The Watcher

But the Ripper had pulled off what years of community vice work had failed to produce: cooperation. A sex worker from Eastern Europe she may be, but Contessa knew that this time police officers, even ones as smelly, dishevelled and desperate as Bancho, were on her side against a common enemy. They huddled in a corner as I waited for the explosion that never came; instead of kicking the detective’s butt (which I was secretly hoping for), Contessa kissed Bancho on both cheeks before returning to her dungeon.

‘I’m done here,’ Bancho said, walking up the stairs. Turning he faced me, ‘And you? You can walk home.’

Silently, I wished them good luck at catching the Ripper.

Chapter Fifteen (#u7eceafa5-3462-54de-8f93-ee5e50863b62)

Princes Street, EdinburghSunday 23 December, 3 p.m.

The boots bit into my ankles, and it was with throbbing feet that I puttered over to the side, hands flailing wildly as I tried to stay upright on the ice. The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl were singing ‘Fairytale of New York’, and it rang out around Princes Street Gardens. Connie had dragged me down to Winter Wonderland – the most romantic outdoor ice-skating rink in the world.

I’d found out that ice-skating is a dangerous business as soon as I’d started. I was certain I’d cracked my coccyx from the last fall. Jack was waving a Kielbasa sausage with sauerkraut all wrapped up in a hot-dog bun – the temptation was too much to ignore. Unable to stop, my body slammed off the barriers, every bone rattled. Winded, I reached out and snatched the sausage out of his hand.

‘Mind my fingers.’ Jack flapped his hands theatrically in the air. ‘I got mustard and ketchup – I don’t know which you prefer.’ I didn’t get the chance to find out; the hot dog was teetering on the edge of my lips when a shower of ice came down on top of us. ‘Connie!’ I screamed as she dug her blades into the ice and came to a sliding stop, shaving the top layer of the rink off and depositing most of it on Jack Deans – the residue ended up on my hot dog.

‘Whaaat?’ Her eyes widened with innocence as Jack wiped the melting chips of ice from his face. ‘When you said a friend was coming Christmas shopping with us, I thought you meant Joe – why is he here?’ Connie turned her back on Jack, ignoring him completely as she continued whining in my face. ‘He’s not coming to Lavender’s wedding, is he? Promise me he’s not coming – cos I don’t want Glasgow Joe to be in a mood, I’ve been looking forward to this wedding for ages.’

‘Lavender only set the date six weeks ago,’ I told her. (I didn’t want to point out that we had all only known her for about five minutes; it might sound like I was surprised at how little time it had taken her to become part of the group. Truth be told, I was – and a little jealous, as I wasn’t that sort of person myself.) Taking advantage of her change in mood, I was in the process of escaping, gingerly. I inched along the barrier; luckily, Jack walked beside me – anywhere he was, Connie was sure not to follow.

‘Ten quid says that by the end of today she’ll be eating out of my hand,’ he whispered to me. We both half turned and watched her skating backwards, arms stretched out like the wings of an aeroplane, the point of her tongue poking through her teeth in studied concentration. He’d raised one bet I didn’t want to win.

We left the rink. Next on the itinerary was the Edinburgh Ferris Wheel, adjacent to Sir Walter Scott’s monument in Princes Street Gardens. The shrine to Scott resembled an illuminated wedding cake – wedding cake always makes me sick, and not just because I hate fruitcake. I was trying to overcome my fear of heights by confronting it. Standing in the queue with jostling, excited teenagers, it felt like one of my dumber ideas. Connie refused to allow Jack to come on with us, hissing that he would unbalance the basket and make it unsafe, cleverly playing on my weaknesses. Her behaviour towards Jack was outrageous really; I was looking forward to getting her on my own to tick her off or bribe her. I hadn’t yet decided which tactic would be the most effective.

As soon as the wheel swung into action, I knew my scheme was flawed: fear of heights can be dangerous. I remembered reading on Wikipedia that acrophobics have the urge to throw themselves off high places despite not being suicidal – I’d soon find out if I fell into that category or not. It seemed an especially bad idea when the wheel stopped at the very top; I hadn’t noticed that the wind had got up until then. Connie leaned over the edge and the basket swung round and round. I got the same feeling when I watched the part in Carrie when she was prom queen one minute, then the next covered in pig’s blood. Everything is fine, breathe deeply and just look down, I told myself. I could see the Princes Street shoppers a hundred and fifty feet below me. They swarmed like ants in and out of stores, desperate for a last-minute bargain and oblivious to the drama of me, terrified, playing out above them. Connie was leaning out of her seat and shouting and waving.

‘Cal! Cal!’ she shouted for some reason, flailing her arms around – a lunatic oblivious to her own safety. A chill ran down my back like an ice cube. I tried to grab Connie and get her to sit down but I was afraid that any sudden movement would send her over the top of the ferris wheel. I had seen too many disaster movies; racing thoughts showed me Connie tumbling through the air until she landed, a broken doll gone from my life forever. I didn’t know that there was a feeling around that made you think that your heart could puncture your ribs at any moment – until then. A mouth as dry as a desert river bed meant I couldn’t scream her name. If loving a child gave you this much fear, I was glad I had decided to remain childless – Connie was more than enough.

Shuffling along the seat redistributed the weight in the basket, causing Connie to lean out even more. Sensing my discomfort she was playing up. ‘Cal – look up! It’s me, Connie!’ Her voice had risen by several octaves. By this time, other passengers had begun to notice she was in danger of falling. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them pointing with one hand and covering their mouths in disbelief. I’d had enough and lunged and grabbed the back of her coat, breaking two fingernails in the process. Roughly, I hauled her in.

‘What the hell are you doing? Do you have a death wish?’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I sounded just like Grandad.

‘Are you blind, Brodie?’ She took a deep breath and waited for my answer, which wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Didn’t you see him? Cal?’ She nodded expectantly, waiting for recognition as we finally got off the ride. The blank look on my face finally registered with her and she rolled her eyes at me. ‘He’s a friend of Moses’ and if we hurry we’ll catch him!’ She grabbed my arm and pulled me, leaving Jack to follow. I could tell Connie was getting on his nerves. I wasn’t sure if she was intent on getting rid of Jack, or if she truly had a crush on this Cal guy. I thought it best to check it out because there was no way she was dating a Dark Angel. I realized again I was acting like Grandad – he hated me going out with Glasgow Joe, but surely that was different?

Princes Street was still busy. Six Russians from the St Petersburg Brass Band were playing a quick march, which was exactly what Cal did when he saw us coming. I recognized him at this distance; he was the guy selling drugs with Blind Bruce in George Street outside Susie Wong’s. Oddly, a woman in her fifties held his arm. It took me a few minutes to work out that she was probably his mother – even Dark Angels have mothers.

The young man was well away by this time, but I had other plans than following a spotty youth anyway. I wanted to relive my childhood through Connie. It was a long shot, but everyone else had bought her a fantastic present and I didn’t want to look like Scrooge, so I reckoned that, if I dragged her around Jenners, with Jack behind us still, perhaps I could see what made her eyes light up. Visiting Santa had been a tradition that Mary McLennan and I had. She took me to see him on two separate Saturdays because I refused to believe he would remember what I wanted. Connie was almost as tall as me and wearing about a ton of lip gloss and I doubted I could make her go to the grotto under any circumstances. We wandered around for a little while and I tried to see enthusiasm at every opportunity – but with Kailash and Malcolm there for her every whim, and a whole new ‘family’ dancing at her feet, Connie was never going to get thrilled about a cuddly toy or a pair of slipper-socks.

Chapter Sixteen (#u7eceafa5-3462-54de-8f93-ee5e50863b62)

Princes Street, EdinburghSunday 23 December, 3.40 p.m.

The hunched babushka leaned on her walking stick, bundled up against the cold, wearing every article of clothing she owned. Her grey-coated tongue played with her false teeth. Mashing her jaws together, she moved the dentures in and out to pass the time. The Watcher sniffed and got the smell of stale urine on her – he was disgusted, but the old woman was safe from him.

Last-minute Christmas shoppers moved like shoals of fish, endlessly weaving in and out. The windows of department stores were filled with golden tinsel, and expensive dresses that would cost less than half that price in three days’ time. The babushka stood in the centre of the pavement, craning her neck, hunting for something, someone – the good citizens of Edinburgh gave her a wide berth but she’d found her mark.

The Watcher giggled to himself: Who knew that he had so much in common with peasants? Actually, on second thoughts it was an unpleasant idea.

The old woman reached out and grabbed Brodie McLennan. Clawing on her clothing, she demanded help. The babushka’s voice was guttural, low, like a cat ridding itself of a hairball. He shuddered. Her gnarled hands waved a piece of paper in front of Brodie. The Watcher squinted. It was a photograph she was brandishing – it was impossible to tell but he imagined that he knew the face.

Sniggering, as Brodie spoke slowly and deliberately, it was obvious to The Watcher that the hardhearted bitch was trying to palm the babushka off with enough money for a cup of hot chocolate and no more. Brodie raked through her pockets, coming up with some loose change, which the old woman took and secreted in her bag, but she held on tight to Brodie – this was not an end to the matter. Jack Deans tried to pull Brodie away, but Connie spotted his move; she was having none of it. Suddenly, the old woman’s plight became the most important thing in the thirteen-year-old’s life. Testily, she slapped Deans’s hand and pulled Brodie over to the babushka.

Deans pulled out a well-used wallet and handed Brodie a ten-pound note. ‘It’s really not going to work, Brodie,’ The Watcher heard him say. ‘She’s oblivious to my charms.’ Brodie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Fine – you’re right. I just think you could try a little harder.’

The Watcher smiled slowly, satisfied that Brodie had been hoodwinked – it made him feel safer. He moved in even closer. He needed crowds – it was easy to get lost in them. An electric shock passed through him as he crept nearer still. Close enough to see that Jack Deans wanted rid of the precocious brat as soon as he could. Connie was obviously cramping his style. He giggled to himself again – in a way, he was about to do Jack Deans a big favour.

The cold damp air was making Brodie’s beautiful red hair curl into a rumpled, just-crawled-out-of-bed look. The Watcher licked his lips and flexed his fingers; he was itching to make his move. He could feel his impatience growing. Closing his eyes, he centred himself – act in haste, repent at leisure. Another of his mother’s maxims. For several long seconds he breathed deeply, consciously relaxing every muscle in his body. The rattling tin broke his state. His eyes flashed open and the Salvation Army officer stepped back. She saw something that gave her pause and caused her heart to race a little; withdrawing the tin she scuttled away.

The Watcher ran, sprinted around the corner – but it was too late. Brodie, Connie, Jack Deans, and the babushka were disappearing in a taxi.

She was getting away from him – again.

Chapter Seventeen (#u7eceafa5-3462-54de-8f93-ee5e50863b62)

Danube Street Casino, EdinburghSunday 23 December, 5 p.m.

Glasgow Joe opened the front door of the casino to us, looking surprised, to say the least – and he didn’t like surprises. He always said he’d never met an assassin who did, which was fair enough. Not that he was in that line of business any more, of course – he’d given that up for me. The fact that I’d brought Jack Deans with me was obviously another source of displeasure. Joe flicked his eyes over his so-called rival, and I could almost hear him thinking that Deans was too bloody smooth by half. In fact, I’d been wondering myself whether Jack hadn’t been scrubbing himself up a bit better since he’d returned – maybe it was my imagination, but I thought his hair had fewer grey streaks in it than before.

‘What are you looking at?’ I said, ignoring the fact that he was Kailash’s partner in the casino. In spite of Kailash’s protests to the contrary, she was considering dumping the brothel end of her business and concentrating on Internet gambling while still perfecting it in the real world too. The billions-a-year in profit made from online betting was too much for her to resist – she wanted a piece of the pie and had decided to share it with Glasgow Joe. The initial income was set to their quadruple projected forecasts. Joe was going to be rich soon, very rich, but all the money in the world wouldn’t solve the problem he was clearly having seeing me with Jack.

‘Members only,’ he snarled, sticking out his hand in front of my companion. The two men stared, digging into each other. Joe’s eyes were stained with insomnia. Jack was the only one who was smiling, and he smiled like the cat that had the cream – in Joe’s mind the bastard probably had. I was annoyed at both of them – and myself.

‘I told him you wouldn’t let him just walk into your casino!’ shouted Connie, stirring from the back of the line where she was jumping with glee at the thought of Jack being blackballed. Joe was trying to teach her about good sportsmanship, something he knew little about, so, reluctantly, he stepped aside and let Jack in. It was an upmarket establishment, though. How would we explain the smelly old bag lady beside us? ‘She’s with me,’ Connie piped up, as she pushed the crone inside the hallway, obviously having fallen for whatever story she had been fed.