Watcher (19 page)

Cumberland Street, Edinburgh
Thursday 27 December, 8.23 p.m.

‘Brodie! Did you get my earlier messages? For fuck’s sake, pick up … I’m dying here, it’s on the news. They keep showing her face.’ Moses broke down and I listened to his sobbing on the message. ‘Kailash has ordered me to find her … but I don’t know where to start … I’ve beaten up three known paedophiles but they don’t know anything about her.’ He sniffed loudly. ‘Please, for Christ’s sake, let me come to you … let’s see what we can do.’

All afternoon Joe and I had searched the dives of Leith looking for any signs of the girl who had seen the Ripper’s face, the one who’d escaped. But it appeared she was terrified and had disappeared into the underbelly of society. Everyone claimed to have heard of her but no one knew her name, what she looked like, or where she worked. I was starting to despair that she was an urban myth.

The answering machine clicked off. Moses left the message hours ago. I had retired to my room, to think, to see if I could locate or feel Connie’s presence. My bedroom was silent. I lay on the bed in the darkness and listened to nothing. It wasn’t constructive to mentally replay Connie’s last message, which was burned into my brain. I had erased it at the time, taking her voice for granted. The Ripper’s voice slithered through my mind, haunting me. I did replay our conversation to understand him better, but all I understood was – I was to blame. I had underestimated him. And now he had shown me what he could do to me.

Who could hate me so much that he would want to take my little sister? I searched my memory banks. Was it someone I’d represented? Someone who had seen me on TV? Someone I’d hurt in some way?

I turned over and groaned. My body ached, my head was pounding, and bile from a nervous gut kept coming back – all the symptoms of a hangover and I swear I hadn’t touched a drop.

I rolled to the edge of the bed, flung my legs over and fell out. I hit the wooden floor hard. Staggering to a sitting position, I pulled on the nearest pair of jeans. They smelt of smoke; the hem was frayed and encrusted with mud. I gave up looking for a clean pair of socks; I didn’t even bother to sniff the ones I was shoving my feet into. If I’d stayed at Kailash’s house, I might have made an effort to keep myself together for her sake, but we had decided that Connie’s abduction was a ransom case. Convincing ourselves that she didn’t fit the Ripper’s profile didn’t take very long. In which case, it was agreed that we’d split up; I came back to Cumberland Street to wait for the ransom call. The Ripper had contacted me before and he might do so again, looking for money. Together we all had the capital to pay a substantial amount.

A wave of nausea hit me as I stood up. I had to go out there and face them. Lavender, Glasgow Joe and Louisa were waiting in the kitchen whilst Grandad, Eddie and Jack were staying with Kailash. Jack was fielding any press questions, acting as the family spokesman and trying to head off any intrusion into Kailash’s business affairs. DI Smith was staying with Kailash, and Bancho was moving between both houses.

I heard Connie’s voice scream at me as I opened the door from my room. The house smelled of freshly brewed coffee; a quick glance in the kitchen showed it was empty. I wandered down into the drawing room; the whole crew were there, sitting in semi-darkness – watching Connie play her last game on the TV. The rerun of her first goal was on. I couldn’t help the smile that cracked my cheeks as she did a victory slide along the turf, strip over her head, showing the world a pink thermal vest that Malcolm had insisted she wore.

Moses was sitting on the settee and he noticed me first – I suspect he had been waiting for me to emerge from my self-imposed exile and had been there shortly after his emotional phone message. Placing his hand on the back of the settee he vaulted over it, landing at my feet.

‘Aw doll, what are we going to do?’ His tears had started before he even hit the floor. Sweeping me up into his arms he cried into my neck. Moses and Kailash had a special closeness. Both had been abused by my father. And he’d known Connie long before I knew of her existence.

‘We’re going to find her, Moses; that’s what she wants.’ I gripped his hair and pulled his face round so that I could see into his eyes. I was speaking to myself as much as to him – which was just as well because he didn’t appear to have heard a word. He pointed to the television. ‘She wanted me to come for Christmas – you all went; I said I was too busy. Too busy at fucking Susie Wong’s – what good is it now?’ He threw his hands in the air, railing at the futility of it all. I suddenly remembered that I was angry with him for having sold the drugs to my client.

‘You know that I’m acting for Thomas Foster?’

‘Aye, the Ripper.’ Moses’ eyes glazed over. Nothing mattered to him except Connie. My dilemma with Foster wouldn’t even register.

‘The girl he was with died of a heart attack caused by drugs – he says he bought them from you.’ I watched his face. Not a flicker. He’d been accused of worse.

‘I don’t sell drugs, doll, and I certainly don’t force anyone to take them.’ He shrugged his shoulders; his eyes were fixed over my shoulder, watching Connie running rings around the Penicuik girls. To get anywhere, I’d have to humour him.

‘If she’d been a boy, a scout would have signed her.’ Moses inhaled and exhaled deeply. ‘That’s one fucking great dummy she’s just done – look, she left the defender standing. What a girl.’ Connie beamed out at us, a living, breathing spirit, proud of her talent. Waiting on the applause, she ran to the home support. I saw us huddled together, beaming back at her.

‘Obviously, you’re not a drug pusher, Moses,’ I wheedled. ‘You’re a businessman, right? But maybe Blind Bruce or the new guy might remember them?’

‘Bruce is too fond of sampling the product – you can’t rely on him for anything.’ Being the most dispensable member, Moses sanctioned the use of Bruce in drugs testing. Whenever a new batch was made, Bruce tried it. This human testing was supposed to make it safe for the streets; in fact, Moses, in his new role as businessman, even referred to it as his unique selling point. So if it was safe, how could it have killed Katya Waleski? Unless it was a batch Bruce did not test, or, more likely, Bruce had developed an unnaturally high tolerance level.

‘You can speak to Blind Bruce if you like, but that daft bastard is not giving evidence. No way. Cal’s not in Edinburgh at the minute – he’s gone tae his mother’s for Christmas.’

‘So you’ll make sure I can speak to Bruce?’

‘Is that no’ just what I said?’ Moses was back staring at the TV screen. I followed his eyes. I sat down next to Lavender; she squeezed my hand, never taking her eyes from the screen.

‘I hope he’s got other talents – he’s a shite cameraman.’ Onscreen, Eddie was playing with his new no-brainer camcorder, taking in views of Arthur’s Seat or, when he got particularly excited, dropping the lens; all you saw were shoes jumping up and down with lots of noise off camera.

On the flat-screen TV, Connie lay stock-still; her face contorted with pain, holding her breath so she wouldn’t cry. Unusually, her face was smeared with mud. Her ponytail, which Malcolm had dressed with the ridiculous neon pink fabric rose, lay across her cheek. The images came and went, herky-jerky, as Eddie ran across the field to her. We saw the sky, pedestrians, Arthur’s Seat, and the whole panoply of the Meadows. What the hell was Eddie doing with the camcorder? He certainly hadn’t found a new calling. Connie had been hacked by a defender and was lying injured. We all froze, just staring at the screen. Malcolm ran on and soothed her, spraying instant freeze on her ankle, then helped her to her feet. She waved to Kailash to show she was okay – if only this were so easy.

‘Press hold! Rewind it!’ I said suddenly.

Lavender took charge. ‘Eddie! Pause it!’

The picture was frozen on the changing rooms.

‘I can see something. Look at the shadow behind the window – it looks like someone’s in there,’ I said.

‘It could be one of the girls – maybe she went to the toilet in the middle of the game?’ Lavender said.

‘At this point in the game, all the players were on the pitch. That’s a stranger in the toilets,’ said Joe.

‘It needn’t be anything suspicious – there are no toilets up at that end of the Meadows. I know myself that if I was desperate for a pee, I’d nip in.’ Lavender didn’t want me to build up my hopes, but Joe was on my tag team.

‘You might want to spend a penny there, but you couldn’t. I lock the changing rooms,’ he said. The remote was now in his hands.

‘Fast-forward it to the end of the game, Joe,’ I said.

‘What have you seen?’ he asked.

I didn’t answer him immediately; I wasn’t sure – it was just a vague, unsettling feeling. ‘Stop! There – look!’ I pressed my finger against the flat screen. ‘Is there any way anyone can make this image bigger?’

Lavender pressed the zoom button on the camcorder.

‘Stop! Pause it!’

We all stared at the screen – at the man leaving the girls’ changing rooms.

‘What the hell was a priest doing there?’ I asked.

Cumberland Street, Edinburgh
Friday 28 December, 3.15 a.m.

I didn’t know which was worse – waiting for the phone to ring or it actually ringing.

I’d been expecting his call. I lay fully dressed underneath the duvet, just waiting. We’d split up into teams. Lavender and Jack had gone to the office to enhance the image of the priest; Joe and Moses had just returned from another fruitless trip to the brothels and pubs to hunt down the only person who could identify the Ripper. And I waited by the phone. A sense of helplessness and the sound of my racing heart must have lulled me into a dreamless sleep sometime after midnight. Then it came, the jolting ring, jarring me to the bone, shocking me back into a living nightmare.

Desperation magnifies your senses. He was coming, and there was nothing I could do about it. I could feel him creep around inside my head, there was no escape; my heart knew that. He was inside me, a parasite, one of those worms that can only live inside a human eye. But as sure as a drumbeat he was coming, bringing more evil to my doorstep.

Don’t answer it
.

I pulled the duvet over my head but the phone rang again. God help me, I whispered, as I picked up the phone.

His breathing was hard, hot and heavy – oppressive. The panting echoed off the corners of the room, darkness amplifying the rasping quality of the sound, jangling my nerves. Panic set in. I knocked a glass of water over. It smashed on the wooden floorboards as I struggled to find the lamp. He held his breath, listening to my terror. I fought to regain my composure.

He invaded my darkness and pinpricks of sweat broke out on my skin as the wave of nausea swelled. I did not cry out. Like a good girl I listened. I knew how he could punish me. I held my breath, afraid to inflame the monster, but he said nothing. I could sense him enjoying my fear. For Connie’s sake – get a fucking grip, I told myself. For once, heeding my conscience, I sat bolt upright in bed, fumbling again for the bedside light. This time I found it and my eyes struggled to adjust.

‘You’ll suffer.’

He sounded different – disguised.

This time he was whispering. It was difficult to make out whether it was even a man or a woman; there were no recognizable characteristics. Bancho was monitoring my calls; knowing that he was listening gave me strength.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Surprisingly, I sounded much stronger than I felt. ‘Why do you want me to suffer?’ I demanded.

‘You’re going to suffer.’ The Ripper inhaled deeply, as if I exhausted him, and then he gently put the receiver down. I held the phone in my hand and stared at it. I wanted him back – he was my only link to Connie.

Suffer? Suffer for what, for God’s sake?

When the shit hits the fan, I feel an overwhelming urge to laugh. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’ve tried. That was how they found me, rolling around in bed laughing hysterically. I saw Bancho and Joe wedge in the doorway, both trying to be heroes, to save the day. Well, it was too bloody late for that. I stopped laughing.

‘We’re trying to trace the call, but …’ Bancho’s eyes were hooded with concern at my apparent hysteria. Leaning across the bed I dialled 1471 and threw the phone at him – just in case. They watched me in disbelief, probably thinking I must have completely lost it if I thought things were that simple. ‘For Christ’s sake, Brodie,’ said Bancho, ‘let me do my job. If he was stupid enough to call from a non-payphone, do you really think he’d have left his number? Do you think he’s a fucking amateur?’ said Bancho. An automated voice told him that the caller rang at three nineteen – and then gave Bancho the number. His eyes almost popped as he got straight on to Fettes police HQ asking them to trace the number. ‘Why are you calling headquarters?’ Joe asked. ‘Why not just ring back and tell the bastard we’re coming for him?’

‘Because I don’t want him to know that we know and I need backup. DI Smith needs to be told. Connie’s abduction is her case,’ said Bancho. ‘And, like her …’ he nodded in my direction, ‘shut up and let me do my job.’

‘Come on, Bancho,’ I said. ‘He’s not stupid. If he’s left the number, it’s on purpose.’

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Joe asked, as if that would somehow make this all right. We were at an impasse until the information on the caller came through. I didn’t feel like joining the others in the kitchen. Perhaps if I just lay here maybe I would hear Connie’s voice again.

Switching the light off, Joe told me to get some sleep. I lay shaking and chilled; maybe the tea would have done me good after all. Recognizing that I was in a state of shock, I clasped my knees, trying to ward off the cold feeling stealing into my bones. It was hard to breathe; the air was stale and hot under the covers.

I tried to put it all out of my mind, to relax, but no sooner had I started the process than Joe came rushing in.

‘Fettes have just called with the details of that number, Brodie – can you fucking believe it? It came from your Grandad’s house!’