I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series (22 page)

14
^th
June, 1850 hours – Newstead Residential Home, Sunderland

John had woken a few hours back. Despite the noise of the machines, it had been the deepest sleep he’d had in forever. He’d scoped the home silently, hiding from staff in several of the rooms that were supposed to be kept locked. They were so rarely used that the staff never actually checked.

He felt his stomach grumble, and wished that he’d thought ahead and brought some food with him. Maybe once he was done he’d treat himself to a takeaway on the way home.

He grabbed the small bag he’d rested his head on, and searched through it. A towel, a thin cord, and even a knife just in case his plan didn’t work. Zipping it shut once more, he quietly left the boiler room, and made his way to his wife’s room. He knew she was last on the care register. Whoever was on duty would pop in at 7 p.m. to attend to her personal care, set the TV to whichever channel his wife wanted, and serve her a cup of tea and biscuits. They then wouldn’t be back until 9 p.m. unless his wife buzzed for attention.

He felt the flutter of butterflies in his stomach – he was finally going to be rid of her, the bane of his life. The woman who had managed thus far to avoid the fate that he knew should have already occurred. Then he would get Matthew back and everything would be fine. He knew that Carolyn had been scheduled to visit Eve earlier that afternoon; it had been logged on the system as she had wanted to take Eve shopping to choose a birthday present for Matthew who was eleven in a few days.

He had Carolyn’s earrings in his bag, earrings that had been left at his house many years before. They had her DNA on them. He knew how important DNA was; he’d watched the occasional cop show. He just needed to ensure that the earring was wrapped in the towel when he was done and the police would join the dots together.

He also had a couple of Carolyn’s hairs, obtained earlier that morning as he discreetly ‘broken’ into her house using the key he had taken from Eve’s keychain. He’d known Matthew would be at school, and that Carolyn worked mornings in a local shop. The hairbrush had been right there on the hall table, almost begging him to take it. So he had.

The final piece of the puzzle was a letter he had hand written that morning, crumpling the paper and fraying the creases, making it look like it had been written months before. The content was simple, it told Carolyn that he couldn’t continue their affair, that it wasn’t fair on Eve as they were still married. It said that as long as Eve was alive, they would never be able to be together and that she would just have to accept it, as Eve was his main concern and responsibility. It had sickened him writing it. As if
he
would ever shag an overweight, hormonal sack like that. But it served its purpose as evidence of a convincing motive for the terrible crime that ‘Carolyn’ was about to commit.

John reached Eve’s room at a little after 7 p.m., peeking in the window on the door to see his wife propped up on the bed, some wildlife programme on the TV. He clicked open the door, and walked inside, smiling as his wife’s eyes widened in shock.

Without him noticing, she managed to press the buzzer in her hand just as he approached. She knew he was there to hurt her, Carolyn had told her about the custody case before even applying, wanting to be sure Eve had no objections to her sister looking after her son. Eve’s happy tears on hearing that Matthew would no longer be in the grips of her husband, had told Carolyn that she was doing the right thing.

She dropped the buzzer on the bed, her eyes wide in fear.
Hurry, please hurry.

He thought she didn’t remember everything. He thought she was stupid. But she wasn’t – not now. She had been stupid staying for all those years; putting up with the beatings; accepting sex when he wanted it, even if she didn’t, allowing Matthew to be parented by the monster that was his father. Now though, she had a counsellor who had been teaching her to communicate again, helping her. She was almost there too, almost at the point where her words would form as she wanted them to. And she’d had every intention of reporting the bastard she was married to as soon as she got the opportunity.

He strode towards her, knocking the buzzer from her hand, confident she hadn’t pressed it. She was too stupid to believe he would kill her in the home, and too afraid.

But then the niggle of doubt he’d had in the back of his mind since the look she had given him after he’d killed Ann, took hold and grew bigger as he stared at his wife. Gone was the fear he was so used to seeing. Her eyes were suddenly full of defiance. He could hear loud and clear her silent scream of ‘FUCK YOU’.

Taking a deep breath he advanced, he didn’t care whether she was scared or whether she shouted at the top of her silent voice. He was there to kill her, to make sure Carolyn got the blame, and to get his son back. There was no way he would let his son be raised by a single woman, a boy needed his father. He should know, he’d missed
his
since the day he’d been taken into care.

John opened the bag and pulled out the towel, the one he’d removed from Carolyn’s airing cupboard that very morning, the one that smelled of that ridiculous perfumed washing powder she used for all her clothes and linen.

‘This is all your fault. If you’d just died in the first instance like you were supposed to then I wouldn’t have to do this now. You should know though, this is Carolyn’s towel. Covered in her hair. Your sister killed you, Eve, and your son will be with me for the rest of his life. He’ll grieve with me over the death of his beloved mother, my wonderful wife. And the bond between father and son will grow strong once more.’

His voice was calm, his eyes flat, devoid of emotion as the need to kill took over. He placed the towel over Eve’s face, pressing down hard, listening to her whimper as she tried her best to struggle.

Her body was weak, though. It didn’t allow for much movement without help.

She felt her lungs burn as they struggled to inhale oxygen, felt searing pain in her face as her husband pressed down with all his might, and she thought of her son. Matthew’s face filled her mind, his young, troubled eyes giving away the horrors he had seen as a child.

She had to hold on.

She had to be there for him. She couldn’t let this monster raise her son. Mustering every bit of her strength, she flung her body to the side, gasping in air as she landed on the carpeted floor, pain shooting through her shoulder as something gave with a loud crack.

Before she knew it though, he was back. Straddled over her like John Wayne on his horse, placing the awful towel over her face again. She tried to scream, but all that escaped was a pitiful grunt.
I’m going to die. He’s actually going to kill me.

Neither of them heard the door click open.

John only realised someone was in the room with them when he felt huge muscular arms wrap around his torso, pinning his arms to his side, as a deep voice bellowed, ‘Betty, call the police, NOW!’

He felt himself go weightless as the man-mountain pulled him away from Eve and a guttural scream rose in his throat. ‘Noooo, she must die. Let me go.’

John struggled but it was useless; the man who held him was the only male carer in the home. He knew the man’s sheer size had almost meant he didn’t get employed at the home when he’d applied a few years ago. The manager initially imagined the residents would be afraid of him. But he’d won her over with his gentle charm, his manner with the patients and his willingness to help.

George Ashton was one of those rare gentle giants. The residents loved him, and he loved them right back. He read them newspapers and stories and regaled them with his hobbies of magic and singing. He was in short, the best fit the home could have asked for. And right now, they were lucky he was there.

He held John immobile, as though he weighed nothing more than a big bag of feathers, ignoring the primal screams coming from the man as he struggled against the vice that held him tightly.

Betty ran into the room suddenly, having called the police from the phone at the end of the corridor. Ignoring George and John, she made her way straight round the bed to Eve who was lying on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

‘Shhh, it’s alright, pet. You’re safe now.’ Betty pulled Eve into a sitting position and held her close, stroking her back as Eve wept. Betty didn’t realise that Eve’s tears were mostly joyous.
I’m alive. He can’t hurt me anymore. Matthew will be safe.

By the time the police arrived a few minutes later, John had stopped struggling and fallen silent.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. This isn’t fair.
John felt the handcuffs tighten around his wrists, and held his head high more out of defiance than anything else, as he was led out to the waiting police van.
Shit. What the hell am I going to do now?

14
^th
June, 2100 hours – Tulley residence, Sunderland

Jacob stretched his leg on the sofa, small beads of sweat on his forehead as he raised the leg and lowered it repeatedly. The physio exercises that kept the muscles in his leg from deteriorating were almost second nature.

He’d got back from the hospital over an hour ago, where TJ had happily informed him that she would be released tomorrow. He had frowned at that. Though the lacerations to her face were scabbing properly, the bruising stood out on his sister’s still pale face. If he had his way he’d lock her in the hospital and leave her there where the world couldn’t hurt her.

All the things he’d seen in his career, all the sights he’d viewed in his role with the police, and nothing had scared him as much as the thought his sister could have died. He’d spoken to Ali and Ben earlier in the day, and though the investigation was still progressing, he just felt helpless. The CCTV was being trawled through, and he knew they were following up the registration plate, but it didn’t ease the knot sitting in his stomach.

Picking up on his tension, Ben had asked if he wanted some company this evening. He had declined, saying he needed to work through some stuff at home. Now he wished he had taken her up on it. His 2-bedroomed terrace in the city centre seemed too quiet tonight, even with his tunes blaring from the iPhone docking station on the mantle.

Making his way into the spare room, he glanced around the books on the shelves. His gaze was finally drawn to one on his ‘to-read’ shelf. He poured himself a coffee, grabbed a large bunch of the grapes from the fruit bowl, and lay down on the sofa. He hadn’t even read the first chapter when his mind relaxed and he suddenly fell into a deep sleep.

The book fell from his chest, waking him enough for him to realise that he was sliding into sleep. The joys of military training; his body was capable of falling asleep when he needed the rest, wherever he was. He dozily recalled the time he had woken on a tree branch in the middle of the jungle, with a python slithering over his stomach. Luckily for him, the python had eaten recently: it had a bulge in its middle. It moved over his stomach as he lay still, then made its way down the trunk of the tree to the ground. And Jacob had just turned his head and gone back to sleep.

He gave a soft sigh and turned his face towards the sofa back and gave in to sleep.

14
^th
June, 2305 hours – Major Incident Room, Sunderland City Centre Depot

Ali reread the log for the second time. It was almost time to interview the suspect. He wasn’t conducting the interview, one of the DC’s was; but he had every intention of sitting in. An attempted murder in a care home? This was going to be a media nightmare. By the time Deena Davis, the CSI, had arrived at the home, the place was already swarming with reporters. At least one person had obviously seen fit to leak the story.

And those reporters would want to know what had happened, whether there was any negligence, how he had got inside after the visiting hours. He had some answers from the staff. The rest would depend on how much John Whitworth wanted to disclose.

Ali knew he hadn’t yet asked for a solicitor, and that that could either be good or bad. Whitworth would either ‘no comment’ through the interview; open up and tell all; or ask for a brief when they sat down to interview.

Ali had already been to the hospital to see the victim, not that she could say much. He ran his hand through his hair, and sighed.

The staff had told him how she ended up in the home, it wasn’t too much of a leap to wonder whether, given what had happened today, Whitworth might have tried to harm his wife before. Just a gut feeling of course, but still.

John Whitworth’s bag had been booked into evidence, and as DC Charlie Quinn stood suddenly from her seat, Ali knew it was time to find out what had happened.

Chapter Sixteen

15
^th
June, 1045 hours – Tunstall, Sunderland City Centre

It was almost time.

His excitement levels had been rising for days, and he’d dulled it a few times by wasting money on the dirty whore a few streets over. She’d asked him the last time not to be so rough, and he’d left her knowing what rough actually was. It’d take weeks for the bruising to heal. She was only lucky he didn’t kill whores – they had a certain acceptance when things went wrong, anticipation that at any given moment with a john, their luck could change. That, and the fact they’d all been round the block more times than daft mick. There was no pleasure to be gained from killing someone who expected it to happen. It did nothing for him.

He’d checked his tablet this morning, making sure the software he needed was saved and ready to go. There would be no trail leading back to him, absolutely nothing to say he’d ever been chatting to Clarice. The University had been a bit of a bugger though. They’d upgraded their security systems in the last few days and it had taken him a good hour to write the code that provided him with a way through the new firewalls they’d installed. But he’d managed it, and now any record of Gareth Chamberlain was well and truly erased.