Watch Me (Jefferson Winter 2)

by James Carol

  She nodded and smiled, understanding lighting up in her eyes. ‘Taylor is his first name.’

  It was my turn to look puzzled.

  ‘It’s probably best if Malcolm explains this one.’

  Malcolm shook his head in a way that made it obvious he’d been here before, many a time. ‘Twenty-two years and she still won’t let me forget. Are you married?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Well, if you ever do get married be careful what you say. Everything gets filed away. Everything.’

  ‘I’m not following.’

  ‘The day I went to register Taylor’s birth I stopped at a bar and had a drink.’

  Rosa snorted. ‘One drink would have been fine, but it wasn’t one drink, was it?’

  ‘What? A man gets a son, he’s not allowed to celebrate?’

  ‘Celebrating is one thing. Getting falling down drunk is another matter altogether.’

  ‘Anyway, when I filled in the form, I filled it in wrong, wrote Taylor for both his first name and surname. We meant to change it, but a newborn’s hard work. We kept calling him Taylor and it became a joke between us. By the time we’d gotten over that initial spell of sleep deprivation and worked out which way was up, the name had stuck, so we never got around to changing it.’

  ‘I wanted to call him David,’ Rosa cut in. ‘But that name just didn’t fit. He was Taylor, and that was that.’

  ‘Yeah he’s definitely a Taylor,’ I agreed.

  69

  I left Rosa and Malcolm by the elevators and walked along the corridor to the Intensive Care Unit, smiling all the way. There is no better feeling than the buzz you get when you finally solve a baffling puzzle. Taylor was asleep in the second bed along. He looked better than the last time I saw him, but not by much. His upper body was wrapped in bandages and his face was a mess. His eyes were puffy and bruised, his lips swollen. Shepherd had really gone to town on him.

  He was breathing without a tube, though, and, according to the monitor, his heart rate was good. Hannah sat beside him holding his hand and I was reminded of the way she’d stuck to his side while the paramedics were saving his life.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ I whispered.

  Hannah turned and smiled a tired smile. She was wearing a Tangleweed T-shirt, yet another band I’d never heard of. Both her arms were bandaged up, and there were scrapes and scratches on her face and hands.

  ‘Good,’ she whispered back. ‘The doctors say that if he keeps on improving then he should be able to get out of here in a couple of days and move downstairs.’

  ‘That’s great news. What about you? How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Yeah, right. When did you last sleep?’

  ‘How am I supposed to sleep?’

  ‘Being a martyr won’t help Taylor. You need to look after yourself.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘Really? And you’re the best person to give that advice.’

  ‘Actually, I probably am.’

  We drifted into a silence that was punctuated by the subtle sounds of machinery going about the business of keeping people alive. The huff and puff of a respirator a couple of beds down, the gentle buzz of cooling fans. There were no beeps. That one was a myth. The only time the machines in an ICU made a noise was when there was trouble.

  ‘Thanks for saving my life.’

  Hannah laughed again. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I did had nothing to do with saving your life. I just wanted to take down the asshole who put Taylor in hospital. If there was a phrase that meant the opposite of collateral damage then that’s what you’d be.’

  ‘Whatever. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘Hey, Winter. Is that you?’

  Taylor’s eyes opened a quarter-inch, just enough to show his dilated pupils and a glimpse of the irises.

  ‘You’re looking good, Taylor.’

  ‘No I’m not, I look like crap. They won’t even bring me a mirror, that’s how bad I look.’

  ‘Better a hospital bed than a coffin.’

  The corners of Taylor’s mouth turned up. This was as close to a smile as he was going to manage for now. ‘Shepherd, huh? I never saw that one coming.’

  ‘No kidding.’

  The corners of his mouth turned upwards again. His sense of humour seemed to be working fine.

  ‘He asked me to go and get some lights from the trunk of his car. Next thing I remember was waking up here.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up. Shepherd had us all fooled.’

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘I didn’t work it out quickly enough, though.’

  ‘Hey, don’t you go beating yourself up either. The thing is, you did work it out.’

  My smile was as small as Taylor’s, but that was because my heart wasn’t in it. Taylor was trying to make me feel better. Given the circumstances, that just wasn’t right.

  ‘Hannah told me what you did,’ he continued. ‘Thanks. Things could have turned out very different.’

  He didn’t define ‘different’. He didn’t need to. His eyelids were flickering and he was struggling to keep them open. His voice had turned thick and lethargic. He was like a little boy who was trying to stay awake in case he missed something exciting. The first time I met him he’d reminded me of a kid trapped in a grown-up’s body. Nothing had really changed since then, yet, at the same time, everything had changed.

  ‘We got him,’ Taylor mumbled, the words trailing off as he drifted back into a morphine-induced sleep.

  ‘Yeah, we got him,’ I whispered, but he was already gone.

  ‘This is what he keeps doing,’ said Hannah. ‘Waking up, then sleeping.’

  ‘His body needs time to heal.’

  ‘This is going to change him, isn’t it?’

  I sighed. It wasn’t a case of whether or not there’d be any lasting damage, it was a question of how much damage had been done. A thing like this, you never fully got over it. You could kid yourself you had, but that was just delusion and denial.

  I’d seen this before, too many times. Basically, you got your victims, the ones who didn’t make it. Then you got the secondary victims, the ones who did make it. The ones left behind. Parents, lovers, friends. People like Taylor who’d come face to face with a killer and survived. My mother had never recovered from what my father did and I’d be lying if I claimed that I hadn’t been affected.

  ‘These next few months he’s going to need you more than he’s ever going to need you,’ I told her.

  ‘I’ll be there for him.’

  ‘I know you will. You two are good together.’

  ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you? This is you coming to say goodbye.’

  I nodded. ‘Maybe we can catch up next time I’m in San Francisco.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  I pulled the cheque out of my back pocket and handed it over. Hannah unfolded it, looked at what was written on it, then held it out to me.

  ‘I can’t accept this.’

  ‘You can and you will. You won it fair and square. If I’d won, I’d have had no problems collecting my winnings. All one hundred cents of it.’

  She studied me for a second, those big brown eyes getting right under my skin.

  ‘How did you work it out?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  She ripped the cheque in half, then into quarters, then into eighths. The action was very deliberate. The sound of ripping paper was louder than any other sound in the ICU. She tipped her hand over and the pieces fell to the floor.

  ‘Taylor’s parents‚’ I said. ‘I met them in the corridor.’

  ‘Me and Taylor, we’re going to be okay. We’re going to get to San Francisco, and we’re going to get married, and we’re going to have a dozen kids.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a second.’

  ‘See you around, Winter.’

  ‘Yeah, see you around.’

  I turned and headed for the door. The whispering low chord created by
the machines followed me into the corridor, a sound that slowly faded into the background. I took the elevator down to the lobby and went outside.

  I’d hired a black Corvette convertible from Hertz, and fifteen minutes later I was on the interstate heading east, the top down, my sunglasses on. I had no destination in mind, no plan other than to keep on driving until I was tired then book into a motel.

  When one case finished I usually moved straight on to the next. That had been my MO since quitting the FBI. My default setting was to keep moving forward but, for now, I was happy to tread water. There were places I could be heading for, monsters I could be hunting down, but there was nowhere I needed to be.

  Chief Kalani had caught his rapist, so I didn’t even need to be in Hawaii any more. In the end, the bad guy had turned out to be a failed actor rather than a failed musician. Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he was in custody. Kalani’s people had gone back and checked news footage from the earlier crimes and there he was, acting as though it was Christmas.

  The depressing truth was that if I stepped off the merry-go-round for a few days, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The number of active serial killers in the US could be as high as a hundred, maybe even higher. Some of those monsters would be out there right now, dreaming up new ways to kill, maim and torture. Some would actually be turning those fantasies into reality. Then there was the rest of the world to consider. It didn’t matter what colour your skin was, it didn’t matter where you lived or what language you spoke, that evil was out there just looking for a way in.

  And it was never-ending. No matter what I did, or how many of these monsters I stopped, it would never be enough. But that wasn’t a reason to quit. A wiser man than me once said that you begin saving the world by saving one life at a time, and that’s all I was trying to do here. That was all I could do.

  I found a rock station on the radio and turned the volume right up. Then I hit the gas. The needle crept past eighty, ninety. It hit a hundred and I just stared at the road stretching long and black into the distance, lost in the music and enjoying the way the breeze was blowing across my face. The whole world seemed more alive than I’d ever known, and, for once, it was enough just to kick back and enjoy.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I couldn’t do this without the love and support of my family. Karen, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. And Niamh and Finn, you’re the coolest kids on the planet . . . you make me proud every single day. Love you guys now and always.

  Camilla Wray constantly amazes me. As well as being an incredible agent, she’s a fantastic first editor. Jefferson Winter couldn’t ask for a better champion . . . nor could I.

  Once again Katherine Armstrong at Faber has done a brilliant editing job. She has an eye for detail that really is second to none.

  Nick Tubby is a great first reader and one of the world’s last true gentlemen.

  Darley’s Angels get an extra-special mention. In particular, Clare Wallace and Mary Darby for doing such a fabulous job of finding homes for Winter out in the big wide world, and Sheila David for that TV deal. You guys rock!

  And finally I’d like to thank Kate O’Hearn and K.C. O’Hearn for their suggestions and comments.

  In the Jefferson Winter series

  Broken Dolls

  It takes a genius to catch a psychopath

  Jefferson Winter is no ordinary investigator.

  The son of one of America’s most notorious serial killers‚ Winter has spent his life trying to distance himself from his father’s legacy. Once a rising star at the FBI‚ he is now a freelance consultant‚ jetting around the globe helping local law enforcement agencies with difficult cases. He hasn’t got Da Vinci’s IQ‚ but he’s pretty close.

  When he accepts a particularly disturbing case in London‚ Winter arrives to find a city in the grip of a cold snap‚ with a psychopath on the loose who likes abducting and lobotomising young women. Winter must use all his preternatural brain power in order to work out who is behind the attacks‚ before another young woman becomes a victim. As Winter knows all too well‚ however‚ not everyone who’s broken can be fixed.

  ‘Strikingly well-researched and written with a real swagger, it leaves you desperate for more.’

  Daily Mail

  Presumed Guilty

  (A JEFFERSON WINTER NOVELLA)

  The first in a special eBook only series. The Jefferson Winter Chronicles, featuring Jefferson Winter from Broken Dolls, and introducing his mentor, Yoko Tanaka. Together they make an unforgettable team.

  Special Agent Yoko Tanaka is one of the best profilers in the FBI. She’s observant, smart and professional, but doesn’t really play well with others. She’s been called in to consult on the case of ‘Valentino’, a killer who steals his victims’ hearts. Literally.

  With five women already dead, time is running out for the police to catch the killer before he strikes again. Within twenty-four hours of Yoko’s arrival they have a suspect in custody: a precocious nineteen-year-old kid called Jefferson Winter whose IQ is off the charts. He’s also a textbook psychopath and the son of one of America’s most notorious serial killers. Not only does he confess to the murders, he knows details of the crimes that only the killer could know. It’s an open and shut case‚ or is it?

  ‘A brilliant, conflicted profiler.’ Stephen Fry

  About the author

  James Carol is the creator of eccentric genius Jefferson Winter, a former FBI profiler who travels the world hunting serial criminals.

  When he’s not writing, James spends his time training horses and riders. An accomplished guitarist, he relaxes by writing and recording music. James lives in Hertfordshire with his wife and two children.

  For more information please visit

  www.james-carol.com

  Praise for Broken Dolls:

  ‘If there’s one thing I love, a guilty but undeniable pleasure, it’s a cracking procedural serial murder thriller. Broken Dolls has it all. Horrifying evil, a brilliant, conflicted profiler and cracking pace and tension. I read it in what seemed like two trembling gulps.’ Stephen Fry

  ‘A crazed serial killer, an eccentric FBI investigator, a tough female cop – all the ingredients here blend to make a brilliant police procedural. Jefferson Winter has to track down a psychopath whose fetish is to lobotomise women. The first of a series, this promises great, grisly things.’ Sunday Mirror

  ‘Strikingly well-researched and written with a real swagger, it leaves you desperate for more.’ Mail on Sunday

  ‘The plot device of bringing together the investigation on one side, with Rachel’s experience at the hands of her abductor is an effective one . . . a rapid-fire read.’ Euro Crime

  also by James Carol

  Broken Dolls

  The Jefferson Winter Chronicles:

  Presumed Guilty

  First published in 2014

  by Faber & Faber Ltd

  Bloomsbury House

  74–77 Great Russell Street

  London WC1B 3DA

  This ebook edition first published in 2014

  All rights reserved

  © James Carol, 2014

  Cover images © Getty

  The right of James Carol to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 978–0–571–30278–9

  Jefferson Winter 2)