The Watcher

by Ross Armstrong

  I size him up. I’m thinking it might be better to do this when he’s sober. Then you speak.

  ‘I think Lily said that you’d met her in the café?’

  He pauses. Puts his hand to his head. Breathes. ‘Yeah, Yeah. That’s right. It’s where we first met. I remember it. Over a hot cappuccino, how could I forget?’

  He says ‘cappuccino’ with rich exoticism, as if he’s saying caviar or Zanzibar. I take over.

  ‘I was telling Dad about that bloke that you saw. Heading back to the apartments on the night before the night Jean was killed.’

  I tried to keep it conversational but suddenly the words hit the floor like a dead weight. They seemed to echo around the place. If I didn’t know better I’d say every face at the fair turned to stare at us. I was with the drunkest man in North London and I was the one feeling gauche.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.’

  You nod. Just as you thought, I guess.

  Hands go firmly into pockets. There’s a patience about you still. I see all the times you were patient with me, laid out before me in one physicality.

  You stare at him. For a moment I think you’re enjoying it. For a moment I think you might hit him in the stomach, stand over him and ask him what he really knows. But I barge in before that.

  ‘No, come on.’

  ‘No, you come on, darling.’

  ‘This is my dad. He’s not going to tell. He’s not police or anything. I was telling him about it all. He wants to help. You wanted to talk in the café, right?’

  He changes, an anger makes his jaw stiffen, and he leans in to me. You, rightfully, are immediately on your guard.

  ‘Yeah, well, careless talk costs lives all right? Whatever I did or didn’t say can be between us, but I’m not going to start shooting my mouth off in broad daylight for you. You believe what you want to believe anyway, you do. I can tell. You make it up as you go along, sunshine, don’t you? Don’t you!?’

  A peculiar feeling hits the pit of my stomach. His yellowing teeth confront me. His odd aspect. I’m not sure if it’s his breath that’s intoxicating me or the shock of all this, but things shake in my vision. I feel as if I’m at sea. My ears ring. I could throttle him as I stare at his mouth. I follow the corners of his chapped lips as they move and rise into a smile.

  ‘Oh, sorry, love! I’m only messing around with you. I’m only having a laugh. Come here, gimme a squeeze, I’m sorry.’

  He hugs me. There’s nothing I can do about it.

  Despite myself, I smile because he’s going to spill the beans.

  ‘Come on then. The guy. The suit. Blond hair?’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. All that. We talked about it in the coffee shop. I said I saw the fella coming back to Riverview Apartments, after it happened. I saw him.’

  I beam at you. You don’t know whether it’s a big thing. It doesn’t feel like a big thing. To you. But it is to me. It’s the mother lode. The big one. It matters. Then I consider what he’s just said.

  ‘You mean Waterway Apartments. Right? Over the way there.’ I point to the building opposite mine. The one where Brenner lives. I’m not calling him Rich any more. He’s definitely a Brenner.

  ‘No, no, no. Look. I’m not entirely sure which. I’m getting myself all turned around now. But I promise you, he’s in one of these two. For definite.’

  It could be the one over the road. Or he could be in my building. That’s what he’s saying. Shit.

  ‘No, no, no, you said to me specifically. I asked you to think. To make sure. And then you said it was definitely Waterway.’

  ‘Well, I was trying be definitive, wasn’t I? Look, I’m not fucking with you. Pardon my French. I can’t say which for sure which. I’ve got myself confused. But he’s definitely in one of these two.’

  ‘And you’re sure about this, Mr Thompson?’ you say.

  ‘Yes, my friend. Absolutely doubtless. Bandage on his hand. Blond hair. He’s a wrong ’un. He’s in one of these two. Trust me. Now, bon voyage, the main band’s just come on the main stage and I’m feeling some dancing coming on. Good luck, darling precious!’ he says, heading back towards the fair.

  My mind spins. I was so sure my grid contained all possibilities. But now I have to open myself up to the possibility that there are a lot more faces about to join the party.

  And the worst part is. The one place you can’t see. In a place like this. Is to the side of you. To see what next door is up to. Binoculars can’t help you. It’s your blind side.

  I’ve had enough of being outside. I can feel their eyes again. I can feel I’m running out of time.

  He may be drunk and hopeless, and today has hardly been a ringing endorsement of my sanity, all told, but I think he knows what he saw. Don’t ask me why. I trust my sources. Trust is always the best place to start.

  But it does mean it still could be Brenner. I think he tried to shame me into thinking it wasn’t him. He tried to dominate me. But no matter what anyone says, I’m not ruling him out.

  I still feel like I’m so close. In fact, I’m sure of it.

  I just need to convince you of that.

  28 September. 3 p.m. My saviour.

  I’ve mentioned before that people wander through this place like ghosts. Here one minute, gone the next.

  As intimately acquainted as I’ve become with the people opposite, I don’t know the ones around me at all. The ones I share the air with. And a roof. Under which the killer may reside.

  But Lowell does know them, he’s my link. He goes to meetings. He liaises with the concierge. He’s building rep or something of that ilk. Some kind of supervisor. He knows everyone. I know he can help.

  So when you go out to get some fresh air and walk Terrence, perhaps to get a break from me for a while, I go to knock on his door. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even seen the inside of his flat. We’re getting much closer now. I knock.

  ‘Yes?’ he says, from behind the closed door.

  ‘It’s Lily,’ I say. Trying not to seem flirtatious. Despite our earlier encounter. I don’t want him to think I’m coming over for anything like that.

  ‘Just a second,’ he says.

  As I wait, my head turns to the cool clean hallway window, its straight lines and smooth face cleaned just this morning. From there you can see downstairs to the entrance outside. I see a man in a flat cap entering the building. I could swear it’s Brenner, but I doubt myself. Everyone’s making me feel like I don’t know anything any more. He couldn’t have a fob to this building. Could he? Maybe he’s managed to get one. Maybe he’s coming for me. My fists clench. I need him to open the door. I bite my bottom lip. I’m about to shout for Lowell again when the door opens.

  ‘Hi,’ he says. Standing there. Strangely formal. A long coat and a red scarf. It is getting nippier sadly, but this seems a bit excessive. These are winter clothes. But he does look nice all dressed up. He’s a perfect Watson, Samwise, Cosmo, Goose, Jem, Hastings.

  ‘I need to come in now,’ I say, urgently.

  ‘I was just heading out,’ he says. I suppose his clothes told me that. But if that is Brenner I need to get inside, just in case, and fast. Dad is out. And I don’t want to be home alone. Not today.

  ‘Please, I need to talk about some things.’

  He doesn’t look keen, but I’m pressing hard, not giving him a choice. I feel like I hear someone coming upstairs. I’m agitated and he can see that.

  ‘Of course. Come on. Come in,’ he says, with an easy charm.

  The door closes and I’m inside. I’m not going to mention Brenner yet, he might think I’m being silly. I want to find a few things out first. I’ll only let him in if he seems pliable.

  Momentarily, I’m struck with flat envy. It’s a higher spec than ours. More room. He has all mod cons. A well-stocked kitchen with a marble top, a huge fridge with an ample separate freezer. I only have a little fridge with a tiny compartment at the top, only big enough for some frozen peas.
It’s weird what makes you feel belittled sometimes.

  It smells a bit in here though. Which makes me feel a bit better. I don’t know what of. I think it’s just of man. I also notice he has a suitcase out. In the living room. Maybe he’s going on holiday. I think about asking but there’s no time for small talk.

  ‘How often do you have those meetings. About matters within the building. All that? How often?’ I say, locking eyes with him.

  ‘Er… once a month. They’re no big deal. Got something to bring up? You can come along?’ he says, attempting to make this a normal conversation.

  ‘Yeah. I might have. I might have.’ I hear my heart beat in my ears as I speak. Brenner could be just outside.

  I could become the building rep in his place. Get to know them, one by one. They might come to me about their problems. Suggestions about the recycle room. Requests for more bicycle racks. I could invite them in and size them up. They would come to me. I wouldn’t have to go to them. But this seems like a long-term strategy.

  I need to act now, before Dad loses my trust, before the next knock on the door is Brenner. Or the police again and they’ve tied me to Jean in some other way I didn’t see coming. I try again.

  ‘I suppose you get to know most people in the building doing that. Right?’ I say, treading carefully. I don’t know how much to give away yet. He seems on his guard.

  ‘Yeah. You meet all kinds of folks. Complaints about the heating unit. That sort of jazz. Real hardcore politics,’ he says, grinning.

  Good old Lowell. He was born to do that sort of thing. Sorting out other people’s shit. Always the one to stick his hand in the air and take the hit for everyone.

  ‘You met anyone that seems suspicious?’ I say, suddenly pointed.

  I wonder how close Brenner is.

  ‘Plenty. People keep themselves to themselves in this place until they think you can do something for them. The teachers on the second floor that can always smell mould in their flat? When no one else can, not me, not even environmental health. The Brazilian dude on the sixth that smokes a ton of weed and complains that he thinks his balcony is going to fall down when he’s high? That’s a knock on the door at 10 p.m. I always look forward to.’

  I don’t need anecdotes. I need more. And fast.

  ‘What about the law student? From Canada House. You ever meet her?’

  Lowell looks to the sky. His mouth creases. He is quiet all of a sudden. He shakes his head. Thinking. He goes to talk, then mumbles something. Another scratch of the head. Showing me he’s struggling.

  I guess it’s difficult to remember everyone. Each building has one or two reps. There are six buildings in total, what with the new apartments and the two old estate buildings that are still there. They meet monthly. Some sort of council remit. The mirage of community. Integration.

  ‘You know, Lil, I don’t think I do remember anyone like that. No.’

  What he doesn’t know is that I’m going push him on the matter because my Internet research on her told me that she would’ve been at those meetings. One of the ways she was pushing through her views on the new buildings was through them. She was taking every chance she had to cause a fuss.

  ‘You sure? She was causing a bit of a stir I heard. Wanted a review of what Princeton Homes were doing to the area. Trying to question their government contract? Wanted to find a way to pause the regeneration before all the old buildings were gone and it became “a nature reserve for the middle classes”. I think is what she said. I read about it.’

  ‘Hmm. Yeah,’ Lowell mutters.

  I think I’m jogging some memories. The little grey cells are working away in there. I continue. Maybe I’m annoying him now, but I’ve done my research so I may as well show him what I’ve got. Full disclosure.

  ‘You know. She wanted to know exactly how many people were being rehoused in the new builds from the old blocks. They’d been promised at least thirty per cent would be. She wanted to get all the work paused. The diggers out of here. Until an investigation was mounted. Is what I heard.’

  I show him my workings. I don’t think he’s holding out on me. Maybe it’s difficult to remember everything that goes on in those meetings. But I’ve definitely stumbled on something here.

  ‘You know what, yes, of course.’ He clicks his fingers. Then continues. ‘Little slow on the uptake there. Yes, I do. Uh huh.’

  It was then I remembered that you’d be back soon, Dad. I need to hurry him up. I don’t want you to know I’m making house calls without consulting you.

  I think this is making him feel interrogated somehow. Lowell is a smart guy. He knows something’s up.

  ‘I mean, I’m not the guy to ask about all this to be perfectly honest. There’s a host of people there. I think they keep minutes. I mean, I think I remember her, sure. Wanted a review of a host of things to do with the building contracts. Had been working on it for a while. Uh huh. All that. It put the cat amongst the pigeons I think you could say.’

  ‘I’ll bet, weird. Way to make us feel guilty for living our lives, huh?’

  ‘Uh huh. Right? Ha.’

  I don’t want to tell him any of my plans yet. I don’t want to spook him. But I need to know one thing. Me and that impulse control. I have to ask.

  ‘So, Lowell, what was the first thing you thought when you heard that girl went missing?’

  He stands in the doorway. His eyes seem to plead with me to let him go. He’s tired of hanging around with the mad girl. He breathes a heavy sigh and leans against the door frame. He’s half in, half out of his flat.

  ‘Which girl is this, sorry?’ Slow on the uptake again. He’s weary of this.

  ‘The lawyer. Sonya? Who went missing?’ I persevere.

  ‘I didn’t hear about that.’

  This seems unlikely. I shake my head, speechless for a second. I don’t want to show him what I’m thinking. As incurious as I was, as cut off and in my own world, I still saw the missing-poster signs, they were everywhere.

  I didn’t look closely because I didn’t feel connected to anyone or anything, at that point. But Lowell was as plugged in as anyone. And he knew the girl. He’d been at meetings with her. At the very least this must’ve come up at the most recent meeting. It’d have to. Something’s going on. I’m forced to fill the pause.

  ‘Ah, well. She did. Go missing. Funny.’ Not funny ha ha, of course.

  ‘Yeah. That’s crazy. Listen, I’ve got to go. I won’t be long.’

  But I’m not letting him go. Not till Dad comes back. I can’t be alone.

  ‘No, no. Please. I want you to come and meet my father,’ I plead.

  ‘Ah. Is he over from France?’

  I forgot I’d told him all about him. He has a good memory for some things.

  ‘I’ll say hi when I get back then, Lil.’

  No, I want him with me. For protection. I want to keep him with me until you come back. And I don’t want you to know I’ve been wandering around and bothering people. I need to get him in my flat. He might be my saviour.

  I think about kissing him again for a second. But then my mouth opens and I go all in. ‘I think someone murdered that girl. And I think that after that, he killed again. And I think I know who did it.’

  His face becomes serious. A face I’ve never seen from him before. I’m sure he’s judging me. But then, it turns out, he isn’t.

  ‘OK, I’m listening. Can you tell me how you know all this?’ he says, with open body language. Ready to receive whatever I’m willing to give.

  ‘Better than that. I can show you.’

  I take his hand. We head next door.

  28 September. 3.30 p.m.

  ‘Oh, God. Fucking hell,’ I whisper under my breath.

  I lead him through the hallway and into my flat. I pull him in hard and lean against the wall. One of my hands on his wrist.

  ‘What is it, Lil?’ His eyes are wild now. His face ripples with concern.

  ‘That was him. Brenner. At least that’s
what I call him.’

  As we left Lowell’s flat and headed to mine, I saw the side of Brenner’s face in the hallway. He was talking to someone at the end of the hall.

  ‘What are you saying, Lil?’ Lowell says, his voice low. ‘You think that guy is some sort of psychopath? Are you sure this isn’t—’

  ‘Don’t. I need you to listen to me.’

  ‘OK, but stay calm.’

  I’m not sure whether he’s trying to calm me down or wind me up. He’s making me feel jumpy too now. That’s not what I need from him. I take a step back and shake my hands. Wring them out. Trying to shake away the tension before I speak.

  ‘He lives in the other building. I’ve been watching him. Watching everyone. Because I think the person that killed both of those women lives in one of these two buildings. I confronted him. Angered him. And now he’s here. What’s he doing here? I think he’s coming for me.’ It comes out without a breath. Without a thought.

  ‘And what makes you think all this, Lil? What makes you think it’s him?’ he says. Holding my hand. Tender again.

  I’d thought I might show him my grid. The names I’ve crossed off. The people I’ve considered. The description and the thing I’m looking for, the scar on the hand. But I don’t. I think about the police and how I saw them snigger. The porcelain monkey. The poker. They seem so stupid in a vacuum. But I believe in them with all my heart.

  I wonder what you’ll think when you come back and catch us here with our blood up.

  I wonder if Brenner’s still in the hallway. I try another tack.

  ‘Lowell. I was there. The night before the night she died. The old woman? She’s the other one that was killed. And then... afterwards... I saw saw into her flat. There was a crowd around her house and I went in. Someone asked me to. And there was a porcelain figurine missing. And a weapon she used for self-defence. I think someone broke in there. In the struggle the figurine was broken and she hit him with the poker. Brenner ended up clearing up the smashed pieces and getting rid of the poker just in case it had any of his blood on it or anything like that—’