No Right to Kill

by M A Comley

  He wagged a finger at Laurence, mocking him. “Put the tape on.”

  Laurence unravelled a length of tape, ripped it off using his teeth and secured it around his mouth, overlapping it at the back of his head. The intruder forced the man to his feet, hooked an arm around his throat and held the blade to his cheek then pushed him towards the bedroom.

  “Don’t scream or I’ll kill him,” he ordered the woman who was sitting up in bed reading.

  The woman’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at her husband.

  “I’m warning you, scream and it’ll be the end for both of you. Tear off another length of tape,” he instructed.

  Laurence tore off a strip of tape. They walked towards the bed.

  “Get out, nice and slowly. You try anything, and I’ll slice his throat open.”

  “I won’t, I swear. Please, I’m begging you, don’t hurt us,” the woman replied, her hands shaking when she pulled back the quilt and left the bed.

  “Put it over her mouth.” He kept the knife close to Laurence’s cheek while he fastened the tape around his wife’s mouth.

  With the couple’s mouths secured, he thrust the man away from him. The husband and wife clenched each other’s hands tightly and stared at him.

  “Do as I say, and I promise I won’t hurt you. Where’s the safe?”

  The man turned to look over his shoulder and pointed at the louvered wardrobes along one of the walls.

  He jabbed the knife, urging the man to move. “Show me.”

  Laurence left his wife and crossed the room to the wardrobe. The intruder motioned for the wife to go with her husband and then followed the couple. Laurence opened the wardrobe door and swept the clothes to one end of the rail. He stood back and pointed at the small safe lying at the back of the wardrobe.

  “Don’t just stand there, open it.”

  Laurence got down on his knees, wincing as he lowered himself, his bones cracking, objecting to the position he was getting himself into. He fiddled with the dial on the safe, back and forth until the door clicked open.

  “Get the money out and put it on the floor.”

  Laurence withdrew two large bundles of money. He ducked down to see if there was anything left in the safe—there was, another bundle of money.

  The intruder pointed the knife at the wife. “All of it. Don’t mess with me or I will kill her, just like I killed your friends.”

  Laurence dove back into the safe and extracted the other bundle. He threw it on the floor with the other two and looked up at him.

  He pulled a carrier bag from his pocket and gave it to Laurence. “Put the money in there, quickly.”

  Once Laurence had filled the bag, he held it up for him to take.

  Now what do I do with them? They’ve seen my face. In spite of the promises I made to them, how can I let them go? His inner voices argued with each other whether he should leave the couple alive or kill them. But the decision was taken out of his hands when the wife surprised him by smashing a large ornament over his head. He automatically struck out with the knife, catching the woman in her abdomen. She doubled over as blood instantly soaked her nightdress. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she tumbled to the floor. Laurence cried out, the sound muffled by the tape on his mouth. He rushed to be with his wife.

  “I warned her what would happen. I had no intention of hurting either of you. Now I’m going to be forced to kill you both.”

  Laurence glanced up, his eyes pleading with him not to carry out his threat.

  He was in two minds what to do next. The woman had forced his hand by attacking him. He had to punish her. Regret filtered through him. He was also conscious of how long he’d left Geraldine by herself. He was now anxious to get back to see how she was.

  He stabbed the wife repeatedly, her husband trying to shield the blows but not getting very far due to his sobbing. Then he turned his knife on the husband, thrusting the blade over and over into the man’s chest and stomach until both of them lay motionless on the floor at his feet.

  He searched the bedside tables and the bottom of the other wardrobe and withdrew the personal file the couple kept there. Moments later, he ran from the house, leaving the door wide open in his haste. He threw the bag and the file onto the back seat of the car and started the engine. He roared away from the house and drove all the way home as if he was guiding the car on autopilot. His mind replayed the evening’s events, pondering where it had all gone wrong. It should have been an easy task: rob the couple of their money and flee the property. The woman’s foolish actions had changed all that in a heartbeat.

  No one tries to pull a fast one on me.

  There was one compensation for the couple’s murder. This time he had secured enough cash to pay off his debts. He sighed, relieved he’d finally paid Mick off—at least he would do come Friday morning. He’d think about the consequences once he was debt free.

  He pulled the car into a space outside the house he rented. Picking up the carrier bag and file, he entered the house and hid them along with the other money in the cupboard under the stairs. Going to the fridge, he removed a bottle of beer and flicked off the top. He downed half the contents of the cold liquid in a matter of seconds. With the bottle in his hand, he crept up the stairs to check on Geraldine. He peered into the bedroom to find her in the same position he’d left her in. She was snoring gently. He smiled and closed the door, then went back downstairs and flopped onto the couch. He removed his bloody trousers and swiftly fell asleep, exhausted by his day’s exploits.

  Chapter 13

  Sara had been full of recriminations since she’d missed the call from the killer. Why hadn’t she answered the phone to him? If she had, she might have been able to bargain with him to let Geraldine go. Now, with the deadline looming the following day of when he was going to make further contact, Sara had a feeling that yet again, sleep was about to evade her that night. She’d not long slipped into bed when her mobile rang. Switching on the light, she answered it. “Hello.”

  “Sorry to disturb at this late hour, ma’am. I have a note on the system that you should be contacted immediately should something like this happen, no matter what time of the day it is.”

  She groaned inwardly, fearing what she was about to be told, and threw back the quilt. “Go on. I’m listening. What have you got?”

  “Looks like another murder out in the sticks, ma’am. Well, one murder and another severely injured victim.”

  “He left one alive? Male or female? Where?” She fired off the questions and put the phone on speaker while she tore off her pyjamas and stepped into the clothes she’d worn that day over clean underwear she’d taken from her chest of drawers.

  “Male. The husband, ma’am. He’s been rushed to A&E. The couple live out at Felton.”

  “Crap, similar sort of area, am I right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Within a five-mile radius of the other victims. Can I take it you’ll be attending, ma’am?”

  “Of course. I’m getting dressed now. Do me a favour and give Carla Jameson a ring for me. Ask her to meet me at the address, which is what, by the way?”

  “Will do, ma’am. Number six Grasmere Lane, Felton.”

  “Thanks. I’m on my way. ETA fifteen minutes at the most.”

  “Very well, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Sara finished dressing, kissed a sleepy Misty on the top of her head and dashed down the stairs. She picked up her handbag, checked her pocket for her ID and left the house.

  Her mobile rang as she left her village. “Carla, sorry about this. Are you okay to attend?”

  “Yep. Getting dressed now. I should be with you in thirty minutes, boss.”

  “No rush. Drive safely.”

  “You too.”

  Sara entered the road to find it lit up with various response vehicles, and the pathologist’s van was already at the scene. Before approaching the house, she slipped on a paper suit and protective shoes. Here I go again!

  She made her way up the
path and almost bumped into Lorraine who was leaving the house. “Whoa! Nearly. What’s the rush?”

  “I was in such a hurry to get in the house I forgot my bag. Unlucky us, both being called out at this time of night, right?”

  “You could say that. Is it bad?”

  Lorraine swept past her. “It’s never good when murder is involved, Inspector,” she said tersely.

  Sara felt ashamed for her choice of wording. She waited for Lorraine to return before venturing inside the house. “Sorry.”

  Lorraine frowned and eased past her again. “For what?”

  “What I said. I was told there’s one casualty and one deceased.”

  “Shall we go inside or carry on this conversation out here?”

  They entered the house together.

  “Is the crime scene in the bedroom again?”

  “It is. Bloody mess. At first glance, there’s a safe in the wardrobe. That is now open and empty. I guess that’s your motive.”

  “All this is about money? This person is either desperate or has racked up a lot of debt he needs to pay off.”

  “That’s my take on it. We need to catch this bastard, and quickly.”

  Sara shrugged. “I’m trying. But with no DNA or evidence to go on it’s proving mighty difficult. We have to catch a break soon, right?”

  “Maybe the husband will turn out to be a good witness, if he pulls through. He was pretty cut up himself. His wife was possibly stabbed ten to fifteen times. I’ll know more when I open her up. Shocking all the same. We need to put a halt to this, Sara.”

  Sara shrugged, a feeling of hopelessness descending.

  “Hi, I’m here.” Carla shouted from the door.

  “Have you got a suit in your car?” Sara asked.

  “No. I’ve run out.”

  “Grab one from my van,” Lorraine instructed.

  Carla left the doorway and reappeared a few minutes later, dressed appropriately for the occasion.

  “Okay, can we go through to the bedroom now?” Sara asked, eager to get on.

  The three of them walked up the hallway and into the main bedroom. The deceased woman was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, her body twisted. The cream-coloured carpet directly beneath her bed was now a dark maroon.

  “Damn. Why? Crap, why kill them?” Sara scratched her neck.

  “Exactly. If this is about the money, then why not take it and run? Why go to the extreme of killing them?” Lorraine asked, frustration evident in her tone.

  “And why haven’t we found Geraldine yet, either dead or alive?” Carla added.

  “Good point. One that has been puzzling me all day,” Sara admitted, glancing around. She crossed the room to another patch of blood in the carpet. “I take it this is where the husband was found?”

  Lorraine nodded. “Correct.”

  “Do we know what his chances are?”

  “Not at this stage. You’ll need to contact the hospital.”

  Sara moved towards the wardrobe and crouched. “I wonder if it was worth it. How much money was in the safe? We need to find a relative, see if they can fill us in. Carla, get on to the station, see if we can get the ball rolling on that at least.”

  “Will do.” Carla withdrew her phone from her pocket and tutted. “I’m going to have to go outside, no reception in here.”

  Sara walked around the room, observing the victim’s body from different angles, hoping that something useful would stand out to help them begin their investigation. But there was nothing. She growled in frustration. “What is this guy’s problem to rob these people of their lives just at the age they should be enjoying themselves? Why target pensioners? It can’t only be about the money, can it?”

  “I really can’t answer that except to say that people of this generation aren’t likely to be riddled with debt and generally have money lying around because of their lack of trust with banks, as with the Flowers. Heartbreaking all the same.”

  “I’m wondering if they’re all connected. I need to delve more into that side of things in the morning. If they are, then how does the killer know them all? Has he worked for them?”

  “A tradesman? You might be onto something there. Good luck finding out that information. Right, I’m going to have to get on. I’m keen to be out of here by midnight if at all possible. I have a PM booked in for nine in the morning. I’d like to get some shuteye before then if I can.”

  “Of course. Just ignore me. One last thing…who found the couple?”

  “The neighbour said he saw the front door wide open when he was putting some rubbish in his bin. He came over to investigate and called it in.”

  “Thanks. I’ll drop by and see him before we leave.” Sara left the bedroom and walked back through the house and into the lounge. Carla joined her a few seconds later. “Any good?”

  Carla nodded. “Yes. The couple have a daughter called Jenny, living in Hereford. I’ve got her number and address.”

  “Good. I really don’t want to do this over the phone. We’ll take a ride over there.”

  “Want me to follow you?”

  “Might as well. Let’s get this out of the way and call it a day. I think we’re going to have a heck of a day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “You’re not wrong there. The desk sergeant just informed me that the phones have been busy this evening, since the appeal went out.”

  Sara exhaled and puffed out her cheeks. “I wonder if the killer has made contact again. Either way, I sense we’re going to be overwhelmed with information soon on this one. I hope that’s the case anyway. Let’s go. I’ll nip and see the neighbour first, tell him that one of the team will be out here first thing in the morning to take down a statement.”

  Sara had a brief chat with the neighbour who said he saw no one hanging around the house at all. She arranged a rendezvous time the following day to take his statement and bid the gentleman farewell.

  Chapter 14

  The detached house in Huntington was in darkness when they arrived—not surprising, considering it was almost eleven-thirty.

  Sara rang the bell. She and Carla waited patiently. A light in the bedroom above turned on, and a woman peered out of the window at them. She opened the door a few seconds later, pulling her dressing gown tight around her middle.

  Sara flashed her warrant card. “Hello, are you Jenny? I’m DI Sara Ramsey, and this is my partner, Carla Jameson.”

  “I am. What on earth is this about? How dare you come to the door at this time of night? What’s the meaning of this intrusion?”

  Sara smiled. “It would be better if we spoke inside, Jenny.”

  She nodded, let them in and led them through to the rear of the house to the large kitchen.

  Sara headed towards the round glass table and pulled out a chair. “Take a seat, Jenny.”

  The woman appeared stunned as if she knew what was coming next. She sat in the chair and waited until Sara and Carla had each taken a seat, then asked, “What’s this about? Please, don’t tell me this has anything to do with my parents.”

  Sara swallowed and nodded. “I’m sorry to have to inform you that your parents were both attacked in their home this evening.”

  Jenny buried her head in her hands. “No. There must be some mistake. I only spoke to Mum earlier on.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around nine.” Jenny dropped her hands and asked, “Are they both dead?”

  “Sorry, your mother passed away at the scene, but your father survived the attack and is in hospital.”

  Jenny pushed back her chair and stood. “I need to get dressed. I should be with him.” She tried to turn, but her legs appeared weak and failed to work.

  “Take it easy, Jenny. Let the news sink in first. There’s no rush.”

  Jenny flopped back into her chair and sobbed. She kept repeating ‘how unfair life is’ under her breath. “They were going abroad next week, hoping to buy a holiday home with their savings.”

  Sara and Car
la exchanged glances.

  How much money was there in that safe? “Is it possible for you to tell us how much money they had?”

  “Not much really. Enough to buy them a small apartment in Spain. Around forty thousand pounds. They kept it in a safe in the bedroom. No, please don’t tell me that someone has taken that money.”

  Sara sighed. “That’s exactly what they’ve done. Your father must have put up a fight; he’s still fighting now.”

  “But he wasn’t able to save my beautiful mother.”

  “No, no one was able to save her. I’m afraid she died at the scene before the ambulance arrived.”

  Jenny wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her velour dressing gown. “I should get dressed and ring a taxi. I don’t trust myself to get there in one piece if I drive.”

  “There’s no need. I can take you to the hospital when you’re ready to leave. Can I make you a drink of tea or coffee?” Sara suggested.

  “A cup of tea might help. I’ll be fine. I think I can make it upstairs without my legs giving way this time. I won’t be long.”

  Sara busied herself with making a drink for all of them while Carla contacted the A&E department to see if there was any news on Jenny’s father. He was in surgery; they were trying to repair a puncture to his lungs.

  “Let’s not tell her that just yet,” Sara whispered once Carla shared the news.

  When Jenny came back into the room, her eyes were red and swimming with fresh tears. She wore a pair of jeans and a large thick jumper. Sara placed a mug of tea on the table along with the sugar canister. “I haven’t sugared it.”

  “I don’t usually have it, but I think I’m in need of a sugar rush. Have you heard how Dad is?”

  “Not yet. We’ll soon find out.”

  While they drank, Jenny sighed periodically for the loss of her mother. Sara patted her hand to comfort her.

  Ten minutes later, they left the house. Sara instructed Carla to go home—there was no point both of them going to hospital to sit with Jenny. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Sara parked the car, and together, she and Jenny rushed into the busy A&E department. Sara flashed her ID. “DI Sara Ramsey. A Mr Haldon was brought in a few hours ago. Can you tell us what’s going on please?”