He is Watching You

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘To make sure he was dead?’ Harry was still scowling.

  ‘That’s one theory. No one could think of another reason. Shock maybe? I’m sure it will all be in their report. But I reckon that’s why they don’t stick around, that way you can’t question them before it’s done.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Harry growled.

  ‘I’m sure you will!’ Charley broke into a smile. Her hands moved to her hips and she looked down at her subject. ‘I’ll do a body map. That will give you a full forensic lift. With the slower impacts we can struggle to get anything, though. When you get someone thrown up and over they can pick up paint flecks, bits of headlight or windscreen glass or dirt from somewhere else — stuff that can help. In this case he might not have come into much contact with the body of the vehicle at all. He’s been battered by the road and crushed by the wheels. I’m not sure what answers you’re going to get.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get some doors knocked. See if we can find a witness.’ Harry stepped out into the road. He could see small yellow markers. They looked like tiny sandwich boards with numbers written on their faces. Every one marked something that might be significant. He counted six along a fifty-metre line that had been drawn in chalk. He guessed that to be the trajectory Ron had taken after being hit by the car. It still astounded Harry what the Serious Crash Team were capable of determining. Charley was right, though: he would have to wait for the full report. And they wouldn’t do him any favours getting that done quickly. He had a little history with that team.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. He pressed to dial Chief Inspector Julian Lowe, the man who had sent him in the first place.

  ‘What you got down there, Harry?’

  ‘As you said, really. A dead body and probably dead after he was hit by a car.’

  ‘Any idea why?’

  ‘Not much. The traffic boys said something about it being a low speed collision. I think that makes intent more likely but they’ve not stuck around to explain that any further. I’ll have to get back onto them.’

  ‘Yes, they can be a bit funny those traffic boys.’

  ‘They can. Charley Mace is here too. She’s doing what she can with what is left of our victim. I don’t think she’s hopeful of getting much from him.’

  ‘Okay, no problem. Thanks for turning out. I’ll see you when you get back in?’

  Harry was walking as he talked. He’d gone beyond where the Serious Crash Team had apparently marked as the point of impact. There was a stile on the left side of the road. It was coated in dried mud and the path leading away from it was well worn. He peered out into the field beyond and then was suddenly aware that the boss was still talking.

  ‘Harry? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I’ll come and see you when I get in. I’ve got to go.’ He hung up the phone and pushed it back into his pocket. He stepped over the stile and dropped into a sparse-looking field. The closest feature was straight ahead in the form of a solid-looking tree. A tattered old rope was tied off loosely around the bottom. He squatted over it. Then he paced back to the stile.

  ‘Charley!’ He had to shout to make himself heard. She was kneeling over Ron Beasle’s body. Harry could see that she had started layering him with stickers. She would cover his whole body with small, square stickers around the size of post-it notes. They would be labelled and photographed, then peeled off one by one, and bagged and tagged. It was painstaking and, in this case, quite probably pointless. It was designed to capture any fibres, paint flecks, alien DNA or anything that might have transferred during the incident. It could take hours — much longer with interruptions. She stood bolt upright. She made up the ground quickly.

  ‘This had better be good,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a tether round the tree in here. Can you get a picture in situ and then seize it?’

  ‘I can do. I assume you have another end for comparison?’

  ‘I might have. Around Tucker’s neck.’

  ‘Who’s Tucker?’

  ‘Ron’s cocker spaniel. He’s looking rather sorry for himself under the table back at the hut.’

  Charley was rubbing her chin. ‘I assume he’s something worth crossing the road for?’

  ‘I would, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I would. I’ll need to do the same with the other end. Don’t you touch the dog. And you need to tell that sergeant to cordon off this whole site like he should have done from the start.’

  Harry didn’t disagree. He made his way back towards the hut in the woods to break the news.

  Chapter 6

  Maddie Ives swept through the foyer of a luxury Manchester hotel with the stride and the air of someone who knows that she is turning heads. Attracting attention. She had chosen her outfit for that very purpose. The dress was a tight-fitting black number with the side cut into a violent slit almost to the hip that flashed a whole leg with every stride and another section carefully shaped to reveal her lower back, finishing just above her bottom. The shoes were jet black with thin straps and killer heels. She needed to be seen, but by one man in particular.

  Eddie Flint was always easy to spot. He sat on one of the high stools at the bar. A drink was placed in front of him as she entered. It was a short glass on a cotton coaster. The ice still swirled in the glass as she pressed up against the bar beside him. He was dressed down today. The day before he’d been wearing an expensive Italian suit and two-tone designer shoes; today he’d opted for a brown jacket and jeans. He looked like he was trying to blend in as best as anyone could in the bar of one of the more exclusive five-star hotels on the bank of the Manchester Ship Canal. Even if Maddie hadn’t known him from his reputation, his watch would have given him away. She knew her watches. She found them to be the most reliable method of spotting wealth — in men at least. Sometimes the well-heeled millionaires of the world wanted to just blend in, to not draw attention to themselves. His clothing smacked of that but his twenty-thousand-pound vintage Rolex watch? That told a different story.

  He didn’t look over. He reached out for his drink and pulled it in front of him. He was leaning forward, both his hands resting on the bar. It wasn’t just his clothing that was a marked change from twenty-four hours earlier; his whole demeanour was different. Yesterday he’d been the centre of attention, buying drinks for anything in a skirt and even some in a shirt — looking every bit a man on the hunt. Maybe that was when she should have made her move, but he had been surrounded by women, all looking for the same thing. There’d been no way for her to stand out; she would have had to chase him and that simply wasn’t her style. It was for different reasons that this evening didn’t feel right, but at least she could get access to him easily enough. And she hadn’t put this dress on for nothing.

  Maddie placed her clutch bag on the bar. She made sure the metal clasp clanged off the surface. He didn’t look up, let alone look over. The barman moved towards her and looked expectant. ‘Madam?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure what I fancy this evening,’ she said. She flicked a glance back over. Eddie Flint was still staring into his drink.

  ‘What’s that you’re drinking?’ she called out towards him.

  Eddie didn’t react. He didn’t even look up.

  ‘It’s a Cuban. Would you care for one?’ The barman answered for him. But the barman was no damned good to her.

  ‘A fine choice,’ she said, loud enough to be overheard. ‘Thank you.’ The barman turned away to prepare her drink. She leaned over to speak to the man who still had his head bent. ‘I haven’t had a Cuban in a while. Thanks for the inspiration.’

  Eddie did now turn his head. His eyes were wide, his lips were pulled back over his teeth. Maddie wasn’t sure if he was tense or on something. ‘What?’ he snapped.

  ‘Cuban, right?’ She gestured at his drink.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I was looking for inspiration. Thank you for providing it.’ She swept her long, brown hair out of her eyes and over her shoul
der.

  ‘Oh, yeah, you’re welcome.’ He moved back to staring into his drink. The barman pushed a cotton coaster in front of her. The drink quickly followed.

  ‘I wonder if I might have made a mistake?’ she said.

  The man bit down, his cheek creased and he turned back to face her. ‘What?’ he said again.

  ‘I said, I wonder if I might have made a mistake. It’s just you don’t seem to be enjoying it too much. I can be a good listener, you know.’

  He turned back to his glass. He picked it up and lifted it to eye level. He swirled it, staring intently at the movement of the liquid. ‘I should be enjoying it. I should be savouring every last drop of it. This is my last drink.’ He dropped it clumsily back onto the bar. The liquid fidgeted and brushed against the top.

  She smiled at him — not that he would notice — he was back to looking down at the bar. ‘I’ve said that a few times in my life! I gave it up once for real. Lasted a few months. I figured I could do without it. You know what I realised?’

  He spun to face her. The intensity had grown in his expression. ‘They’re going to fucking kill me!’ He snatched his eyes left, just for a millisecond then he was back hovering over his drink. He scooped it up and downed it in one. He tapped the bar. The barman immediately started making another.

  Maddie picked up her own drink. She used the glass to hide her reaction. She hadn’t been expecting that. She took a mouthful. She let her eyes scan lazily around the room. The stool had a top that spun and she used it to twist her body. It was just after 6 p.m. — still early. There were a few men and women in business suits. Some on their own and a couple of groups. She guessed they were having a drink straight from work. It was a large area, a modern space with subtle white backlighting. The seating was mainly green leather with thick studs down the sides and tables with clean edges. At the far end against a wooden mesh, a table stood out — or at least its occupants did. They stared over at her. Two men together, both solidly built, their necks pushing against their shirt collars. They were both sat facing her, with jackets done up despite the heat. Nothing about them was natural. Casually she turned back towards the bar, inwardly chastising herself for not noticing them on the way in. She took another mouthful of her drink. It wasn’t her tipple, far too sweet. She fought back a grimace. She heard a sound, it sounded like a sniff at first. Another followed quickly. Eddie Flint was crying.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she said. She tried to hide her surprise. Everything she knew about this man screamed at her that he was not alright. He was not the sort of man to shed tears.

  ‘How did it get to this point?’ He was still facing down his drink. A drop of water balanced on the end of this nose. He sniffed again.

  ‘Do you want me to call somebody?’ she said.

  ‘A fucking bodyguard — scrap that — a whole fucking squadron of them might help me get out of here. Who knows after that?’

  ‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’ She was now facing forward herself, certain that they were being watched closely.

  ‘Big trouble, love. Big fucking trouble!’ His voice was strained. Again, all the confidence that she had seen him exert in the past, albeit from a distance, was gone. It was as if she were drinking with a different man, one whose life was falling down around his ears. He was terrified. ‘This is it for me,’ he said. He was shaking his head. ‘They told me to drink up. Then I’ve got to go for a walk. Down by the canal.’

  ‘Just don’t go,’ she hissed. ‘Why would you?’

  ‘If it’s not me today, it’s my family tomorrow. I need to keep these people away from my family. This is the only way.’ He threw his head back and necked the rest of his second glass. He slammed it back down on the bar. The ice rattled.

  The barman walked back over. ‘Another?’ he said.

  ‘No. That’s my last.’ Eddie Flint pulled out his wallet and dripped some notes on the bar. It looked like far too much. ‘Have one on me, yeah? When your shift is done.’ He turned towards the door.

  ‘Thank you, sir!’ the barman called after him.

  Eddie Flint walked behind where she sat; she felt him brush against her. She turned to watch him leave through the side door. He stopped just outside. The door was floor-to-ceiling glass, through which he was clearly visible. He lifted his hands to his head then they fell back to his side. He checked behind him just as the two men who had been sat at the table appeared in her periphery. They walked past her and towards the same door. He must have seen them. He slipped his jacket off and threw it over his shoulder. It was hooked over his finger as he sauntered away to the left, in the general direction of the canal. He was in no rush. The two men stepped through the door. They stopped too. They both faced the direction he had walked in. One of them produced cigarettes from an inside pocket. They lit one each. One of them glanced back over at her. It was too late to turn away; she met his glance and held it. Thirty seconds later they both moved to the left and out of sight.

  ‘Shit!’ Once they were clear she moved quickly. She strode across the floor to the ladies, pushed through the door and stepped in. As far as she could see, she was alone. She pushed each of the cubicle doors as she walked through. They were all empty. Resting on the side, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Alpha, alpha,’ she said out loud. The concealed earpiece in her right ear emitted a double-beep, confirmation that she had been heard. ‘Subject is out, out of the side entrance. He went left — left. States he is walking to the canal. Two white males followed him out, both large build, black suits, short hair. Both lit cigarettes on exit. They pose a serious threat to the subject. They will require interception. Two beeps for message received.’ She paused and held her breath. She heard one long beep, followed quickly by another. ‘Two beeps to confirm intercept,’ she said, and waited again. The two beeps came quickly — then a third. That was a negative. They were not going to intercept. ‘Shit!’

  Her heels clacked as she moved back out of the toilets and across the polished floor. A man in a formal suit and white gloves pulled the exit door open as she approached. She stopped immediately and looked left.

  ‘Does madam require a taxi?’ the man asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  She looked to the left. She could see the canal from here. There was an obvious path that led directly towards it. She had walked it before. It split when it got to the canal bank: the right path continued as a stone walkway towards a shopping centre; the left quickly became a ribbon of grit over worn grass and mud. She set off. Within thirty seconds she could see the back of the two men from the bar. They had taken the left fork. Just ahead of them she could see Eddie Flint. He was still at strolling pace, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. She knew different. The two men following were very aware. They both saw her almost immediately. She could make out a rushed conversation and one of the men turned around. She was now at the fork; she could still veer right towards the shopping centre and away from the canal — away from trouble. She took the left; she was committed. The man was now walking directly towards her and he filled the path. She felt her shoes crunch stones and gravel. She cast a quick look at the canal that was just a few metres to her right. It was slower moving here and was an opaque green. It looked deep. To her left was an area of wasteland that was part rubble, part wild grass. A bridge rose up from out of it, its side coated in colourful graffiti.

  ‘Sorry, love. This bit’s closed for now.’ The man had a noticeable lisp.

  ‘My friend . . . he forgot his wallet. Can I just give it to him?’

  ‘His wallet? Ah, I’ll make sure he gets it.’

  ‘I’m not giving it to you! I’ll just call him back.’ She strained to see beyond the man as he loomed closer.

  ‘You can’t, love, okay? So fuck off.’

  She looked at his expression. He didn’t look like he was about to let her past any time soon. She pushed her luck.

  ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ she started to ask.
The blow to her face was as instant as it was stinging. She never saw it coming. Her head was turned with the force, her hair thrown across her face. The sting seemed to emanate mostly from her lip. She raised her finger to it and it came back dripping with blood.

  She shook her head. ‘That’s my f-favourite sh-shade of crimson,’ she stammered. Crimson. It was the agreed safe-word. Uttered in any context it would call in her backup. And they were not far away.

  If the man looked bemused for a second, he was shocked rigid when the shouting began, shouts that seemed to come from every angle and signs of movement from every side. Then everything happened at once. Two men emerged from the wasteland to the left and were on her attacker before he even had time to turn to face them. He was bundled to the ground, the barrel of a sidearm pushed into his face. ‘ARMED POLICE! STAY WHERE YOU ARE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!’

  The big man lifted his hands over his head. His eyes were wide as they flicked from the two armed men to Maddie. His wrists were snapped into cuffs and he was rolled onto his back for a hurried search. Maddie squatted down beside him, still dabbing at her lip.

  ‘You know, I never saw the point of stilettos. They’re uncomfortable, you can’t move quickly in them and your calves ache for hours after. It’s a whole load of discomfort just because of some notion that you men might like them. At least that was what I thought. But, y’know, there is a point to them. Something guys shouldn’t forget about.’ She stood back up to her full height and swung her right foot over the man’s crotch. She shifted her weight to step onto him. She could feel that she had at least part of his appendage trapped beneath her heel as she shifted her weight to her front foot and pushed off to walk away. The man screamed in agony.

  Maddie moved towards where the other would-be attacker had his hands in the air further up the path. He was being restrained by two men wearing black baseball caps with POLICE emblazoned on their fronts. A little further still up the path, Eddie Flint was an untidy mess laid out on the ground in handcuffs.