The Watcher : A Chilling Serial Killer Thriller

by Netta Newbound

  Suddenly, the realisation struck her. Not only was she going to be spending time with Max, a man she struggled to string a complete sentence together with, but Mr Leno would want to grill her, as well. All of this was to take place over dinner. How would she be able to eat a thing? And she didn’t have a clue where they would be taking her. Or, more importantly, what the heck she was going to wear!

  Panic was beginning to set in; she couldn’t wait to get home and talk it over with Diane.

  Chapter 7

  “What’s so urgent?” Diane said, as Hannah opened the door. “Your text sounded so desperate I didn’t even dry my hair.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Diane. I managed to catch the earlier train, and forgot you’d be getting ready for work.” Hannah stepped backwards, allowing her friend to enter.

  “What’s that smell?” Diane covered her nose with her forearm.

  “What smell?”

  Diane headed for the kitchen. “I think you’ve got a gas leak. Open the front door, Hannah.”

  She opened the door, and then followed Diane into the kitchen. “Oh, yeah. I can smell it now. What is it?”

  “You’ve got a faulty knob on your cooker.”

  “Do I? Wow! Lucky you came in, as I hadn’t noticed it.”

  “It’s ok. I’ve turned it off now, but if you lean up against it in future, be careful. They’re supposed to have a safety cut-off fitted, but I’m guessing this cooker is ancient.”

  “Okay, thanks, Diane. Fancy a coffee?”

  “I’d love one. So, come on. Spit it out. What’s got you all het up?”

  Hannah quickly told her of her predicament while she made a pot of coffee.

  “Oooh! So, the man himself will be picking you up, and escorting you home?” Diane said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  “I wish. He’s sending a car for me—whatever that means.”

  “It means… silly lady, he’s interested in you.”

  Hannah blew a raspberry. “I don’t know how you come up with that.”

  “He’s the CEO, Hannah. Think about it. He has plenty of people he could send to accompany you and this client. But, no. He’s going himself, instead. For a clever person, you can be pretty stupid at times.”

  “Hey! Who are you calling stupid?” Hannah laughed.

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How about that dress you bought from Luscious?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I haven’t even tried it on. It probably needs altering, and definitely dry-cleaning—it had been worn remember? It stinks of cheap perfume.”

  “Drop it into Chang’s at the bottom of the hill. His wife will do any alterations, and he’ll dry-clean it for you.”

  “How long will that take? We’re talking Friday, you know.”

  “So, go and try it on, and see if it needs anything altered.”

  Hannah headed to her bedroom and pulled the dress out from her wardrobe. She threw her skirt and blouse onto the bed, and stepped into the satin and chiffon garment. She pulled it up, then glanced in the mirror.

  Her breath caught. The hem finished just above the knee and the fine spaghetti straps crisscrossed deeply at the back.

  Holding the back of the dress together, she walked through to the kitchen. “Can you fasten the zip for me?”

  Diane gasped and jumped to her feet. “How much did you pay for that? Fifty quid?”

  Hannah nodded, turning her back for her friend to fasten it.

  “That’s Chanel! I’ve been going into Luscious for ages, and never found a bargain like that!” She zipped the dress up.

  “Yeah, but it is faulty. There’s a bone missing from the bodice.”

  “Let me see?”

  She turned around again.

  “Where?”

  Hannah felt the fabric underneath her breasts. “Here, the left side is missing.”

  “Well, you can’t tell. It looks stunning, Hannah. Honestly. And if your hunky CEO doesn’t fall at your feet, then he most certainly is gay.”

  Hannah smiled. She did feel special. In fact, the dress gave her more confidence, somehow.

  “Right, get it off. I’ll drop it into Chang’s on my way home from work in the morning. I can smell the perfume from here. Then, I’ll pick it up on Wednesday afternoon, or Thursday, ready for your big date on Friday. How’s that sound?”

  “Would you? That’ll be a huge help. Thanks, Diane.”

  “My pleasure. What are friends for?”

  *

  Wednesday, at lunchtime, Hannah headed down to the gym, and there, sure enough, was her bag and gym gear.

  She shook her head, and headed into a cubicle to change.

  As she pulled on the underwear, she paused. The panties hadn’t been new—she’d had them for ages, yet they seemed much whiter than she remembered. The bra, too. She figured it must be something to do with the false lighting in the basement.

  ***

  Steve Miller made a note in the day log for Don Henry, before leaving for the day on Thursday. He only caught up with the night staff in person once a month, but he felt this problem needed to be addressed sooner.

  He’d noticed from the swipe card entries Don had been spending up to five hours a night in the security hub.

  This was the most secure of all areas, due to AdCor’s different divisions. All telecommunication, intranet, and broadband were streamed through the devices inside. Asset Tracker, a computer program designed to monitor all activity, would flag certain items, and log them with the IT department. From there, they checked the content, and reported anything unusual.

  Bistrack was also controlled from the hub—all video leads were streamed and saved using the web, which meant a person could access and view anywhere within the AdCor network of offices. This included web content and even mobile phone texts. The only areas not accessed were the toilets, Max Myers’ living quarters, and the security hub itself. The team called it the ‘Big Brother Room.’

  Steve had been down to the hub, and couldn’t see anything amiss. He actually suspected Don had been pushing the two leather desk chairs together and catching forty winks. He knew all night staff did this kind of thing on occasion, but the swipe logs showed, in the last three weeks, Don had accessed the room every shift.

  Steve knew Don would be ropable to be confronted, but he needed answers.

  ***

  Don slammed his fist down on the day log, and kicked the cupboard beneath it. There have been some discrepancies with your security log, Steve Miller’s message said. Please stay on late in the morning for a debrief.

  Don was furious the interfering little man thought he had the right to question his routine. He wrote below it in his usual scrawl, Unfortunately, I can’t stay late due to a previous appointment. He smiled to himself. That will teach the old bastard.

  He felt elated and superior he had got one over on his boss, and then, he trundled off to put on his uniform and start his rounds. But, he knew Steve’s issues wouldn’t go away. He’d have to face him, eventually.

  Don took his uniform from the locker, and hooked the hanger over the door. Then, he reached inside and removed a blue Adidas bag from the back. He unzipped it and pulled out a handful of items. A pair of shorts and cropped T-shirt, bra and panties—which had a small tear in the waistband—Reebok trainers and socks.

  Don picked up the panties and held them to his face. Hannah’s perfumed scent still lingered on them, and his heart compressed.

  *

  Don finished his shift at 6am, and headed to his flat in a rough part of Longsight, about a ten-minute drive out of the city.

  His front door was slotted between a haberdashery shop entrance and a pizza shop entrance. He angrily kicked a pile of discarded pizza boxes off his doorstep, and out towards the rubbish bin beside the road.

  He opened the door and ran up the wooden stairs directly in front of him. The flat wasn’t the flashiest, but it served him well. It comprised of o
ne large, open-plan room, which doubled as his lounge, kitchen and bedroom, as well as a small bathroom across the landing.

  It was still only 6.30am, and much too early to carry out his plans, so he heated a cup of warm milk, and lay on the bed for a while, hoping to get a bit of shuteye.

  A couple of hours later, he showered, and changed into jeans and checked shirt. He shrugged into his jacket, then opened the wardrobe and pulled out a burgundy cardboard shopping bag. Printed across the bag, in fancy black lettering, was the word Luscious.

  With a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips, he headed for the door to deliver his gift.

  Fifteen minutes later, Don parked his red Ford Taurus across the street and peered at the building opposite. He was no stranger to the flat, having been there once before, but it paid to be cautious.

  He pulled out his phone and dialled AdCor. “Could you put me through to the marketing department, please?” he said, in a Scottish accent.

  After a brief pause, Keenan Barber, a young, up-and-coming salesperson, who considered himself a hotshot around the office, answered the phone.

  In the same accent as before, Don asked for Hannah.

  Her breathy voice made him think she was expecting somebody else, and that irritated him briefly. He hung up, satisfied the coast was clear.

  With his toolbox and the bag, he headed for the entrance and took the stairs to the fourth floor.

  At flat 4b, he removed his pick gun from the toolbox, and was inside within ten seconds. He quickly scanned the flat.

  Lifting a coffee cup up from the sink, he pressed his mouth to the lipstick mark on the rim and savoured the greasy film, as he rubbed his lips together several times.

  In the bedroom, he removed the dress from the wardrobe, lifted up the plastic cover, and slid the dress from the hanger. Then, he took the identical replacement dress from the Luscious bag. He removed all the tags before swapping the hangers, and replacing the plastic cover over the new dress.

  Now, whenever Hannah wore the dress he’d bought for her, it would be something special between the two of them.

  Removing all his clothes, he climbed into her bed. Her scent surrounded him. His senses hummed.

  He hugged the pillow, and mumbled, “I love you, Hannah. I hope you enjoy my gift.” Then, he closed his eyes and slept.

  A couple of hours later, he jumped out of the bed, smoothing down the duvet, threw on his clothes, bagged the old dress, and left.

  Chapter 8

  After work, Diane helped Hannah get ready. Hannah had never been adventurous with makeup, but Diane wouldn’t take a blind bit of notice, and made her sit quietly while she let loose with her pencils and brushes. Instead of tying her hair into a neat and tidy knot, Diane insisted she left it unbound, using mousse and spray to make her red curls appear fuller and much tamer than usual.

  But, even Hannah had to admit, the end result looked amazing.

  The dress fitted her even better than it had earlier in the week. She did a twirl for Diane to show her the completed outfit, which included a pair of strappy gold sandals. But, she stopped mid-twirl.

  “What’s wrong?” Diane said.

  Running her hands over the dress, Hannah shook her head. “It’s been fixed.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The missing bone. It’s been replaced.”

  Diane shrugged. “Mrs Chang must’ve done it. She didn’t say anything when I picked it up, and I only paid for the cleaning.”

  “Maybe they made a mistake. I’ll call in tomorrow and pay them what I owe.”

  Diane left for work, and Hannah was as ready as she could be. She felt nervous, but wasn’t too worried.

  When the intercom buzzed, she jumped out of her skin. Like a little girl, she ran to the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms McLaughlin?” A deep male voice came through the earpiece.

  “Yes.”

  “My name’s Jackson. I’m your driver for the evening.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Jackson, a middle-aged bald man, was as broad as he was long. He held the limo door open for her, and once she was in, got behind the wheel and drove towards the city.

  “Here we are, miss,” Jackson said, as he slowed down outside a French restaurant in the Central Business District of Manchester. Jackson pulled the limo into the nearest parking spot, then ran around to escort her from the car.

  Hannah took Jackson’s offered hand, and left the comfort of the leather seat.

  “Don’t you have a jacket, miss?” Jackson asked.

  It was a mild night, but he must’ve mistaken her trembling for shivering. “I’ll be fine once I’m inside. Thanks.”

  Jackson accompanied her into the restaurant, then ducked back out of the doors.

  “I’m meeting Maxwell Myers,” she said to the head waiter.

  He showed her to an empty table set for two, and Hannah panicked. Where was Max? Surely he wouldn’t leave her to entertain Danny Leno alone—he knew she was wary of him.

  Another waiter arrived at the table with a bottle of red wine, and proceeded to fill two glasses.

  Just then, Max appeared from an area near the bar.

  “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I should learn to turn my phone off in the evenings. In fact, I’ll do it right now.” He took his phone from his pocket and pressed the power button. “There. Done.” He sat opposite her.

  Shocked the one other diner was actually Max, and not Danny, she struggled to find any words. She smiled, nervously.

  “Danny has been held up,” he continued. “He’s going to try to make it for after dinner drinks, but in the meantime, we may as well enjoy our meal.”

  She gulped, finding it difficult to swallow her saliva, never mind eat dinner.

  Max looked her up and down. “I must say, you’re looking particularly lovely tonight.”

  “Thank you.” She was thrilled he’d noticed the effort she’d made.

  The waiter appeared with the menus.

  Hannah looked at the fancy French names, and had no clue what to order.

  “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”

  Hannah nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t speak French.”

  “No problem. Not everybody does. They should put the translation underneath in English.” He shook his head. “So, what do you like?”

  “Most things, really.”

  “Then, can I recommend the onion soup for a starter?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. She could do soup. “Sounds lovely.” At least her voice sounded calm and in control.

  “Do you like shellfish?” He looked at her over the top of the menu.

  “Love it.” She smiled.

  “How about the butter-poached lobster for the main? It’s very good.”

  “Then, how can I resist?”

  By the time the food arrived, Hannah was feeling much more settled. Max’s laid-back attitude and easy sense of humour had her laughing.

  “Oh, wow!” she said, as they put the rustic clay pot in front of her. The cheesy onion contents smelled divine. She cleaned her bowl, mopping up every last drop with the crusty bread roll.

  After the equally delicious main course, Hannah was pleased when the waiter appeared beside Max with a message saying Danny Leno couldn’t make it after all.

  “Oh, what a shame,” she said.

  “I know you don’t mean that. You’re dancing an Irish jig on the inside, aren’t you?”

  “How do you know I can dance an Irish jig?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, humour filling his dark brown eyes. “Oh, you know.”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Alright. So…I might have read your file.”

  “My file? My file wouldn’t say whether I can dance, or not!” She laughed.

  He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “Busted.”

  “So, how did you know?”

  “I googled you. I watched several online videos from yo
ur school talent competition.”

  Hannah gave a little scream. “No way! Oh my God! No way.”

  He nodded, his sexy mouth twisted in mirth.

  She buried her head in her hands. “I could just die right now.”

  “What? It was cute!”

  “Cute!” She burst out laughing, shaking her head.

  “Your hair was much wilder back then, though.”

  “No, not really. I’ve just learned to tame it with product.”

  “Does anybody else have red hair in your family?”

  “Yes, my mother does. In fact, I’m very like her. If you look at old photographs, it’s hard to tell us apart.”

  “So, were you born in Ireland?”

  “No. My brother was, but my parents immigrated six years before I was born.”

  “Why England?”

  “Daddy worked for an agricultural company specialising in heavy machinery back in Ireland, and, at the time, they were expanding throughout the UK. They offered Daddy the manager’s position in a new branch. So, he, Mammy, and my brother, Shaun, who was eighteen-months-old at the time, left their beloved hometown for a new life, and settled just outside of Shropshire.”

  “Have they ever been back?”

  “No.”

  “Not even for a visit?”

  She sighed. “Nope. I don’t know why, because I know they still get homesick.”

  “I couldn’t move to a new country, could you?”

  “No way. In fact, my brother and his wife have just gone back to Ireland with his work. My parents were distraught.”

  “Ireland isn’t far though, in comparison. And with the ferry service, I bet you could get there faster than you could get to some parts of England—especially in rush-hour.”

  She laughed. “That’s true, actually. I think what upset them the most is the thought they’re in another country. But, Shaun was living in London before that, and they only saw him once or twice a year.”