Night Watcher (26 page)

‘Oh, Christ,’ Claire said.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Bill had arrived in time to see her start on her run, but had been too tired to follow her, so he waited, sitting on the top step of the stair, hidden in the darkness. Someone, further up in the building, was frying onions and the smell whetted his appetite. All he’d had to eat today had been that burger after he had left the crime scene. He rested his head on the wall and, impervious to its hardness, sleep started to overtake him.

He should not be here. It was not the cleverest thing he had ever done, but he could not resist it. There was something about her that drew him. His breathing deepened and he was on the verge of sleep when the door at the foot of the stairway opened. That was when he remembered why the place seemed so familiar. He had been here before. This was where they had found the hanging man. But that had been months ago.

He sensed her hesitation as she peered into the darkness and, using the stair banister for leverage, he hoisted himself to his feet intending to go down to meet her.

‘Who’s there?’ Her breath came in short gasps, sharpening her voice with anxiety. He also thought he detected an underlying note of fear.

‘It’s all right, Julie. It’s me. Bill Murphy.’ He snapped on his lighter so that the flame illuminated his face. He had not smoked for a couple of years, but still carried the lighter. It came in handy when he was interviewing the punters and wanted to give them a fag to loosen them up.

She started to climb the stairs. ‘What are you doing here?’ She passed him and slid her key into the lock.

Bill followed her into the small living room. It was a bit of a mess. There were dirty dishes on the table, an ancient dusty sofa and chairs to match, a cooker, partially hidden behind a curtain. The door to the bedroom was ajar and he could just glimpse the unmade bed. Somehow he had imagined her as a tidy person, someone who would pick up a pin if it fell to the floor. He had never for a moment visualized her in such tawdry surroundings.

She collapsed on one of the armchairs. ‘Well?’ Her breathing was still laboured.

‘I wanted to see you again.’ It sounded lame, but it was the truth. ‘Besides I thought you might be upset at your friend’s death.’

Julie bent over and, grasping one of her legs behind the knee, she flexed it. After several swings of that leg she transferred her hands to the other leg and started to exercise that one. ‘I’ll stiffen up if I don’t do that,’ she explained. After she finished exercising her legs she kneaded them with her hands using the same motions that Bill remembered his mother doing when she was making pastry. Finally she leaned back. ‘Who said she was my friend?’ She stared at him challengingly.

‘Why, Nicole did.’ Bill returned her stare.

‘Well, I suppose she was entitled to think what she wanted,’ Julie said. ‘But I never regarded her as anything more than a colleague. So I really don’t need you to be concerned about me.’

‘You said you were going to be with her last night.’ Bill was finding it difficult to justify his presence in her flat.

‘Something came up,’ Julie said. She thought for a moment. ‘D’you think she’d still be alive if I’d been with her?’

Bill could not decipher the emotion behind the words and wondered if she was blaming herself. ‘No, either the killer would have waited for another chance, or,’ he hesitated, ‘you’d both be dead.’

‘Oh,’ she said. She pummelled her knees, ‘D’you want a cup of coffee or tea, or something. I don’t have alcohol in the house.’

‘Tea would be all right.’ Bill was sick of drinking coffee. It seemed to be all he had been doing recently.

‘Fine,’ she said, rising from the chair and walking to the sink to fill the kettle.

Bill watched her. She had the grace of an athlete and, even without makeup and with her face streaked with sweat, she was beautiful. He wanted to hold her and caress her. He wanted to remove the sweatband from her forehead and kiss the damp brown hair that had sculpted itself to her head. He wanted her, all of her. But he did not know what to do about it because he did not want to screw everything up before it even started.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and studied the photographs on the mantelpiece above the electric fire. ‘Who’s this?’ He removed his hands from his pockets to lift the silver-framed picture.

She looked over her shoulder. ‘That’s Dave, my husband.’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were married. You don’t wear a ring.’

‘No. But I still feel as if I’m married.’ She washed two mugs under the tap and dried them on a reasonably clean towel. ‘He’s dead,’ her voice was little more than a whisper and she did not look up.

The towel squeaked as she polished the second mug over and over again. The old-fashioned clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly. And the building creaked and groaned as only old buildings do. Bill watched her hands polishing the mug with fingers so stiff and rigid it was a wonder it did not break, but he could not see her face.

Bill replaced the photograph on the mantelpiece. ‘How long’s he been gone?’ For some reason Bill did not want to say the word dead.

Julie turned the tap off and turned to face him. ‘Gone, or dead?’ There was a harsh quality to her voice giving him the impression he had touched a nerve.

‘Both, I suppose.’ This was a complication Bill had not anticipated and he needed to know.

‘He’s been dead for four months, but he was gone long before that.’ There was a bitterness and finality in her voice that had not been there before and it sounded as if she were closing a book. Cutting herself off from a part of her life that still hurt.

‘I’m sorry . . .’

‘No need to be sorry.’ She clattered the mugs onto the table.

‘I meant, I’m sorry for asking. But I had to know if I stood a chance with you. Do I Julie?’

‘When you see this you might change your mind.’ She pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up, exposing her scarred arms.

Bill stared. ‘What happened?’ he whispered.

‘I was going through a bad patch, but that’s over now.’ She pulled her sleeves down and turned away from him.

‘I don’t care, Julie. That’s in the past and doesn’t alter who you are now.’ He grasped her hands. ‘As far as I’m concerned you are the most beautiful and interesting woman I’ve met for a long time.’

There was a strange faraway look in her eyes and she seemed to be looking past him, rather than at him. At last she exhaled a sigh that fluttered through her teeth with the softest of sounds. ‘Why not,’ she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Bill shook her gently. ‘Does that mean yes?’

Her eyes widened, but she was looking at him now, although there seemed to be sadness deep within them that he could not quite fathom. ‘It means perhaps, maybe, I’m not sure, but we can give it a try.’

Bill drew her to him until they were standing close together. ‘Ah, Julie,’ he said, ‘I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you sitting there, so alone, in that crowded pub.’

‘I know,’ she said, allowing him to pull her into the circle of his arms.

He bent his head, nuzzling her where the damp strands of hair met her neck. She smelled of sweat mixed with perfume; he had never smelt anything sweeter. He lifted his head to look at her. There was a tear trickling down her cheek. ‘We don’t have to,’ he said, ‘if you don’t want to.’

‘The damnable thing,’ she said, looking at him, ‘is that I want to. I want to very much.’

Bill knew, when he took her, that this was not something that came naturally to her, and he was glad. However, she responded with a passion that bordered on desperation and he wondered, just briefly, if he was the man she was seeing behind her closed eyelids.

***

Julie woke first the next morning and lay staring at the ceiling. She had not meant to let things develop this far, but something had happened between them when he had stood in her flat last night. It was something mysterious that she did not quite understand and could not explain to herself, but when he had touched her, a delicious, shivering sensation had travelled through her as if every nerve in her body had been sensitized. Maybe it was because no man had touched her since Dave and her body was crying out for a replacement of something she had once had that was very fine. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that was happening just now, and she needed comforting. Or maybe it really was a physical attraction to this man.

She hoisted herself up onto her elbow and looked at him. He was nothing like Dave. His features were stronger, his hair darker, his nose slightly misshapen and his body was firm and hard. The slightly cruel twist of his mouth had softened as he slept and the worry lines appeared less. She realized, with a shock, that she wanted him again. She wanted to wake him and run her fingers through his hair and over his body until he was aroused. Her reaction astonished her because she had rarely taken the initiative when she was with Dave, and to think of doing it now with Bill, whom she had only known for a few days, was out of the question. She lay back and breathed deeply, but the feeling was still there.

It was a long time before he woke. He turned to face her, a worried expression on his face. She smiled at him and his worry lines receded. He reached for her, cradling her in his arms. She relaxed, enjoying the closeness and the warmth, wondering if he would want to make love again. She wanted to give him a sign, but could not, so she just snuggled up to him and enjoyed his warmth and maleness.

‘You don’t do this very often, do you?’ He nibbled her ear.

‘I’ve only ever been with one man before,’ she said, blushing at her lack of experience, and knowing that she was an exception in this modern age. Her mind flashed to Nicole with her many affairs, but look where it had got her.

‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘I haven’t met many women lately who could say that.’

He pulled her even closer. ‘Again?’ He stroked her back with his hands.

The shivers started, deliciously engulfing her body, so, not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

This time it was slower and more intimate than the mad passionate abandon both had experienced previously, and far more satisfying.

Julie lay back on her pillow. She was happier than she had been for a long time. The bed heaved and she glanced over at him. ‘Where are you going?’ She could not see his face as he bent to retrieve his clothes from the floor.

He leaned over and stroked her face. ‘Sorry, love. I’ve got to go.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘There’s a case conference this morning and I have to be there.’

A vague, troubled feeling seeped through her. He did not have to tell her the case conference was about Nicole. She knew.

‘Got to go,’ he said, kissed her again and left.

Julie lay for a time, her head cushioned by the pillow and her limbs covered by the duvet. She realized he had not said anything about seeing her again and her former feeling of satisfaction dribbled away. She also realized that neither of them had mentioned the word love.

Suddenly she felt dirty and rose from her bed to jump into the shower and wash away the feeling that she had been a one night stand.

CHAPTER FIFTY

He thought he was immune to anger. It was unworthy of him and clouded his judgement. But then he was rarely, if ever angry.

He was angry now. The anger had fizzed and bubbled in him ever since he had heard about the woman’s death. She had been the chosen one and someone had stolen her from him.

Now he had chosen another to take her place, but he had to justify to God that she was a worthy successor, or God might make him pay for losing the woman.

This one however, was more sensitive than the woman. She had sensed his presence almost from the beginning. It was not difficult to discern she was uneasy by the way she looked round her office, as if she was expecting to see someone. Of course she never thought about the air conditioning duct. And then, on the bus, it was obvious by the nervousness in her every move, and the way she looked at the other passengers. She had not seen him though, sitting four seats behind her, because he was invisible.

He would have to be careful with this one. It would not do for her to identify him before he completed his mission. Maybe that was a good thing because it meant he would be able to speed up the process.

Watching her had been easy until she arrived home and went upstairs to her first floor flat. He knew she lived upstairs because he had crouched at the outside door and listened to her feet on the stairs. His anger grew, for how could he continue to watch her here. There were no balconies, bushes or trees to assist him in his job, only the open street, a glass bus shelter, or the lobby and stairs, where he could easily be seen. It was not in his interests to be seen yet.

He slipped into the darkness of a doorway in the building across the street and waited until he saw her light come on and her shadow cross the window. When her light went off he got ready to follow her again, but she appeared at the door in a jogging suit and started to run. He stayed where he was because he knew she had to return.

He was there when the policeman arrived.

The policeman sat in his car in the dark, waiting and watching.

It made his anger boil up zapping his brain with electric shocks until it became unbearable. He clasped his hands to his head forcing the interference to bend to his will. When he was calmer he concentrated on willing the policeman to leave, but his magic powers had deserted him and the policeman stayed.

The door opened at his back.

‘Get the fuck off my doorstep.’ The man’s voice was rough and brooked no argument. The dog with him growled.

He scuttled along the street until he came to a shop doorway that was not protected by a steel shutter. He slipped into the dark recess and watched the man drag his dog along the street, muttering as he went, ‘Bloody tramps.’

He relaxed on the cold wall. This was a better hiding place. It was dark, clammy and smelled of urine as well as the indefinable smell of decay and rot. He could still see the window of her flat and her street door from where he stood. But the policeman’s car was now empty.

Cold seeped into his bones. He shivered. Maybe he should have run behind her, plotted her route. It would be useful to know where she ran to, where she could be intercepted. But that would have left him vulnerable to discovery. That was not part of his plan.

At last she came back. She was running easily as if she had only just started out. He saw her enter the stairwell, saw her hesitate, heard her query the dark. She was cautious. He watched the light appear in her window, like a signal from God. But now there were two shadows.

When the light eventually went out and the policeman still had not left he knew he had to do something. So he moved his cramped, cold limbs and crept across the road and up her stairs where he pressed his ear to her door. He heard nothing, but he could imagine their animal sounds and writhing bodies. She was no better than the woman who preyed on men. She deserved her fate.

It was time to send her a present.