Watching You Chapters Thirty-Three & Thirty-Four

Chapter Forty-Three

McCain hammered the driver’s wheel in frustration. So the bitch had provided the lead, had somehow guessed his men’s destination and location. His mind travelled back through purple rage to the day she’d met him at the place, of how she’d called him in desperation about her fears of Black, alias Withers.

Where were those fears now?

She’d guessed right, fuck her. If he’d have known then how those fears would develop, he’d never have asked her there.

He should never have asked her there.

But worse, much worse in his mind was that she’d acted because of Black, no, for Black, and the thought of that spiralled his anger to new heights, anger he struggled to control. But he must control it, at least for the time being. In the end, his satisfaction would be overwhelming.

He knew what had been worked out and arranged: his passage to freedom, but that passage meant nothing to him right now. It would need to wait for a while. Right now, there was too much venom running through his veins to allow him to vanish into a quiet existence. He’d never forget this deceit; it would rule him, govern him. It burned like a fire and needed to be extinguished before he could do that.

His mobile rang, disturbing his racing mind. He recognised the number instantly; it would be his contact, summoning him to Pondsey, no doubt. Well, he wasn’t about to be summoned right now. It would have to wait, pending unfinished business.

He switched the phone off, shoved it back on the dashboard, and lit up a cigarette. But supposing there was more to it than that? Supposing things had gone wrong, very wrong, then his passport to freedom would be lost.

He inhaled deeply and rapped his fingers on the window rim. Well, okay, if that were the case, then so be it. He’d have to act on his own initiative.

He was good at that.

Like after he’d killed the bitch back in Lothian, the one who’d deceived him in much the same way as Kelly Stafford, in much the same way as all women when he thought about it. He’d had his hands around her throat just long enough to force the last breath from her lungs before the cops came knocking on account of some nosy bitch of a neighbour who’d alerted them because of the noise.

She’d broken his trust in her; she’d been seeing another man behind his back. She’d been having sex with him.

That just wasn’t on.

They’d broken into the place just as he’d raised the sash window. By the time the cops had realised they were dealing with more than just a domestic dispute, he’d been away over the rooftops; climbing rooftops had been an old pastime of his, an odd one, perhaps, but funny how things had a habit of coming in useful. He'd been miles away by the time they’d begun searching for the killer, and they never found out who that killer was. But as a safeguard, he’d changed his location, moved to England. But he hadn’t stopped there; he’d changed his name, as well. There was no real need, but he never did things by halves.

As Kelly Stafford would soon find out.

And it had to be soon.

From his vantage point across the road, he saw a patrol car proceed down the ramp and slow up. The cop on the passenger side cast him a long, curious glance, and he suddenly felt a lot hotter. Had something happened that could jeopardise him? Was that why his contact had tried to reach him? His foot almost made spontaneous contact with the accelerator, but something quickly stirred in his brain, pulling it up like a powerful, unseen brake.

He was soon glad about that; it could have ruined everything, set them off in pursuit at his hasty departure. But as it turned out, there was no need because the patrol car’s driver seemed either unbothered or oblivious to his presence, and the passenger made no attempt to alert him.

But he couldn’t sit there sticking out like a sore thumb. He should take it as a warning to be heeded.

He needed time to think before he acted.

And he knew just where to go.

Chapter Forty-Four

He had visions of his pension fluttering away like fifty-pound notes dropped from a top-floor window into the breeze.

But that didn’t concern him overly; his investments had paid off, allowing him a nice villa in the sun.

Well, they almost had. One transaction remained –

That transaction bothered him because it involved two men –

McCain – and Withers.

Luckily enough, Preston had called that morning and informed him of developments; his earlier worries that the commander had ‘sniffed’ something proved to be unfounded. He’d had just enough time to act.

But something was going on behind the scenes that he didn’t know about, something involving McCain and Withers. His fears were growing that whatever that something was boded badly for him.

Anything to do with Withers boded badly, but what had got into McCain?

He peered through a rain-swamped windscreen; the land ahead was beginning to flatten. He was almost there. He didn’t care for this part of the country much: it was like his ex-wife, flat and boring, but it had served him well enough. Until this little headache developed, caused by Withers – oh yeah, and McCain.

He needed McCain’s presence post-haste, but something or someone was side-tracking the man, and in allowing it to do so, McCain was jeopardising carefully laid out plans.

More precisely, jeopardising his own position.

Ahead lay the small market town of Pondsey, unattractive and uninteresting.

Except that on the western fringes of the town lay the ruins of an abbey, and within its grounds the disused monastery he’d selected for such an eventuality, should things go wrong – which they just had. The underground chambers that lay beneath the abandoned building would provide the breathing space he required; at least, that was what he was counting on. He raised a fleeting smile; sometimes, his unusual interest in the past had a habit of paying off.

But Withers’ involvement had been bad news from the start. He’d been in sunny Spain, preparing the ground for his villa when the operation had been initiated; for once, he’d been caught on the hop, so to speak. He’d returned to find it was already underway and that Withers had been assigned.

The news had all the effect of a heavy blow to the gut.

He’d had to act and fast.

But something else was going on here, some development he knew nothing about.

Jacobs left Pondsey behind; ahead, just to the right, lay the ruins of the old abbey. The one remaining feature, the great arch, standing stark against a dull sky. When he’d first seen the structure, it had spooked him, made him shiver, almost like a ghost manifesting itself. But within the grounds, he’d soon forgotten his early impressions because that was where the possibilities had revealed themselves.

He turned off the road, headed down a broad driveway, and raised his head at the giant spectre.

He’d an idea his blood pressure was too high; he’d been vaguely aware of a throbbing at the back of his head.

Right now, he was headed for a confrontation with a major source of that blood pressure.

Inspector Carl Withers.