Night Watcher (25 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

There was a small window high up in the wall where he was able to see the stars and the gradual lightening of the sky as daylight crept in. He had not slept that would have been too dangerous, but sat all night curled up in the corner of the bench thing that was supposed to be a bed, watching the window and the sky beyond.

Confusion reached into the darkest corners of his mind wrapping his thoughts in dusty cobwebs. He did not understand why he was here in this enclosed space from which there was no escape. Nor did he understand why God was punishing him. But God always knew best so he accepted his situation without question.

When daylight seeped through the window a guard brought him a bowl of porridge, a mug of tea and some toast, but he did not eat or drink in case it was poisoned.

Then they came and took him out of the cell. He followed them without protest and allowed himself to be locked in the van that sat outside. He had no curiosity about where he was being taken. Everything that happened to him was God’s will and He would not allow it without good reason. When they opened the door again he was in some kind of courtyard.

He stumbled out of the van and stretched himself, flexing his leg muscles to relieve the cramp that gripped his calves. Iron gates clanked shut and there was nowhere else to go but through a rather insignificant door set in the side of the ominous, grey building in front of him. They went through it into a passageway leading to a large, open hall which reminded him of the halls of judgement.

The atmosphere in the courthouse stifled him for, even though it was early, it heaved with people, their yabbering voices making as little sense to him as the screeching sound of migrating geese. Air moved in waves above their heads and he could see it being sucked down, becoming heavier as it became thinner, until it disappeared altogether into their ugly bodies. Soon there would be no air left. It would all be used up.

He did not like the guard, who had brought him here, staying by his side to separate him from the heaving mass, and prodding him into the inner sanctum.

Once inside nothing made any more sense. Not the ridiculous man who sat on his throne wearing some sort of white wig – maybe he did not have any hair – nor his cohorts who bowed and scraped to him. He was not God, although he seemed to think he was. He said peculiar things like ‘drunk’, ‘disorderly’, ‘criminal damage’. The words made no sense. Nor did he understand when the white-wigged man said, ‘Sentence deferred for reports.’ But he nodded and smiled because that was the only thing to do when the world had gone mad.

He was not afraid though, for only God could call him to account and he knew that would never happen, as long as he had an uncompleted mission.

He scuttled through the streets, away from his place of imprisonment, only stopping when he reached the place where Satan’s minions had attacked him. The store window was boarded over and he had a vague recollection of the sound of breaking glass.

His hand worried the lining of his empty pocket. He had lost his knife, his precious knife. A sense of foreboding overtook him. He dropped to his knees and crawled round the corner into the alley. It was not there. He sat back on his heels to think. The kick had been forceful, the knife could have gone anywhere.

He crawled out of the alley, eyes focused on the ground – oblivious to the people stepping round him – not hearing the snorts of disgust. There was a drain almost level with the place he had been attacked. Hooking his fingers into the iron slats he raised it and plunged his hand into the water at the bottom. His fingers curled round the knife. He had found it.

***

The morning was over by the time he crept into the store through his secret entrance and it was the middle of the afternoon before he found out the woman was dead.

He scuttled back to his basement, to the furthest away corner where it was at its darkest. The corner he shared with spiders and mice and small things that scuttled in the dark. Huddling into the corner, between hissing steam pipes, he raised his head and howled like a wolf in the wilderness.

It was not fair, it was not just. Someone else had taken the woman’s life. They had no right to do that. It had not been their life to take. It had been his.

God’s anger was bound to be great and terrible.

He would have to find out who had done such a terrible thing and make them pay. He would also have to find another way to make up for the loss of his mission.

The basement ticked and hummed and hissed, gradually soothing him until he was calm again. He would pick another target. That was what he would do. It would have to be someone who served Satan just as the woman had; someone who had power and used it for their own benefit; someone who preyed on others; someone who had hate in their souls.

The face of the other one pushed into his thoughts. He had seen hate in her eyes and she did have power, how much he was not sure, that would have to be checked out. He would watch her and decide whether she was another of Satan’s chosen ones and if she was, he knew what to do.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them. It would be difficult. He liked this one, which was unusual because he could not think of anyone he had ever liked before, with the exception of one of his doctors. Still, when God chooses someone to carry out his works that person also has to make sacrifices. He had made this sacrifice before when he found out the doctor had been chosen by Satan.

He would not fail this time either.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Colin Wilson popped his head round the dining room door. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said. He had taken off his white boiler suit and overshoes and he was munching a sandwich.

Bill’s stomach growled. It had been a long time since breakfast. ‘You finished then?’

‘We’ve done as much as we can for the time being.’ Colin chewed reflectively. ‘Strange about the cat though.’

‘What’s strange about it? There’s a history of wee dead animals littering this case.’

‘Makes you sick,’ Sue muttered, ‘don’t know how you can eat that sandwich.’

Colin ignored her. ‘It’s strange because the cat was placed in her arms after she was dead.’

‘How d’you make that out?’

‘The scratch marks on her chin and neck. She would only have got them if she’d struggled, y’see, and she would’ve needed both hands free to do that.’ Colin stuffed the last bit of sandwich in his mouth. ‘Weird bugger you’re dealing with. Hope you find him.’ He turned back to them just before he left the room. ‘Oh, I forgot to say, the doc’s finished with her as well and if I’m not mistaken that’s her getting loaded into the meat wagon now.’

‘What say we pop down to the village and get a sandwich,’ Bill said, watching the last car swing out of the drive. His stomach churned out another growl.

‘Better finish up here first,’ Sue said. ‘It’ll let Marika get away.’

‘Where is she?’ Bill had forgotten about the Polish maid.

‘In the kitchen tidying up the mess. It seems Mrs Ralston had a bit of a temper tantrum this morning.’

‘D’you think she should be tidying it? Crime scene and all that, you know.’

‘The SOCO guys went over it and said it was all right. Nothing there to indicate it had anything to do with the crime scene. And it was annoying Marika. She seems to think she would get the sack if she left it like that.’

Bill frowned, ‘Well I suppose if they gave the go ahead.’

‘What about the house search then? Where d’you want me to start?’

Bill was not sure what would be gained by searching the house, particularly if it was an intruder who had committed the crime. However, it was standard procedure, and anyway, it might give them some insight into what kind of person Nicole Ralston was, and why she would attract the attention of this sicko. So he said, ‘You start with the bedrooms at that end of the house. Once I’ve looked at the murder room again, I’ll start from this end, and I’ll meet you somewhere in the middle. Don’t suppose we’ll find anything we haven’t found already, but you never know.’

‘What about the grounds,’ Sue nodded her head towards the window.

‘Colin and his boys went over that with a fine tooth comb this morning, but I don’t suppose it’ll harm to have a walk around. Okay, let’s get going, the sooner we start the sooner we can get something to eat.’

The search was unsatisfactory, although Bill did find an address for Scott’s business premises.

‘Burger and coke first,’ he said to Sue, ‘then we’ll see what we can find out here.’ He handed her the piece of paper with the address. ‘You drive.’

The business was situated in a small unit off Brown Street. ‘Doesn’t look like much,’ Bill said. ‘I thought he was supposed to be some kind of high flying business man.’

Sue studied the plaque on the wall. ‘They say there’s money to be made from software development. Look how well Grand Theft Auto and Lemmings did. Those games were designed in Dundee.’

Bill snorted. ‘Computer games aren’t my forte. I’ve better things to do with my time.’

‘Okay, no need to take the hump, better see what they have to say inside.’

‘Be with you in a moment.’ A boy who looked hardly old enough to have left school looked up from the computer he was working on. He tapped a few more keys before turning to grin at them. ‘I was at a tricky bit.’

‘We’re looking for Scott Ralston.’ Bill fumbled in his pocket for his warrant card.

‘Not here.’ The boy peered at the card. ‘Police is it? What’s Scott done then? Left his Beamer where he shouldn’t have?’

Sue laughed. ‘No, nothing like that, we just need to speak with him.’

‘Fraid you’re out of luck then. He’s off to France. Paris I think he said, lucky sod.’

‘How can we contact him?’

The boy turned his attention back to the computer. ‘Haven’t a clue, but maybe Karen will know.’

‘Somebody looking for me?’ A young girl emerged from the tiny cubby hole that seemed to serve as an office. Bill had the impression she had been listening behind the door.

‘How can I get in touch with Scott Ralston?’

Karen shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. He just takes off and nobody knows where he goes.’

‘But surely he leaves word about how to contact him.’ Bill was getting exasperated, and Sue was no help. She was peering over the young guy’s shoulder and watching the computer screen.

‘Nope,’ the girl said. ‘He’s the boss. Does what he likes. He phones in every second or third day though.’

‘What about a mobile number?’

‘I can give you that okay, but it won’t do you any good. He keeps it switched off all the time – says he doesn’t like interruptions when he’s at meetings. To tell you the truth he’s a bit weird about mobiles, says they turn your brains to mush.’

‘You weren’t much help in there,’ Bill grumbled as they left and got in the car.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Ricky was quite helpful. Apparently Mr Ralston has what you would call an extra-marital interest. He goes to Manchester regularly to see a girl called Emma.’

‘I suppose he’s having it off with his secretary in there as well.’

Sue laughed. ‘She’s not a secretary. She’s a Jill of all trades. Works on the computers and keeps the accounts. That sort of thing.’

***

By mid-afternoon everyone in the store knew about Nicole’s death and rumours abounded. Depending on who was talking she had been shot, had her throat cut, been garrotted, raped, strangled or drowned; and that it was an accident, suicide or murder. Ken Moody had been sent home in a state of shock, and Patrick Drake had arrived demanding answers that could not be supplied. His face had been thunderous when he arrived. It was worse when he left.

Julie sought shelter in her tiny cupboard of an office. She still had not informed anyone she was leaving and did not know how she could, after what had happened. It seemed to her as if there was a conspiracy to keep her in Dundee. She thought longingly of Edinburgh and her job in the art gallery. Her job? That was a laugh, because Adrian had informed her it would not be hers any longer if she stayed in Dundee. She did not want to stay in Dundee, but it seemed as if every time she made a plan to leave something happened to prevent it.

She reached for the phone and started to dial Adrian’s number. She owed it to him to explain what was delaying her this time. But what would she say? Nicole’s dead – murdered. She could imagine his response, ‘What have you done, Julie?’ She had not done anything, but would he believe her. Slowly she replaced the receiver. The time to phone Adrian would be after the murderer was identified.

The cold fingers of a shiver rippled up her spine lodging itself in her shoulders and neck. There was a funny smell, like grease or oil, and she had the oddest sensation she was being watched, although the door was still shut and there were no windows in her cubicle of an office. She flexed her shoulders and did some neck stretching exercises. It was probably stress or maybe a guilt reaction triggered by Nicole’s death.

The exercises relaxed her muscles, but did nothing to relax her mind. Her forehead was tight, it seemed to be continually tight nowadays, and a headache was starting to gather. Unable to concentrate on work she tidied her desk, locked the confidential papers in her filing cabinet, shrugged her coat on and left the office.

‘My,’ Betty said, as she passed the entrance to the restaurant. ‘Finishing on time tonight, are we? Must have a heavy date.’

Julie forced a laugh. ‘Sorry, Betty, nothing like that. It’s just that I don’t have the stomach for it after today’s news.’

‘Yeah, I know. It’s a bitch, isn’t it?’

Julie hurried through the food hall with her head down. She was not in the mood for conversation and when the exit door banged shut behind her, she sighed with relief. Her feet clattered as she climbed the half set of stairs that led to the rear corridor. The stairs went higher, all the way to the top of the building, however, they only began at the food hall basement, although Julie was aware there was a lower sub-basement. Harry was probably the only one who knew how to get down there. There was a lot about this building that no one but Harry knew, and Julie wondered if he had returned to work as she had advised.

The light was on in his little room and she stuck her head round the door. ‘Ah, there you are, Harry. You came in then.’

‘Yes, I thought about what you said and I suppose they can only fire me again if that’s what they want.’

‘It’ll be their loss if they do,’ Julie said. ‘But don’t you even think that way. This is your job and you do it well.’

‘Thanks, you’re always nice to me.’

‘I’ll be off then, but you look after yourself.’

The alley had never seemed so ominous. For the first time Julie realized the high walls at each side gave it a tunnel effect and she was glad that Harry remained standing at the door until she reached the safety of the street. She pulled her coat around her, grasping the collar with one hand so the wintry draught could not find an entry point, and hurried in the direction of the Nethergate and High Street. If she hurried she would catch a bus before the rush hour queues started to accumulate.

‘Tilly, Evening Tilly!’ The newspaper seller bellowed as she passed him.

She rummaged in her pocket for some loose change. There might be something about Nicole in the newspaper.

‘Ta, miss.’ The man touched his flat cap in an old fashioned gesture and she nodded her thanks as he handed her the Evening Telegraph, noticing as she did so, the crutch under his arm.

‘Never mind the change,’ she muttered and hurried off along the street to catch her bus.

Julie managed to get a seat near the front and, once she was settled, riffled through the paper until she found what she was looking for. But it did not tell her any more than she knew already, simply stating that the body of a woman had been found in a house outside Dundee and that the police were investigating.

Her shoulders tensed and her neck stiffened. It was that feeling again, the feeling that someone was watching her. She shrugged her shoulders to loosen them. She was being silly. It was probably just someone reading her paper over her shoulder. People did that all the time on buses.

The newspaper crackled as she folded it and tucked it down the side of her seat. Once that was done she glanced over her shoulder, but the two High School kids behind her seemed to be too engrossed with themselves to bother reading any newspaper, and no one else in the bus seemed interested in her. I’ll soon be as paranoid as Nicole, she thought, but she could not shake off the feeling.

***

Once the doctor had examined Ken, standing over him while he took the tranquillizer he had prescribed, Evelyn took charge. ‘I’ll drive you home,’ she said, ‘and get a taxi back.’

‘But Patrick will expect me to be here,’ Ken protested.

‘I’ll handle Patrick,’ Evelyn said.

Lassitude was creeping over Ken swamping his muscles with cotton wool. It was an effort to move. His tongue stuck drily to the roof of his mouth, making it difficult to argue with Evelyn. Home suddenly seemed very attractive and, in any case, he could not remember why he wanted to stay here. It was not a nice place.

Later, Ken could not have described how he got home. He was aware of Evelyn driving as he relaxed in a pleasant limbo beside her. He floated into the house while Evelyn whispered to Claire, and then he crashed out on the sofa in the lounge.

He might have slept for minutes, or hours, or days, Ken had no way of knowing. When he woke he was floating again in a pleasant, if somewhat disorienting, haze, and did not know where he was. The room was vaguely familiar, but it kept altering in size as the walls swayed back and forth, while the ceiling seemed to extend to the sky. Even the air moved around him in waves of light. Colours assaulted his senses, brighter than anything he had ever experienced before and he could hear his breathing and the rustle of the upholstery beneath him in minute detail.

‘You’re awake.’ The voice was so sweet and caring, he wanted to cry.

She knelt beside him. ‘Are you all right?’

Her aura shimmered and shifted, outlining her body with scintillating colours that moved when she moved. She was an angel. ‘Of course I am.’ He beamed at her, and reached out a hand to stroke the rainbow round her head. ‘Everything’s all right now.’ He did not know why, he just knew it.

Claire started to cry. ‘That must have been some drug that damned doctor gave you, but you’ve got to pull yourself together. What if the police come?’

‘Let them come,’ Ken grinned. ‘I have nothing to hide. And now, I’ve got what I want. I’ve got my darling Claire,’ he sighed and then giggled. ‘And Nicole’s gone, gone, gone.’