The Watcher : A Chilling Serial Killer Thriller

by Netta Newbound

  The Watcher

  Netta Newbound

  Copyright © 2016 Netta Newbound

  The right of Netta Newbound to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2016 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  I'd like to dedicate this book to my husband, Paul. Without him, and his wonderfully twisted mind to brainstorm with, this book definitely wouldn't have come about.

  Prologue

  Germany - 17 years ago

  Donald stepped out of the darkness, and tensed, as his eyes darted across the crowd of drunken revellers. It took a moment for him to spot his target. When he did, he breathed deeply, and struggled to calm his pulse.

  Pulling himself together, he forced himself forward, keeping the woman’s bright red jacket in his sights at all times. All his senses were on high alert, yet, on the surface, he fought to appear nonchalant.

  He stood behind her in the queue leading to the nightclub, and inhaled her scent. Fruity conditioner was the overriding smell coming from her luscious red curls, but he’d watched her dab Dune, her favourite Christian Dior perfume, behind her ears, before she left the bathroom less than an hour ago.

  The line shuffled forward, and he bumped into her.

  “I beg your pardon.” He smiled, running his fingers through his short, prematurely grey hair.

  Clair nodded, but several people spluttered with laughter, followed by a tirade of German piss-taking.

  Donald gritted his teeth, as the fingers on his other hand found, gripped, and slowly lifted the phone from Clair’s jacket pocket.

  Once inside the club, he kept his distance, watching as Clair spotted her friend at the bar. They hugged and squealed at each other for several minutes. He could pick out the odd word here and there, but he hadn’t been interested in learning the lingo—he never intended being in the country this long.

  They took a seat, and he slid into the vacant booth backing onto theirs, and waited.

  Within moments, more squealing followed the start of a popular song, and the girls dashed onto the dance floor.

  Donald didn’t waste any time. He opened the small paper square, leaned over the table, and slipped the crushed sleeping tablet into Clair’s glass. Then, once he was sure he hadn’t been spotted, he returned to his seat to begin his wait.

  An hour later, Clair made a move towards the exit. Her voice couldn’t be heard above the music, so she hand-signalled she would call her extremely irritated friend soon.

  Donald scooted around her, and left the building first. He was already leaning against the outer wall by the time Clair appeared, looking flustered, as she rummaged in her jacket pocket.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, knowing she could speak good English.

  “Somebody stole my phone.”

  “Bloody scoundrels. Do you want one of these?” He offered her a pack of the cigarettes he knew she’d been struggling to give up all week.

  She hesitated, before taking one.

  He lit a match, and, after lighting his own cigarette, he leaned in to light hers.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry I don’t have a phone to lend you. I left it at home, otherwise my sister would be calling me every two minutes.”

  “Your sister?” A smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

  Donald shrugged. “My wife died recently. I’m staying with my sister, but she keeps thinking I’m going to top myself.”

  “Top yourself?”

  “You know?” He made a shape of a gun with his fingers, and popped it into his mouth. “Pow! Top myself.”

  “Ah, kill yourself?”

  He smiled sadly. “But, I won’t.”

  “How did your wife die?”

  “Cancer.”

  Clair nodded. “My mother also.”

  “That’s shit. Hey, can I give you a lift home? My heart isn’t in this place, after all.”

  “I should call my man. He will come for me.”

  Donald shrugged one shoulder, and smiled. “You don’t have a phone, remember?”

  She grinned, and nodded.

  “No skin off my nose. I can have you home in ten minutes.”

  “You do not know my address.” She leaned against the wall, and her beautiful green eyes appeared heavy.

  Donald could’ve kicked himself. “Can’t be too far, if your man was going to come over.”

  “True. Okay.” She nodded. “I will accept. Thank you.”

  They walked through the passageway to the backstreet.

  He’d parked his scruffy white van less than a five minutes’ walk away, but Clair couldn’t make the last few steps, without his support.

  “That drink has affected my legs.” She chuckled.

  He opened the passenger door of the van, and carefully placed her inside, before running around to the driver’s seat.

  He turned the key, and drove out of town.

  Clair was snoring softly, and he smiled, thrilled with himself for pulling it off. He knew his meek and mild appearance fooled everyone. It always had, but playing the cancer card was a stroke of genius.

  Her phone rang from his pocket.

  Startled, he reached for it, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Clair sat upright, and stared at him questioningly.

  He glanced at her, and then, back at the road ahead, his thoughts in a whirl.

  “Let me out!” she said, her voice high-pitched.

  “Shah, Clair. Calm down.”

  “Let me out. Fucking let me out,” she screamed.

  With one fluid movement, Donald smashed his fist into the side of her head. “Less of the language,” he growled, as the woman slumped unconscious into her seat.

  Chapter 1

  “You need to tell your mother to make more stock,” Denise said from the market stall beside Hannah’s. “You’re selling out earlier and earlier every week.”

  Hannah nodded, smiling good-naturedly. “You can tell her yourself next week. I won’t be here.”

  “Going anywhere nice?”

  “I’ve been called to a meeting in Manchester on Friday, and decided to make a weekend of it. To tell the truth, I’m thinking of checking if there are any job vacancies while I’m there.”

  Denise feigned shock, her jaw dropping exaggeratedly. She threw a handful of potatoes into the basket she was refilling. “What do you want to go there for? Aren’t you happy where you are?”

  Hannah ran a hand through her long, auburn curls, and shrugged. “I’m happy. But, you know what it’s like around here; nothing much happens from one week to the next. I fancy a change—a little excitement.”

  “Your mother will be lost without you.”

  “She’ll be fine. But, I haven’t told her yet, so if you don’t mind…?”

  Using her fingers, Denise pretended to zip her lips, turn the lock, and throw away the key.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve sold out already?” The booming voice of her father came from behind Hannah.

  She twirled around, delighted to see him. Although she still lived at home, she worked long hours, and didn’t ge
t to see him very often. Hannah worked the stall every second Saturday morning to give her mother a break, but her dad was always out tending the land, fixing something or other, by the time she got out of bed.

  “I’m afraid so, Daddy. They were queuing up before I arrived this morning.”

  Her mother, Agnes, had a regular stall at several local farmers’ markets around Shropshire, selling a selection of homemade jams, chutneys, biscuits, cakes, and a few organic vegetables. The produce was grown and made on their property, which comprised of five acres just outside of Bishop’s Castle. For years, Hannah helped her mother after school, and at weekends, she would design flyers, and walk around the markets handing them out. Her mother was very proud of her little marketing helper.

  “I knew it—taken long enough, mind you.” Her dad beamed. “But, I knew once word got out about your mother’s curried potato chutney, she’d make her millions.”

  “Got a few jars to sell before she makes that much, Daddy.” She gasped, and held her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no! Your chutney!”

  “Hannah—? Are you trying to tell me you didn’t save me a jar?”

  A smile peeked out from behind her hand. “You know I’d never forget you?” She bent, and pulled out a large glass jar from under the stall. It was filled with mustard-coloured chutney, and proudly displayed her mother’s green and white Little Shamrock Preserves emblem.

  “I knew you were teasing me—I don’t go a day without having this stuff on my sandwiches.”

  “I don’t know why you don’t ask Mammy to put a jar aside, after she’s made it.”

  “What? And break with tradition? I’ve always said this is the food of Mother Nature—made by an angel, and delivered by my own little cherub.”

  “Things change.” Hannah sighed, and glanced at Denise, who had begun packing up her remaining produce.

  Denise raised her eyebrows, and, with tight lips, she shook her head slowly to confirm she’d heard every word.

  “Your brother’s arrived at the house. I’ve been sent to hurry you up. You know what your mammy gets like. She wants everything perfect.”

  “Everything’s always perfect, Daddy.”

  “I know that, you know that, but your mammy…? Well... best we get a move on. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “What’s Shaun here for, anyway? Seems a long way to travel, with two little kids, for just one day.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. They left at the crack of dawn, and drove almost six hours straight. Shaun looked dead on his feet when he dragged himself from the car.”

  “Didn’t Miranda share the drive?”

  He shook his head, taking a deep breath of disapproval.

  Shaun lived on the far side of London, with his snooty wife, Miranda, and their beautiful children, two-year-old Chloe and six-month-old Sebastian. None of them understood his choice of wife. They found her uppity, and could tell she thought they were beneath her, especially her parents-in-law, with their lovely Irish lilt. But, Shaun loved her, and they had no choice but to welcome her into their family with open arms.

  It stuck in their daddy’s craw why he’d moved so far away. He didn’t understand the appeal of living in the city, and he’d given his son a wonderful life, as far as he was concerned.

  Shaun had spent his childhood fishing and catching rabbits. He’d helped with all the manual jobs on the property after school and weekends, and when he was old enough, their daddy taught him all about the workings of machinery, and got his son started as an apprentice mechanic in the company’s small plant service department when Shaun turned fifteen.

  He broke their daddy’s heart when he left, but Hannah understood her brother’s need to spread his wings. She’d been putting off her own test flight for a while now.

  Hannah left high school at eighteen, having gained a diploma with honours. Time spent on the school paper served her well, and she soon began working at the Daily Post, the local newspaper, assisting in the advertising and marketing department.

  She’d worked hard in her eight years there. It was an area-wide newspaper which relied mostly on advertising revenue to keep afloat. AdCor, the Post’s parent company, was based in Manchester. It had always been part of Hannah’s plan to work toward a promotion, and head off to corporate office, one day. She loved country life, but deeply longed for some excitement.

  After arriving home, Hannah unloaded her mother’s van, and stacked the empty trays in the garage, before following the sound of a child’s laughter through to the large family kitchen.

  “Here she is,” Shaun said, clambering to his feet, much to the outrage of the little madam in his arms. He kissed Hannah on the forehead. “So, what’s new, sis?”

  Shaun put Chloe on the floor, and Hannah crouched down to speak to her beautiful niece.

  “Hello, cutie. You’ve grown!”

  Chloe’s eyebrows knitted together, and she scowled, her shoulder turned toward Hannah.

  Affronted, Hannah stood upright, shaking her head at her brother.

  Shaun barked out a laugh, and ruffled the child’s golden-brown curls. “Hey, squirt. Don’t you remember Auntie Hannah?”

  Chloe ran from the room, calling for her mother.

  “Where is Miranda?”

  “She’s feeding Sebby in the bedroom.”

  “Hasn’t she got used to breastfeeding in public by now?”

  “Don’t start sniping already. I need you onside this weekend.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” she said.

  “I’ve got a new job.”

  “Why do I sense a but coming on?”

  “It’s in Ireland.”

  Chapter 2

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Hannah hissed.

  “Shhh!” He nodded at the door.

  “What’re you two fighting about already?” their mother said, suddenly behind them at the kitchen door.

  Hannah glared at her brother. “Oh, nothing, Mammy.” She turned to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Shaun was trying to wind me up, as usual.”

  “Can we all be on our best behaviour until after dinner, at least?”

  “Mammy tells me you struck gold with that tip-off I gave you,” Shaun said.

  He’d called her a few weeks ago to tell her about a large satellite television and mail order company planned to set up in the new business park built near Market Drayton.

  Market Drayton was in a prime location, and had good transport links. It was ideal for the national company’s expansion plans.

  The European Distribution Director happened to be a close friend of Shaun’s, and had told him, after several beers, about the intended move.

  Hannah nodded. “Yes. Sorry, I meant to call you back, but it’s been hectic at work ever since.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  “Well, I did what you suggested,” she said. “And within the week, I’d managed to arrange a meeting with the head of advertising and marketing, David Ludlum.”

  “Nice.”

  “I didn’t know if I could pull it off. I had only two weeks to prepare the proposal, before pitching it to him. In fact, I almost handed it over to Karl Monroe at the last minute.”

  “I would’ve boxed your ears, if you’d done that.”

  “I know. That’s the only reason I didn’t.”

  “She didn’t even go to bed the night before her appointment,” their mother said, shaking her head.

  “So, you got the contract?” Shaun rolled his eyes at their mother’s comments.

  Hannah nodded, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face. “David Ludlum said he was so impressed with my presentation he agreed to give the Daily Post, and its subsidiaries, the total advertising contract. That includes the regional newspaper ads, as well as all the poster and magazine ads for the next three years.”

  Miranda came into the room, with the baby on her hip, and Chloe hugging her leg. “Hi, Hannah.” She smiled.

  Hannah jumped to her feet, and held her arms out for
the cute, bald child. “Where’s his hair?”

  Miranda laughed. “He has got hair—it’s just very fine and fair.”

  “Hannah was just telling me about the new contract she won. Carry on, sis.”

  “Hold your horses, bossy britches.” Hannah hugged the baby, and kissed his pudgy cheek, before handing him back to his mother.

  Miranda chuckled, seeming much happier than she had been all the other times they’d met.

  Hannah sat back on the dining chair. “Well, old Mr Turnbull, my department manager, almost keeled over when I got back to the office. He couldn’t believe his eyes when I handed him the estimated £1.9 million contract, which would span three years!”

  “Oww!” Shaun jumped from his chair, and slam-dunked thin air. “Way to go, sis!”

  Miranda shook her head in amazement. “Well done, Hannah.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled.

  “Tell them the rest, sweetheart,” their mother said, her eyes glowing with pride.

  “Well, this single contract has more than doubled the department’s current annual turnover, and I’ve only been called to head office for a meeting with Maxwell Myers, the CEO, on Friday.”

  “Ka-ching!” Shaun high-fived his sister. “You’ll be able to name your price I imagine. Who would’ve thought it? My sister— a bloody superstar.”

  *

  It wasn’t until they’d finished dinner and cleared the dishes away that Shaun dropped his bombshell.

  The silence was deafening, and, after an awkward few minutes, Miranda jumped to her feet, saying something about getting the children ready for bed.

  Neither of her parents said anything, so, in the end, Hannah felt she had no choice but to help her sibling out.

  “Oh, you lucky thing. I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland after all the lovely stories Mammy and Daddy have told us over the years.”

  “But, he’s not just going for a visit, Hannah,” their dad finally said. “He’s going there indefinitely.”

  Their mother removed a hairgrip from the back of her head, and refastened a tendril of red hair that had sprung loose. Then, she picked up a couple of dirty dishes left behind from the kids’ dessert, and placed the bowls in the sink, before excusing herself, and heading upstairs.