Watching You, Chapters Twenty-Nine and Thirty

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

‘Listen to me. I’m an active police officer … you are in extreme danger. Please listen to me.’

On the top floor of the multi-storey, Withers persisted, his mouth close to the intercom, almost touching the slats, his hand on the blue metal door.

‘Leave me alone, you murdering bastard. I’ve called the police …’

Withers heard the raucous tones, tones that didn’t fit in with the face he’d seen so often in his visions and sighed.  He walked down the ramp to the parapet, looked out at the rain-swept city streets, and then turned and faced the camera lens.

And then faced facts.

There was no way she was going to let him in, but of course, if she’d called the police, then that would be fine. He would reveal his true identity and be allowed access anyway.

And then what? Explain to the frightened-sounding girl what he’d seen.

How the hell would he do that?

He could see her clearly now, through the aluminium shell, and the heat that came with the impression was intense, an infra-red encapsulation of disturbed beauty. He saw the way her hand swept through her hair, the swift motion of an alarmed woman; eyes narrowed, both accusing and frightened, the panic in them hurt him. She gave the impression of fearing for her life, while he just wanted to help.

‘Murdering bastard,’ she’d shouted at him. What the hell had made her say that?

She seemed to be shouting something into the phone, while her eyes never left him. Probably calling headquarters, well, at least that was okay. He wanted to calm her, convince her of the urgency, the reason behind his visit, but he’d wait for the police. Speak to her privately when she’d let them in. There could be no problem with that; his operation was all but finished – they could check his details, verify them.

He looked down at the street, six storeys below, saw a group of men enter the ground floor, probably clubbers returning to their cars.

In the distance, somewhere in the network of floodlit streets, he heard a police siren, several of them, growing louder, forming the eerie choir he’d become so familiar with.

They weren’t wasting much time. They probably thought their call-out was to intercept a raving maniac because that must have been how the girl inside would have described him.

He only had to look at her face –

He heard voices, muffled, mingling with the patter of rain – but he recognised one, and that was enough to send him into the shadows.

Main Man.

And four others. Three he recognised, one he didn’t.

The CCTV building, long and rectangular, occupied the centre of the top storey; a narrow passage ran between the building and stair-block. He backed into it as the group approached, saw their shadows cross the wet concrete.

Main Man uttered something to the others that he couldn’t make out, and from the sound of his steps, he was making straight for the door. There were more words, quick and brusque, and then he heard a click. The door had opened and shut.

Withers’ breath caught in his throat. It was unbelievable that the man could walk in, just like that. He saw her clearly enough, rise from her chair, walk down the corridor to release the safety door. ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t do it.’ He’d spoken the words out loud, and they’d been picked up.

‘Over by the stairs!’ a shout rang across the roof, followed by the sound of feet running in his direction. He tried the stairwell door; it was locked. Turning, he ran around the back. Shadows moved across the concrete of the deserted top-level as Withers edged behind the rectangular building, pressed his hands and back to it, felt the dampness of the aluminium. The car park lighting didn’t penetrate the first couple of feet thanks to the roof overhang, and he slid carefully along as two of Main Man’s men ran through the gap between the stair-block and the building proper, unmistakable shapes of pistols in their hands. He stifled a cough, resulting from the sticky night air; a mere croak would give the game away.

He heard clambering from the near end of the building, and then someone was running along the roof. The footsteps stopped dead, a few seconds’ silence before a shout, ‘Nothing, he must have gone down the ramp …’

‘Or used the lift,’ came the throaty call back, a voice he recognised as Dickson’s.

Withers held his breath, stifled another cough; the air was hot despite the rain.

‘Door’s locked,’ one of the group shouted.

‘There’s another one on the other side; get round there!’ he heard Dickson bark from the roof.

Then the sound of footsteps running back, the figure hustling close to where he stood in the shadows, no more than a metre away. Just as his rasping throat let him down, the smallest of coughs, not much more than a hiccup, but enough to make the man turn back and stare.

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty

 

McCain strode past Kelly to the bank of monitors, fixed her with an angry backward glance. ‘Why the hell didn’t you just let him in like I said? It would have all been so simple.’

‘So simple, so simple?’ Kelly met his gaze, screwed her eyes, but McCain turned to the monitors, his eyes roving between them. ‘I can’t believe you said that. How do you work that out? You told me only tonight you thought he was dangerous – now I’m just supposed to let him in, feel his hands creeping all over me – don’t be stupid, McCain.’

‘Don’t ever call me that, Kel – don’t you ever call me that.’ McCain thrust out the index finger of his right hand, inches from Kelly’s nose. His green eyes blazed with anger in a way she’d never seen before. He drew a deep breath and thrust both hands into the pockets of his jeans, seemed to relent, ‘Jees, Kel, it’s you who was the stupid one, just a few seconds, and there’d have been no more worries.’

Kelly stared up at the large figure with the ponytail, who seemed so strangely different tonight. No more worries, she wished she could believe that. In those few seconds, she could have been raped, left for dead. McCain’s own attitude had amazed her, made her more nervous than ever.

She glanced at the monitor covering the roof, her thoughts centred on the absurdity of McCain’s statement; there was no way she could ever have let Black in. Then running figures caught her attention, and her heart rate leapt up another notch, ‘There are men out there – how did they get here – and they look like they’re carrying guns.’

McCain scoffed or was it a growl; she couldn’t tell – ‘Just the light playing tricks with your eyes.’ He took his eyes off the monitor, thumped his hand against the rear wall, and turned on her.

‘I don’t understand this, Kel …’

Kelly frowned, swiveled her chair, and tried to exude a composure she didn’t feel.

‘Don’t understand what?’

‘I don’t understand why of all places Black should turn up here …’

‘But you told me yourself …’

‘What I told you was to keep your eyes fixed on the damned cameras.’

She lowered her voice, her anger rising, ‘For Christ’s sake, McCain, that’s just what I did.’

McCain slammed his fist on the desk, inches away from her arm. ‘But I still don’t get the connection …’

‘What bloody connection?’

‘What should bring him here, of all places – unless …’ McCain paused, sweating heavily, his face beetroot. He paced up and down the room in large strides, came back, and stood over her. ‘What’s going on?’

Kelly sucked breath through her teeth. ‘Nothing’s going on. Just what are you implying, McCain? That I have some kind of secret allegiance with this yob?’

‘Aw, of course not, Kel, of course not.’ His accusing look gave way to a thin smile. He placed his hand on her shoulder; she felt his fingers firm through her shirt. ‘It’s just that we had such an opportunity to nail him.’ He scanned the monitors again, ‘But he won’t get away, not if I can help it.’

Kelly faced the screens, still with McCain’s hand on her shoulder. The drunks seemed to have left the roof, playtime apparently over. She switched her gaze back to him. ‘I couldn’t let him in, McCain. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it; it was my worst nightmare come true, having him here like that.’

‘Sure it was, Kel. I’m sorry if I overreacted. To be sure, I am.’ He was cradling her head in his arms, stroking her hair, but when she looked up, she saw no sympathy in his eyes, not in the way she’d been accustomed. His lips were taut; he seemed to be running his tongue across his teeth, the way someone might when contemplating something.

The cameras on the ground floor showed two of the men she’d spotted earlier; they were peering into cars, searching between them, looking for something –

‘That’s enough, antics are antics, but these jerks are pissing me off. I’m calling the police …’

‘No, no need to do that.’ I’m away to search out our Mr Black.’ McCain seemed agitated again; his hand clenched her arm.

‘No, you won’t. Their buddies are probably running riot someplace; we can’t see what’s happening on the ramp, can we? I think we need police presence …’

‘No Kel …’

‘Let go of my arm – you’re hurting me.’    

McCain released his grip, slapped her arm, sighed. ‘Look, McCain … I’m the operator on duty, not you. Why are you so obviously against police presence? What’s got into you tonight?’

‘Oh, do as you wish,’ McCain said gruffly, ‘they’ll probably be too tied up to attend anyway.’ He stormed off along the corridor, releasing the security catch and exiting, making his way down the ramp.

She watched him go and then called headquarters. McCain was right, of course; they had nobody to attend.

But what was wrong with him? He was acting so strangely of late. She could probably mark it down to frustration at failing to find Black, and the truth was that was the only thing she could mark it down to.

Yet was Black still in the vicinity? A threat to her, despite the security afforded by the building?  She’d no way of knowing that somewhere, amidst the shadows of the spiralling access ramp, amidst the faulty flickering lights, he wasn’t biding his time – just waiting to make her nightmares come true …