Night Watcher

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘I can tell you for now, madam’s not going to like that. Not when she thinks she’s got her hooks into you.’ Betty sniffed as she poured the coffee. ‘Besides, I’ll miss you as well.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what Nicole thinks. She can’t stop me.’ Julie accepted her cup from Betty. ‘I do care what you think though, and I’ll miss you too.’

  Julie waited until after the store opened for the day before she phoned upstairs. ‘Nicole hasn’t come in yet,’ Evelyn informed her, ‘Ken’s just arrived though. D’you want to speak to him?’

  She was tempted to say yes, hand her notice in to him and tell him she would be leaving, but that would be taking the easy way out, and Julie never took the easy way out of anything. She believed in facing her problems and dealing with them, after all, that was what she had been doing since she came to Dundee. With a bitter smile at the thought of the problem she had been dealing with, Julie said, ‘No I’ll wait for Nicole.’ Besides, she thought she might enjoy the look on the woman’s face when she told her.

  It was after lunchtime before she phoned Harry. She had looked for him several times, but he had not appeared in the store so far. ‘I’ll just get him for you,’ Harry’s wife said.

  ‘Julie?’ Harry’s voice sounded strained.

  ‘I wondered whether you got my message to come back into work’

  ‘Yes, Babs told me, but I wasn’t sure. Not with Mrs Ralston being so definite like.’

  ‘It’s all right Harry. I talked to her and she agreed she had been a bit hasty. Best thing you can do now is to come in.’ Julie hesitated, ‘I’ll make sure it stays all right with her.’

  There was a silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Are you still there, Harry?’

  ‘You haven’t heard then.’ His breathing sounded laboured. ‘It was on the one o’clock news.’

  ‘Heard what, Harry?’

  ‘Mrs Ralston’s dead, murdered.’ The words were flat and emotionless.

  Julie’s hand tightened on the handset she held to her ear. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘She’s dead, Julie. Dead.’ Harry’s voice echoed with anguish. ‘They might think it was me, Julie, with her accusing me of stalking her, and then sacking me and all.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Harry. You’re not sacked, that was a mistake.’

  ‘Some mistake,’ he muttered.

  ‘Best thing you can do Harry, is to come into your work. Sitting at home’s not going to help.’

  ‘I suppose,’ he sounded resigned. The phone clicked off.

  Julie leaned back in her chair. From where she was sitting she could see Nicole’s briefcase, still leaning on one of the desk legs. Was it only yesterday Nicole had said to her? ‘Come home with me. I’m afraid.’ She could still hear her own reply, ‘I can’t. There’s something else I have to do tonight.’ Only, she did not have anything else to do. She could easily have gone home with Nicole. If she had, would Nicole still be alive? Julie covered her face with her hands. It was her fault Nicole was dead, her and her silly revenge plan.

  She should have believed Nicole when she shared her worries about a stalker, and if she were really truthful she would have to admit she did believe her. But instead of that she had played her little game of planting suspicion in Nicole’s mind, that it was only a private detective employed by her husband. Nothing she should be scared about. Not like a stalker, for example.

  Julie moaned. This would be on her conscience for a damned long time.

  ***

  Evelyn broke the news to Ken at roughly the same time that Harry was telling Julie. ‘It was on the news,’ she said, adding, ‘isn’t it awful?’

  Ken sat back in his leather, executive chair and feigned a look of surprise. ‘It can’t be true,’ he said, although he more than anyone knew it was. Every time he closed his eyes he could see her lying there, that terrible look on her face and those horrible bruises round her neck. Even when his eyes were open, he could see her. He wondered if he would ever stop seeing her.

  Evelyn made a sympathetic noise, ‘Everyone’s upset,’ she said. She kept her face solemn, although Ken thought he could detect a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

  ‘I’d better tell Patrick. God knows what he’ll think. But he needs to be told.’ Ken reached for the phone. ‘I’ll do it now.’

  Evelyn took the hint and left the room.

  Patrick’s voice displayed no emotion when Ken told him. He asked several questions, to which Ken had to admit he did not know the answers. ‘Get on to the police and find out what’s happening,’ Patrick barked before he hung up.

  Up to that moment Ken had been quite composed and had been pleased at the way he was handling things, so the shaking fit shocked him with its unexpectedness. He shook everywhere, his hands, his head, his body. He could not control it. Tears gathered in his eyes and forced their way down his cheeks until he was sobbing noisily.

  Evelyn, who had been lingering outside, burst into the room. ‘Oh, Christ,’ she said. She stuck her head round the door and shouted up the corridor, ‘Somebody get along here quick.’ Crossing the room she put her arms round Ken, rocking him and muttering soothing noises. That was when he started to scream.

  ‘Phone a doctor,’ she shouted at the girl who appeared at the door. ‘He’s gone into shock.’

  ‘Maybe if you slapped him – I’ve seen them do that on the telly – maybe he’d come out of it.’ The girl said.

  Evelyn raised her head to look balefully at the girl. ‘Just do what you’re told,’ she said. ‘Get a doctor, fast.’

  ***

  The Scene of the Crime Officers padded into the house in their white overalls and plastic overshoes. There was something about those bootees that always made Bill want to laugh, but he did not dare because these men were so serious they would not even laugh at Garfield in the Dundee Courier.

  After a quick discussion with the men in white, Bill and Sue closeted themselves in the dining room. They had considered the kitchen, but one look at the mess there was enough to make them think again, and Bill had returned to the lounge to suggest to Colin Wilson the SCO in charge that they might want to look at the kitchen as well.

  ‘Some house this,’ Bill said, sticking his hands in his pocket and walking over to the window. ‘Not that I’ll ever be able to afford anything like it.’ He turned to look at Sue, ‘Well, did you get anything out of Marika?’

  ‘Not that much,’ Sue said, consulting her notebook. ‘Apparently Mr Ralston isn’t here he’s gone off to France and she doesn’t know where or how to contact him. Left first thing yesterday morning and gave her the day off. She says Mrs Ralston’s been jumpy and short-tempered. She also said something about an intruder or trespasser. As far as today’s concerned she said the gates were open when she got here, which is highly unusual. And the house doors were open as well. She thought the house might have been burgled so she was looking around when she discovered Mrs Ralston. After that she went into hysterics again, and I couldn’t get anything else out of her.’

  Bill turned his gaze to the window again. It overlooked the orchard. ‘There’s plenty of trees and bushes out there,’ he murmured, ‘ideal for anyone who wanted to hide.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Sue said.

  He placed his hands on the window ledge and leaned forward. ‘I forgot. You weren’t here when we saw Nicole first. She spoke about having seen someone at the window, but that when her husband investigated there was no one there. He thought she was paranoid.’ Bill paused. ‘I’m afraid we thought so as well. But it’s possible there could have been someone out there.’

  ‘You go along with the stalker theory then?’ Sue joined him at the window. ‘There’s only one thing. How d’you know it’s this window?’

  ‘Elementary, my dear Rogers. They were having dinner at the time. Where do toffs have their dinner? Why the dining room of course, and that is exactly where we are now.’ He grinned at her. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Did Marika say how many peopl
e had control pads for the front gate.’

  ‘As far as Marika knew there were only three people – Scott Ralston, Nicole Ralston and of course Marika.’

  ‘So who left the gate open? Not Nicole Ralston that’s for sure.’

  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.’