I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series (2 page)

‘I hear they do that,’ grinned Cass. ‘I’m gonna leave you to your Socard for a sec, need to pop up and see Alex and Ali. Feels weird having him down here too. The secondment came up just at the right time for him. What time are you leaving? I can give you a lift if you don’t have the car with you.’

‘Ali's so much like Alex. He ran point on an assault I had last week in the town, handled himself the way Alex does. You sure about the lift?’

At Cass's nod, Ben added, ‘That’s great, thanks. I’ll cancel the taxi I’ve got booked. Aoife has the car today. She had some appointment or other after she’d taken Grace to school.’

Cass grimaced as she used the back of the chair to pull herself up. ‘I’m the size of a bloody house,’ she grumbled as she made her way down the corridor.

Ben grinned to herself; despite it being nearly five years ago, that was one feeling she remembered all too well. Grabbing the SD card from her camera, she headed next door to the photography room to write off her Write Once Read Many disc for the photos she’d taken earlier. The WORM was then retained by the Photography Department as the original and copies were made for use from that one by the officer dealing, and the courts. Once the disc was written, Ben selected the ones she would print if later requested, glancing at each one in sequence and marking them on the order form that got sent off with the WORM disc.

She really did enjoy forensic work, even if it made her sad at times. Like today; the job she was in the process of writing up was a break in to an allotment – didn’t sound all that sad, but people could be so cruel and nasty at times.

The victim was a man in his seventies, Arthur Phelps. He kept pigeons on his allotment, and had gained quite the reputation for breeding excellent racers. The offender, obviously someone from the same racing circles, had broken into the allotment and killed all of Arthur’s twenty-four pigeons, bar one. The one left alive had two broken wings, and Arthur had had no choice but to kill his last pigeon himself. He had been devastated when Ben got there; it was heart-breaking to watch a man cry over the loss of something so dear to him. Ben wanted to tell him something that would make him feel a little better before she left. Luckily, Arthur was one of the few allotment keepers who had a pristine sanctuary – he’d recently glossed his keep doors, and Ben had managed to lift fingerprints from them and had cast footwear marks from the soil outside, and the offender had dropped a tool which could offer DNA for comparison. Rarely was evidence obtained from an allotment, but Ben had been pleased with the result. Maybe there was a chance to find out who would want to hurt Arthur, and to get him a little peace of mind.

The look on his face was definitely not one she would forget in a hurry. He had been so pleased she had found something that he shook her hand for about five minutes straight when she explained it all to him. So far, in her limited experience, it was days like these that made it all worthwhile.

Ben finished prepping the evidence to send off, and tidied her desk. She heard Cass’s huffing again in the corridor, grabbed her bag and carefully locked the CSI office behind her.

28
^th
May, 1150 hours – St Mary’s Catholic First School, Sunderland.

‘Ah, Miss Cassidy. The teachers are all waiting in the main hall. I believe you’re seeing Mrs Muztachs.’

Ben nodded and followed David Goodfellow, the head of the school, to the hall. She smiled to herself, it didn’t matter where in the world your school was, there was something about its main hall that reeked of assembly and prayer, especially in a Catholic school like this one. Mr Goodfellow broke off as they entered, side-tracked by an argument starting between two children.

She was glad the meetings weren’t being held in the gym. Ben shivered as she remembered her last visit to that part of the school. It had only been a couple of months before Grace had started, when Ben had been called there for work. Some scrote had broken in and sliced his femoral artery climbing over the broken glass. He was obviously a junky looking for something to hock for his next fix and he’d passed out in the gymnasium before bleeding out. By the time the gym teacher had realised the next day, it was too late. The kids in the first gym class had seen the body. The man had been dead a while. There was blood spatter over the walls and a pool had been congealing beneath him. The teacher had ushered the kids out, but they were deeply distressed by the sight.

Glancing around the room Ben made eye contact with Mrs Muztachs and wove her way through the tables to her destination. Grace turned in her seat, rising to her knees. Her eyes were sparkling brightly, and she beamed quite possibly the biggest smile Ben had ever seen. It almost knocked her to her knees.
God, I love this child.

Bending, she planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

‘Hi, Gracey, you having a good day?’

Grace nodded and sat back down, turning her attention to her teacher with a solemn look.

‘Hi, Ben.’ Mrs Muztachs shook Ben’s hand. ‘I’m so glad you could make it today.
I know it was short notice.’

At Ben’s nod, the teacher continued. ‘Grace is polite, has a smile for everyone, shares willingly – seriously, I could go on and on but I know how pressed for time we are. She’s great at reading and her writing is coming along nicely. I’d like to suggest that we push her into the year two class for reading in September. We don’t want her to become bored. It will be challenging for her and she may require a little additional help at home, but we will make sure you’re equipped with everything you would need. She’s a little chatterbox – especially in maths. We often have to remind her to be quiet in class but that’s not too much of a problem as yet. We’ll just keep an eye on her.’

It was a long speech, but Ben was grinning widely. Aware of Grace staring up at her, she said, ‘What do you think, Grace? Would you like to move into a new class after the summer holidays so you can learn more things?’

Grace nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘I wouldn’t see my friends in class any more would I? I would have to make new friends?’

‘You would still see them in your other lessons, sweetheart, but you’ll make new friends too. You could still play together at break-times and lunchtime though, and you can still ask Alice over to play like you do now. If you want to think about it and talk to me at home though, I’m sure Mrs Muztachs will give us a few days to think it over?’

‘Of course. You two can take as long as you need to make your minds up. If you decide you want to stay where you are, Grace, and your mum agrees, then that’s absolutely fine too.’

Grace frowned, something she did often when she was processing her thoughts. She was very grown up for a four-year-old, weighing things up rather than just rushing in and doing them like most children. Her brown eyes, with their long, dark lashes, blinked slowly, and eventually her mouth widened into a smile.

‘Can we ask Aunty Aoife when we get home, please, Mummy? We could sit at the table and have some ice-cream. Strawberry is my favourite.’

‘Well, I can’t see why we shouldn’t have some ice-cream when Aunty Aoife gets home. This is a very big decision, and I’m sure the ice-cream will help us all decide what to do.’ Ben winked at Grace with a grin. Grace could take or leave sweets and crisps, much preferring an apple or a Satsuma; but when it came to strawberry ice-cream she was lost. 

‘Perfect,’ said Mrs Muztachs. ‘Here are the preliminary school reports. You’ll notice Grace is marked as good in every subject except PE. This isn’t because she is bad at PE; she’s on a par with other children her age. PE doesn’t really have an exceptional category until the children get older and choose to excel in one sport or another. If you decide to move her up next year, she will move on the first day of the new term. I’m actually head of year two next year so Grace would still be learning with me if she moves.’

‘That’s brill; thank you so much, Mrs Muztachs. I’ll take the reports home, and I presume if I have any questions it’s alright for me to email or ring you?’

‘Of course. It’s been a pleasure meeting with you again. Grace, you enjoy your ice-cream, OK?’

Grace nodded as she clambered down from her chair.

Ben took hold of her daughter’s hand and ignored the shudder that passed down her spine as she turned and saw the door to the gym next door. The blood really had got everywhere in the room, she didn’t even have to close her eyes to remember it. It had looked like some kind of horrific murder had taken place. She’d never look at the gym in the same way again. The poor kids that had found the body had ended up needing counselling.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Grace saying ‘Mummy, do I have to go back to class now or is it home time?’

‘No, you don’t have to go to class. The teachers have a training afternoon. We’ll have to pop to Asda on our way home though; I think you ate all of the ice-cream last week when Alice came over. Which one should we buy?’

Grace cocked her head to one side again. ‘Well, you like vanilla, and Aunty Aoife likes chocolate so could we get one of the ’poltan ones, please?’

‘You mean Neapolitan? The one with the three colours inside?’

‘Yes please, Mummy, the ’napoltan one will be perfect. Am I allowed a teddy wafer too? And strawberry sauce? And sprinkles?’

‘We’ll see how many pennies I have when we get there, OK? If I have enough pennies then yes; if not we’ll have to have the toffee sauce we already have at home.’

Grace started skipping as they walked out of the school gates. One bonus in choosing to live close to the school was that you didn’t have far to go to get home. Ben and Aoife lived in the same house, had done since Ben had moved back in after telling her aunt she was pregnant.

Accepting without question, Aoife had decorated Ben’s room and prepped what became the nursery, and eventually decorated it with the pink fairy design Grace had begged for on her last birthday.

It made Ben happy being back with her Aunt, she liked the company. And it suited Aoife too: she had been considering selling before Ben had moved back. The house was too big for one person to clatter about in.

Ben was glad to have the afternoon off. With the way the CSI shifts worked she sometimes felt like she hardly saw Grace or Aoife. But she was back at work tomorrow, and if today’s number of jobs had been anything to go by, it would prove to be a busy one.

Chapter Two

28
^th
May, 1320 hours – Sunderland Royal Hospital

Aoife O’Byrne sat in the car, her face ashen. Her brown eyes were troubled, almost on the verge of dropping the tears she knew were hiding there but weren’t quite ready to show, and her curly grey hair was turning frizzy with the dampness in the air.

How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?

She had Ben and Grace to think about. She didn’t have time to be ill, especially with something like this. Did this even qualify as ill? She actually felt fine.

Maybe it’s a mistake. Doctors get things wrong all the time, if the news is anything to believe. Maybe they’re wrong this time too.

But she knew in her heart they weren’t wrong. A single tear spilled over and trickled down her cheek. Not one for crying, she immediately felt embarrassed and swiped at it with the back of her hand.

This just wasn’t fair.

It’s not supposed to be like this.

She’d gone for the tests without telling anyone, firmly believing the lump in her breast was just a fatty deposit. She’d winced as they had clamped her breast between two metal plates and taken the mammogram. She had still believed it would be nothing. And last week she‘d attended for the biopsy, which, until twenty minutes previously, she had also thought would be nothing.

In the space of twenty minutes the oncologist had put this belief to rest and shattered her whole world with a single word.

Cancer.

Her eyes filled again, and for a moment she didn’t care anymore, couldn’t fight the waves of emotion. She sat in the driver’s seat, held her head in her hands and sobbed, her body heaving and her eyes finally opening the gates to the flood of tears.

This sucks. What the hell am I going to do?

28
^th
May, 1410 hours – Tunstall, Sunderland City Centre

He adjusted the screen, staring at it, willing her to turn around. And turn she did. He felt himself harden as she stood before him, all dressed up in lace lingerie. She had no idea he was watching, of course; that was the joy of the hidden digital camera seamlessly sending the footage straight to his computer. It would never be found, never had been before.

He wondered who she was dressing up for this time. Whether they would be meeting elsewhere or whether she would bring him to her bedroom and whore herself out, like the last time. He had been watching her for only a few days but she had already had several men back to the room.

Maybe she’s a hooker?

There was much more to do before he could implement his plan. At this early stage there was no guarantee it would even be her. Pressing and holding the Alt key on his keyboard, he hit the tab key, the screen instantly jumping to the next image. This room was younger-looking, less sophisticated. She had been an easy mark. Sweet, innocent, a student just looking for new friends. Sighing, he realised she wasn’t there.

He tabbed again. The screen turned darker. The curtains in the room were drawn and a form was wrapped up tightly in the duvet. He watched for a moment, imagined how easy it would be to sneak in and use the bed to his full advantage. It was one of the older-style metal frames, with spindles for a headboard and bed knobs at each side. Perfect for securing a person’s hands to. He could almost feel the plastic cable ties beneath his fingers. Breathing slowly, he calmed his thoughts.