The Watcher

by Ross Armstrong

  ‘Lily, I’m worried.’ He holds my face in his hands. We’re standing by my door. He has me.

  ‘Worried about what?’ I say. Biting my bottom lip and breathing.

  ‘Have you ever had any fits? Or blackouts? Anything like that?’

  This seems an odd question. I don’t think he’s with me. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be.

  ‘Yes. Once. Or twice. Why?’ I say. My face still in his hands. Under his control.

  ‘I’m afraid that you’ve been doing things. Yourself. That these are more memories than accusations. There are already things you don’t remember. Versions of reality that aren’t quite right.’

  I’m stunned. I want to spit at him.

  ‘I’m not saying you’ve done all this. I’m not saying that. Not by a long shot. But I’m worried that with you being so close to this, nd being the way you are, that’s what people… that’s what people might be led to think.’

  The door bursts open. We turn. My head in his hands. My tears still not coming. But only just. And we’re caught out.

  There you stand. You’ve no idea what on earth is going on. Nor have I for that matter.

  You’re one of the world’s best ignorer of things. For better or worse. I think it’s a positive. I do. In some ways it’s been tough for us. But in others it’s been our greatest strength. You withstand whatever is thrown at you. Whatever I throw at you. You carry on regardless.

  ‘It’s really cool to meet you. I think I remember Lily saying you lived abroad.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ you say. The man of few words. Watching everything though. Taking it in. Pretending this is a normal situation as we all sit on the sofa. With everything hanging in the air, palpably.

  ‘You over for long?’ Lowell says.

  ‘I’m not sure. Nothing in particular to do here. I’m checking in. Making sure everything’s all right with my little girl,’ you say.

  I like you, Dad, but these pleasantries are getting in the way. Colombo never brought his dad along with him. Nor did Poirot. Or Ironside. I know I’m not a detective. But the point still stands.

  I’m a great ignorer of things too. I look at Lowell, making myself forget everything he’s just said to me. If I focus on that it’ll tear me up from the inside. I can’t believe he’d even entertain that possibility. So I just ignore it.

  Then there’s a lag. The kind that someone must pick up. I breathe in, ready to carry on. There are a few things the two of them need to hear. I need to bring them with me on this. But Lowell gets there first.

  ‘I think his name’s Rich. Lily. The guy you saw at the end of the corridor. And I think he’s got a fob and maybe even keys. ‘Cos he owns the flat at the end there. He rents it out. So I imagine he was just checking on his tenants.’

  I shake my head and look at the ground. I don’t care about his property portfolio. None of it makes him not a killer. It just brings him closer. Means that he’s one step nearer to getting me whenever he wants to. All he needs to do is pick my lock. Like I did to his. Step inside. And snuff me out.

  ‘Just putting Lily’s mind at ease about something, Mr Gullick. Lil, he’s been to a few of the meetings. I think I remember seeing him there. I think he bought himself two flats when they were being built. One to live in. One to rent out. So that’s that.’

  But that isn’t that. It isn’t that at all. He keeps pushing me and prodding me. He may not be meaning to but he is. I roll my eyes and get it out.

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s time for me to speak again and I know you both might not believe a word I say, but here it is. Lowell, I also have information that the student was seen with the man I’m looking for.’

  Lowell stops, as if in freeze-frame. He’s interested in this.

  ‘So you want to know what I think? Brenner or Rich, if you must, met this girl. This upstart. At those meetings. He saw her and he liked her and hated her in equal measure. This little thing from over the council flat side. Who does she think she is? He doesn’t know whether he wants fuck her or kill her.’

  ‘Language,’ you say.

  Lowell, just leans and stares like he’s watching a star implode.

  ‘So he does the lot. The best of both worlds. He decides to shut this girl up. This stupid girl, who comes to his meetings and tells this capable guy what’s what.’

  I don’t want to tell them about breaking in to his place. Don’t want to tell him about the woman at the window. I’m not so sure that’s what I saw at all now. That’s the bit that sticks in my throat. No, I mustn’t tell them that.

  ‘He’s classic alpha. I’ve seen him in there, roaming around like an animal. He’s got a samurai sword!’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he’s a murderer, for God’s sake!’ Dad says, uncharacteristically raising his voice.

  ‘But there’s something up with him. I know it. I can sense it!’

  My thoughts are wild. I stand and flail around in the kitchen, you try to pacify me but Lowell just sits. Perhaps he thinks there’s something to it. Perhaps he’s just embarrassed. I want so badly for you to believe me. To come along with me on this. Both of you.

  ‘Look. I don’t know for sure about the specifics. But I know something’s wrong. Brenner is my prime suspect.’

  ‘So you’re saying that this man is what?’ Lowell finally pipes up. His voice is pure doubt in audio form. ‘A psychopath?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. A misogynist? A killer of women? Certainly. Sonya. Jean. Maybe others.’ I say all this without looking at him. My nerve just about holding out.

  ‘It’s a long shot, Lil. Why would he kill that girl. Because he doesn’t like her coming to his meetings? Seems a bit far-fetched,’ Lowell says. Fair now. Not wanting to squash it. He indulges me just a fraction.

  ‘Not if he thought she was a real threat somehow. To him. To his livelihood. To. His…’ I trail off and look to the floor. To the laminate wood flooring that lines my flat. The same brand that lines everyone’s flat in these buildings. It’s simple. It’s still extreme. But it’s also simple.

  ‘Lily…?’ Dad says as I collect my thoughts.

  ‘Aiden nearly bought a flat in Manchester. Do you remember, Dad?’ I say.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think so,’ you say.

  ‘It was a few years ago. He’d sold his third book and made some decent money off it and before we decided to move into this place he thought he might get something up north, you see. As an investment. It was supposed to be part of a new development. It was going to have a load of shops, at least ten new residential buildings, restaurants, the lot, it was supposed to transform the area. Regeneration.’

  ‘Just like here,’ Lowell says. His chin resting against his fist.

  ‘Yes. Only, the thing is, after the first two buildings went up everything stalled. Something to do with market forces. So all the work around there stopped. It was only supposed to be for a few months, a year at most, just until the building company could sort out finances and get everything moving again. But the more they waited, the less confidence anyone had that it would actually happen. So then these buildings, so popular early on, rising in value all the time, were becoming less and less valuable. Their value plummeted. Then when people’s interest stopped, the knock-on effect was that if the company did get building again their rate of return on the new flats would be much lower.’

  ‘So they pulled out?’ you say.

  ‘Yeah. The company even went bust in the end. All because of that little pause in the long-term plan. The lack of confidence it engendered. Now that area is a big hole with two very plush, but very cheap, high-rise apartment buildings in it.’

  ‘That’s the chance you take. That’s what I said with this place. Twenty-five-year projects are all very well if they come to fruition. But that doesn’t always happen,’ says Lowell, sagely. Lost in thought and consideration.

  ‘Yes. And if the student got this project put on hold, even for a few months, there’s a good chance they’d devalue. It was a good job Aiden
didn’t buy that flat. He didn’t write a thing for a while after this third book. He got terrible block. Not much money coming in then. So what I’m saying is, Brenner has two of these places. They aren’t cheap. Maybe his entire livelihood is tied up in them. How about that?’

  As I end my oratory, we all stare down from my window towards the building entrance. Brenner is leaving, he looks around. A newspaper under his arm. We all take a step closer to the window and peer down at him. He breathes into his hands and rubs them together. It’s nearly October. He turns to look around and the three of us step back in unison. Then look at each other.

  ‘Lily,’ Lowell says, with a disconcerted shake of the head. ‘I think I might be with you on this.’

  A little light sparks up inside me.

  ‘At least, I’m not saying no. There could be something in it. I just don’t know. But let me look into it, will you? Let me ask a few questions. Will you let me do that?’

  I nod and he rises to leave. His voice is firm. But it warms me. It has hope within it. At the door he turns.

  ‘I’m serious. Don’t go to anyone with this. No one. You understand? It might be dangerous for you. If you do. So don’t.’

  That seemed overly stern. Heavy handed. Almost mean.

  The tone changes and you feel it too. You fill your pockets with your hands. A typical sign of Dad discomfort.

  ‘Listen, we’ll talk anon. Good to meet you, Mr Gullick.’

  You stride over. Bringing with you some ceremony. You stick out your hand. A man-to-man gesture. Handshakes seem funny to me. They aren’t something that exist so much in my world.

  Lowell stares at your hand. They don’t exist much in his either it seems. But then, he is a capable man, he does business, he does man to man. I’d imagine he has a firm handshake.

  His hand clasps yours. Shakes. And I see it.

  Lowell’s gone. I lean against the wall by the door. Stock still. For a few moments we say nothing. Then you break the silence.

  ‘Did you see it?’ you say. Almost reluctant. Almost afraid.

  ‘Yes, I saw it,’ I say. Not moving.

  You will not bring it up. You don’t want to stoke the fire, so to speak. But you know what you saw. A fresh enough scar that ran from the flesh between Lowell’s thumb and index finger to around the middle of his forearm on the wrist side. A hefty cut. Not made by a surgeon. Not a clean incision. But one made by something sharp.

  Lowell is also six foot. A bit over that perhaps. And has blond hair. I don’t know how I never saw it before.

  When I replay the meeting in the hallway with the girl that night a few weeks ago, he did have a bandage then. I didn’t know anything then. But he did. I think. Intermittently he wore his climbing gloves. I hardly noticed. I didn’t know what I was looking for.

  His arm was mostly hidden the night I saw him with a woman for the first time, his hand carefully placed on the small of her back. But I’m sure I saw it. I can see it now in my mind’s eye. I don’t think it’s an illusion. Or a false memory.

  One thing I know for sure is that you saw the scar too. Because your mood has changed. Quite dramatically.

  You pace around uncomfortably. You saw it too.

  You saw it too.

  28 September. Evening. 6.30 p.m.

  ‘I don’t know, Lily. This could be a test, I think. Of us. You put enough things out there, some of them are going to come back and look suspicious.’

  ‘Some of them? We’re looking for man with a cut or scar on the hand and wrist. Who possibly lives in this building. Of his height and description! Earlier I questioned him and I could tell he knew the student, but he denies it.’

  ‘Yes, but we have to be sensible. I can’t give in and let you follow this sort of thing. Maybe he doesn’t remember the student.’

  ‘Doesn’t remember? Everyone knows that the girl’s missing. She must’ve come up, time and again. I can’t buy that version of things.’

  You turn to me, shrugging, challenging, but not chastising. I feel like you’re asking me to convince you. You stand open and ready to hear me. I feel like you’re giving me an ‘in’. I take it. I go in hard.

  ‘Oh, come on! I laid it all out and not even he could say a thing against it. I don’t want it to be true. But did you see his face change. He was white as a sheet. It has to be him. I need to apologise to Brenner. Because we got the wrong man but the right motive.’

  ‘So suddenly it’s him. You just want a suspect.’

  ‘Of course I want a suspect. What are you saying? Of course! Otherwise the suspect is me. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ you say, turning and looking towards the lake.

  But you don’t know the half of it, yet. You don’t know the police think that too.

  ‘He’s a strange guy. I’ve seen him with a woman once. Once! The whole time I’ve been here. And I haven’t seen her recently. Maybe he killed her too.’

  ‘Listen to yourself. When you thought it was “Rich” it was because he was some alpha… ladies’ man. Now it has to be Lowell because he’s some sort of overly private outsider.’ You turn, confronting me head on.

  ‘Yes. Because they’re both good profiles of a bloody murderer!’

  ‘Ah! You’re not thinking straight. You’re obsessed.’

  ‘Yes, I’m obsessed!’ I shout.

  Everything goes quiet. I don’t know why I wasn’t keeping my voice down. He’s just next door. He’s only beyond the partition wall. I don’t think he did go out in the end. He went back to his flat. I heard him. Change of plan.

  A hush. You’re paranoid too. You gesture for me to keep my voice low.

  I speak in hushed tones. ‘Yes. I’m obsessed. But I’m in it now. There’s no going back. I’ve been accused of murder.’

  ‘What? By who? By the police? You didn’t tell me that.’

  A shiver runs down me. I was trying to hide that from you. My last secret. I don’t want to lose you now. Not when you can see I’m on to something.

  ‘Yes, the police. They’ve seen me snooping around. Everyone else has been keeping their head down but I want to solve this thing. I started asking questions and now I’m a suspect.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ you whisper. ‘You should’ve stayed out of all of this.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m in. I have to see it through to the end. A woman was murdered. So, yes, I’m obsessed.’

  You look at me, Dad. You don’t want to take my hand on this. You knew Mum could rant and rave. Could get ‘obsessed’. You know all the dangers. You’ve seen them all. You saw them in her. And you couldn’t stop it no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t stop her ending.

  The last thing you want to do is whip me up. But you also know there aren’t many choices left.

  ‘Tell me how he got that cut then? On his hand,’ you say.

  I smile, but cut it off in an instant. I want to show you I’m not having fun. It’s not that.

  ‘I don’t know for sure. They said he was hanging around the estate. Then he tried to fight Chris and got his hand slashed for his trouble.’

  Your eyes light up, Dad. You take me over to the other side of the room. The furthest point from the adjoining wall. The one I share with Lowell. You’re right. It feels safer over here. We’re close. Our voices so soft and low. But close enough to hear him if he makes any sudden moves in there.

  ‘How about this? Those kids saw something. Or, at least, he thought they did. Those pairs of eyes in the building. He thinks they saw him bump off the student. Or the old lady. So he went after them.’

  ‘Oh, right. You’re right. That could be right,’ you mutter.

  I’m excited, but do it all without words, the tiniest shrieks coming from my mouth as I point at you vociferously.

  ‘Dad, do you think he could’ve done it? Do you think it’s him?’

  As you pause to consider this, taking your time, I remember that Lowell’s kept a close watch on me sin
ce he saw me with the police. I remember how he changed when I told him I’d been speaking to them about Jean. The discomfort in his voice and posture. He’s always been around since then. Keeping a close watch on me.

  Come to think of it, maybe he’s been keeping a close watch on me for a while.

  ‘Lowell has just lost his job,’ I say.

  You squint a bit and rub your face. You draw a breath, taking it all in.

  ‘But even if he’s in way over his head, no money coming in, losing value on his flat isn’t going to kill him, is it?’

  ‘What about if he owns four of them?’

  You look around, then move towards the kitchen cupboard. My dad, springing into action. You take a glass out but don’t fill it with water. You take another and give it to me.

  Then you draw up the blinds fully and take a look at the neighbourhood outside. You play everything I’ve told you over in your mind. Then you look at the wall that divides my flat and Lowell’s. We both do. Desperate to see through it.

  I’ve only ever seen this in films. So have you, I imagine. We don’t know whether it will work. But together. We take our glasses. Place them to our ears. Push them against the crisp white wall. And listen.

  Part Ten:

  The Hastings Rarities

  28 September. 7.15 p.m.

  SWM – Lowell – Riverview Apartments – No visibility, strong winds, 15 degrees – Singular – Blond hair, male – 6’ approx. – Social, dominant

  Let me remind you of a few things about the Hastings Rarities.

  So the story goes, George Bristow, a gunsmith and taxidermist from the Hastings area, recorded a series of sightings between 1892 and 1930, which led to an incredible twenty-nine bird species or subspecies being added to the British Birds List.

  However, many years later these sightings were heavily disputed. In fact, the analyst John Nelder suggested that anything recorded within a twenty-mile radius of Hastings during that time should be literally stripped from the records and reference books. He was calling George Bristow a bare-faced liar. It was a serious business.