Part 2: Last Night
9
10.26 p.m.
Taking one last look at the man he’d just killed, Scope shoved Orla’s handbag into the waistband of his jeans, and turned and ran out of the bedroom. As he passed the flat’s front door, he heard the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. It was the police and they’d be in here in seconds. He grabbed a kitchen stool and used it to prop the door shut, then ran past the kitchen and into the small, cramped lounge at the back. The light was off and he almost tripped over a chair as he yanked open the rear window, knowing that if there were already police out the back then he was finished.
But twelve feet below him the back garden was empty. It backed onto an alleyway that bisected the row of houses he was currently in from the houses that faced onto the next street. It also looked empty, but that was going to change very soon if the sound of the approaching sirens was anything to go by.
There was a loud bang on the flat door. ‘Armed police. Open up now, or we are coming in!’ shouted a testosterone-fuelled voice from outside.
Ignoring him, Scope climbed out the window, swung round and dropped down to the unkempt lawn at the back of the house, putting out an arm to steady himself as he landed softly. Right now he was riding his luck. He just needed it to hold a few minutes longer.
Running across the garden, he unbolted the back gate and sprinted down the alley, not daring to look back. There was a high, spiked gate built into an arch at the end, which he knew would be locked and impossible to get past. Even as he ran towards it, a marked police patrol car pulled up on the far side of the alley. They were trying to cut off every escape route.
Scope didn’t panic. Panic was the enemy. If you kept calm you could get through anything. Even this.
Fifteen yards separated him from the patrol car, but as its doors swung open and the cops emerged he scrambled over a wall into someone’s back garden, confident that he hadn’t been seen. The sirens were coming from all directions now, and lights were coming on in various houses as he vaulted another fence, then another, before landing in the garden of the end terrace house. They had a shed near the house and he scrambled onto it, heaving himself up onto the high wall that bordered the street. He could see the patrol car that had pulled up next to the spiked gate at the end of the alley, but not the cops, who he assumed were trying to open it. Otherwise the street was empty.
Keeping his breathing as regular as possible, he climbed over the wall and dropped down to the street, before crossing the road and breaking into a run, staying low as he used the parked cars for cover, pulling off his gloves at the same time. He was conscious of his heart hammering in his chest as the adrenalin coursed through him, knowing that if he was caught now, he wouldn’t be seeing the outside of a prison cell for years and years. But the fear exhilarated him. It gave him purpose.
He ducked right down as another patrol car came hurtling past him, lights flashing, as it headed for the murder scene, then stood back up and crossed the road again as he came to the street where he’d parked his car.
Which was when he saw a woman with long blonde hair getting into a Saab convertible about twenty yards further up on the other side.
It was Orla, and it didn’t look like she’d spotted him.
Scope broke into a sprint as she switched on the engine and reversed a couple of feet to give herself space before pulling out into the road.
Only five yards separated them now, but as Orla straightened up she must have spotted Scope because she accelerated away, changing into second gear. But Scope was already alongside the Saab and he grabbed the handle, pulled open the door and dived head first inside, smacking his skull against the dashboard as Orla let out a high-pitched scream.
Falling back in the seat, Scope managed to shut the door as she screeched to a halt
9
10.26 p.m.
Taking one last look at the man he’d just killed, Scope shoved Orla’s handbag into the waistband of his jeans, and turned and ran out of the bedroom. As he passed the flat’s front door, he heard the sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs. It was the police and they’d be in here in seconds. He grabbed a kitchen stool and used it to prop the door shut, then ran past the kitchen and into the small, cramped lounge at the back. The light was off and he almost tripped over a chair as he yanked open the rear window, knowing that if there were already police out the back then he was finished.
But twelve feet below him the back garden was empty. It backed onto an alleyway that bisected the row of houses he was currently in from the houses that faced onto the next street. It also looked empty, but that was going to change very soon if the sound of the approaching sirens was anything to go by.
There was a loud bang on the flat door. ‘Armed police. Open up now, or we are coming in!’ shouted a testosterone-fuelled voice from outside.
Ignoring him, Scope climbed out the window, swung round and dropped down to the unkempt lawn at the back of the house, putting out an arm to steady himself as he landed softly. Right now he was riding his luck. He just needed it to hold a few minutes longer.
Running across the garden, he unbolted the back gate and sprinted down the alley, not daring to look back. There was a high, spiked gate built into an arch at the end, which he knew would be locked and impossible to get past. Even as he ran towards it, a marked police patrol car pulled up on the far side of the alley. They were trying to cut off every escape route.
Scope didn’t panic. Panic was the enemy. If you kept calm you could get through anything. Even this.
Fifteen yards separated him from the patrol car, but as its doors swung open and the cops emerged he scrambled over a wall into someone’s back garden, confident that he hadn’t been seen. The sirens were coming from all directions now, and lights were coming on in various houses as he vaulted another fence, then another, before landing in the garden of the end terrace house. They had a shed near the house and he scrambled onto it, heaving himself up onto the high wall that bordered the street. He could see the patrol car that had pulled up next to the spiked gate at the end of the alley, but not the cops, who he assumed were trying to open it. Otherwise the street was empty.
Keeping his breathing as regular as possible, he climbed over the wall and dropped down to the street, before crossing the road and breaking into a run, staying low as he used the parked cars for cover, pulling off his gloves at the same time. He was conscious of his heart hammering in his chest as the adrenalin coursed through him, knowing that if he was caught now, he wouldn’t be seeing the outside of a prison cell for years and years. But the fear exhilarated him. It gave him purpose.
He ducked right down as another patrol car came hurtling past him, lights flashing, as it headed for the murder scene, then stood back up and crossed the road again as he came to the street where he’d parked his car.
Which was when he saw a woman with long blonde hair getting into a Saab convertible about twenty yards further up on the other side.
It was Orla, and it didn’t look like she’d spotted him.
Scope broke into a sprint as she switched on the engine and reversed a couple of feet to give herself space before pulling out into the road.
Only five yards separated them now, but as Orla straightened up she must have spotted Scope because she accelerated away, changing into second gear. But Scope was already alongside the Saab and he grabbed the handle, pulled open the door and dived head first inside, smacking his skull against the dashboard as Orla let out a high-pitched scream.
Falling back in the seat, Scope managed to shut the door as she screeched to a halt
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