Night Watcher

by Chris Longmuir

  She turned the television on and turned it off again.

  She rechecked the windows and doors.

  She worried the ends of her hair, winding it round and round her fingers and pulling the ends into her mouth where she sucked it just as she had done when she was a little girl.

  Nothing helped.

  Eventually she curled up in one of the white leather armchairs, her feet tucked beneath her and her arms hugging her middle while she sang the words to a long forgotten children’s song.

  She thought she was going mad.

  She must have dozed off, for when she woke it was dark outside. The external lights must have gone off or maybe she had forgotten to put them on, but she did not think so. The table lamp at the side of her chair spilled a pool of light onto her, but the dim shadows in the corners of the room seemed to move, expanding and threatening until she was almost ready to scream. She bit her knuckles until the blood came. She was sure she had switched on the ceiling light when she came in, but maybe she hadn’t.

  The house creaked and settled in its silence. Even that worried her.

  She steeled herself to get out of the chair and switched the light on. Maybe she would go through the house and put on every light, although she had a vague recollection she had done that when she arrived home.

  Her finger was on the light switch when she heard footsteps in the hall. At least it sounded like footsteps, but maybe she was mistaken about that as well. Maybe it was just her nerves. She wrapped her arms round her middle, clutching her skin with pincer-like fingers to make sure she was awake. But still the footsteps came. Hollow and echoing and menacing.

  The door handle turned, but she could not move.

  The door opened.

  She sighed, a long, low sigh of relief. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I found this when I came in.’ The hands that cradled the body of Ralph, the big ginger cat, were gentle.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks as she held out her arms for Ralph. His body was still warm, his fur still as silky as she remembered, but he was quite, quite dead. ‘Oh, poor Ralph. Not you as well?’ She cuddled the cat to her body and, turning her back, placed him on a cushion.

  The hands circled her neck, gentle, but strong. The fingers caressed her skin. ‘Stop playing around,’ she said, ‘you know how frightened I’ve been.’ The hands tightened, holding her in a bruising grip, and it was then that she knew. She wanted to ask why, but it was too late. She struggled, desperate to break free, but the grip tightened. Then the lights grew dim. And soon there was only the dark.

  ***

  It had been a pig of a day and it had not got any better. Now it had become a nightmare. Ken stared at Nicole’s body, sprawled on the white carpet in an elegant pose that some might have thought artistic.

  He knelt down beside her and stroked her forehead. Her eyes stared at him, blank, unseeing and partly blood filled. There were scratch marks on her chin where she had tried to pry the choking hands loose, and finger tip bruises on her throat.

  Suddenly he wanted to be sick. He ran to the bathroom and hung his head over the toilet pan and retched. A mouthful of yellow bile burned his throat with a painful intensity that was worse than the pain that gripped his ribs. But still he retched and retched, although there was nothing in his stomach.

  The scene with Claire was still bright in his mind. ‘That damned woman phoned here,’ she had screamed at him. ‘Here of all places. Demanded you go and see her.’ Cool, calm Claire had burned with an anger he had never thought she possessed. Her anger had sparked his and he had slammed out of the house without his dinner. He had driven for miles, and walked along the beach for miles, before he had come here.

  He had used the keypad to open the gates, and then driven up to the house. That was his first mistake. When he found the back door open he had come into the house. That was his second mistake.

  He rested his forehead on the cool china of the toilet bowl unable to stop seeing Nicole sprawled on the lounge floor. At least now he was free, he thought, with grim amusement. Suddenly he felt like laughing and as the giggle started, it sounded, even to his ears, deranged.

  Panic surfaced. It would be disastrous if he was found here with Nicole’s body. It would be the end of his reputation and his career. Patrick Drake would never stand for the scandal. He had to get out.

  Bile resurfaced in his throat as he levered himself up. He thought he might be sick again, but he swallowed hard. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, he scrubbed the edge of the bowl, the sink and the taps before finally polishing the cistern handle, depressing it with his elbow, and then dropping the paper down the toilet to be flushed away.

  He retraced his steps to the lounge and, taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he polished every surface he might have touched. Then with one last look at Nicole he left the house.

  His hands were shaking so badly when he got into the car that he had difficulty starting the engine, and then, when it finally roared into life, his driving was so erratic he nearly crashed into one of the gateposts. In his hurry he did not bother to close the gates behind him, it no longer mattered. Nicole was dead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ‘Slow down, take a deep breath and start again.’ Bill was having trouble understanding the woman on the other end of the phone.

  ‘She dead,’ the voice screamed at him. ‘You gotta come . . .’ The voice deteriorated into a garbled mixture of Polish and broken English.

  Bill sighed, the sigh of a man at the end of his tether. He tapped a pencil on the piece of paper in front of him. At least switchboard had got her name and address. ‘Listen, Marika. Who is dead?’ He pronounced his words slowly in the hope she would do the same.

  ‘Mrs Ralston, she dead, that who,’ the voice screamed at him. ‘You gotta come.’

  The hair on the back of Bill’s neck prickled, he had thought that only happened in books, but his was definitely prickling. Sweat ran down his back and his underarms were awash. So this was what the thought of impending doom was like.

  ‘Okay, we’ll come right away,’ he said. He stared into space for several seconds after he laid the phone down. This case had been a flaky one from the start and he had made a wrong decision, a mistake, which had resulted in disaster.

  ‘Is something up?’ Sue stopped at his desk on her way back from the coffee machine.

  ‘Shit’s just hit the fan, that’s all.’

  ‘Which particular shit would that be?’ Sue perched on the edge of a spare chair and sipped her coffee.

  Bill rearranged the files on his desk until he found the one he wanted. He threw it over to her. ‘That one,’ he said.

  Sue opened it. ‘Not another phone call,’ she groaned. ‘Not more dead animals. I can’t bear it. I like animals you know.’

  ‘Yes to the first. No to the second.’ Bill waited a moment, then added, ‘It’s worse than dead animals. It’s Mrs Ralston who’s dead.’

  Sue laid the file back on his desk. ‘I worried about her, you know.’

  Bill thought he detected a tone of censure in her voice. ‘I know you did.’ He tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Maybe we should have done something.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. Got someone to check on her. Put a watch on her house,’ Bill’s voice tailed off. ‘Something.’

  Sue snorted. ‘You’ve got a guilty conscience mate, because you didn’t believe her. But there was nothing else we could have done. You’d have been blasted out of the water if you’d suggested a personal guard for her, and you know it.’ She smiled sourly. ‘It’s called lack of resources, mate.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Bill felt a little better, although he knew he should have taken the case more seriously. ‘Let’s go out there and see what’s what.’

  ‘Better tell the big white chief first, he’ll want to know and it takes the heat off you.’ Sue pushed her notebook and pencil into her handbag. ‘I’ll be ready when you get back.’


  Bill hurried up the room and entered Andy’s office, tapping on the door after he was inside.

  ‘Can’t you knock first? I might have had a bird in here with me for all you know.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Bill said, grinning. ‘Having a fly puff at a fag is probably more like it.’ He crossed the room and placed his hands flat on the desk. ‘Something’s come up. Remember that neurotic one the other night, that Mrs Ralston in the big posh house, friend of the Chief Constable and all?’

  ‘I thought you had that one all sewn up.’ Andy glared at him. ‘Is she still giving us grief?’

  ‘You could say that. Gone and got herself killed, that’s all.’

  Andy sighed. ‘Chief Constable’s not going to like that.’ He scratched his head. ‘You’d better get out there. Take someone with you. I’ll get things arranged at this end and see the top brass here are kept informed.’

  ‘Okay if I take Rogers with me? She’s familiar with the case.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Just get it started at that end. But keep me informed.’

  The rush hour traffic was starting as they drove out of Dundee, but Bill was driving against the flow of it so they arrived at the house within a reasonable time. However, it was not fast enough for Marika who met them at the door in full flow.

  ‘Why you no come sooner? Why you take so long? Come, you see, Mrs Ralston, she dead.’ Marika clasped her hands on her ample chest and sobbed.

  It was all too melodramatic for Bill. He turned to Sue. ‘I’ll leave Marika to you,’ he said. ‘Find out what she knows.’ He strode into the house simply to get away from the histrionics. He stopped in the hall and looked around him wondering where the body was.

  Marika pushed past him, ‘I show. I show,’ she waved her hands. She threw the lounge door open. ‘She here.’ Tears poured down Marika’s face.

  Nicole Ralston lay on her back, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling, and her arms clasping a large ginger cat. A hiss of breath escaped Sue Rogers’s lips and Bill heard her mutter, ‘Another bloody animal. What’s with this guy and animals?’

  Marika started to mutter in a foreign language, her voice rising higher and higher until it was almost a scream.

  ‘Thank you, Marika.’ Bill stepped in front of her to prevent her throwing herself on the floor. The woman was like an engine cranking up and Bill did not want to be with her when she eventually exploded. ‘You go with policewoman. She ask questions. Okay?’ God he was at it now, speaking in broken English. He sighed disgustedly. ‘Take her somewhere else,’ he hissed at Sue, ‘before I say or do something stupid.’

  ‘I’m not sure you haven’t done it already,’ Sue murmured sweetly as she ushered Marika from the room.

  Bill pulled the door shut, he knew better than to enter and be accused of contaminating anything, the Scene of the Crime guys were a bit touchy that way.

  Marika’s voice, high and excited floated along the corridor, gradually lessening in volume as Sue’s calming tones took effect. He knew he should join them, but he had no stomach for hysterics, so he walked along the corridor until he found a small study. He would square it with Sue later. In any case he had to phone Andy to find out when he could expect the police doctor to arrive, and when the SOCOs would get here, and he could not do it with Marika yabbering in his ear. Once he had made the necessary calls he settled himself at the desk, poking into drawers and pigeonholes, and riffling through various letters, notes, invoices and papers.

  ***

  Claire rose from bed just as the night started to turn into dawn. She had not slept and her head and eyes ached. It had been after two o’clock when Ken had returned home and slid in beside her. They’d had a dinger of a row earlier on and she did not want it to start again so she had not moved and had kept her breathing slow and regular.

  It was all this business about Nicole, and Ken’s inability to end the affair that he had probably entered into with very little thought. That was Ken all over though, he would get involved with a woman who caught his eye and then drop them when he tired of them. However, he had never been involved with someone like Nicole before, someone who would not let go, and Claire knew he was having difficulty shaking her off. That was what frightened her, because she knew how weak he was. That was why she thought she might have to take matters into her own hands and why she had gone out looking for him after he left. She should not have left the kids on their own, she knew that and felt guilty about it, but they had been sleeping soundly and had not come to any harm.

  She looked in all the places she thought Ken might have gone, but could not find him. One o’clock struck on the church clock just as she arrived home. There was nothing else she could think of to save her marriage so she had gone to bed and waited, wondering whether or not he would come back.

  The shower prodded her into wakefulness, the water rushing over her head and down her body in a wonderful cleansing waterfall. She stood under it a long time hoping that the streaming flow would wash away all the guilt, fear and jealousy.

  Ken was sitting on the edge of the bed when she returned to the bedroom. His face was haggard and his eyes peered at her in a strange way. ‘Are you all right?’ She sat on the bed beside him. ‘You look a bit strange this morning, as if something’s troubling you.’ She wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her close, but she was afraid to make the first move. He might not want her. And she did not know how to talk to him anymore, which made all their conversations so stilted. ‘If it’s the argument, I’ve got over that, just as long as you finish with her.’ Fear gripped her. Maybe he was going to tell her their marriage was over. She towelled her hair hard to prevent her hands from shaking.

  ‘It’s finished.’ His voice sounded flat and emotionless. Suddenly he clasped his head with both hands. ‘Oh God, it’s finished, really finished.’

  Claire put her arms round him, ‘There, there,’ she said, in the same way she would have said it to a child. ‘You’ll get over it.’ She patted his shoulder.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he muttered through his hands. He took them away from his face and stared at her with strange unfocused eyes. ‘She’s dead, and I found the body.’

  Claire stopped patting him. Her heart was thudding dangerously fast and an icy coldness swept through her. ‘What d’you mean. You haven’t . . .’ She could not say what was in her mind.

  ‘No. I didn’t do it. I just found her.’ Tears rolled down his face.

  ‘Do what?’ Claire’s voice rose several decibels.

  ‘Strangle her. I didn’t, Claire. Honest I didn’t. You’ve got to believe me.’ He clutched her hand and held it fast. ‘What am I going to do? They’ll think it’s me.’

  Claire stared at him. She had never seen him so agitated. ‘The police – did you phone the police?’ Her brain whirled as she tried to think what to do. Even if he had done it, she could not let them arrest Ken.

  ‘No. I daren’t. Don’t you understand? They’ll think it’s me.’ His body shook uncontrollably. ‘They’re bound to, aren’t they?’

  Claire loosened his fingers from her hand. It had become numb with the pressure of his grip. ‘But they’ll know you were there. You’ll have left fingerprints.’ Despair seeped through her. The police were not fools.

  Ken stopped shivering, and smirked. ‘I’m sure I wiped everything before I left the house.’

  Claire frowned. He sounded so smug and so sure of himself. Her doubts increased, and she was not sure what to believe.

  Ken seemed to sense her slight withdrawal. ‘Don’t you see, Claire? I can’t let them know I was at her house last night. They’re sure to think I did it.’

  Claire pulled him close to her, patting his shoulder again. Now that he had returned to her it did not matter what he might have done. She would get him out of it. ‘That’s all right, Ken. You couldn’t have done it because you were here with me all last night.’

  Ken nuzzled his face into her neck. ‘I knew you’d stand by me,’ he sa
id.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Patrick Drake’s Department Store slowly awoke from its silent, brooding, overnight hibernation where the only noise was the settling of old timbers and the hiss of radiators. That silence was now broken by the electrical hum of hoovers on carpets, and the clank and clang of mops and pails on tiles, as the army of cleaners prepared the store for the onslaught of staff and customers.

  Julie stood aside as a bunch of cleaners came out the back door. They seemed a cheery bunch, laughing and joking together as they fastened their coats over their working overalls and lit up cigarettes for their much-needed puff now the work was finished. Their good nature lightened the gloom of a dreary morning.

  Julie held the door open and watched them for a moment, weaving up the alley. Their day was finished just as hers was starting. They vanished round the corner and the alley was deserted again. Even the tramp was not there this morning. Julie had got used to seeing him and wondered if he had moved on, maybe found something a little bit warmer and more comfortable now the weather was turning colder. She shivered. There was a suggestion of snow in the air. She could smell it. She closed the door behind her and hurried into the store, noticing as she went that Harry’s little room was empty. Julie hoped he had got her message, but she would phone again, just to make sure.

  Betty was bent over a cupboard, busy inspecting the stock when Julie crept up on her and planted her cold hands on the older woman’s cheeks. ‘Got the coffee on the heat then,’ she said, as Betty squealed in protest.

  Betty straightened. ‘My, but you’re chirpy this morning.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful morning,’ Julie replied, grabbing Betty round the waist and swinging her into a dance round the servery.

  ‘If you want that coffee, you’ll let go right away,’ Betty puffed. ‘Anyway why’re you so happy now?’ She grabbed two cups and held them up in front of her. ‘When you were so goddamned down yesterday. What’s happened since then?’

  ‘I’ve made my decision, Betty. I’m going to hand in my notice and go back to Edinburgh.’ She performed a little jig. ‘I’ll tell Nicole when she comes in.’