Estimated reading time — 23 minutes

1 – ‘Crime’

The night was dark and cold, wind was blowing through the trees but otherwise there was hardly a sound to be heard. This silence and solitude suited the killer just fine. He worked alone, keeping to the shadows…exploiting cracks in the social fabric and indulging his sadistic fantasies under the cover of darkness. His passion was murder, unseen and unheard.

Thomas Spencer was a man in control. He knew exactly what he wanted from life and what would bring him satisfaction. Spencer felt no guilt and possessed no discernible conscience. He was Death personified, sent to this world for one purpose only – to deliver murder and bloody mayhem upon an unsuspecting and helpless public.

Spencer swore as he struggled to drag the wrapped body through the mud. She’d been such a slight girl when alive, but they always seemed heavier when dead. It was a good hundred yards or so from his parked transit van to the shallow grave he’d dug in the woods, and he’d have to drag her cold and lifeless body the whole way.

He supposed this was the girl’s revenge…her plot to make him pay from beyond the grave. Spencer knew he should have kept her alive until they reached the graveside, but his twisted passions had gotten the better of him. Her whimpering and constant crying had been too much to bear, and so he’d strangled his victim to death in the back of his van, only moments after he’d finished violating her.

The murderer had never learnt his victim’s name. It didn’t matter to him…never would. He’d been following this one for a while – several weeks of discreetly monitoring her movements, learning her routine, and waiting for his moment to pounce. In this respect at least, Thomas Spencer was no different from any other ruthless and deadly predator.

He’d taken her this afternoon, grabbing the girl on a lonely stretch of road as she walked home from school. She hadn’t put up much of a fight as he flung her into the rear of his black van, quickly binding and gagging her with duct tape as she cried and begged for mercy.

This was Spencer’s third murder and he’d refined his methods each time. He recalled every exquisite detail of each killing – the adrenaline rush during the kidnap, the absolute power he felt as he snuffed out a young life… The first one was a bloody mess. The target had fought back, forcing him to kill her in the middle of the street and flee on foot. Spencer didn’t know how the police hadn’t caught him after that fiasco.

He’d learnt a lot since then and now wore latex gloves, a boiler suit and a mask, making sure there were no witnesses, no forensic evidence and disposing of the victim’s mobile phone which could be tracked by the cops. Spencer wasn’t a fool. He knew they’d probably catch him in the end…but he’d never stop, couldn’t stop…this was his addiction, and murder was better than heroin. The latest killing would satisfy him for a time, but Spencer knew the itch would return and soon enough he would be back on the hunt.

The killer grunted as he dragged the body bag the last few yards before reaching the grave. He’d chosen this spot, located within an isolated wood miles outside of town, digging the grave and marking the location with GPS – it paid to be prepared.

Spencer couldn’t resist one last look at his victim before tossing her into the hole, pulling the bin bag back ever so slightly so to look upon her now cold, pale and lifeless face, inhaling the foul stench of death whilst he did so. She had been a pretty one in life – beautiful and innocent. Spencer had destroyed that innocence, crushing the child without mercy. She was nothing to him…nothing but a thing, a body to use to indulge his own sick pleasures. He didn’t care that she was dead, nor did he feel any sympathy for her family, whoever they may be.

He remembered the second girl, vividly recalling the television appeals made by her teary-eyed parents in the days that followed her disappearance. Spencer enjoyed watching them suffer…and they’d never found the body!

In days past, he’d often wondered what was wrong with him. How could Thomas Spencer commit such evil acts and feel no remorse? He didn’t know. The man hadn’t had a particularly traumatic childhood. His mother had loved him, always giving her only son whatever he wanted. So, why was he like this? Spencer didn’t worry about such things these days and he no longer tried to control his impulses. A man needed to accept his true nature before he could be at peace.

The killer pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as he causally kicked the body into the hole, picked up his spade, and began to fill the grave with dirt. He was halfway through when a wave of intense paranoia hit him. A cold chill went down the killer’s spine as he laid down the spade and glanced over his shoulder; swearing that he heard a rustling noise in the bushes, a branch cracking in the trees above. It felt like he was being watched, as if a judgemental and vengeful spirit was observing his every move. The darkness was no longer his friend, the shadows could not protect him…instead, they would devour him whole…
Spencer shook his head dismissively, bringing himself back to reality. He was being stupid, letting his anxieties get the better of him. Thomas Spencer was not afraid of anything. He was the man who inspired fear in others – the wolf amongst the sheep. The killer wasted no more time before picking up his spade; quickly filling the shallow grave with black soil, and striding through the darkened forest, soon making his way back to his van, parked in a layby along a lonely country road. It was easy – so easy – to kill a human being. Getting away with murder, that was the tricky part.

He would burn the clothes he’d worn, wash the back of the van thoroughly with bleach, and keep a low profile for the next few days, all the time praying that no-one had witnessed the kidnapping. There would be a large-scale investigation into the girl’s disappearance and a massive search of the vicinity but, with any luck, they would not discover the body.
And then, when the heat was off, Spencer would go back on the hunt, searching out his next victim. He smiled sadistically whilst putting his foot down on the accelerator and driving down the darkened road, speeding towards the bright lights of the town, heading back into the suburban hunting grounds he’d made his own.

2 – ‘Judgement’

Mrs Diane Cooper spent her Wednesday evening with George, her husband of 25 years, both sitting upon the comfortable lounge chairs in their living room; curtains drawn, the television switched on, and their wi-fi connected smart phones close to hand.

This was their Wednesday night ritual, as regular as clockwork. They had their dinner at six, sharing a half bottle of red wine as they ate, sat down with a cup of tea and plate of biscuits to watch their soap operas at seven, and made a fresh brew before switching over to the live feed of Justice Watch at 8, the weekly national broadcast which updated the viewing public on the latest trials and sentencing for capital offences.

Diane was a strong supporter of the death penalty, having aggressively campaigned for the restoration of capital punishment in the years leading up to the National Justice Act. There had long been widespread public support for the death penalty amongst the general public and the political debate used to rage after every high-profile murder case. The left-wing politicians and human rights advocates had blocked any moves at restoring capital punishment for several decades, but a vicious spate of terrorist attacks, gangland violence, and gruesome murders in the latter half of the last decade had led to a sustained campaign which eventually forced the government to take action.

The result was the National Justice Bill, which became law in 2029. Amongst other provisions, the Act enforced a mandatory death sentence for all convicted murderers, as well as for serial child sex abusers, and those found guilty of serious terrorist offences or conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism.

The Bill had passed through parliament with a narrow majority, but the final Act included one unusual and historically unprecedented stipulation – an amendment forced through at the last minute by the leftist opponents of the Bill. Theirs was a deliberate but unsuccessful attempt to sabotage the legal process by putting the responsibility for carrying out the sentence back with the voting public. Thus, the ‘Community Responsibility for Capital Punishment’ Provision – better known as ‘Death’s Lottery’ – was born.

Diane’s husband explained this provision better than she ever could, and he often did so at dinner parties and social gatherings of various descriptions.

“It’s all about taking ownership.” he would say, “The majority of the public back the state-sanctioned death penalty, as they have done throughout most of history. However, in the past, the sentence itself was carried out by a state appointed official; a professional executioner such as a hangman, an axe-wielder, or a prison guard pulling a switch. This time they decided it would be different…If the people want murderers to get the chop, let them do the dirty work! That’s what the politicians, judges, wardens, and policemen all agreed upon.”

“Technological advances made this possible of course. The execution process is now almost entirely automated. The condemned man – or woman – is brought into the chamber and strapped to a chair. They are given the choice of two methods of execution – lethal injection or .22 calibre bullet to the head, needle or lead. In both cases, it’s a semi-automated robotic arm which delivers death, pumping poison into the veins or firing the fatal bullet.”

“And all the chosen executioner has to do is push a button on a digital control panel. They don’t even have to watch the actual execution if they don’t want to…In fact, he or she doesn’t even have to enter the prison gates, since they can do the deed remotely from a different location. Physically and technically speaking, it’s the simplest thing in the world. Just about everyone can push a button on a terminal or touch screen, but the person doing it knows they are killing a man or woman – a convicted murderer granted – but still a human being.”

“The nominated executioner needs to rationalise this act, to justify the killing in their own mind. If he or she is unable to do so, either because they are opposed to the death penalty or they don’t have the nerve to push the button – if they can’t or won’t carry out the execution, they will face public shaming and legal repercussions. Meanwhile, the Ministry of Justice will simply run a new lottery and pick someone else.”

George would always smile thinly as he continued his explanation of ‘Death’s Lottery’, relishing the attention he received from the couple’s middle-class friends and acquaintances.
“Now, the Lottery itself,” he would say, “that’s the real beauty of the system in my opinion. Recent opinion polls tell us that two-thirds of voters support the death penalty. That’s millions…tens of millions of people, any one of whom could be picked as a potential executioner. So, how does the government decide? This is where the Lottery comes in. As we all know, our government controls a vast database of information in respect of each and every one of us – names, addresses, phone numbers, IP addresses, bank details, social media accounts…Don’t look so surprised! We gave them the right to gather and hold this information after the suicide bombings and mass cyber-attacks a few years back, remember?”

“Anyway, they hold this database and use an AI programme to randomly pick an executioner from amongst the electorate. One person per murderer, but the beauty is that it could be anyone! The man or woman who pushes the button represents the millions of armchair pundits who sit at home and applaud the execution when it’s reported on our television screens. This way, no one is truly innocent. We all have blood on our hands…”

Diane always had to control her anger when George reached this point in his little speech. Her husband was a half-hearted supporter of the National Justice Act, an intellectual who questioned the moral legitimacy of capital punishment. Unfortunately, his views and opinions had rubbed off on their two grown up children – David, 22, a trainee accountant and Sarah, 19, studying law at university. Diane was ashamed to admit that both of her children were opposed to capital punishment. Both had their heads filled with youthful idealism; the naïve concepts that all people were fundamentally good, that society was to blame for crime, and good and evil were relative concepts.

Sarah in particular was strongly opposed to the death penalty and vowed to fight against the NJA once she graduated. Sarah’s naïve beliefs were a constant frustration to her mother and the two frequently argued on this point. Diane’s final argument was always the same. She always told her daughter that she would understand once she had children of her own. At that point, Sarah would roll her eyes dismissively and disengage from the conversation. What more could Diane say? Her daughter was too young to understand. She couldn’t yet appreciate the unbreakable bond that a mother had with her child or the fierce maternal instinct to protect one’s offspring.

When Diane heard about young men stabbed, young women raped, or innocent children abducted, all she could think of was her own two children and how she would feel if something happened to one of them. There was evil in this world, no doubt about it. A man so evil to commit murder, to kill an innocent…he did not deserve a second chance. Death was the only option in such a case and Diane Cooper wasn’t afraid to say so.

Now, Diane relaxed in her armchair, sitting back as she raised a mug of piping hot tea to her mouth, sipping cautiously as she reached for a biscuit.

“Here we go.” said George, as the programme began, “I wonder who’s for the chop this week?”

Diane tutted, ignoring her husband’s facetious comment as she intently watched the show’s introduction. Bradley Anderson was the presenter of tonight’s Justice Watch.

Good. Diane liked him. She admired his good looks, blond hair, and blue eyes, and his well-clipped accent. Bradley was a fine presenter; he had a way of emphasising the seriousness of the crimes whilst at the same time presenting a warm and friendly personality for the benefit of his millions of weekly viewers. Naturally, George hated the man, and her husband was rarely afraid of expressing his views in the most vocal terms. Diane tried to drown out her husband’s complaints but eventually she had to shush him in order to hear the television.

“Good evening, my friends and countrymen,” said Bradley Anderson, “my fellow supporters of justice. A week has passed since our last broadcast and, in the last seven days, courts around this great nation have been busy dispensing justice to the worst criminals and killers in our society; the scum who pollute our good society with their evil acts and ideologies. Tonight, we are pleased to announce successful convictions in three capital cases.”

The image on screen changed to sharp CCTV footage of a darkened city street. A young black man could clearly be seen striding down the pavement, stalking a couple further up the road. A silver-coloured object suddenly appeared in the assailant’s hand – a gun. The attacker raised his weapon and two flashes of light followed in quick succession. The man and woman were evidently both shot in the back of their heads, their gaping bullet wounds evident as their limp bodies fell down to the blood-stained pavement. Pedestrians screamed and fled in terror as the gunman made good his escape.

“Dear God!” George exclaimed in shock.

Justice Watch didn’t spare the gory details. They allowed audiences to see the full horror of the crimes committed with the deliberate intention of shocking and outraging their viewers. Diane agreed with this approach 100%. Certainly, the gruesome footage was often hard to watch, and it sometimes made her feel sick to her stomach, but how else could they get the message out to the viewing public? How else could they make them understand?

The image changed back to the presenter in the studio, with a still photograph of the killer in the background.

“Subject; Cartwright, Anthony aka ‘Bullet’, aged 21.” narrated Bradley, “Convicted of two counts of premediated murder. His victims – a rival gang member called Carl Rodriguez and his girlfriend Tia Burns. Both were killed instantly after being shot at point blank range. Miss Burns was three months pregnant at the time of her death. Mr Cartwright was well known to police as a violent gangster with previous convictions for common assault and possession of a Class A drug with intent to supply.”

“Cartwright has been convicted by a jury of his peers on two counts of murder. His lawyers appealed the sentence on the grounds of diminished responsibility, claiming their defendant was not accountable for his actions due to his intoxication on methamphetamines at the time of the murders…However, Cartwright’s final appeal has been rejected by the Supreme Court and so his sentence will be carried out by the candidate picked at random by our computer.”

The screen view switched to a digital representation of a spinning fruit machine, a visual effect to show the results of the AI programme. Diane had watched this process a hundred times over, but it still brought butterflies to her stomach. A name came up on the screen, broadcast to millions of viewers whilst simultaneously posted online on social media sites and news forums.

“Our nominated candidate is Mr Terence McTaggart, a 46-year-old accountant, married with three children. Congratulations Mr McTaggart!” exclaimed a beaming Bradley Anderson, “Our patrons from the Ministry of Justice look forward to accommodating you on the 29th of this month. Further details will follow in due course. May justice be served!”

“Lucky Mr McTaggart!” George exclaimed sarcastically.

Diane ignored him as the programme continued. A different CCTV clip showed a bearded Asian man weaving through a dense crowd of what looked like football supporters whilst carrying a large rucksack on his back. Suddenly, all hell broke loose as a number of men and women – evidently undercover police officers – quickly surrounded the Asian man.

Before the suspect could react, one of the policemen drew a weapon and fired from close range. It was not a gun but a taser. The suspect collapsed onto the concrete, his body twitching violently as electricity flowed through him. The remaining officers promptly secured the rucksack before the video clip ended.

The camera returned to Bradley Anderson, with a headshot set behind him of the same Asian man from the footage, this time dressed in traditional Islamic clothing.

“Subject; Ali, Mustafa.” the presenter announced, “31 years old and long known to police as having links to Islamic extremist groups. Previously convicted under the Misuse of Communications Act for posting comments online in support of terrorism. Mr Ali was convicted in a closed special court of attempted murder and terrorist conspiracy. His plan was to detonate a homemade nail bomb in the middle of a crowd of supporters outside of the National Stadium on match day. Luckily, heroic members of our police force, acting on intelligence, were able to foil the heinous plot and apprehend Mr Ali without bloodshed. Mr Ali has no right to appeal his sentence as per the provisions of the Prevention of Terrorism Act 2027. He is therefore condemned to death…”

The lottery process was repeated, and another name was picked. Diane barely listened to the details; she was that angry. The war had been over for years but still those people were at it, still trying to murder innocents in the name of their twisted religious ideology. She had no sympathy for this Mustafa Ali. The terrorist had wanted to martyr himself whilst killing and maiming dozens of people…Instead, he would die alone as the whole nation watched.
The programme thus far had been eventful, but the main event was still to come. Diane felt a surge of almost childlike excitement – butterflies in her stomach – as images of tonight’s third and final crime came up on screen. What followed was a grainy and poor-quality CCTV footage of a city street, presumably taken on an older camera. A young girl in her school uniform could be seen walking alone down the pavement – a child, unprotected and defenceless. A black van slowly drove along the empty street, the driver deliberately stalking his unsuspecting victim. The girl only realised the danger when the vehicle pulled up alongside her and the driver’s door swung open.

She tried to run but the masked man was too fast for her. The kidnapper grabbed the girl, dragging her kicking and screaming to the back of his van and roughly flinging her inside. There was a pause of about ten seconds or so while he was doing God knows what to his victim, before the kidnapper calmly exited the rear of the vehicle, climbed back into the cab and drove down the road as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Diane felt a cold shudder run through her, a primal fear which every mother would surely experience after witnessing such a heinous act. She glanced across at her husband and saw the same horror and anger in his eyes. This was every parent’s worst nightmare, to have their child snatched away by some vile monster…in broad daylight on a city street! It was so easy…too easy, for evil men intent on targeting the innocent and vulnerable. Diane couldn’t even bear to imagine what that poor child had been through in those horrifying last few hours of her life.

The footage ended abruptly, with the image changing to a serious-faced Mr Anderson back in the studio, with a photofit of the murderer set behind him. The scariest thing about this monster was that he looked so normal – white, English born, and from a good family…a clean-cut, handsome young man with a steady job and decent prospects. Who would have guessed that this individual was capable of such vile and evil acts? Still, looking at his photograph, Diane could see something in his eyes, a terrible darkness born of a ruthless killer…

“Subject; Spencer, Thomas, aged 28. Convicted of the kidnap, rape and murder of 14-year-old Sally Jones. Most of us will remember the nation-wide campaign to find Sally after her disappearance last March, before her body was found by ramblers, buried in a shallow grave in a wooded area, five miles from her hometown. Mr Spencer, who has no previous convictions, was found guilty of Sally’s murder by a jury of his peers following a long and complex trial. The conviction was delivered on the basis of CCTV footage and DNA evidence collated by the police investigators.”

“Spencer is suspected by police of involvement in the murders of a further two teenage girls, but investigators have insufficient evidence to bring formal charges in these cases. Mr Spencer continues to proclaim his innocence of any crimes. However, his final appeal has been rejected by the Supreme Court and so Thomas Spencer will face a death sentence…”

“The bastard deserves everything he gets!” Diane exclaimed, with a barely suppressed fury in her voice, “In fact, a quick death is far too good for scum like him…I would rather see him suffer!”

Her husband did not argue – not this time. The couple watched on in eager anticipation as the automated lottery began once again. They both nearly choked on their tea when they saw the name appear on their TV screen. Diane was sure it was a mistake or a coincidence, but then her phone vibrated on the table beside her, an instant message appearing which confirmed that this was real.

Bradley Anderson smiled as he made the announcement. “And, our final nominee today is Mrs Diane Cooper, a 50-year-old office manager, married with two children. Congratulations to Mrs Cooper! The Ministry looks forward to accommodating you on the 3rd of next month and their representatives will be in contact with you shortly…And, may justice be served!”
Diane shook her head in disbelief. The shock had left her speechless as she stared at the television, part of her still imagining this was all some terrible dream. George shook his wife out of her shock-induced trance, grabbing her hand tightly and forcing her to look him in the eye. The look he gave her was one of grave concern.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked sympathetically.

For once, Diane had no answer. The television droned on, as harsh reality hit home.

3 – ‘Punishment’

Diane Cooper attended her appointment on the 3rd, chauffeured to the prison in the back of an armoured police car. An MOJ official had explained that it was necessary for security reasons – there were plenty of extremists and fanatics who would be happy to disrupt the proceedings, so it was best not to take any chances. It was a forty-five-minute drive from Diane’s house to the prison. She sat in silence the whole way, not speaking to the driver or her police officer escort. What was there to say, on an occasion such as this?

George had offered to go with her today, but he’d been insufferable over the last couple of weeks, and so she had refused him. Also, the Ministry had offered her the services of a state-appointed psychiatrist, a professional whom she could speak with about her feelings. Diane had turned them down too. What was the point? She was 100% behind the law and felt very proud to have been picked, to be given the opportunity to deliver justice with her own hands.

They told Diane she would likely feel guilty after the event, that it would take its toll. Many of the nominees suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder after the deed was done. Diane wasn’t worried about this prospect. She was stronger than that. Besides, why should she feel guilty? Thomas Spencer was pure evil and he deserved to die. But still, her stomach was in knots, her mind racing during that seemingly endless drive. It was just nerves, she supposed…

They’d warned her about the protestors but seeing them in the flesh was shocking – the hatred and rage, their self-righteous indignation, it was sickening. The anti-death penalty fanatics mobbed the car as soon as they arrived at the prison gates, about a dozen of them slamming their hands and fists on the windows of their vehicle, screaming obscenities and making threats. For a moment, Diane feared they would be overwhelmed, but then a detachment of riot police arrived to push the protestors back.

The scuffles continued for a few minutes, and several arrests were made before it was deemed safe for Diane and her police escort to exit the vehicle.

“Don’t worry madam,” the burly officer said with a smile, “we’ll keep you safe.”

Diane wasn’t so sure, but she wasn’t going to let this rabble intimidate her – these religious-nuts and left-wing loonies didn’t know what they were talking about. With some trepidation, Diane stepped out onto the pavement and was immediately surrounded by a phalanx of riot police who formed a protective shield around her.

They moved forward quickly as the vile protestors continued to scream abuse and insults from afar. Diane glanced across the street and was relieved to see a second group of dignified counter-protestors, men and women from conservative groups such as ‘Mothers for Justice’ and ‘Reclaim our Nation’ – organisations who backed the death penalty legislation. These people attempted to drown out the mob by shouting supportive slogans – “Good on you, Mrs Cooper!”, “You’re doing the right thing!”, “You’re a hero Diane!”.

Their words of encouragement gave her strength, but what happened next was entirely unexpected. Suddenly, their path to the prison gates was blocked by a solitary figure – a middle-aged woman, pale faced and tired looking, a terrible sorrow evident in her eyes. Diane noted the small framed photograph the woman held close to her breast, a dated picture of a smiling, blond haired boy, perhaps aged six or seven. The woman spoke emotionally and quickly, as surely she realised her time was limited.

“Mrs Cooper…my name is Teresa Spencer…” she exclaimed.

“Madam, you are blocking our path,” said the lead police officer, “Please move immediately.”

Teresa ignored the man and continued her obviously pre-prepared speech. “This is my son Thomas. They want you to kill him today…but my boy is innocent!”

“Madam…” interjected the officer, as he moved towards Teresa with his hand on his belt, “Madam, you are interfering with an official police operation. Remove yourself from this situation or we will take action.”

“Please, Mrs Cooper,” pleaded the desperate mother, “he’s a good boy and would never do the things they said! The police set him up! Please, look into your heart!”

“That was your last warning!” screamed the policeman.

He moved with speed, removing a weapon from his belt, aiming and pulling the trigger. There was a bang and a flash before Teresa Spencer’s limp body fell to the ground. Diane screamed. For a terrible moment, she thought the woman had been shot but then realised that the police officer’s weapon was only a taser.

Teresa’s immobilised body twitched on the concrete as two officers moved in to make the arrest. Meanwhile, the rest of the squad pushed Diane forward as the baying protestors worked themselves up into a wild frenzy. She feared the crazed mob would lynch them all, but soon Diane and her protectors were inside the gate, entering the secure prison compound and leaving the chaos of the streets behind them.

Diane was still shaking even after the heavy security gates were closed. She hadn’t expected that – to be harangued by the murderer’s mother! Why had they even allowed her to be here today? It wasn’t appropriate, not at all. The whole fracas outside had almost been too much for Diane to take and the next few minutes passed her by in a blur.

They took her to some sort of waiting room with an odd décor – homely yet somehow sterile, with awful piped music being played through speakers on the walls. Some time passed before they came to fetch her – it could have been minutes or hours…Diane could no longer tell. She just couldn’t stop thinking about Teresa Spencer and what she’d said. Funny, but one never did think of these monsters having mothers. Teresa had pleaded for her son’s life, but what mother wouldn’t have? Diane couldn’t help but think what she would do, if her David was in the same position. Teresa claimed her boy was innocent, that the police had set him up. Was this possible? Diane had followed the trial on television and the evidence had been compelling – the CCTV footage of the abduction, the van that was linked to Spencer, the DNA evidence taken from Sally’s body…Nevertheless, it wasn’t a clear-cut case. Spencer hadn’t been caught red handed and he still protested his innocence.

There was something else playing on Diane’s mind too. Assuming Spencer was guilty of Sally Jones’s murder – and Diane was nearly certain that he was – there was still the matter of his previous crimes. The police suspected him of at least two other murders and – in one case – the girl’s body was never found.

Since Spencer still proclaimed his innocence he’d given the police no information, and so the location of the missing girl’s body would go to the grave with him. Diane thought about the grieving family, realising they would never be able to bury their little girl, would never obtain closure. It made her furious to think that Spencer could get away with this. Why weren’t the police allowed to torture the bastard to get the information they needed?

Diane still felt this anger when a hard-faced female MOJ official came for her. “Mrs Cooper, my name is Ms Dempsey. It is time.”

Diane could have laughed, because it felt like she was the one being put to death! The government official explained the process while they walked down the brightly lit corridor, but Diane hardly listened. Her nerves were shot by this point and the doubts were creeping in…but she had to see this through to the end. They entered a small control room, sterile with three all white walls, an innocuous wastepaper bin in the corner, a wall-sized darkened glass screen at the far end, and finally, a solitary hard-backed plastic chair nailed to the floor, sitting directly in front of a single digital control panel.

“Please, Mrs Cooper,” said the dour faced official, “take a seat.”

Diane meekly complied.

“Now madam,” Ms Dempsey continued, “you have been familiarised with the termination procedure. You realise that the entire process is automated. All we need you to do is push the red button on the touch screen when I tell you to do so. All very simple. Now, do you understand Mrs Cooper?”

“Yes.” Diane replied, her voice nearly breaking.

“Now,” Ms Dempsey continued, “the condemned prisoner has opted for termination by bullet. As the nominated candidate, you have the right to change your mind at this point in the proceedings. Now, do you wish to carry out the termination behind the closed screen?”
Diane was very tempted. She had already been through so much trauma today and it would be much easier to simply push a button and not have to witness the gruesome act. But no, that would be the cowardly way out. Diane knew she needed to stay strong and stick by her principles. She shook her head in the negative.

“Okay,” Ms Dempsey continued, “you understand that this process will be recorded…”

Diane looked up to the ceiling and for the first time saw the closed-circuit camera trained upon her. Right now, her image was being broadcast to millions of viewers throughout the country, but this was the least of Diane’s worries at this moment. The official spoke at length about legislation and procedures, but Diane could no longer listen. She just wanted this to be over. Finally, the government woman stopped talking.

“…Okay. We are ready to proceed.” Ms Dempsey leaned down and pushed a couple of buttons on the control panel, and suddenly the dark tinted glass in front of them turned transparent…Then, Diane saw him in the flesh for the first time. Spencer was restrained upon a metal chair; his wrists, neck and ankles bound, and his eyes covered by a blindfold. Diane was shocked by his physical appearance. Spencer didn’t look like a ruthless killer anymore, rather he appeared as a pathetic and pitiful figure – his body shaking and his prison uniform soiled.

He whimpered in terror, tears streaming down his ghost pale cheeks as the robotic arm moved into position, placing the .22 gun close to his temple. The official spoke into a microphone installed within the control panel.

“Thomas Spencer. You have been convicted of murder and sentenced to death. Your sentence will now be carried out. Do you have any final words?”

Spencer nodded his head back and forth as much as was possible given his restraints.
“It’s not right!” he exclaimed emotionally, “You have no right to do this! I don’t deserve to die!”

The MOJ woman abruptly cut off the audio transmission and carefully typed a security code into the control panel. The image on the screen changed to reveal one large red button with a single word written underneath it – TERMINATE.

“In your own time.” said Ms Dempsey.

Diane hesitated. She found herself physically unable to lift her finger and push the button. It seemed like an eternity passed her by as she became paralysed by self-doubt. In that moment, all she could think of was her family. Diane had spent her whole adult life trying to protect her children, to keep David and Sarah safe and give them both a good future…And now here she was, about to put a bullet in the head of a man she didn’t know. How had it come to this?

The official soon became frustrated with the delay and the tensions inside that small room rose dramatically.

“What if?” Diane asked nervously, “What if I don’t do it?”

Ms Dempsey rolled her eyes. “Well, as I’ve already explained…Refusal to carry out your mandatory duty will place you in breach of Article 17 of the Act. You will face prosecution with a fine of up to £5000 or a custodial sentence of up to six months.”

Diane shuddered. She already knew all this of course. Many nominees refused to carry out the executions and it was very rare for anyone to go to prison. If Diane pulled out, she would likely face only minor repercussions – a slap on the wrist and a fine. But of course, she would face public humiliation and alienation from her conservative friends. Worse, the whole world would see that Diane Cooper was a hypocrite – a woman who publicly supported the death penalty but who couldn’t push the button when her time came.

Ms Dempsey must have sensed Diane’s moral dilemma and, for the first time, she showed her some compassion, touching Diane gently on her shoulder and speaking in a softer tone.
“Look, Mrs Cooper. It’s only natural to have doubts. But you need to remember what this man has done. Think of the girls, of what he put them through…”

In the end, it was those words which saw her through. She hated Thomas Spencer with every fibre of her being and wanted him to be punished for what he’d done. She held her hand out, pausing only momentarily before punching her fist down on the button. Spencer’s head was suddenly pulled backwards as the restraint around his throat tightened, nearly choking him. Next, the automated gun re-aimed and then fired. These was a flash and a soft popping noise and then the bullet penetrated Spencer’s skull, spraying fragments of brain and skull against the glass. His head slumped and he took his last breath.

Ms Dempsey calmly typed into the control panel and made an announcement to the camera. “Life signs extinguished. The subject has been terminated.”

Diane stared through the glass at Spencer’s lifeless body, temporarily mesmerised by what she saw…until, suddenly she felt the bile rising in her throat. She jumped off her chair, darted across the room and promptly vomited into the wastepaper bin in the corner.
“Don’t worry Mrs Cooper,” Ms Dempsey said, “that happens all the time…You did well.”

Diane didn’t answer. She continued to kneel beside the bin, unable to look back through the glass at the lifeless body of the man she’d just ‘terminated’. It was only then that Diane realised the truth. It wasn’t about Thomas Spencer or any of the other condemned men and women. Maybe they all deserved to die, or maybe not? But what they made people like Diane do under the NJA…the government had turned them all into killers.

Diane would leave this place today and would face no legal ramifications for what she’d done…but, she would have to face her husband and children, her family and friends, and she would never be the same in their eyes, because now she was an executioner…And what Diane Cooper had done here today would stay with her for the rest of her life. The woman was sick once again and the camera kept on rolling, as the whole world watched on.

Credit: Mark Lynch

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