I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series (32 page)

Getting back to the apartment, he dumped his bag at the door and sat down in his computer room.
I bet she’s hiding out in the bedroom with Jacob. Stupid bitch. Does she really think two cops sat outside, and a stupid alarm system will stop me?

He’d clocked the alarms when he visited last night. It
was
a sophisticated system, but it was also several years out of date. He had software that would reset the code remotely and allow him easy access. The two cops sat outside would pose little problem. He knew what cops were like. The slightest sniff of doughnuts and they’d be out of the car faster than daft mick. If he did it right, their deaths would be quick and painless. Well, relatively painless anyway. Then he would be able to finish his teachings. He intended to show Bree that she should never have survived in the first place.

Ideally, he wanted to find Grace and the aunt and use them as his bargaining chip, but he knew nothing about Jacob that would indicate who he had placed the old woman and kid with. That was what he needed to do now; go through the data and see what he could find on the guy who thought he could swoop in and take Bree from him.

Plugging in his search terms, he pushed his chair back and went to make a brew. This could take a while.

18
^th
June, 1340 hours – O’Byrne residence, Sunderland

I am actually going nuts.
Ben had been sitting in relative silence watching as Jacob set up the equipment he needed to work from home. Her home. Not his.

Realising her thoughts were petty, she headed into the kitchen. It wasn’t Jacob’s fault they were stuck inside. She didn’t mind his company, in fact she actually thought it was sweet that he was refusing to leave her side. Last night had meant a lot. More than she could express in words to be honest. Since the attack, she had never spent the whole night in a man’s company. The night Grace had been conceived, she’d been drunk. Another attempt at trying to drown out the screaming voice in her head shouting ‘why me’.

She didn’t remember a whole lot about the evening. She knew she’d been downing vodka, anything to try and numb the pain she felt in her heart, the feeling of utter desolation and worthlessness. She was already far gone when the guy had approached her in the bar, bought her a glass of cheap wine and reeled her in with his cheesy lines. What they were she couldn’t recall. The rest of the evening passed in flashes. She had vague recollection of him telling her he worked in London and was visiting on business. She didn’t know his name, hadn’t cared enough to ask. He’d held her up as he took her to his hotel room. She’d gone into the bathroom and thrown up. And then she must’ve blacked out, that or the drink really had addled her brain because when she had woken up he’d been on top of her, his pelvis grinding into hers as he grunted in her ear. She’d tried to push him off at that point, bile rising into her throat, fear stopping her being able to say the word no. He’d just shuddered above her then rolled off, kissing her sloppily on the cheek and turning over.

She’d been aware enough to get herself dressed, or rather, put right her clothing that he hadn’t even bothered removing. She’d swung her legs round off the bed, and promptly thrown up again on the carpet. She’d called a cab and made her way home. The thought of being pregnant hadn’t even crossed her mind - she was more worried about the chance of STDs, and the fact she’d put herself in the position where she became a target again. She blamed herself – if she hadn’t got so drunk, then she would never have been in the position where he could take advantage of her. She knew she’d implied no – he should have stopped. But the guilt stopped her reporting it to the police. She was certain they’d have hinted it was her fault – that she’d ‘asked’ for it. Now she knew differently – she’d been vulnerable, wanting to feel normal. She’d made a mistake getting so drunk, but he had taken advantage of the situation too.

She’d gone to the clinic the next day and they’d given her antibiotics as a precaution. The whole experience made her retreat into her shell.

Aoife had rung her several times trying to pull her out but she wasn’t ready. She just went through the motions: work, then home, then bed. Ben didn’t even realise she’d missed her period at first, going in for shifts at work and enduring the sympathetic stares from her colleagues. When she’d felt sick for the fourth time in a week, one of the other girls had said as a joke ‘You’re not pregnant are you?’ and that was it. Ben bought a test and saw two pink lines. It was only down to Aoife’s support that she’d decided to keep the baby.

Having Grace had been the one shining light in an otherwise dark time. She didn’t remember the man, he had no idea who she was, and whilst he had taken advantage of her, he hadn’t had a clue about Grace. Ben had left the father slot on the birth certificate blank, and the moment the tiny baby was placed in her arms, she’d known that no matter what anyone did to her, she would protect this child and raise her to be a good, kind human being. The rush of love she’d felt at that moment had been healing. She’d stopped living in the shadow of the rape, and started
living.

Ben frowned as she stirred the coffee mindlessly.
All those years of doing what I needed to raise Grace, trying to forget what happened, and learning not be threatened by every little hiccup ... But now he’s back invading my life and he’s a threat to my child and my family. There’s no way in hell he is getting his hands on my child. I’ll kill him before he gets that close.

Any remnants of fear she’d had over facing her nemesis again started to shrivel. He would not win. She had beaten him last time by surviving, and she’d damn well do the same again this time.

He didn’t know what he was getting himself in for. She’d had almost seven years of self-defence training and martial arts, seven years of preparing herself for the moment she had to protect herself. And even as the niggling voice in the back of her mind started screaming that she wasn’t ready, that she couldn’t do it, she knew in her heart she could, if she had to.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Ali was on the case, even as she stood there stirring coffee.

18
^th
June, 1435 hours – Major Incident Room, Sunderland City Centre Depot

‘So what’ve we got?’ asked Ali, standing at the end of the desk with his hands resting lightly as he glanced round his team. ‘Danny?’

Danny White had been responsible for the POLSA search once the CSIs were done with the murder scene. He ran a tight ship, but even with the best will in the world some searches aren’t successful.

‘It’s a centre for troubled kids,’ he said with a sigh. ‘There’s rubbish everywhere. The emergency exit at the back was wiped clean, though that’s definitely the way the footwear marks went down the corridor. It’s a good job the cleaners had chosen to polish the floor the night before. Kevin will tell you better, but I think the CSIs got some good prints. The rear yard was in the same state, empty crisp packets and bottles, smoked fag butts and chewing gum all over the place. It was all collected by the CSI and there was nothing else of note.’

‘The centre’s in the middle of the community. I think we can safely assume he left by the back to avoid being seen by the early risers. The pathologist has put the time of death at around 5.00 a.m. Kevin, can you update on the forensics, please.’ Ali moved position and sat down on the chair. He took a moment to glance around. His staff looked tired. Murders mean long hours and little sleep for the people determined to get the offender locked up.

He wondered if this is how they’d looked when Cass had been taken. There was still a smell of determination though: they hadn’t given up. Appeased, he leaned back and waited for Kevin to finish. He already knew about the forensics: he’d read the report just before he’d gone into the meeting.

‘…and that’s it. Footwear marks with decent detail but there’re no hits on the database. Get me a shoe to compare to and they’ll be as good as fingerprints though. This guy is good; he takes what he needs to the scene and takes it with him when he leaves. Even the post-mortem hasn’t brought much evidence to the forefront. Dr Evans thinks the guy shaves his bits: there wasn’t even a stray pubic hair when he combed the victim.’ Kevin held his hands out in frustration. ‘Sorry, Ali. Wish there was more I could tell you.’

‘Me too,’ replied Ali. ‘Charlie, are we any further forward on why the DNA from her cheek matched our dead prisoner?’

‘Actually, boss, I might have something. I was waiting for the registrar to confirm, but I’ve been over to social services and looked at the files they had on Whitworth. There’re some inconsistencies at the start, at one point they actually thought there was two boys in the house. I’ve spoken to Kevin about it, and I’ve rang that woman at the DNA lab, Marie something-or-other. I think Whitworth had an identical twin, boss. It’s the only thing that could account for the same DNA being on our vic’s cheek. After the first few months the social services files become convoluted and they turn their attention to Whitworth, believing him to be the only child. I think it’s highly probable there was another child there, and that that child was left behind to be raised by an abusive father. Unfortunately, there’s no mention of the child anywhere else, I’ve requested birth certificates but they’re not here yet. Whitworth’s father died of an overdose back in the early nineties. I’ve not been able to trace anything further without a name though. As soon as I hear from the registrar, I’ll let you know.’

‘OK, great. Most of you will now be aware that one of the CSIs, Ben Cassidy, was a victim of this particular killer eight years ago. You may or may not be aware that for whatever reason the killer has chosen to refocus on her. Now whether this is just a passing infatuation, or whether he tries something remains to be seen. He left her a message on her car this morning and slashed all the tyres. She’s currently under protection at her home. It is our priority to get this guy, folks. He’s not a nice man, has killed people up and down the country, but now he’s here, in our town. I want to do everything in our power to make sure it ends here. Any questions?’

As they shook their heads and filtered out of the room, Ali hung back, taking a moment to himself. The idea he’d had when leaving Ben’s house that morning was that there would be a digital footprint to follow. He would call up Ed at digital forensics and get things moving.

Chapter Twenty-two

18
^th
June, 1805 hours – O’Byrne residence, Sunderland

‘Really? That’s great, sweetheart… OK, you be good for Aunty Aoife and give her lots of cuddles from me.’ Ben hung up the phone, and realised she had tears in her eyes. This was the first night Grace had been away from home without her, and she missed her. That coupled with the fact there was a murderous monster after her for the second time had made her emotions go up and down like a rollercoaster. One minute she was afraid, then she was determined, then she was sad. Hell, she’d even experienced mild jealousy as she’d watched Jacob focus intently on a piece of work he was doing. His face had been calm but he’d been sizzling with anticipation as he’d methodically worked his way through the copy hard-drive he’d brought with him.

Sighing in frustration, Ben swiped at her eyes. An eyelash dislodged fixed itself to her iris and her eye began streaming.

‘Ow, crap,’ she muttered, turning to go to the sink intending to rinse it under running water. She didn’t even know Jacob was there until she smacked into his chest. He steadied her and looked at her with concern as she blinked furiously, trying to control the latest tear threatening to run down her cheek.

‘Let me see,’ said Jacob, removing her hand from her face and leaning forward. Carefully, he held her eye lids open and saw the problem. ‘You trust me, right?’

His voice was soft, and his breath floated across the skin on her face like silk. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Jacob raised his hand and used his little finger, gently swiping the very end over the outer surface of her eye and catching the stray eyelash on the first try.

Ben didn’t even feel it, didn’t notice as it stopped watering. She was too caught up looking at Jacob.

He recognised the look now darkening her eyes from the colour of fresh grass to the green of forest pines. Unable to stop himself, he touched her face. Her tongue nervously dipped onto her bottom lip, making it sheen with moisture. The voice in the back of his mind telling him to stop and that she was vulnerable faded into nothing as he leaned in towards her, hovering millimetres from her mouth with his. He heard her breath catch but she didn’t move. Lost, he allowed his lips to connect to hers, tasting the saltiness of the tears from her cheek. Ben moaned into his mouth, her body leaning forward and finding his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He could’ve sworn his body was on fire, thousands of hot needles piercing his skin at every point she touched him. Her hands snaked up his back, lightly scratching at him through his t-shirt, and he heard himself groan. Stepping into her, he kept her moving until her lower back impacted with the kitchen side.

Whoa, you can’t do this. Not now, this isn’t right. She’s vulnerable. Pull away.

The voice in his head got louder until finally, he broke the kiss and pulled his head back. ‘We can’t do this, Ben. You’re scared, I’d be taking advantage.’

Ben understood what he was saying, and she appreciated it, but she was squirming where she stood at the thought of him leaving her like this. For once in her life, she needed something, and that something was Jacob.

She pressed in close to him, placing her lips to his neck. And alternated between planting kisses and whispering, ‘Do … you … think … I’d … let … you … do … anything … I … didn’t … want?’