Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

David desperately chased the lorry down the Folkestone Road, but the driver was running late and at forty miles an hour over a half mile the truck outpaced the running man. McKie kept chasing, but the lorry had disappeared down York Road towards the terminal, when he got to the roundabout. McKie stood panting for breath, hands on knees. He needed to get back to the house and contact DIC and the police. He wrongly assumed Stanton was headed for the marina. He turned and ran back as fast as he could towards Elm’s Vale.

Stanton headed straight for Pencester Road, after dropping off the back of the lorry on York Road and doing a circuit of Pencester Gardens. Stanton waited outside the bus station, aware of the CCTV. It was ten fifty, ten minutes before the coach left. Stanton wondered what to do, how to get on the coach without being seen by CCTV.

Back at Elm’s Vale Tom the neighbour had called an ambulance and David was greeted by Police, Ambulance men and a lot of questions. David walked straight past all the people on his door step, went to his coat and got out his DIC pass. He turned on the police man in his door way.

“Check this badge please.”

The policeman read it.

“I see sir. I still need to know what happened here.”

“Come on in and close the door and we can talk in private.” David nodded towards the gathering group of neighbours.

“Yes sir, can we bring the injured men in here?”

“Of course.”

They all decamped into the lounge and David excused himself for a moment, went to the loft and fired off an alert on Stanton. DIC Euston scanned the CCTV for Dover town centre. Back in his lounge David explained the situation and the policeman sent out an alert. Police in the area began combing the streets and some were despatched to the harbour, where they found the stolen boat and Stanton’s weapon.

Back at Pencester Road bus station Stanton’s idea was good. There were no cameras at the exit to the bus station so he waited there. He was blessed with good fortune as foot patrols were sent into the bus station first, to check for Stanton. They boarded and checked the London National Express coach, but found no-one and after they got off the doors closed and the coach swung in a wide arc to exit the station. The driver pulled up and braked sharply as a man suddenly appeared in front of the coach. The coach driver noted the man’s waving arms and gave a smile. No-one took any notice of the coach stopped in the exit and the police had already turned their attention to the ticket office to ask if anyone of Stanton’s description had bought a ticket.

Yards away the man they wanted stood in front of the stopped coach holding up a five pound note.

“Silly sod risking his life to catch a coach,” the driver said and he opened the door. Stanton ran around and stepped aboard.

“Sorry and thanks for opening the door. I was running late.”

“You want to be careful mate, you could get yourself killed, better late than never, they say.”

“Sorry. Thanks again.” Stanton looked humbled and grateful.” Ticket for London please?” He proffered the fiver.

He bought the ticket and settled into a seat by the window at the front. The coach pulled out of the station at last and Stanton had made his escape, unseen and heading into London.

Back in Elm’s Vale the police made heavy weather of the situation. David evaded all questions fired at him. He gave the rehearsed excuse of DIC that he was ‘Civil Service’ and that he had obviously been compromised by one of the ‘terrorists’ that everyone was on the alert for. When everything had been cleared and Jack Fulton had made phone calls and pulled rank, to fend off too many questions being asked of David, the police left and David alone in his lounge made for the drinks cabinet and poured out some Glenmorangie single malt in a good stiff measure.

Sat in his armchair he looked at the time. Mary was due home in fifteen minutes and he knew he’d have to tell her. He downed the scotch, felt the warmth of the ‘burn’ and the Valium like power of the drink to sooth nerves. He picked up the phone.

The first call to his father was easy. He told the story briefly and clearly as his father had demanded he did of all incidents from childhood to university. He asked for his father’s help and the old soldier said he’d be there in a few hours, stating that he’d catch a plane. David put the phone down glowing with warmth at the manly camaraderie he shared with his father, a man to rely on in a crisis. David’s father readied himself and prepared to ‘move out’ with the military discipline he kept as a ramrod for such occasions. His son’s family needed him.

The second call was less easy.

“No David.” Fulton’s voice was firm and clear, if not a little icy.

“I’m not waiting here to be a target, my family to be a target. I’m still supposed to be on duty rota and I want in on the chase.”

“You can’t make this personal.”

“I didn’t. He did and I’m going after him, now you can either back me or be prepared to sack me, but either way I’m going to help bring him in.”

There was a pause on the end of the line as Jack considered the situation. His knowledge of the rules told him to keep McKie away, but his forward thinking mind veered towards the fact that David McKie was a formidable team member and fully capable of dealing with the tough situations that were at the time being demanded of his duty teams.

“Okay David. Get here to Euston Tower. If anyone can get Stanton and has the edge to find him before he gets to the target I know you can.”

“Thanks Jack. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.

At his end of the phone Jack had a rueful look on his face. McKie did have a point, but all the same Fulton felt he was giving the man too much power. McKie still hadn’t seen Else Patrick. Jack booked an appointment with Else for McKie that afternoon.

Back in Dover Mary got home to find the black holdall in the hall. Conor jumped all over David, who hugged his son tightly until the boy struggled free and ran up to his room to get a toy he’d been thinking about. Mary pointed to the bag.

“You off again?”

“Yes.”

“I heard on the news there’s just one left you don’t have to go.”

“I do. The one left is Stanton and he was here, in our house and he tried to kill me.”

Mary’s hand went to her mouth.

“Dear God Davey, what the hell is going on.”

David took her into the lounge and told her what had happened. He was worried she’d say no and they’d row. Her face was pale and she hugged herself, chilled by the thoughts.

“I’ve got to go and make sure of him. The man’s evil.”

Mary nodded.

“That you have, but what about us here?”

“My father’s on the way. Call Mina and ask her to come over for company before I go. You’ll be alright.”

He hugged her and she held him tight then held him at arms length. He wasn’t wearing his suit. He had black jeans, a dark blue hooded fleece and his comfortable black leather trainer style shoes on. She knew he was dressed for comfort and that meant he had more in mind than making an impression.

“You find this man David and if you have to kill him, do it and don’t think for one minute I’m not behind you, because I am. No-one is safe with a man like that at large and free. If anyone can stop him it’s you, but you had better be careful.” Mary wasn’t going to stop him, she knew him too well and though she worried he might be in danger, she had learned not to stifle the adventurer in him.

Whilst waiting for Mina David checked his computer and messages. He read about Mason’s death and he watched the footage of the aftermath on the BBC website. He too wondered about the taxi driver. Would he reveal a street name or place that could be tied to a target?