open the car door.

  ‘Hey…’

  Key in.

  ‘Hey…’

  The motor screams into action.

  He’s got his arms in the air. He’s shouting.

  I’m away.

  43

  Joe was listening to his phone as Rita barked orders at one of her officers, who was already relaying the info about Kieron Burnett to HQ.

  A woman in a red jacket came out of the toilets. He was thinking: Kieron Burnett? The little kid from yesterday? Is she bluffing? The woman in red was speaking into a mobile. Glasses. Cigarette.

  ‘Joe?’ he heard on his phone.

  The woman went out through the fire door to smoke.

  ‘Joe?’

  Something wasn’t right.

  ‘Joe, are you still…’

  ‘It’s her,’ he said.

  ‘She’s coming. Stop! Stop her!’

  The revving of a car engine rang out from behind the building. He spun around, ran towards the front entrance. As he pushed the doors open, Rita’s Land Rover was already jerking into reverse, arcing across the car park to block the exit.


  At the same moment a black Renault Clio appeared from behind the pub, going at a staggering speed, whining in second gear as it flew across the tarmac. The gap between the Land Rover and the hawthorn hedge that bordered the exit had narrowed almost to nothing.

  The Renault drove straight at the Land Rover, which was now at an acute angle, blocking the way out. At the last moment the Clio swerved to its right, ploughing into the hedge but also smashing into the side of the Landy, shunting it several feet to the side, the shriek of metal on metal drowning out even the noise of the engine.

  The angle of impact, plus the car’s momentum, was enough for it to push its way through. Coming to a brief halt, the Clio’s engine whined yet louder as it was thrown into first gear. Within seconds it was gone, careering down the dimly lit road and out of the village.

  ‘Now!’ Joe was bawling as he looked around for officers in vehicles, pointing at the exit. ‘Now!’

  He was grappling with his phone as he shouted, watching the little black car disappear into the night, and knowing that it was heading into a patchwork of rural hamlets criss-crossed with tiny, winding lanes.

  Phone it in. Get a helicopter. Killer on the loose. Half the Force’d be out. What a bloody disaster.

  Again he looked around. There was a car gunning for the exit, swerving around the Landy, clattering into the bushes as it went. Another one was right behind it, nearly losing its back end as it was thrown out onto the road.

  And Rita?

  Both the officers stationed behind the building came running. Joe raised an arm, pointing at them.

  ‘The registration. Did you get the…’

  They were shouting it out as they ran.

  ‘Radio it in as you go.’ He pointed to the Land Rover as he ran towards it. ‘Get in!’

  Both unmarked cars had now disappeared into the rural darkness, the sound of their motors receding to nothing in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Rita? Rita?’

  Nothing was moving inside. She was there, head down on the steering wheel.

  He yanked the door open and clambered in, trying to see the extent of her injuries.

  ‘Rita? Are you…’

  ‘Get after her, dickhead!’ came a croaky voice from the driver’s seat. ‘It’s just a bump.’

  He saw her eyes close. One of the other officers was phoning for an ambulance. Joe called in the incident.

  ‘This is DS Joe Romano,’ he said, loud and clear. ‘Urgent back-up requested…’

  Yet even as he spoke, he knew that none of this would be worth it. Her route would have been planned in advance. Twenty, perhaps thirty seconds’ advantage in these parts was enough, especially at night. She’d be snaking her way down a network of tiny lanes by now, headlights off, in her dark, anonymous hire-car or whatever it was; the same car she’d used to come out of the school, the reason that no one had seen her leave this afternoon.

  Would another car be waiting somewhere close? Just for a second he imagined himself back at Elland Road, poring over her credit card bills, identifying the entries for car rentals: strategically placed vehicles that she’d used to dupe that sucker Joe Romano.

  This would be the story: a multiple killer and kidnapper had escaped from a six-man security cordon outside a pub. A pub in which she was being wined and dined for the second time by…

  No. Not that. Not now.

  ‘Rita?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she growled. ‘Get her.’

  44

  The car park at the Greyhound was rapidly filling up. There were two ambulances, an array of patrol cars, plus several unmarked cars, with more arriving constantly. The Land Rover was being photographed, and both Rita and the woman from the toilets were in the ambulances.

  It was only a matter of minutes since Chris Saunders had sped away, but the West Yorkshire Police helicopter was already making noisy circuits overhead, its silvery beam criss-crossing the night sky. Kieron Burnett had been confirmed as missing. Half a mile down the road, Chris’s house was being taken apart, and a few miles further off, in Cleckheaton, Whitcliffe Mount School was overrun with police search teams.

  Meanwhile, the car park was alive to the constant chatter of radios, as officers arrived from Leeds and from various points in Kirklees. There was also a healthy presence of bystanders, many of them holding up their phones as they videoed events. A couple of uniformed officers were having trouble keeping the public back, especially those whose cars were now trapped in the car park. It was chaos, and it would already be on Twitter and dozens of live-streaming sites.

  Joe watched as a small, red Audi arrived, came to a momentary stop, then drove slowly in his direction. Gwyn Merchant flashed his headlights as he pulled up next to Joe.

  ‘How’s Rita?’ he said as Joe got into the passenger seat, glad to be out of the circus.

  ‘She’s OK. Mild concussion.’

  ‘What about the kid? How’s that going?’

  ‘Kirklees are dealing with—’

  ‘Fuck Kirklees. We’ll find him.’ He grabbed a small laptop from the back seat and fired it up. ‘What do we know about this woman, Joe? Social media? Where’s her presence?’

  Joe paused. But only for a second.

  ‘Facebook.’

  ‘Right. We’re looking for somewhere to hide a kid. Christine Saunders. Tell me about her,’ Gwyn said as he searched for her Facebook account.

  ‘She’s ordered. In control. Neat dresser, stylish but not fancy.’

  ‘Right. Character? Habits?’

  ‘Runs courses on finance at the local library. One on bereavement too. Believes in helping folk, or she used to.’

  ‘OK,’ he said as his fingers moved with practiced speed across the keyboard. ‘Right! I’ve got her. Carry on.’

  ‘She’s a Maths teacher, background in accountancy. I dunno…’

  ‘She’s about your age, right? Is she fit?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is she fit? Seriously? I mean, fit, ripped, skinny? What’s your relationship with her?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. But she is fit. She goes on long walks in the country… Oh, Jesus! Look back through her Facebook posts. It’s an app.’

  Gwyn’s face was about an inch away from the screen.

  ‘What app? Speak to me, Joe.’

  ‘Maps. She posts the routes. Likes long walks.’

  ‘Maps, maps…’

  ‘Y’know, maps of where you’ve been.’

  A massive breath from Gwyn.

  ‘Oh, I know!’

  He scrolled down the page. Ten seconds. Twenty.

  ‘These aren’t walks, mate. Too long. They’re cycling stats.’ His phone was already in his hand. ‘She sees somewhere when she’s out on her bike in the countryside, somewhere to lock up the kid. It’s gotta be this, Joe. Gotta be.’

  He phoned Elland Road, read out the Facebook details, telling them to go look at all the routes she’d taken.

  ‘Remote spots, abandoned buildings, places to hide someone…’ he told them, his voice fast but clear, no emotion. ‘Get everybody on it. Soon as, eh?’

  Gwyn ended the call and sat back. He looked out onto the busy car park.

  ‘Shit round here, innit? Pokey back lanes and fields and what-not? Where d’you get a friggin’ pint of milk? There’s nowt here.’ He glanced at the cricket field with mild disgust. ‘It’s how she got Shaw’s Toyota to her house without it showing up on any CCTV. I didn’t see a single camera coming up here from the Ring Road. As for escaping from you lot, I already called you a twat, right?’

  There was something boyish about the way he said it, as if it was the kindest thing he could think of in the circumstances.

  ‘I was trying to get a confession on tape, all the details, the lot, pretty much wrap it up before the arrest.’

  ‘Whereas in fact you got the shaft. Six of you. Six! Jesus Christ!’

  Joe found himself cradling his face in his hands. There’d be senior officers here soon enough. And they’d have C
omms officers in tow, one from each district, making sure he was kept well away from the cameras. Not that it mattered. The whole thing would already be on the internet, live action of police incompetence, late-night TV bulletins. The media escalation would be horrendous, and if they didn’t get her quickly, or if the little lad…

  He squeezed his eyes shut, finding a small space within himself, enough to force the screams from his mind.

  They remained there for a while in silence. Then he felt a slight pressure on his shoulder.

  ‘Joe? We get the kid, then we get her, right? You’ll have yourself a double murder. OK, bud?’

  He gave Joe’s shoulder a shove.

  ‘One-sixty-six, eh?’ Joe said, blinking himself awake. ‘Isn’t that your motto?’

  ‘Aye, well I’m a fuckin’ gobshite, if you hadn’t noticed. A murder’s a murder, my friend.’

  Merchant’s phone rang.

  ‘This better be good news.’

  He listened, nodding, already firing up the motor.

  ‘Right,’ he said, swivelling in his seat as he backed the Audi up. ‘Two possibles. There’s what looks like an abandoned farm building in a place called Gomersal, about three miles from here. Then there’s an old air raid shelter near Cleckheaton, same deal. Both secluded, and she’s ridden past ’em both loads of times.’ He revved the car. ‘Come on, Joe. Which one is it? Think. You’ve got ten seconds. Choose. Them tossers from Kirklees get the other one.’

  ‘She mentioned Gomersal village yesterday. Said she was going to walk there. A pub.’

  Merchant got on his phone, made sure that the other possible location was communicated to the Kirklees team. He drove slowly as far the ambulances, then came to a stop. Wound down his window.

  ‘Rita! Rita?’

  A subdued DS Scannon poked her head out.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re off! Come on!’

  She paused for a split second, then hobbled down from the back of the ambulance and joined them.

  The Audi topped out at ninety, lighting up the hedgerows of Tong village as they sped towards Gomersal.

  ‘Google Maps!’ Merchant screamed as he drove, the light from his mobile phone turning his face blue. ‘Fuckin’ love it!’