Read I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series Online
Authors: K.A. Richardson
I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series (37 page)
Stan advanced again, and knowing how to incapacitate the man before him, he raised his leg high and slammed his boot down on to Jacob’s thigh. Jacob screamed, and unable to keep the darkness at bay, he passed out.
Stan turned back to Ben. She was still in the position he had left her, her face bloodied and swollen from the rain of punches.
How does she know my name?
He slapped her across the face hard, smiling as she moaned in response. He watched as she tried to open her eyes.
He wasn’t expecting her foot to hit his groin with such force.
Stan fell to his knees, his hands cupping his privates as pain coursed through him and he struggled to breathe.
Ben had got to her feet and now her training finally kicked in. She connected her foot with his jaw using a roundhouse kick, then kicked him again in the stomach.
She wanted to hurt him. Hell, she wanted to kill him for all he’d done to her. Her leg seemed to have a mind of its own as she kept kicking. She didn’t register the tears streaming down her face, the groan behind her or even the sudden commotion on the stairs.
The first she knew of Ali’s presence was when he firmly placed his arms around her and pulled her away from her task of destroying the man who had almost destroyed her. She felt herself go weightless as he lifted her and turned her from Stan’s inert body. Several cops were already holding him immobile as one applied the cuffs to his wrists and read him his rights.
Ben finally saw the uniforms, heard the cop-speak through the haze of her fear-fuelled rage, and slumped in Ali’s arms, her adrenaline finally spent.
‘It’s OK, Ben. I’ve got you,’ said Ali softly, turning her around to face him.
He watched her composure slip, and instinctively knew she wouldn’t want Stan to see her cry. Leading her, he took her into the bedroom and sat her on the bed.
But Ben’s tears didn’t arrive. A sudden look of horror flashed over her face, ‘Jacob!’ She got to her feet and tried to run past Ali onto the landing. He was going to stop her, but realising she needed to see Jacob for herself, he let her go. Stan had already been removed from the landing, and two cops were knelt beside Jacob. He’d woken moments ago, just in time to see the cops cuffing Stan, and his face was panicked as he looked around for Ben.
When his eyes finally settled on her face, his expression eased.
‘Help me up?’ he asked the cop beside him.
Ben watched as he held the cops shoulder and stood. She knew his leg would be agony, could still hear his scream in the back of her mind. She wasn’t surprised when he grimaced, leaning back against the wall, his face turning ashen.
‘Jesus,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Lean on me,’ she said softly, positioning her shoulder under his so she could take his weight. Her ribs were throbbing and when she took his weight they started pounding with pain. But she ignored it, she could check them later.
Ali followed them downstairs to the living room.
‘I’ve got ambulance crew en route to check you both out. We can take your statements a little later.’
‘How did you know?’ asked Ben, suddenly curious.
‘Charlie found cameras in Clarice’s house and it came to me suddenly that he had to have placed cameras here, too. I didn’t know he was going to be here. I was coming to alert you to the cameras. Then Mrs Wright to the back of you phoned me to say he was in your kitchen.’
‘Mrs Wright? Oh, you mean Agnes. She had your number? I’ll pop over in a couple of days and thank her.’
The conversation was progressing with normalcy, something that both Ben and Jacob didn’t feel. She suddenly wanted to be alone with him, and instinctively leaned into him for comfort. He placed his hand at the base of her spine and stroked lightly, picking up on how she felt.
Ali also noticed the movement. ‘I’ll let the crew check you out. If you don’t need to go to hospital we’ll be booking a room in a hotel for you. This house is a crime scene, at least for now.’
Within an hour both Ben and Jacob were wearing hospital scrubs and had been allocated a private room together on the trauma ward. Jacob had phoned TJ and updated her, and despite her wanting to come straight down, he had asked her to wait until the next day. Ben had decided not to wake Aoife and Grace, despite needing to hear their voices. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
For now, they both lay in separate beds, their wounds treated
‘Hell of a night. It’s nice to finally have some peace and quiet.’
‘I miss Grace, but I’m so glad she wasn’t here. Remind me to get your friend the biggest bottle of whiskey I can find as a thank you.’
Jacob smiled, ‘He’ll love that. This bed feels awfully big.’ He glanced at her hopefully.
She grinned back. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
She got onto his bed and positioned herself in the crook of his shoulder, her head resting on him lightly. The only sound in the room was their breathing, at least until Ben gave a slight hiccup. Jacob had already felt her tears wetting the top of the scrubs he wore, and he pulled her tightly to him, kissed her on the head, and whispered, ‘It’s OK. We’re OK. You cry if you want to.’
He almost felt like crying himself to be fair, but he didn’t. He just held Ben with the silent promise that he’d never let her go.
Epilogue
Mitchell Brown lay in the small cot bed in a quiet corner of the hospital. It turned out the rumours that you hear about prisoners not liking rapists were true.
The attack had happened a couple of days previously, on his fourth day since the court appearance that sent him down for life. Even with all his fighting skills, he hadn’t stood a chance. They’d pounded his ribs until one had splintered, puncturing his lung. His face was a mass of cuts and stitches, swollen and discoloured with bruising. And he could hardly see anything out of his left eye; the doctors had said they didn’t think his sight would recover. His right hand had been placed on a pillow, the pins sticking out at odd angles, after it had been mangled as one of the prisoners methodically broke every bone, the damage injuring the nerves in his hand.
Currently he was in the room alone, staring at the grey walls and wondering how he could get out of this. He’d started refusing pain medication yesterday, wanting to be more alert in case an opportunity arose that he could take advantage of. Not that he really believed one would. The two prison guards outside the only entrance to the room would stop him if he tried and he was in no condition to take on both of them.
The doctor had made the decision not to allow him to be cuffed to the bed though, allowing him unrestricted movement, well as unrestricted one could be with chest injuries and a hand and eye that no longer worked.
Still, at least he was ready. At first the pain had been unbearable; he’d actually thought he was going to die as he was transported to the hospital, gasping for breath and in a sea of pain. He vaguely remembered being wheeled down to surgery, but when he’d awoken the pain had eased. The doctor had no idea of his childhood, didn’t know he could take a lot more pain that most people could. The doctor had been nice to him, she’d spoken to him like a human being, and he’d played the part well, a solitary tear confirming to her that he wasn’t strong enough to stroke a kitten, let alone escape.
Yesterday, he’d stood for a minute, feeling waves of pain and dizziness drift over him as he held the side of the bed for support. He needed to be able to handle it, able to react if an escape appeared. It was this hope that was keeping him strong. He’d stood several times after that, and today had walked round the entire room.
He heard the door open with a click and closed his undamaged eye to a slit, watching as three people entered. The nurse efficiently checked his vitals then went to the chart at the end of the room. The prison guard was young, still green. He hadn’t been in the job two minutes and it showed. The older ones would have been stood next to Mitchell, not trusting that he looked asleep.
Mitchell felt a fold of hope unfurl.
The third person was a handyman of sorts. He was in his fifties with a paunch belly, and was wearing overalls and carrying a toolbox. He set it down on the floor to Mitchell’s left and pulled the shelves apart, removed a wrench and spanner and set to work on the oxygen supply pipe in the next bay along. His back was turned, concentrating on the task at hand.
The guard was flirting with the nurse, and she was smiling back, both totally engrossed in each other.
Without a sound, Mitchell reached down into the toolbox and liberated a tool. He had no idea what it was when he grabbed it, but the metal was cold in his hand as he slid it underneath his body so it was hidden under the curve of his back. He gave a groan to cover any noise that might have been noticed, and the nurse hurried over in response.
‘Mr Brown,’ she said coolly. ‘Do you want something?’ Her attitude had changed; normally the nurses and doctors didn’t get to know what the crimes of the patients were from the prison. He’d bet his hat that the youthful guard had just spilled the beans and told her everything.
‘Water,’ he croaked, wanting the pretence to continue. He couldn’t take three people out in his condition. Silently she held a cup to his mouth and he took a few sips. The water was tepid, metallic, but what more could he expect?
He replaced his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.
When they all left the room a short time later, he pulled the tool out from under his back. He smiled as he realised he’d pulled out a Stanley knife. Perfect.
It seemed like hours before anyone else came in the room, but the nurse entered to check him followed by the young guard. As they entered the older guard followed.
‘Am gonna go take a leak and get a coffee from the café. You want anything, Billy?’
‘No, I’m good thanks.’ Billy was already focussed on the nurse, watching as she checked Mitchell’s dressings and vitals. It was the worst thing about being in hospital he had to acknowledge, being woken every two hours so someone could check blood pressure with a beeping machine was definitely not fun.
The nurse walked to the chart, signed it off and left the room. Mitchell waited until the guard followed then slowly he got to his feet. His body screamed at him to lie back down as he stood. He was surprised to find himself a little unsteady on his feet. Moving as quietly as he could, he made his way to the door and peeked out through the window.
The older guard was nowhere in sight, the young one was sitting on the chair outside looking bored.
Positioning himself behind the door, he yelled out, knowing the guard would come running.
Billy didn’t disappoint, running inside, and then stopping in confusion as he realised the bed was empty. It was long enough though - there was a flash as the blade moved across the front of Billy’s neck, and he gurgled as he fell to his knees, his hands grabbing desperately at his neck as his life left him floating in an ocean of red.
Mitchell stood over him and looked down in satisfaction; that was definitely the easiest way to kill someone. Checking the pockets on Billy’s stab vest, he removed his baton and pulled out the little money the lad had on his person.
First he needed to find somewhere to rest up, recover from his wounds, then it would be time to start planning what he would do next. He couldn’t stay in Sunderland, he knew that. He’d thought of London before – that would do. For now. One day he would come back for Ben Cassidy, and next time he wouldn’t fail. The eye he could see out of squinted with determination.
He opened the hospital door, slipped into the corridor, and left.
THE END.
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Acknowledgements
I’d like to say a massive thank you to the team at Bloodhound Books – particularly Betsy and Fred for believing in me and this novel enough to give me a contract. Also thanks to the lovely editor and cover designer – they make working a pleasure.
To the Crime Scene personnel and police officers who have put up with me constantly double checking facts, thanks for the unwavering belief in my writing, and for regaling me with endless tales of crime scene gallows humour. To the lovely Inspector Caroline, I give thanks for answering the numerous questions asked about the police side of a crime novel.
Special thanks to my amazing family – Peter, Jeannet, Derek, Michael, Mary and Harry -without them writing just wouldn’t be possible. The support they provide is unwavering and constant. They all make me so proud every single day. They make me strive to be a better person and push me to believe in myself.