Written In Blood

by Alex R Carver

  48

  The surveillance room in the security suite at St Mary’s Hospital was small, barely big enough to hold the two chairs occupied by the guard who had the duty of watching the bank of monitors that took up most of the space and by DI Harrison. There certainly wasn’t enough room for either of them to move out of the way, which meant Harrison had to lean across the guard, who was reluctantly sharing his space, in order to see the image on the middle left monitor better.

  “All stations, heads up, we have a possible suspect in the East stairwell, heading up from the ground floor,” Harrison alerted the officers he had been given for that night’s operation. “Suspect appears to be between five-eight and six feet tall and medium build, wearing dark clothes, including a balaclava or similar.

  “Can you follow him on the cameras?” he asked of the security guard next to him as the figure in the stairwell continued up, disappearing out of range of the camera he had been watching.

  The guard answered the question with a nod and quickly cycled through the cameras he controlled until he found the mystery figure again, he then followed the suspected killer on his way to the fourth floor.

  Harrison found himself torn by conflicted feelings as he watched the figure leave the stairwell on the fourth floor. A part of him was pleased the plan he had come up with appeared to be working; someone, and he didn’t want to pre-empt his thinking by putting a name to the figure, was heading towards Emily Wright’s room, almost certainly with the intention of killing the teen before she could wake up. A much larger part of him, however, was concerned about the fact that there was now a murderer in the hospital, and the violence he had shown, according to the post-mortems, suggested that he was not going to simply surrender when he realised he had been tricked. If anything, discovering that he had been set up was likely to make him angry and violent.

  *****

  He paused when he reached the fourth floor so he could listen at the door of the stairwell. He had made it that far without being seen, as far as he was aware, and was determined to make it the rest of the way, deal with Emily Wright, and get back out again without being discovered; he hadn’t even been seen when he entered the accident and emergency department and headed for the stairwell, and that was where he thought it most likely someone would stop him and want to know what he was doing.

  He listened for more than a minute before deciding the corridor on the other side of the door was empty. Once He was sure of that, he eased the door open and slipped through. He had scouted the hospital earlier in the day, so he would know just where to go to commit the murder he was there for, but everything looked different in the semi-darkness, and he was no longer as confident of where he had go to.

  Despite the gloom and his uncertainty, he made it to his destination without getting lost, and with only one incident. Halfway to Emily’s room the sound of footsteps around the corner he was approaching made him scurry back the way he had come in search of somewhere to hide; he found what he was after in the form of an ITU room occupied by an elderly man who was being kept alive by a variety of machines.

  As he had in the stairwell, He pressed his ear against the door and listened until he was sure the way was clear; the footsteps approached his position, making him worry he was going to be found, then passed and receded into the distance. Relieved to have evaded detection, He left his hiding place, and a couple of minutes later reached the room Emily had been put in. He stopped in front of the door and looked around briefly before entering so he could kill the teen who stood between him and safety from the police.

  Once in the room He crossed it quickly before stopping at the bed. For several long seconds, he stared down at the barely visible outline of the slumbering form that was his target. There was a part of him that thought he should leave and not do anything to Emily, after all, she was already in a coma, but that was overridden by his instinct for self-preservation, and the selfishness that made him care for himself ahead of anyone else.

  Almost of their own volition, his hands reached out towards the place where he was sure Emily’s throat was. His fingers bumped against her chin and he quickly altered their position so he could tighten them around her throat and end the threat she posed to him. That was when a lamp come on over the bed and he saw that it wasn’t Emily he was strangling.

  “You’re under arrest,” Melissa gasped as she let go of the switch for the lamp and brought her hands up to try and pull away those around her throat. It was a task she found all but impossible; it took her only a moment to realise that she was much weaker than her attacker, and what strength she had quickly faded as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision.

  Laughter bubbled up out of him at the words from the constable he was killing; it amused him so much that she was trying to arrest him while he was strangling her he couldn’t help it.

  “This is the police, release the constable, you’re under arrest.”

  The situation wasn’t as funny when the words were repeated from behind him. His laughter died abruptly and he released Melissa as he spun around, only to be all but blinded when the overhead light blazed on, illuminating every corner of the room. He could see little of the man who had spoken beyond an outline, but that was enough; he charged, barrelling into the officer before the sergeant - he saw the stripes on the uniform sleeve just before impact - could react. The collision knocked the sergeant to the floor, and He quickly straddled him, using his weight to keep him from rising.

  While the man beneath him bucked and heaved in a desperate effort to throw him off, He grabbed him by the hair and smashed his head into the floor. Again and again he repeated the manoeuvre until an arm encircled his throat and began to apply pressure, forcing him to let go so he could defend himself.

  Having recovered from her own choking, as much as she was likely to just then, Melissa used all her strength to maintain her grip on the killer. She didn’t want to kill the man who had murdered her cousin – at least she didn’t think she did – but she was determined not to let him get away, and if that meant choking him until he passed out, she was fine with that. While she kept him in a choke hold that was intended to subdue him, she used her free hand to keep him from breaking the grip she had on him.

  That task was difficult enough, given how much stronger than her he was, and it became even more difficult when he straightened to his full height, which was about a third of a foot taller than hers. She had to stretch up to maintain her grip on his throat, and when he began throwing himself about to dislodge her, it became almost impossible.

  With his vision beginning to fade and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, He found himself in a position to understand what the girls he had killed had been through before dying. The experience was not one he liked, and it made him even more determined to get free; he thrashed about as if he could shake the person on his back loose, while wrenching at the arm around his throat.

  It wasn’t until he bumped into the bed and fell over it that the arm loosened its grip and he could breathe properly again. He slammed his head back into Melissa’s face, provoking a short, sharp gasp of pain and a further loosening of the grip she had on him, which enabled him to jerk free and scramble to his feet.

  He glanced back as he headed out of the room and saw that Melissa was still on the floor. He was tempted to stay and take out the anger he felt at having been deceived on her, but he quickly reminded himself that giving in to his emotions would not help him to get away. He had to move quickly, and not let anything slow him down, if he wanted to avoid getting caught and spending the rest of his life in a prison cell.

  He had gone no more than a dozen feet when he found his route back to the stairwell he had used to get there blocked by two constables. His hand immediately went to his pocket, and the knife he always carried with him, the sight of which made the constables hesitate.

  He feinted to his left, forcing the officer there to retreat quickly, and then turned so he could barge into the other officer, bowling h
im over. That left the way clear for Him to escape. He threw himself through the gap between the two officers, and was just thinking he was clear and could head safely for the stairwell when his ankle was grabbed and his leg pulled out from under him.

  He tumbled to the floor, but rolled quickly onto his back so he could kick out at the constable who had brought him down. He caught the man square in the face, shattering his nose and leaving his features a bloody mess; a second kick worsened the damage, and left the constable unmoving on the floor.

  A jerk of his leg freed it from the grip of the immobile officer, and he slashed the air wildly with his knife to keep the other officer away as he scrambled to his feet. He slashed again to force the uniformed figure back, and then turned so he could race away down the passage. A glance over his shoulder told him that although he was far from the quickest of people, he was quicker than the constable pursuing him, who seemed almost to plod along like he was trying to run on sand. He smiled beneath his balaclava as he turned the corner and sped down the passage towards the stairs.

  49

  “Talk to me people, what’s going on?” Harrison spoke urgently into his radio. He had no idea what had happened in the room where Constable Turner had been playing the part of Emily Wright, but it seemed clear to him that things had not gone well. If it had, the figure he believed to be their killer would not have reappeared in the passage, except in handcuffs, and he would not have been able to leave a constable immobile on the floor while he ran from the other.

  “He got away, sir, sorry,” Melissa gasped into her radio as she left the room. “Sergeant Tracey’s down, I don’t know how badly he’s hurt, but it looks bad. Help’s on its way.” It hadn’t been an easy decision for her to make, to leave the injured sergeant after pressing the alarm button to summon help, but she was sure she had done the right thing. She had no medical knowledge, beyond her first aid training, so there was little she could do for him, but there was still a chance that she could catch the man who had tried to kill them both. “Constable Walsh is down as well,” she reported.

  Harrison made a snap decision as he saw Melissa hesitate by the constable on the floor. “Leave him, let the medical staff deal with him, you get after the suspect.” He realised that his decision might not be one Melissa agreed with, it might even be one that would land him in trouble when the operation was reviewed, but he was certain it was the right one.

  Melissa had already been torn between stopping to help the constable on the floor and continuing her pursuit of the killer; she was relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands.

  In obedience to the command she had been given, she took off down the passage. When she reached the corner around which she had seen Constable Yarrow disappear, she saw the fleeing figure of their suspect up ahead, beyond her lumbering colleague. Her throat was sore where she had been choked, she was sure her nose had been broken, and her split lip was bleeding; she didn’t let any of that slow her as she gave pursuit, however.

  It surprised her when she began to close the distance between her and those she was pursuing - she overtook Constable Yarrow just before they reached the stairwell.

  “Which way?” Melissa asked of Harrison after bursting through the door into the stairwell. “Up or down?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps from below told her which direction to take, and she descended as quickly as she could.

  Harrison sat in the security room and watched the monitors with a growing sense of dismay. He had said from the start that he needed more officers, four plus himself simply wasn’t enough to be certain of stopping someone who had shown a capacity for extreme violence - a capacity that had been demonstrated again with the disablement of two of the four officers given him for the operation. He watched as the medical staff began working on the constable in the passage, and he watched as his suspect pulled away from Constable Yarrow, only to have Constable Turner narrow the gap.

  It was good that Melissa was gaining on the fleeing suspect, but it only took him a second to realise that she was unlikely to catch him, and that if she did she was at a serious disadvantage. Barefoot, and dressed in only a hospital gown, with neither handcuffs nor baton, Melissa had little chance of stopping the suspect, especially when he was armed and unafraid of violence. He could think of only one way to prevent what seemed like the inevitable escape of his suspect, and he got quickly to his feet to leave the room.

  Harrison radioed control with a request for backup as he ran from the security suite. It wasn’t easy to run and talk at the same time, but he moved as quickly as he could, determined to reach the stairwell and put himself between his suspect and escape. He didn’t have a baton, an oversight he regretted, but he did at least have handcuffs, and he hoped he could hold his suspect up for long enough for the two chasing constables to catch up; despite the failure so far, he was confident that between the three of them they could make a successful arrest.

  He threw open the door to the stairwell and bounded up, amazed to see that he had got there before his suspect could reach the ground floor. He slowed as he reached the first floor, his eyes on the dark-clad, masked figure descending towards him, and on the knife in his hand; above the figure, but closing the gap, was Melissa, and audible, but not yet visible, was another person, who Harrison guessed was Constable Yarrow.

  “Stop where you are, you’re under arrest.”

  Harrison was surprised when the murderer neither stopped nor slowed, but instead leapt at him. Before he could react, let alone dodge or defend himself, Harrison was borne to the floor by the weight of his attacker; his breath escaped him in an explosion that carried with it the pain of being stabbed. When he felt the knife pierce his stomach he was reminded that he had forgotten to put on his stab vest, a potentially fatal mistake he hoped he wasn’t going to regret.

  Melissa saw her superior attacked and reacted without thinking; she rushed down the stairs and launched herself at the man who had killed her cousin. She crashed into him, knocking him away from Harrison and sending him rolling down the stairs; she went with him, and when they came to a stop she found herself on top. Quickly, she pinned his arms with her knees so she could pull off his mask to see if she was right about His identity.

  It seemed a simple enough thing to do, removing a mask, but the murderer under her bucked and heaved wildly in an effort to throw her off. That made it difficult for her to keep him pinned and get a grip on the balaclava he was wearing. She had the advantage of being on top, but Melissa didn’t find it easy to control the killer she had caught; she imagined what she was experiencing was similar to how it must be trying to stay on a bucking bronco at a rodeo.

  Looking around for help, Melissa saw Harrison pulling himself slowly and painfully towards her and her captive, while Constable Yarrow was still a floor away, continuing his descent at a tortoise-like pace. She couldn’t believe how slow her fellow constable was, his running speed seemed to be barely above walking; she felt like yelling at him to speed up so he could help her, but she needed her energy for other things.

  Harrison had managed to drag himself only a couple of feet, and Yarrow was still a dozen or so steps away, when the struggle between Melissa and the killer ended. Before she had a chance to realise what had happened, He wrenched an arm free from the knee pinning it and slashed at her face – she hadn’t thought to try and disarm him, so focused was she on unmasking him.

  Melissa jerked back away from the flashing blade, but not quickly enough, the razor-sharp weapon opened her cheek from her ear almost to her lip. Before she could recover, from either the surprise or the pain, an almighty heave threw her off her suspect and she saw stars as her head struck one of the stairs.

  She struggled to her feet and looked dizzily from her injured superior to the fleeing murderer; she didn’t want to abandon the pursuit and let Him get away, but she didn’t want to leave someone who was injured either, not again, not after already doing it twice that night.
>
  “Don’t worry about me, get after him, don’t let him get away,” Harrison ordered in a pain-filled voice when he saw Melissa coming towards him.

  “Which way did he go?” Melissa demanded of Yarrow when she caught up to him just outside the entrance to the emergency room, where he was looking unhappily around the dimly-lit car park as though he expected their suspect to appear from the shadow of one of the cars they could see.

  “No idea,” Yarrow admitted. “He was gone by the time I made it out here. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Melissa’s head whipped around, sending blood splashing from her cut, as the sound of a racing car engine reached her. She hurried along the front of the building towards the corner where the engine noise had come from; she knew the vehicle she could hear might not have anything to do with the suspect she was after, but the timing of it seemed too coincidental for her to ignore.

  She reached the corner in time to see a dark Land Rover race away through the car park towards the exit; it was gone so quickly there was no time for her to spot anything that might help her to recognise either the vehicle or the driver during the few instances when it passed through a patch of light.

  50

  Zack whipped the curtains back, flooding the room with light, and crossed to the bed. “Come on, time to get up.”

  “No it’s not,” a muffled voice replied. “It’s still dark.”

  “If it’s dark, why have you got the duvet over your face?” Zack asked. “Come on, get up.” He yanked the duvet off the bed and out of Sophie’s reach. “You said you’re going to be my shadow and keep me out of trouble, well I’m going for a run, are you coming along to keep an eye on me, or am I going alone?”

  Sophie opened her eyes, which she had scrunched up when the duvet was pulled away. “Are you out of your mind?” Propping herself up on one elbow, she looked at her friend disbelievingly. “You only got out of hospital last night, your back looks like a mass of freckles, and you had a buggered ankle only the other day; why the hell would you want to go running? And why the hell would you want to do so this early? What time is it anyway?”