Watching You Chapters Fifteen and Sixteen

Chapter Fifteen

 

Kelly placed her hands on hips and sighed. ‘It was Arthur if you must know; he wants me to put in an extra couple of hours on Monday. There’s a special operation, and we’re likely to be busy.’

‘And he called at eight to tell you that?’ Joe’s brow knotted with so many lines she knew he didn’t believe her. She swallowed, ‘He has to cover for eventualities; you have to plan ahead in our line of work – it’s not like working on a production line.’

Joe grunted, his face flushed. ‘I never heard no telephone ring; anyway, I’ll be gone for the day. The club has got a darts match in Solihull, so I’ll be back late.’

Kelly turned towards the window, picked up the cushions on the sofa, and straightened them, hiding her relief. So that had been why he was up so early, nothing more than a bloody darts trip. But he was suspicious. She pictured him making a mental note of the day and time of call and checking when the phone bill came through, then immediately wiped the thought from her mind because that was one of the few good things about Joe – he was too stupid to be devious.

‘I’ll probably be in bed if there’s nothing on the box.’

Joe hovered, considered, ‘I suppose you could come if you wanted …’

Kelly met his eye; luckily enough, she had a plausible reason for rejection. ‘No, thanks, all the same, I can’t be doing with all the language.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Joe went into the kitchen, then almost at once came back out. ‘You surely didn’t agree to working the extra hours, not in your condition?’

The question caught her on the hop; she should have known he’d come back with something. He might not be the most intelligent of people, but he could smell a rat. ‘Of course, I did. I don’t let personal problems affect my work; you know that.’

Joe smiled, not pleasant, more sarcastic in nature. ‘You should leave that bloody job. It’s affecting your mind, no doubt about that.’ He tapped his forefinger on his right temple and lunged back into the kitchen.

Kelly felt hot coals burning inside – what had been the purpose of his little remark? Was he trying to suggest that last night’s ordeal had been a work of imagination, or perhaps concocted to conceal the real purpose of her night out?

She drew a deep breath, opened the lounge window, and let in air. The day was muggy, and the room was stuffy. Whatever Joe had meant by his remark, he’d presented her with the opportunity to meet McCain that afternoon without having to find a reasonable excuse and lie again.

Though quite why McCain had suggested meeting up in an isolated establishment several miles out in the country, she’d no idea. What she needed was his backing as much as his company right now.

It was surprising how a drive of a few miles could leave you in such a wilderness. The building with the pebbledash courtyard she pulled into that afternoon was one of several strung out along the flat fenland road, smallholdings most of them, sheltering behind banks of conifers and willows. That ‘The Plough’ had once served the same purpose, she’d no doubt, the lengthy rear garden situated behind the courtyard and peppered with benches bore testimony to that. It must have covered at least a couple of acres.

But on this warm, humid afternoon, the garden was empty. The pub sign swung in the breeze, beneath which only a couple of cars were parked. The black and white painted building seemed as dead as the surrounding countryside; only a couple of weather-beaten faces peering through a dusty window bore evidence to any life at all. It was with relief she noticed that McCain’s car was one of the two she drew alongside. He had some strange tendencies, did McCain, that was for sure.

She needed her strong hands to force the door ajar; it gave with a grinding that jarred her teeth. McCain was bent over a bar billiards table that judging by the cloth had seen better days, his infuriating ponytail hanging like a dead rat. He turned at the sound of her steps on the wooden boards, greeting her with a smile that seemed both sympathetic and curious. He laid his cue on the baize, and she felt his arm tighten around her shoulders. ‘Now what would this be about then, eh? Getting yourself attacked yards from home …’

‘I didn’t get myself attacked McCain,’ she said. Anyone would think she invited it; the lightness in his tone didn’t help, either.

‘Ah, to be sure.’ McCain frowned, possibly sensing her displeasure, and drew her from the table, towards an alcove in the corner. ‘Can I get you anything? You look washed out.’

She shook her head. ‘Is that a surprise after last night?’

‘Ah, look, I’m sorry. I knew I should have dropped you at your door.’

Kelly gripped a beer mat. ‘No, I told you that wasn’t a good idea.’ She paused, looked him in the eyes, ‘He must have followed me.’

‘He, meaning Carl Black.’

Her grip on the mat tightened; it crumpled. ‘Who else? You think I’m imagining it, don’t you.’

‘I think no such thing.’ McCain crossed to the billiard table, returning with some dark liquor she presumed was a Guinness. ‘To be sure, the distress is clear on your face.’ His lips twisted in a look that had ‘but’ written over them. ‘You got a good look at him, did you, Kel?’

‘In a darkened alleyway? Of course I didn’t, but he was about the same height.’ She loosened her hold on the beer mat, caught his hand, and lowered her voice. ‘I know you’re dubious, McCain, but it was Black, I can feel it. All I’m asking is that you tell the police about last night; they’ll see that he must have been following me …’

‘Calm yourself now.’ McCain placed his chair alongside hers and put his arm around her shoulders; smelling unusually of body odour, he drew her closer, impervious to the gaze of the two elderly onlookers. ‘You need hard evidence Kel – Jees …’

     She pulled away, glaring. ‘So you’re just going to let him rape me the first chance he gets, well, thanks a lot.’

‘Do you trust me, Kel?’

She stared into his eyes; they were steady, still brilliant green. ‘What do you mean?’

‘With the evidence you’ve got, the police won’t bat an eye. Let me track Black’s movements as an ex-copper. If he comes within sight of you, don’t worry. I’ll be there, and then we’ll have our evidence.’ He reached for her again, tightening his arm around her shoulders, reassuring, strong. Was he right? Could he carry out his own detective work on her behalf, and would it work?

‘And what happens when you’re working? Who’ll be my guardian angel then, McCain?’

‘I’ve a week clear, starting Wednesday, remember? I’ll pull a sickie until then.’

Kelly sighed, flicked her eyes at the ceiling. ‘That’ll mean extra work for the rest of us.’

‘Which way would you rather have it, Kel? You just accused me of being prepared to let him rape you, so you did.’

‘True.’ Well, what else could she say? And after all, McCain, by his good nature, was putting himself out for her. She should be pleased he was doing so, and she’d thought he was letting her down.

‘You just better be around when he comes after me.’

‘Sure I will; didn’t I just say as much?’ He fixed his engaging smile on her. ‘Now, can I get you something?’

‘No, thanks. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

‘Aw, stay around awhile longer. It’s cosy here.’ She felt his hand slide down her front, travel smoothly over her breasts. She would have stayed, even though this isolated outhouse in need of renovation wasn’t her idea of cosy. What on earth made him come here? But in any case, she was tired, and McCain was showing signs of coming on heavy. This wasn’t the time for that.

‘No, I’m off.’ She forced herself from his grasp, thought she saw displeasure on his face. ‘I take it you’re staying.’

McCain nodded. ‘Just a little longer, Kel.’

‘Well, that’s a good start, isn’t it.’ She headed for the door, turned. ‘What if he’s lying in wait for me somewhere?’

‘Nah, if it was Black, Kel, and I say if it was, he’ll lie low for a day or two, take it from me.’

She raised a finger, pointed it at him. ‘You’d better be right, phone me later? Joe’s out for the day.’

‘You bet.’ McCain reciprocated her action. Outside, the only sound of life came from the low purr of an approaching Daimler. As she pulled away, a glance in the rear-view mirror told her the driver was parking up.

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

Black found Buggins not long after dawn. It was just a hunch that had proved correct. East of the city where the river ran into the fens, forming murky rivulets in the wasteland, old barges abandoned to their fate provided cover for the pushers and peddlers who plied their trade inside the rotting interiors. They were raided from time to time, but when the police arrived, they seldom found anything. Inside information was good, tip-offs being frequent. It wasn’t known who provided them, but they proved effective, all the same.

Buggins had been about to leave when Black climbed aboard, sending the vessel deeper into the mud bank it was entrenched in. He’d lurched forward, sticking his head out of the canopy like a weasel startled out of its hole.

‘Steady on, Bug, you’ll have a seizure.’

‘What the fuck do you want?’ Fully emerged now, the nickname suited him. He was large and round, with a bloated face that sported a double chin and spotty, greasy skin.

‘Just to deliver a message, mate, guess you know who from?’

‘That bastard sticking his nose into my affairs …’

‘Like it or not, your affairs are his business, Bug. I’d be careful what I said and did if I were you. It ain’t some street dosser you’re dealing with here. Main Man is well pissed off. He knows about your little …’

Froth slivered from Buggins’ lips. ‘How the fuck … did you tell him, Black?’

‘I didn’t need to. You get too greedy, word gets around, and I’m the one who has to come searching for you.’ Black shoved Buggins back inside the barge; his holdall fell, strewing its contents across the floor. Buggins’ thick lips twisted into a snarl as he stooped to scoop up the white powder. ‘Save your clearing up until later.’ Black stole a glance at the pusher, slumped over what looked like a pub beer garden table, probably pilfered from somewhere. ‘I’m sure your buddy here will lend a hand, won’t you, Watson?’

Watson said nothing, bland eyes in a bland face, doped out of his mind. ‘Call Main Man, Bug, do it soon. It ain’t just your head on the block when you pursue your own little gains.’

Black’s gaze settled firmly on Buggins. ‘That’s the message I’ve come to deliver.’ He bent down, took the holdall, emptied some of the remaining contents into his own bag. ‘Call this the cost of my visit – remember to phone Main Man if you value yourself at all.’

Black ducked out of the barge, heard something that sounded like ‘cunt’ but paid it no heed. His business here was finished, short and sweet as it had been. He’d other places to go, a message to deliver more important to him than the one he’d just been given. The sun was up; he’d head for town, find the right spot, then watch and wait.

It sometimes crossed his mind what his parents would say if they saw him now. But home, Mum and Dad, big sister and all weren’t in the reckoning right now. How could they be? Now his life reverberated around drugs, shoplifting, big fish like Main Man, and little fish like Bug. He certainly hadn’t planned it that way. There was a time when he couldn’t have conceived being in this position, but things hardly ever turned out the way you expected them to. Perhaps the prats and dossers he hung about with now hadn’t had the opportunities he’d had. Somewhere frozen deep in his subconscious, there was recognition of that and perhaps sympathy, but his wasn’t the world of the soft touch. He tried to speak the way they did; that concession was necessary just to fit in, but it wasn’t easy. His accent was false and alien to him. Most of the ones he mingled with might not have noticed, but sometimes he wasn’t sure about Main Man, and there lay the problem and the danger. Main Man was the one person he couldn’t afford to fall foul of. Things just kept getting hotter and hotter.

He followed the towpath into town; the sun might not have been up for long, but it was sticky already. The cathedral dominated the flat fens, with the peeling walls of the open-air swimming pool monolithic in the foreground, it might have been the mainstay of a fortress, a fortress within which his own battles were fought.

Who knew, perhaps he would soon go home, back to Tunbridge Wells. Perhaps by now big sis would finally have settled down; she was pushing thirty, but still the one most blokes’ eyes flashed to first. Hair as black as soot, eyes almost as dark. He could have quite fancied her if she hadn’t been his sister. It was she who’d discovered the strange gift he had, gift or curse, he’d never been sure which. He’d made a remark to her one day when they’d been talking – it had been the evening after her first date. She hadn’t told a soul about it, being that uncertain about what the family would say. But he’d known, though she hadn’t told him, and he’d let it slip. When pushed, he’d said it had come to him in a dream, but the fact was, it hadn’t. He’d tried to convince himself, of course, but in the end, he’d had to concede. It was the heat that came when he saw things, that terrible explosion of heat; no dream or daydream ever had that.

The fact was, his visions came only rarely, and they always had a special significance in some way. Now for no apparent reason, it had conjured up a girl with naturally fair hair that spoke of summer fields and corn. Country girl through and through. He hadn’t had a clue why or how she should appear.

But he knew now.

And that was why he was taking the only course open to him. It was inviting trouble he could ill afford, but the stakes were too high to ignore.

He passed the open-air swimming pool, its basic design another blot on the landscape from his viewpoint, and a short while later encamped in a recess in a narrow street, which provided a prominent view of the Town Hall doors opposite.

It would be a while yet, quite a while before those doors opened, but his plan was hatched and required little more than observation to carry out.