I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series

by K. A. Richardson

  Ben just nodded, her voice suddenly overcome with emotion.

  ‘I’ll take her back to the nick,’ said Jacob. ‘Who do you want her to sit down with?’

  ‘Charlie. I’ll ring her now and give her the heads up.’

  Kevin couldn’t speak. Poor kid. All she’s been through and we didn’t have a clue. Before he could change his mind, he pulled her into a quick hug. He was close to all of his staff but to realise one of them had been through something so traumatic and still ended up in the police doing a role that helped others; it was an eye-opener.

  ‘Look after her,’ said Kevin to Jacob as he released his hold on Ben.

  16th June, 0940 hours –Sunderland Outreach Centre

  Stan watched from the semi-comfort of the police car he was sitting in. He’d grinned as the scene investigators had entered the scene in their white suits. They wouldn’t find anything. He was too good. He hadn’t left them anything that would point to him. The over-teeth dental casts he used during his teachings meant that he could attend the dentist when needed like a normal person. The bite marks would make them think they had a lead when in reality it would lead to nothing. And he always used a wipe over the mark afterwards to remove any DNA.

  Seeing Gill carted off in an ambulance had pleased him. It had been a stroke of luck that it was her and not Brian who had gotten to the centre first, and even luckier that he’d been there when she found the body of someone she had cared about so much. He’d felt the power and held her as she screamed, all the while thinking that it was his handiwork and she didn’t have a clue. He wondered what she’d have done differently if she had known. Would she have kicked out, biting, screaming, scratching? Or would she have backed away in terror, afraid the same fate awaited her?

  He’d watched with interest as the female CSI had been walked from the scene, and placed in the van. There was a reason women shouldn’t get involved in that kind of work. They didn’t have the stomach. It was best to leave it to the men. Men could stomach pretty much anything. Well real men could, men like him.

  Stan wished he was closer as they’d been talking near the van, wished he could hear what they’d said. They seemed concerned for her, the red-head.

  Suddenly his cogs started turning, his senses kicking into overdrive as he processed the thoughts that were just on the periphery of his mind. It couldn’t be. There was no way he was that lucky.

  The frown was slow passing over his features. If it is her, then she’d have told them things. They might know things that no one was ever meant to know. Or find. He realised he hadn’t wiped her cheek where he’d tasted the saltiness of her tears. He never did. But the police would never have cause to look for it. Not unless she told them.

  Bree was alive, he knew this. But it couldn’t be that she just happened to show up here. Could it? He had to find out where she was, what she was doing, whether there was any remote possibility that this red-head at the outreach centre was her. Tonight. He would do that tonight. Right now, he was too busy sat in the police car watching, waiting to be spoken to as a potential witness. But the seed of doubt began to grow in his mind. What if …

  Chapter Nineteen

  16th June, 1420 hours – Tunstall, Sunderland City Centre Depot

  Ben felt drained. She’d sat in the interview room and explained to Charlie what had happened to her in great detail. It had made her feel all the things she’d felt back when it had happened. The shame, the guilt, the fear.

  It was awful knowing he was back, just being aware that what he’d done to her had happened to someone else who hadn’t survived. Ben couldn’t shake the cold feeling that seeped into her very soul. Was anywhere safe? She’d moved from Durham to get away from the nagging thought that he was always just around the corner, that he could strike again at any moment, that he would know she was alive and come looking. It had taken years for her to be able to function in society without looking over her shoulder constantly.

  When she’d requested the transfer to the Sunderland section of North East Police, the chief himself had phoned ahead and put in a recommendation. The job on front office had been offered instantly: there’d just been a recruitment drive for the position.

  It wasn’t favouritism that got her the job, it was her need to work in a place she felt safe, and despite everything that had happened, that had still been the police force. And let’s face it; the police force takes care of its own. When she’d needed stability and shielding the front office had provided that, a nice glass screen separating her from the world. Her new colleagues hadn’t known what had happened. She’d been lucky really, the rumour mill hadn’t started up, no-one at the Sunderland office had even known where she’d come from. Now that’s going to change. They’ll all find out, look at me like I’m some kind of freak. Or worse, look at me in pity. ‘There’s the girl that was raped. The one that got away.’

  Jacob had sat with her the entire time, holding her hand, not speaking as she went through the whole thing from start to finish, handing her tissues when the emotion got too much. He’d nipped out and phoned Aoife to tell her what was happening.

  All Ben wanted to do now was go home, lock the doors, and hide under a duvet to keep the monsters at bay. She’d thought she might have another panic attack but to her surprise, she’d kept it together through the interview with Charlie. Jacob had taken her to the canteen when they’d finished, but she was under orders not to leave the station yet. They’d been sat in silence in the canteen, Jacob automatically understanding that she needed to process her thoughts.

  After an hour though, it was too much.

  ‘How’re you holding up?’ he asked, looking up from his now cold coffee.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, telling them. I thought I’d fall apart, not be able to. Maybe even have to be sedated.’ A faint rueful grin flittered over her lips. ‘But it was OK.’

  ‘You’re incredibly brave, Ben. You know that, right?’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s brave,’ she replied. ‘They needed to know. Hopefully they’ll get evidence at the scene and catch the sonofabitch.’

  ‘What’s Ben short for? Benjamina?’

  Jacob’s sudden question threw her momentarily, and then she stared at him in horror. ‘Benjamina? Oh God no.’

  The smile faded as she went on to explain. ‘He used my name. When he was… you know, he said my name over and over. Afterwards I couldn’t bear to hear it. It made me cringe. I actually screamed at Aoife in the hospital when she called me it one day. It was awful. But I needed a name. My first name is Bree. It means strong and honourable. But it didn’t feel either after he’d finished. Elizabeth was my gran’s name and Nicole was my mum’s best friend. I put the initials together and changed it by deed poll. Bree was who I was before the rape. Ben is who I’ve grown to be since.’

  ‘Ben suits you. Still strong and honouring your family at the same time,’ said Jacob.

  Not quite knowing how to respond, she smiled back at him.

  ‘I should ring Aoife. She’ll be worried.’

  ‘She is, but she knows you’re safe with me. I said I’d get you home as soon as I could.’

  ‘I bet she loved that. She’s got this spidey sense where you’re concerned. She’s convinced there’s something between us,’ Ben’s cheeks coloured as she realised what she’d said.

  Jacob couldn’t stop his eyes smouldering in reaction to her comments. All he’d wanted to do all day was tear her away from the police station and take her somewhere he could keep her safe. It was an urge so strong he’d had to physically stop himself. There was definitely something between them: Aoife’s spidey sense was right.

  ‘There is.’ His reply was short and to the point, and Ben looked up, seeing the desire flash in his eyes even though he tried hard to hide it. ‘I know,’ she replied simply.

  ‘TJ said the same. She’s home now, you know. Did I tell you? She’s staying at my place for a few nights and isn’t allowed
back to work just yet, but she’s going to be OK.’

  ‘I like your sis. She’s very, erm, to the point.’ Ben was reflecting on the exchange at the hospital when she’d taken TJ’s injury photos.

  ‘What did she say?’ He felt a moment of panic. What exactly did she say?

  ‘She warned me not to hurt you. I have no intention of doing that, by the way.’

  Jacob groaned, ‘She’s such a mother hen, has been ever since our parents passed away.’

  ‘She loves you, is all, same as Aoife loves me. They both just want what’s best I guess.’

  ‘True enough. Another coffee?’

  At her nod, Jacob grabbed his stick and made his way to the coffee machine. She feels it, too. He hadn’t wanted to seem like a teenager grinning from ear to ear at the knowledge that she liked him. Pouring the coffee, he composed himself and headed back over.

  16th June, 1920 hours – Tunstall, Sunderland City Centre

  Stan’s anger had started burning the minute he’d been taken into the interview room. He knew the police had a job to do, but they’d almost made him feel like a suspect. Wanting to know the ins and outs of how he’d come to work at the centre, how many people had keys, where he’d been last night, whether he knew Clarice and so on.

  He couldn’t be seen as a suspect. He’d settled in Sunderland, didn’t want to leave, but he would have to if this kept on.

  And to top it off they’d had a woman interviewing him. A trumped up little school-girl playing cop: she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old. He’d wanted to leap from his seat and slam her against the wall, show her that little girls should stick to the things they did best, like cleaning and cooking, though even that wasn’t done to a high standard most of the time.

  Disdain burned in his gut.

  He needed to keep on top of what was happening with the investigation, needed to know if it got to the point when he would have to leave.

  For now though, they didn’t suspect. He was safe.

  He reached to the shelf above his computer screens and took down the cardboard box. Unlike the other trinkets in the house, this one was pristine. There was no dust covering the top. He kept it clean.

  The cops hadn’t even searched him. It had given him a thrill having Clarice’s hair in his pocket the whole time he’d been with the cops. And the fact he’d managed to see the delectable young girl again after ending her life just hours before only increased his pleasure. Frowning, he wrote her name on the back of the envelope, 13. Clarice Johnson. Thinking for a second, he placed 8/10 beside her name. He’d started scoring after his first kill, his own little twist on the competition that was murder. Only one had ever scored ten out of ten.

  He pushed the box to one side and hit the power button on the keyboard, smiling as his computer droned to life in seconds. This latest processor was great: it had cut his load time by more than half. It wanted to, for the price, but it pleased him that his computer was more responsive because of it. Hitting the search engines not used by the general public, those hidden where only certain people knew where to find them, he typed in what he knew about Bree. Seconds later the information he needed appeared before him. Scanning the document, he found what he was looking for. Bree Elizabeth Nicole O’Byrne changed her name by deed poll on 12th March 2009 to Ben Cassidy. She’d remained in Durham for two years before moving to Sunderland to live with her only living relative, an aunt, Aoife O’Byrne. She had a daughter, Grace Cassidy, almost five years old, born six months after moving back in with her aunt.

  Sitting back in his chair, Stan grinned widely, the scar at the side of his mouth stretching his bottom lip awkwardly, making his smile more of a grimace. Glancing back at the screen he accessed her National Insurance information and found her place of employment: North East Police.

  It had been her.

  Deep down he’d known it the moment he’d seen her hair. Blazing red like a field of flaming poppies. Shit, the bitch could have told them anything by now. It’s definitely going to be time to move on. This is all her fault! How dare she survive. BITCH!

  His anger spurred him into action, but wary of destroying more computer hardware this time, he leapt up and slammed his fist into the wall to his side. He didn’t feel the pain as he slammed it again and again into the wall, the plaster cracking and mingling with splat marks from his bloodied knuckles.

  She would pay; this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The police might have evidence now. Evidence they wouldn’t have had if she hadn’t told them. Evidence that would point to him. He didn’t know how much she remembered, didn’t care if the truth be known. All that mattered was that she had survived, had told her tale. After suspecting for a while, even having it confirmed, finding out where she was and that she was linked to this case caused the niggle in the back of his mind to grow.

  Stan strode into the kitchen, turned the tap on and placed his left hand underneath, calming as he watched the cold water wash over the cuts, letting the flow take his anger with it. He needed to remain calm, figure out a plan. Hell he needed to figure out where he was going now. Another city, maybe London this time. It was big, anonymous. A person could stay lost there for a very long time.

  But first he would get rid of her once and for all. Never again would she be able to tell a soul about him. And he’d take care of the daughter and aunt too. Before she died she would understand that this entire situation could have been avoided if she’d just died when she was meant to. Plainly, she hadn’t learned her lessons properly. He would make sure she did this time. All links to him would be extinguished, and when he finished there would be no-one left to stop him.

  16th June, 2240 hours – O’Byrne residence, Sunderland

  Jacob was sitting in the car outside Ben’s house. He’d actually been there for almost twenty minutes, wanting to get home to TJ but not quite being able to pull away. He’d finally been allowed to take Ben home and he’d held on to her arm as she walked up the path to the front door, a small part of him afraid she might collapse without him to hold her up.

  Her eyes had become haunted sitting in the station. He knew it was a relief to her that everyone knew, but there was still the stigma that everyone knew. All of a sudden her whole life was on show for all of her colleagues, her innermost fears coming to the surface as the day had progressed.

  They’d been sitting in the office when Ali had entered and given them the brief lowdown on Clarice’s injuries, how they believed she had been raped multiple times before finally succumbing to death.

  Jacob knew what had happened to Ben. She’d told him, but the pure evilness of it hadn’t sunk in. Until Ali had gone over everything with him, it had been a small part of Ben’s history. Now it was a visual, a 3D movie with a killer shrouded in a dark shadow. He could almost hear her screams and pleas in his mind. Even more than ever, he wanted to hurt the man that had tried to break Ben, wanted to make him pay for what he’d put her through. What kind of a man did that anyway? He’d seen abuse on women on his tours abroad, women stoned in the square when they had broken whatever law the men had set, women beaten and forced to walk ten steps behind their male counterparts. Those men had hidden behind religion, excusing their actions with quotes from the Quran. Misguided? Definitely. But taking a girl hostage, hurting her, forcing her to have sex multiple times, then killing her. These actions he didn’t understand.

  They hadn’t even made it up the three steps to the house when Aoife had flung the door open, grabbed hold of Ben and held her so tightly that for a moment, he’d thought she might break.

  Aoife had looked at him with gratitude, her eyes filling with tears. And before he realised what had happened, she’d pulled him into the hug also. The three had stood there in the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, holding on to each other like they were safety buoys in a swirling ocean. For the first time in a lot of years, Jacob had actually felt at peace, and un-judged by his actions and injuries. He’d wanted to stay there forever, wrapped in the
embrace of a woman so accepting of him, seeing him as a man and not a broken piece of one, and the equally strong motherly embrace of her aunt.

  It was only now, some twenty minutes later that he realised the feeling was one of safety. It has been six years since his last tour, six years of pain and recovery, six years where he had never quite felt like he fitted anywhere.

  In a sudden flash while standing on Ben’s doorstep, he’d realised that it had been six years of focussing on himself. He’d never once in that time told TJ he appreciated everything she’d done. He’d sat and wallowed with an ‘oh woe is me’ attitude and struggled through each day.

  Today had been like an eye opener. A young girl was dead, killed by the same man who had hurt Ben. He felt a little ashamed, if he was honest, here he was moaning about a gammy leg when she’d endured such horror and survived.

  OK, the things he’d seen he wouldn’t have wished on anyone, but there were a lot of people worse off than him.

  A new determined look in his eyes, or rather the old determined look of who he had been before Afghanistan flickered brightly. No more feeling sorry. So I have scars. So do a lot of people. Deal with it. Finally feeling more at peace, he started the engine and pulled away.

  16th June, 2320 hours – O’Byrne residence, Sunderland

  Ben was sitting on the armchair with her legs pulled up under her bum, staring into space. Aoife had talked to her for a while after Jacob had dropped her off, telling her several times that everything was going to be OK. Eventually she’d realised Ben needed time with her thoughts, time to process having to expose herself to everyone she worked with, and time to realise that it wasn’t as a big a deal as she thought it was. She had survived and that’s what was important, Aoife had said, kissing her on the head and leaving her on the chair.