Want You Dead Read Free Page B

and moments later his right arm came free. A pen was thrust into his hand, then a sheet of lined notepaper was held in front of him. It was from a pad he recognized, that he kept in his medical bag in the car, clamped to a clipboard. He caught a glimpse of his captor, all dressed in black, with a baseball cap pulled low over his face.
    The next moment he felt himself being dragged across the grass and propped up against something hard and unyielding. A tree trunk. The clipboard, with the torch shining on it, was placed in front of him.
    ‘Write a goodbye note, Karl.’
    ‘A goodbye note? To who?’
    ‘To who ? Tut tut, Dr Murphy. Didn’t they teach you grammar at school? To whom !’
    ‘I’m not writing any damned note to anyone,’ he said defiantly.
    His captor walked away. Karl struggled, tugging desperately at his bindings with his free hand. Moments later his captor returned, holding a large, dark object. He heard the sloshing of liquid. The next instant he felt liquid being poured all over his body, and smelled the unmistakable reek of petrol again. He squirmed, trying to roll away. More petrol was tipped over his head and face, stinging his eyes. Then he saw, in the beam of the torch, a small plastic cigarette lighter, held in a gloved hand.
    ‘Are you going to be a good boy, or do you want me to use this?’
    A tidal wave of terror surged through him. ‘Look, please, I don’t know who you are or what you want. Surely we can discuss this? Just tell me what you want!’
    ‘I want you to write a goodbye note. Do that and I’ll go away. If you don’t, I’m going to flick this and see what happens.’
    ‘Please! Please don’t! Listen – this is a terrible mistake. I’m not who you think I am. My name’s Karl Murphy, I’m a GP in Brighton. I lost my wife to cancer; I have two small children who depend on me. Please don’t do this.’
    ‘I know exactly who you are. I won’t do anything if you write the note. I’m going to give you exactly ten seconds. Write the note and that will be the end of it, you’ll never see me again. Okay, the countdown starts. Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .’
    ‘Okay!’ Karl Murphy screamed. ‘I’ll do it!’
    His captor smiled. ‘I knew you would. You’re not a fool.’
    He straightened the clipboard and stood over him. A car was approaching. Karl stared, desperately hoping it might stop. A thicket of trees and shrubs and the man’s handsome face were fleetingly illuminated. Then he could hear the sound receding into the distance. Thinking hard, Karl began to write.
    When he had finished, the clipboard was snatched away. He saw the torch beam jigging through the trees, and again, alone in the darkness, tried desperately to free himself. He felt a twinge of hope as he picked at the plastic tape and a small amount came free, then tore away. He dug with his fingernails, frantically trying to find the join again. Then the torch beam reappeared through the trees.
    Moments later, he found himself being hoisted into the air, slung over his captor’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and carried away, unsteadily, into increasing darkness.
    ‘Put me down!’ he said. ‘I did what you asked.’
    His captor said nothing.
    ‘Look, please, I need to phone someone, she’s going to be worried about me.’
    Silence.
    The journey seemed like an eternity, occasionally lit up by stabs of the torch beam into the wooded undergrowth ahead.
    ‘Please, whoever you are, I wrote the note. I did what you asked.’
    Silence.
    Then his captor said, ‘Shit, you’re a heavy bastard.’
    ‘Please put me down.’
    ‘All in good time.’
    A short while later Karl suddenly felt himself being dumped into long, wet, prickly undergrowth.
    ‘Arrivé!’
    Hope rose in him as he felt his captor begin to loosen and remove his remaining bindings.
    ‘Thank you,’ he gasped.
    ‘You’re very welcome.’
    As his legs finally became free, although numb, he gave a sigh of relief. But it