He still remembered how hurt she’d appeared to be when he left to enlist. Their parents had died and he had chosen to leave her, opting to defend his country rather than look after his sister. She had only been eighteen. But as hurt as she’d felt, she’d never once blamed him, understanding he needed to deal with things himself. TJ had wrapped herself up in college, getting her degree and then her masters. She had been working on her PhD for the last couple of years.
‘You do have a habit of doing that, bro. What’s happened since your flash the other day?’
Jacob felt himself blush as the image of a freckled red-head popped into his mind. He thought he had gotten away with it, but TJ was too adept at noticing his subtle changes.
‘You met someone? Who? Where?’
‘I didn’t, not exactly anyway.’ He knew he had to continue. ‘She’s a student.’
TJ’s eyes widened, ‘Aren’t there rules against fraternising with students?’
Jacob coughed into his coke, ‘I’m not fraternising. She is a student, a mature student if you must know. I barely even spoke to her.’ Uncomfortable now under her scrutiny, he added, ‘Nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen. Like she’d go near here anyway with this damn stick.’ His hand swept in a downward motion indicating to his legs, and his eyes had filled with just enough despair to make them darken.
‘Bro, how many times do I need to tell you that the right woman won’t see your stick? Or your scars? I get that you hate your stick, I really do, but you need it. You’ll always need it. If that’s all people see then they’re not worth having in your life.’
Jacob frowned. He knew what she said made sense, but he struggled to accept it as truth. Nobody had ever not seen his stick since he’d started walking again. Why should she be any different?
He knew TJ understood him more than anyone else, but even she had told him to his face that he was as pig-headed as they came.
TJ knew he hammered his frustrations out at the gym. He always had. And now he was wasting time trying to rebuild muscles that couldn’t be rebuilt. Suddenly she decided she would quite like to meet the person who had grabbed her brothers attention, student or not. His next class was scheduled for 5th June. Sometimes her brother needed a nudge in the right direction, and it usually fell to her to give him it. She needed to meet the girl who had Jacob all a-fluster, and make sure she wasn’t going to break his heart.
But, Jacob didn’t need to know she would attend the Uni.
She gave him an innocent grin, changing the subject and asking how his class had gone.
2nd June, 0915 hours – Tunstall, Sunderland City Centre
He’d watched as she had gotten dressed that morning: her dark brown skin glistening with the remaining dampness from her shower. He had seen the older woman enter the room, handing Clarice a large pile of clothing.
He had felt a shiver pass down his spine as she had bent over, putting the clothes away in the bottom drawer.
He could almost taste her - he would taste her.
Years before he had surprised his victims, jumping out on them, or using the old 'man off the bike trick'. Now he knew it was easier to get to know them a little first. Not much, not enough so they would tell people about him at any rate. But enough so they felt comfortable. It made the rush even better - the moment when they realised he wasn't the nice guy they thought he was. To be fair he had never actually been a nice guy. That was a fallacy, all part of the elaborate person that was him. There was no one else like him, he knew that.
He could tell just looking at her that she would be the type to please.
His background checks had been fruitful - she had a history of drug use. With that history she no doubt had a reputation for sleeping around. For a millisecond he wondered if he had made the right choice, there was a chance she was damaged goods. That someone else had gotten there first. And that was something he couldn't entertain. He needed the rush, the fear as he forced them to do his bidding.
Frowning, he acknowledged that it was harder now to get that feeling. The first three women had been but fumbles in the dark, but number four, now she had been special. He had left his mark. Made her beg right up to the end. No one had compared to her, not yet anyway. He was pretty sure Clarice would though.
He pushed the niggle of doubt aside - he would soon put her in her place. He’d watched her for days now - knew she would take some training. She’d be defiant at first, angry even. But she would learn.
They all learned in the end.
Smiling he picked up his books and put them into his newly purchased backpack. He smoothed his now blond locks into a geeky style, the temporary hair dye making him look years younger. Using the mirror in the hall, he applied the clear lens nerd glasses over his blue eyes, perching them on his nose. The false goatee, and modern clothing finished off the look and he was satisfied. He would blend in with the rest of the geeky business study students.
He didn't stand out - even the lecturer would be unlikely to remember him if pressed.
Inserting himself onto the class register had been easy, obtaining a valid student number a little more difficult but definitely not rocket science. To all intents and purposes, his new identity, Gareth Chamberlain, was an average student who had been sick for the first few weeks of term due to an episode of 'mumps'. He had created false student reports using his own coded software, and had 'submitted' his assignments online for the period, altering the dates to make them appear as if they were submitted on time but had been lost in the system. Being technological was a blessing when it came to creating a new life.
He’d done it all over the UK, often claiming benefits whilst working, with transactions that were virtually untraceable, in most cases not even noticed. He had several identities to work with – all of them meticulously realistic, like the one he used now. He had so many in fact, that even he occasionally forgot who he really was. He worked when he wanted to, confident that skimming off the government would always top him up.
Clarice would remember him though, at least for the short time she would live. None of the others had survived - he supposed it was all down to strength. After he put them in their place, it was up to them to be strong enough to want to live. Plainly none of the others had wanted to.
He heard the beep outside - his taxi was here.
It was time for school.
2nd June, 1105 hours - CSI Department, Sunderland City Centre Depot
Ben had reworded the statement for the assault case four times so far. Deciding to take a break she popped the kettle on and made her way next door.
‘Kev, I'm struggling with the statement for the assault outside Retox from a few weeks ago. Have you got a template of some kind you could maybe email me? The scene ended up being spread and I'm having trouble putting it into words without elaborating. I've only really had photo statements up until now.’
‘I'll come give you a hand. It was the stabbing right? You consulted with Jason if memory serves?’
‘Yeah that's the one. The images are loaded up if you wanna review. It ended up being three areas around the nightclub. There wasn't a whole lot of evidence like. It's more the logistics of what I did process wise.’
‘I read your notes for that one - was gonna mention it in your PDR meeting next week. Considering that was one of the first major scenes you processed solo, you did an excellent job. Your photos were good quality too - you've been practising with the tripod and night-time shots and it shows. Use your notes to write the statement. Start at the first area, write what you did, the processes you used and what you recovered, then move onto the second bit. I'll have a read before you send it to the CPS.’
Ben felt her cheeks flush. She had never taken praise well, but was pleased her hard work had been noticed.
‘How's the digital course going? You've got Tulley as your lecturer right?’
‘Yeah. Seems great so far, think I'm going to find it tough going, like. I've already got six books at home to read. Popped
to the library on my way in this morning. You know Jacob?’
‘So do you, indirectly at least. He works in the forensics lab at the HQ building.’
‘He works for the force? That's why his name sounded familiar.’
‘I'm sure he will be able to offer you additional help when he realises. If you want, I can arrange an attachment for you. You could spend a day or two up at the lab, see it first hand? Might help some of the technical terminology sink in a little?’
‘Would you mind? That'd be great thank you.’
They both looked up as Alex and Ali burst in through the door. Alex looked so much like his brother Ali that they could have been twins. Both had serious grey eyes, both had dark hair with a scattering of silver showing at the temples. Ali was a little taller and broader but no one could have mistaken them for anything but brothers.
‘Cass's waters just broke. She's in labour. I'm going to be a dad.’ Alex sounded shocked, as though the realisation had just sunk in.
‘Cass asked us to let you know - I'm taking him to hospital. Give me your number, Ben, I'll ring you later,’ added Ali with a grin.
Jotting her number down, Ben found herself smiling back. There was something infectious about the news. She almost wanted to be there with Cass. Deciding she would pop to the hospital later, she handed the paper over to Ali who promptly herded Alex out of the room to his car.
‘That's come around so fast. Doesn't seem like two minutes since Cass was last at work. This month’s gone in a flash,’ said Kevin quietly. His eyes saddened, and lost in his thoughts, he stood and walked back to his office. Ben knew it had been just over eighteen months since his wife had died from cancer. She knew loss got easier with time, but sometimes Kev faded off without warning. It obviously still hurt much more than he let on to his staff.
Now that Ben had the structure for the statement, she managed to crack on and get it done without further issue. She entered Kevin's force number on the email system and hit send just as she was called on the radio.
Opting for the clearer phone line, she picked the receiver up and rang the control room.
‘We've got a report of a sudden death in Pallion. Would you be free to attend? Sgt MacKenzie has cleared it as non-suspicious.’
‘Yea no probs, LV. I should be there in around half an hour max. What's the log number?’ It was second nature to use the short designation assigned to the control room personnel.
At the dispatchers reply, she plugged it into the force system and brought the incident details up on the screen. The dial tone rang in her ear as they hung up, and she replaced the receiver while scanning the information.
Pulling the info she needed, she grabbed a Tech 41, the form the CSIs used for contemporaneous notes, and noted down the address, name and date of birth of the deceased and the officer dealings collar number. The officer in charge of the case, or OIC was generally the cop dealing with the incident. Recognising the number, she knew this would be straight-forward. Martin Cottlethwaite, or Cotty as his colleagues called him, was as professional as they came. He was always polite and managed to build relationships with effortless ease both with victims and personnel attending. Even the local kids got on well with him, having a bit of banter when he was called to reports of antisocial behaviour.
In what seemed like minutes, she pulled up outside the address.
Cotty’s colleague, a probationer named Sam, stood point outside.
‘The body's upstairs, front bedroom,’ he said, opening the front door to let her in.
As soon as the door opened, Ben heard the distraught wailing of what she thought was a female, though it was reminiscent of a barn owls screech in the dead of night. She steeled herself as she knocked at the living room door and walked inside.
The wailing turned out to be from a man who was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands sobbing loudly. He glanced up at Ben as she entered, completely oblivious to the streak of snot that he’d smeared across his cheek. A woman sat beside him silently rubbing his back. She was either a friend or relative. Ben guessed them both to be around mid-thirties.
Cotty looked up, and motioned her back towards the door.
‘Steve,’ he said softly, ‘I need to take the CSI upstairs. I'll leave Sarah here with you.’
He didn't even get a reply.
Cotty didn't speak again until both he and Ben were on the landing at the top of the stairs.
‘It's a suicide. Bit of a strange one as you'll see when you go in. We've already phoned the pathologist. It's Nigel Evans on call today - he should be about twenty minutes. The deceased is Joseph Wilkinson. He left a note.’
Cotty handed her the evidence bag with the paper inside. ‘It's pretty brutal.’
Scanning, Ben took in the anger in the note. All of it directed at the man keening downstairs, blaming him for the suicide.
‘Jesus. Has he read this?’ she asked, her voice sounding strangely high-pitched – she’d never read anything so vindictive. Cotty wasn't wrong when he'd said brutal. In his letter, Joseph called the man downstairs every name under the sun, while stating he was doing this to get back at him for screwing his best friend in their bed and berating him both as a partner and a man.
Cotty nodded his answer, ‘Can I leave you to crack on? Just give me a shout if you need anything.’
Waiting until he had gone back into the living room, Ben opened the bedroom door and went inside. The male was lying beside the radiator under the window. There was a plastic bag over his head and a tube leading from under the bag where his face was to an attachment on a large gas tank. Ben followed the outer edge of the room as she performed the visual examination.
Joseph’s eyes were open, staring vacantly through the plastic. His hands had frozen in a contorted position at his sides, and his neatly ironed shirt and jeans were obviously freshly laundered. His face was set in a position of contorted pain, with his lips a pale shade of blue. His wax-like face had a grey pallor to it. This wasn’t an attempt at suicide; this was planned and well thought out to the least detail.
Satisfied she had finished her first look, Ben started down the stairs and began her photography.
By the time Nigel Evans arrived, she was just finishing up.
‘Don't think we've met?’ he said as he met her in the hall. The pathologist extended his hand, gripping hers firmly for a moment as she introduced herself.
‘Would you mind if I watch as you examine the body?’ she asked.
‘Not at all. If you have any questions please ask.’
Ben observed as Nigel worked his way round the body. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, ‘Why have his hands done that?’
‘The tank contains helium. It's not lethal to humans as a gas, but what it does is it displaces the oxygen particles in the blood-stream, essentially suffocating the body. With the bag tied on his head he would have asphyxiated within a few minutes. Part of the process is the body then seizing, which causes the muscles to contract. And his hands have held the contraction.’
‘Would it have hurt?’
‘For the short time he was conscious, yes. But that wouldn't have been long,’ replied Nigel, giving her a sympathetic smile.
By the time he had finished his brief examination, the undertakers could be heard speaking with Joseph’s partner downstairs.
Ben packed up her things and made her way to the van. She hoped she’d be put down to do the post-mortem for that one. She’d heard from the other CSIs that Nigel was the one to be with in a PM, but she had yet to attend one he had been appointed to.
2nd June, 1535 hours – Sunderland University Campus
He could barely contain his boredom.
People actually want to come to school to learn this?
He’d been sitting in the stuffy lecture hall now for five hours, with the only respite being an hour break over the lunch period. The morning lectures had been on prevailing trends in business administration, the afternoon pertaining to ergonomic
s, and health and safety.
It was hardly genius material.
Most of the course students were female, Clarice one of them. If the course had been designed for male students, he had no doubt it would have been a lot more in depth. It was a scientifically proven fact that it was mostly women who chose to study such subjects. He figured it was because their brains didn’t work the same as men’s, which were far superior.
He’d watched Clarice as she had entered the hall, giggling with her group of friends as they made their way in and chose their seats about half way down the stairs. He was sitting behind them. He had arrived first and he hadn’t a clue where their normal seating was, but he figured most people preferred the halfway point – not too close that you were considered a swot, and not too far back that you couldn’t hear.
She had listened intently, making shorthand style notes as the lectures had progressed, pausing only to take sips from the Diet Coke bottle on the desk at her side.
He felt himself stir as she had put the bottle to her lips – one day soon that would be him. Listening intently, he heard the girls start whispering about their up-coming night out. It was booked for the 15th June starting in The Cavendish in the city centre and moving to Retox later.
Smiling, he wrote the date and venue down. The 15th would give him ample time to prepare. It appeared attending the class was a good idea.
Now he had the information he needed, he wouldn’t need to go to any more of the droll lectures. In fact he could delete the whole persona if he wanted. From now on it would just be a case of monitoring her Facebook page, watching her in her room, and maybe even eventually getting to know her a little. He felt a slight flare of frustration, all that work creating the files at the university and no one had even checked if he was allowed to be in the lecture hall. There hadn’t been a register taken.
I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series Page 5
