WATCHING YOU_The gripping edge-of-the-seat thriller with a stunning twist.

by Lynda Renham

  There’s silence for a few seconds.

  ‘I’ll pay him a visit,’ she says.

  ‘Thank you Fran.’

  ‘Carry on keeping a record of all the messages and threats. But don’t, I repeat, don’t attempt to see him or meet with him. It could seriously backfire on you, Libby. Promise me that? We still don’t know it was Ewan that hacked your computer. It certainly wasn’t an interest of his in prison. It seemed his only interest was the theatre and stage make-up. So, promise me you won’t do anything silly?’

  ‘I promise,’ I say.

  Fuck you, I think. If you imagine I’m going to lie among the lilies and wait for him then you can fucking think again.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Fifteen years earlier

  Patrick hesitated at the gates of Manstead Manor. Now he was here he was too chicken to go any further. He knew Libby wasn’t at home. He hadn’t been stupid. He wasn’t about to visit old man Owen with Libby about. He’d been pretty canny about it, he thought. He’d written Edward Owen a letter and waited for the postman to arrive at the gates.

  ‘Deliver this will you?’ he’d said.

  The postie had looked at him oddly but taken it all the same. Patrick simply had to sit back and wait. Owen soon got in touch.

  ‘Come Saturday morning at eleven. Libby will be out riding.’

  That was it. Nothing to indicate he would give Patrick the money. But Patrick figured he wouldn’t have asked him over if he had no intention of giving him something. Of course, he could be waiting with the Scottish bastard. Maybe they were planning to do him over. It was a chance he’d have to take. It could well be that old man Owen was willing to give him a fair bit to keep his mouth shut about his niece. He took a deep breath and walked down the drive. Maybe he’d been a bit too graphic in his descriptions. He didn’t want to rile the old bloke, but he wanted him to realise just what kind of dirt Patrick could dish out about his niece. Of course, he’s taking the risk they may have police waiting. They could get Libby to cry rape. He stopped uncertainly at the front door. He could turn around now. He and Lil could be away from Padley in a few hours. No one is going to come after them. But supposing … He’d be a fool to leave without anything. His facial muscles twitched with nerves and then he pulled the hand bell. There was a loud ringing throughout the hallway. If no one answers in a few seconds, he’d turn and go back. But before he could take a step the door swung open. A pretty young woman now stood in front of him.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with Edward Owen. He’s expecting me. My name’s Patrick …’

  ‘Come in,’ she said before he had finished.

  He didn’t take in the grand hallway. He was too shit scared. There was no going back now. Either he was going to get a bullet in his nether regions or a few grand in his pocket.

  ‘I’ll let Mr Owen know you’re here,’ said the woman.

  He fidgeted on his feet, his eyes darting about, looking for the Scottish fuck.

  ‘Patrick,’ said a deep voice.

  He spun round and came face to face with Edward Owen. He was a big man with stern features and steely grey eyes. He was dressed in corduroys and a cabled jumper.

  ‘You’re weedier than Ewan described,’ he said turning on his heel and walking into a room off the hallway. ‘You’d better come in.’

  Patrick’s jaw tightened.

  ‘Not too weedy for your niece,’ said Patrick, viciously.

  Edward stopped suddenly and Patrick found himself walking into him.

  ‘I don’t want you mentioning my niece. You got that?’

  Patrick fought back the words he wanted to spit in Edward’s face. Edward closed the door behind Patrick and said, ‘so how much?’

  ‘Five thousand.’

  Edward burst out laughing.

  ‘No way, now you know where the front door is. Get out of my sight.’

  Patrick was taken aback. His scrambled brain tried to make sense of what was happening.

  ‘I could make a lot of trouble,’ he said finally.

  Edward walked slowly to his desk and sat in the chair behind it.

  ‘My niece will claim you raped her. It won’t be hard to find other young women that you’ve raped in the time you’ve been trespassing on private property. Let’s face it, only scum trespass like you do. So scum like you are most likely capable of anything.’

  ‘I never raped anyone.’

  ‘Two thousand is all I’m willing to offer. Take it or leave it. If things get dirty just remember I can afford to be dirtier than you. I’m being far too generous.’

  ‘I’ll tell the police that Scottish fuck threatened me.’

  Edward suddenly sat up, the chair falling backwards with the force. He was round the table before Patrick had time to think. He was grabbed by the shirt and almost lifted from the floor.

  ‘Don’t you use that language in my house? How dare you,’ growled Edward.

  Patrick fell back as Edward released him. Christ that was a bit of an overreaction.

  ‘I’ll give you a cheque for two thousand and I expect you to be gone within the next twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I don’t do cheques,’ said Patrick defiantly. ‘I don’t have a bank account. It will have to be cash.’

  Edward sighed.

  ‘Why don’t you get a job like everyone else?’

  Like Libby? Patrick wanted to say but bit his tongue. He didn’t want to jeopardise things now. He’d hoped for more, but this was better than nothing.

  ‘That’ll just about pay my air fare,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a wife and kids.’

  Edward gave him a scathing look.

  ‘You’re getting two thousand and if you’re not off that land by tomorrow you will be very sorry. I can make the rest of your days a living nightmare. I’m owed favours. Do you understand what I’m saying? Some nasty people owe me money. I can call in my debts anytime I want. I’m being lenient with you. Don’t push me lad.’

  Patrick nodded. Owen was bluffing he felt sure of it. He’d get the two thousand and leave when he wanted.

  ‘I’ve got things to take care of first,’ he said.

  Edward smirked.

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I’ve got to sell the caravan for a start and …’

  ‘Twenty-four hours,’ repeated Edward, an element of menace in his voice. ‘Wait outside.’

  Patrick walked to the door, a victorious smile on his face. Two grand, he thought and then there’s the money he’d get from the caravan. Just to make it really sweet maybe he’d have one last fuck with Libby. That would be the icing on the cake.

  He waited outside the door, his eyes surveying the grand hallway and ornate staircase. How the other half lived. Maybe he’d get another bottle of whisky out of Libby before he goes. God knows they could afford it. The door opened and Edward strolled out, an envelope in his hand. He gave it to Patrick.

  ‘It’s all there. Count it when you’re off my property. You’re causing a stench.’

  Patrick smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry I’m going.’

  ‘Twenty-four hours,’ repeated Edward.

  ‘Yeah don’t worry.’

  He tucked the envelope into his jeans pocket. He was as high as a kite. Two grand, just like that. It had been worth fucking Libby Owen. The front door slammed shut behind him. There was no sign of the Scottish bastard. It had been a breeze. He began to whistle. He’d check out flights later. It would be good to get some sunshine.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Fifteen years earlier

  ‘Sergeant Marshall, can you please recount for us the events of 1st January 2000 when you were called to Manstead Manor in Padley Cornwall.’

  Fran looked down at her notepad.

  ‘We took an emergency call at 12.55 a.m. Ewan Galbreith had phoned from Manstead Manor. He said that Rose and Edward Owen had been shot. He believed them to be dead.’

  ‘Ewan Galbreith called the emergency ser
vices that night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did anyone else call them?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes later at 1.10 there was an emergency call from James Whitaker. He said that a girl with blood on her had collapsed on the Kaylen Beach. That’s a short distance from Manstead Manor.’

  ‘And the girl was Libby Owen, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were there any other calls to the emergency services regarding the incident?’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘So Libby Owen didn’t call the police to report the shooting of her aunt and uncle.’

  ‘No but …’

  ‘That’s odd don’t you think?’

  Fran shrugged.

  ‘No, Libby Owen was in shock. It had only just happened.’

  ‘Or she was covering for someone?’

  ‘Objection.’

  ‘Rephrase the question Mr Fosh.’

  ‘So, it is a fact that Ewan Galbreith, who is on trial for the murder of Edward and Rose Owen, is the same person that reported the murder.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘You didn’t think that odd at the time?’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘Tell us what you saw when you arrived at Manstead Manor on the morning of January the first.’

  Fran again glanced down at her notepad.

  ‘We arrived at the house at 1.10 a.m. The accused was sitting in the grand hallway holding a shotgun. It was later confirmed that this was the firearm that had killed Edward Owen and his wife Rose. On entering the house Ewan Galbreith informed us that his employers were dead. On questioning, Mr Galbreith said he had heard shots and came running to the house. He found the bodies and the shotgun on the floor of the morning room.’

  ‘Did Mr Galbreith have blood on him?’

  ‘Yes, there was blood on his shoes and his hands.’

  ‘Did he tell you that he had seen the murderer?’

  ‘No, he said the house was empty when he got there.’

  ‘But he told you that he had seen Miss Owen?’

  ‘Yes, he said she looked terrified and must have seen the murders. He said he called out to her, but she kept running.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’

  ‘At the time, yes I did.’

  ‘Isn’t it true that a number of people had it in for Edward Owen?’

  ‘It did seem that way, yes.’

  ‘So any one of those people could have committed the murders.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Rose Owen had been the first to be shot, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, she had been shot in the chest. The shot had been fired at close range. The force of the shot had ripped the dress off her.’

  ‘So Rose Owen would have seen the murderer and presumably knew them if they had let them into the house.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did Mr Galbreith have a key to Manstead Manor?’

  ‘Yes, he did. All the staff members had keys.’

  ‘Thank you, no further questions for the moment.’

  Fran looked at Ewan Galbreith. His expression was unreadable.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Present day

  Leon closed his laptop and drained his coffee cup. He was about to get up for a refill when he saw his boss, Malcolm, walking towards him. An official looking woman was with him. He sighed. He had imagined the police visiting him at home, not at his place of work. He gave them his best smile and stood up.

  ‘Leon, this is Inspector Marshall. She’d like a few words.’

  ‘I was just off to get a sandwich.’

  ‘I won’t keep you long,’ said Fran, smiling.

  ‘It’s nothing serious is it?’ asked Malcolm.

  Leon kept the smile pasted on his face.

  ‘No, not all, I’m just wondering whether Mr Lapotaire can help with some enquiries. He certainly isn’t in any trouble.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good then. I’ll leave you both to it.’

  Leon sat back down at his desk and pointed to another chair.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Fran, sitting down.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Leon, reaching into a drawer for a packet of crisps.

  ‘You did some time in Belmarsh, didn’t you?’

  Leon wrinkled his brow.

  ‘So what? I did my time. I’m clean. I’ve got a good job and …’

  ‘Yes, Malcolm was telling me how good you are with computers. Just how good are you at hacking into someone else’s?’

  ‘Do what?’ he laughed.

  ‘I think you heard me. You were pretty good at that at one time.’

  Fran opened a notepad.

  ‘Twelve years for fraud. Didn’t you hack several large bank accounts and syphon off a tidy sum of money?’

  ‘That was a long time ago. I’ve got a clean record now.’

  He offered her the packet of crisps.

  ‘No thanks. I’m watching my weight.’

  Leon nodded. Women were always watching their weight it seemed.

  ‘You were banged up with Ewan Galbreith, weren’t you?’

  Leon frowned.

  ‘Can’t say I recall a dude by that name.’

  ‘You were friends.’

  ‘Like I said, it was a long time ago. I don’t think about those days much.’

  ‘I heard you two were very matey.’

  Leon pushed the last few crisps into his mouth and wiped his hands on a tissue.

  ‘Like I say, I don’t recall the name.’

  Fran stood up.

  ‘He was released a few months back.’

  ‘Is that right? Good for him.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him by any chance?’

  ‘I just told you, I’ve got a new life now.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Only, Libby Warren had her laptop hacked. It’s my job to find out who’s behind that.’

  Leon held out his hand.

  ‘I don’t know that chick. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘I think you do. Ewan was in prison for the murder of her aunt and uncle.’

  Leon stood and walked past her.

  ‘I’m going to get my lunch. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’

  ‘It would be a shame for you to get into trouble just because you felt you owed someone a favour.’

  Leon laughed.

  ‘I don’t do no favours.’

  ‘So you won’t mind us taking a look at your computers. It would save us getting a warrant.’

  He gave a nod and left the room. He could feel Fran’s eyes on him. He kept his head held high and walked to the cafeteria. He wouldn’t admit to knowing Ewan, not even if they pulled his fingernails out. He was no grass.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Present day

  Libby

  ‘I’m afraid,’ I admit to Donna. ‘I keep thinking he’s listening, even now, to everything we’re saying.’

  Donna’s eyes widen and she looks around the room nervously.

  ‘Jesus,’ she mutters. ‘I can’t believe the police won’t do anything.’

  ‘What can they do? I can’t prove anything.’

  ‘Have you checked for microphones?’ she whispers.

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to look for. Anyway, the police said there weren’t any.’

  ‘This is ridiculous. He can’t intimidate you like this. Let’s see if we can find anything.’

  I watch as she searches behind curtain rails, looks at the plugs and studies the landline phone. I look around the walls for anything suspicious, anything that wasn’t there before. We don’t find anything unusual.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t get into the flat,’ she says finally.

  I click the kettle on to make more tea.

  ‘How did the rat get in?’

  ‘Letterbox?’

  ‘I don’t have one. The mail boxes are downstairs.’

  Donna bites her lip.

  ‘There must be rats in the flats.’

  ‘He mention
ed Merlin in his text. How does he know his name?’

  ‘Did you talk about Merlin in any of your texts or emails?’

  ‘Of course not, why would I talk about my cat?’

  She sighs.

  ‘Joel said you should come and stay with us for a while, you know, until things settle.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’ I say, jumping up. ‘I need a drink.’

  She follows me into the kitchen, concern etched across her face.

  ‘Libby, don’t take this the wrong way but don’t you think you’re becoming a bit obsessed with this Ewan Galbreith guy?’

  ‘What?’

  I don’t believe I’m hearing this. My closest friend now thinks I’m overreacting. Ewan would love this.

  ‘He killed my aunt and uncle and now he’s threatening me, and stalking me, and you’re telling me I’m obsessed?’

  She takes the wine bottle from my hand and uncorks it.

  ‘Look Libby. I’m sure he is harassing you, but I don’t know that he got into your flat. Unless he’s some kind of amazing magician, I can’t see how it could have happened. Joel says people get viruses on their computers all the time. Maybe your virus checker is out of date. Joel said he’s happy to have a look at it for you.’

  I pour the wine into a glass and throw it back.

  ‘I don’t believe this Donna. I’m always on the ball. Everything was up to date on my laptop. I’m so security conscious it’s unbelievable.’

  ‘Libby, I never said …’

  ‘What do you call it then? You doubt my sanity. You doubt what I say is true. Ewan has been in my flat. I don’t know how. Maybe he stole the keys from me,’ I say.

  ‘But you’d know if …’

  ‘It could have happened anywhere. I’ll have to retrace my steps. Try to remember when it was possible. At your party for instance, I think I may have left my bag to get some food. There must have been other times …’

  ‘Ewan Galbreith wasn’t at our party, Libby,’ she says defensively.

  ‘I know that,’ I say fighting to hide my irritation. ‘But there must have been other times like that, where I left my bag for a few moments.’

  Donna gives me an odd look.