Page 38 of Watching You
Back home on Martha’s Vineyard, her parents’ house had been situated south of Oak Bluffs and out on Seaview Avenue that ran for miles down towards Edgartown. They didn’t get as many tourists as Edgartown with its film locations fromJawsand upmarket art galleries, but Oak Bluffs was still booked up from Spring Break through the long summer vacation and into September. The shifting population was just something you got used to, with people camping out on the beaches or sleeping in utility vehicles. All of which meant one thing – you had to be careful what you did, where you went, and who was around. Martha’s Vineyard was low crime but not no crime, and girlsjogging along the beach early in the morning and late at night were targets for the wrong sort of men.
It was the rape of a fifteen-year-old holiday-maker that was the real wake-up call. At sixteen, Connie had been a sensible enough teenager, and her parents were naturally protective, but the idea that girls weren’t safe in their hometown was a shock to the system. Her best friend’s father, an engineer by trade, had responded by designing a weapon that his daughter and all her friends could have on them as needed, even without bags or pockets, and that no one ever needed to be aware of. Fast forward almost two decades later, and Connie still wore it whenever she went out jogging or looking for answers in the sorts of places where you probably didn’t want to find them.
Edinburgh was darker than Martha’s Vineyard at that time in the morning, but it had the benefit of there being many more places to turn off and hide, which was what she was planning on doing just as soon as she found the right place.
It had begun the second she’d exited her hotel. Connie had been awake for an hour and knew full well that she wouldn’t get back to sleep. Calling Baarda to start work had been tempting but unfair, so jogging it was. The city had been a friend to her on previous trips. The people who lived there were kind and welcoming, and visitors seemed, on the whole, friendly and well-meaning. So to start with, when she’d sensed eyes on her as she’d left the hotel and paused to stretch, she’d decided that she was being ridiculous.
A couple of minutes later she was off on her usual Edinburgh route, turning behind The Balmoral and heading over North Bridge then left down High Street. Whoever the shadowy figure was behind her, they were wearing super-soft trainers and were fit enough that she wasn’t losing them. The question that bothered her wasn’t who, but why?
Her career could be drawn on a map, from a dangerous criminal in one city to another dangerous criminal in the next, either serial killers or serial rapists, occasionally kidnappers or torturers, but never anything less. Most had been captured and were either dead or behind bars, but there had been those who’d escaped. Connie lived with the knowledge that she had enemies worldwide. That was why she was careful.
In Edinburgh, she felt sure there was someone on the prowl who she was struggling to form a picture of in her mind. The random killings made no sense. The lack of torture or ritual was completely unfulfilling within the normal parameters of serial offender behaviour, unless the kill method wasn’t the point. Perhaps, she mused, it was as simple as a release of energy, like a solar flare from the sun.
An assassin in training was another option, but most assassins were experts in low key. Whoever was following her now was good but definitely not an expert. Connie wasn’t sure yet if it was a man or a woman, but they were a few inches taller than her, slim build, dark hoodie and joggers, and they ran with their feet slightly turned out.
Connie turned right on St Mary’s Street then took another left into Boyd’s Entry and hid behind the high wall of the private parking area at the top of Gullan’s Close.
Hiding was the sensible option. She wasn’t stupid nor was she careless with her own life. There had been poor decision making in the past when she was stressed and under pressure, but she’d never thrown her safety away and she wasn’t about to do that now. If she let her pursuer go, however, it was a missed opportunity.
Was it the person who appeared to be choosing odd victims for no other reason than to take a life? It wasn’t impossible. Connie had only seconds to make a decision. It wasn’t that shewas brave – her pulse rate was alarming – but she just couldn’t let the chance pass. And talking dangerous people out of doing terrible things was her speciality. Plus, she was wearing her secret weapon, and she’d already undone the popper that kept a tough leather band over the top when it wasn’t needed.
Stepping to one side, she not-accidentally knocked a bin then took a sharp intake of breath at the noise. The person who’d been following her stuck his head around the wall and came face to face with a woman who’d assumed the persona of someone with a will of steel.
Connie went straight for the throat just as the FBI had trained her, smashing her elbow into his Adam’s apple then using her forearm to shove the man against the wall as she brought up her right wrist and pushed her bracelet into the side of his neck.
‘Don’t move,’ she said. ‘And before you speak, whatever you’ve got in your hands to hurt me with, know this. Pressed into your neck is a piece of surgical steel with hundreds of tiny hooks embedded, a little like insects’ claws. All you’ll feel right now is a prickling sensation from the miniature bed of needles, but if I fall or I’m hurt or I have to defend myself, those little hooks are going to keep hold of a section of your flesh and pull it right off, and you don’t want that on the side of your neck. That would be very dangerous indeed.’
‘You’re … you’re a fucking psycho. I’d heard you were weird as shit, but you’re actually out of your fucking mind!’
He was Scottish, Caucasian, late twenties or early thirties, five foot eleven tall, with carefully plucked eyebrows and a neatly trimmed beard. He was also starting to cry, so unless he was the best actor in the world under severe pressure, Connie deduced that whatever else he might be, he certainly wasn’t a killer.
‘Get it out of my neck,’ he shrieked. ‘That’s assault!’
‘Are you kidding me? You were waiting for me outside my hotel, you’ve been following me, I perceived you as a threat, I hid from you and gave you a chance to move away, then you actually followed me into the area where I was hiding from you. Now I’m no lawyer, but I think I’m going to get away with telling them I was acting in self-defence.’
‘It hurts!’ There were proper tears cascading down his cheeks now and his nose was starting to run. Connie rolled her eyes.
‘Only because you’re pulling. If you stand still, it’ll be fine. I’ll lift the hooks out when you’ve answered my questions. Let’s start with the obvious ones, who are you and why are you following me?’
‘Journalist. I write forThe Daily Essay.’
‘Never heard of it,’ she said. ‘Speed up.’
‘We’re mainly online because of paper costs. But I was told to follow you and keep track of your movements. It was my editor’s idea, not mine, I swear. I didn’t have a choice, I just go where I’m told. I’m not getting paid enough for this.’
‘Name?’ Connie demanded.
‘Kev,’ he said, the crying reducing to a mere snivel.
‘Okay, Kev. I’m going to take my arm away from your throat but you need to stay very still so that I can lift the hooks out of your skin with minimal damage. You’re going to stay put for the remainder of our conversation.’
He screwed his eyes tightly shut as she removed the barbed bangle, and even Connie was a little concerned about the damage, having never used it before. Fair play to her friend’s father, though, who’d designed a mostly legal weapon that could be worn as a fashion accessory. She was impressed.
Kev was left bleeding and raw but not in need of medical treatment, so that seemed reasonable.
‘Walk with me,’ she said. ‘We need to talk.’
They retraced their steps with Kev gripping his neck as if he was bleeding out.
