WATCHING YOU_The gripping edge-of-the-seat thriller with a stunning twist. Read online

  Watching You

  Lynda Renham

  About the Author

  Lynda Renham’s novels are popular, fast paced and with a strong theme. She lives in Oxford UK and when not writing Lynda can usually be found wasting her time on Facebook.

  Lynda is author of the best-selling thriller novels including, Remember Me and Secrets and Lies. Her romantic comedy novels include Wedding Bels, Coconuts and Wonderbras, Phoebe Smith’s Private Blog, Pink Wellies and Flat Caps, It Had To be You, Rory’s Proposal, Fudge Berries and Frogs Knickers, Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown, Perfect Weddings and The Dog’s Bollocks.

  Lynda Renham

  The right of Lynda Renham to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  eISBN 978-1-9998299-3-3

  first edition

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Raucous Publishing 2018

  www.raucouspublishing.co.uk

  Prologue

  1st January 2000, 1 a.m.

  Her bare feet pounded the gravel, the sharp stones cutting mercilessly into her skin. The wind whipped cruelly at her hair and played with her new chiffon dress until her legs became entangled within it. She pulled herself free from the material without once slowing her pace, her heart drumming in her chest. She could hear the blood pulsating in her ears like a wild war dance. Her scalp tingled. Something had touched her. She fought back a scream. It was a branch, just a tree in the blackness of the night. Keep going. She couldn’t stop. A firework boomed and lit up the night sky. She tripped, scattering the detestable gravel. A small sob escaped her lips before she dragged herself up and continued on. Keep running. Don’t look back. An orchestra of colours exploded in the sky and lit up the tall iron gates of Manstead Manor ahead of her. She thought back to the house and nausea rose up in her gut. Soon she would smell the pungent odour of seaweed. Her heart beat a steady rhythm now. She knew the beach wasn’t far away. Excited voices and the sound of drunken laughter broke through her pulsating eardrums. People were partying on the beach. It was the beginning of something new, something exciting, a new start.

  ‘Happy Millennium,’ someone shouted.

  She tripped in her haste to reach them. Her mouth connected with cold sand, it scratched her skin.

  ‘Help me,’ she choked. ‘Please.’

  ‘Had too much?’ said a voice.

  There was laughter from a small group huddled around a camp fire.

  ‘Hold on,’ said another. The voice concerned.

  She felt someone touch her.

  ‘Fuck, she’s bleeding.’

  ‘Call the police,’ yelled another.

  There was scuffling, and someone wrapped a coat around her. It was warm and comforting.

  ‘Christ, what happened?’ he said.

  ‘Someone shot my aunt and uncle,’ she moaned, ‘I think they’re dead.’

  Chapter One

  Present day

  Ewan Galbreith sauntered into the room. He took his time before sitting down. Lionel waited and then drew a folder from his briefcase, laying it on the table between them. It was a déjà vu moment for both of them. Lionel glanced up. He thought Galbreith looked weary. There was a faint blue mark around his right eye.

  ‘What’s that?’ Lionel asked.

  Ewan sat down and touched the bruise.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said in his soft Scottish accent. ‘I walked into a door.’

  ‘Sure you did,’ said Lionel. ‘Had a hefty punch did it, that door?’

  Ewan looked out of the window. It was blowing a gale outside.

  ‘You could have brought better weather.’

  ‘Hurricane Lavinia,’ said Lionel. ‘I don’t know where they get the bloody names from.’

  Ewan turned from the window, his hard brown eyes falling on the folder.

  ‘Well?’ he said dully.

  He had no expectations these days.

  ‘They took longer to deliberate,’ said Lionel. ‘That’s why I haven’t come sooner.’

  Ewan’s expression didn’t change.

  ‘They turned me down, right?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  Ewan’s head snapped up. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘They want you to apply in six months.’

  Ewan’s lips curled into a smile.

  ‘Six months?’ he questioned.

  It was February. He could be out by the summer. It was no time at all. He’d done fourteen years and six months. He could do a bit more.

  ‘You’ll need to agree to see the psychiatrist again.’

  Ewan nodded.

  ‘I’m not guaranteeing anything Ewan, but I feel things may go in your favour at the next hearing.’

  Ewan cracked his knuckles and Lionel winced.

  ‘You can’t put a foot wrong the next six months. You know that?’

  Ewan smiled.

  ‘You’ve got to keep out of trouble.’

  ‘I always keep out of trouble.’

  Lionel pushed the papers back into his briefcase, zipped it up and said, ‘Good, because there won’t be another chance after this one.’

  Ewan walked to the door and then stopped with his hand on the door handle.

  ‘Will she be told?’

  ‘She’s asked to be made aware, yes. If you do get out, Ewan, you must not go anywhere near her, do you understand? Don’t even think her name. One wrong move and you’ll be back in here.’

  ‘Yeah sure,’ said Ewan, popping gum into his mouth.

  ‘Don’t mess this up Galbreith, you’re not out yet.’

  Ewan smiled. Six months wasn’t that long. He was well prepared.

  Chapter Two

  Fifteen years earlier

  January 2000

  She opened her eyes. Fran leaned in closer. Libby began to panic at the unfamiliar surroundings. Her body stiffened in fear while her hands grappled at the bedsheets.

  ‘Libby,’ Fran said gently.

  Libby turned her eyes to the woman who sat at her side. She was young, maybe early twenties. A neat pageboy haircut framed her face. It was a kind face and Libby relaxed slightly.

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re in Padley hospital Libby. You collapsed on the beach. I’m sergeant Fran Marshall. My colleague, Inspector Mike Magregor and I have been assigned your case.’

  Libby sat up and gripped Fran’s arm. Fran winced as her fingers pinched the flesh.

  ‘My aunt and uncle …’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ Fran said softly, carefully removing Libby’s fingers.

  Libby’s body fell back onto the bed, limp and exhausted.

  ‘Is there someone we can call? A family member?’

  Libby shook her head.

  ‘Aunty Rose and Uncle Edward were my family.’

  ‘There must be someone?’

  ‘My parents died when I was seven. I’m an only child. Aunty Rose and …’

  She broke off with a sob. Fran handed her a tissue.

  ‘They are my parents,’ Libby finished.

  ‘I need to know what you saw Libby,’ Fran said gen
tly.

  Don’t push it, Mike had warned her. She’d be in shock. Take it slowly, he’d said. This was Fran’s first big case. She was eager. There’d been other cases but nothing like this. This was going to be big. Fran could feel it in her bones.

  ‘I saw … I saw …’ began Libby. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  ‘Take your time,’ Fran said.

  ‘Are they dead?’ Libby asked, her eyes widening.

  Fran hesitated. The doctor had said if she asked it was better to tell her the truth, but still Fran hesitated. Libby stared at her.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Fran said finally.

  Libby’s clenched fists released the bedcovers and she stared up at the ceiling.

  ‘I came home,’ she recalled, her voice strained. ‘I’d been to a friend’s party …’

  ‘Laura’s party,’ nodded Fran.

  ‘We’d been celebrating. I walked back along the beach. There were lots of people. I could have phoned for a cab, but it was so exhilarating with everyone celebrating that I wanted to walk.’

  ‘What time did you arrive back at your aunt and uncle’s house?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was it before midnight?’

  ‘No, it was after. We’d celebrated the New Year.’

  ‘So it was gone midnight when you arrived at Manstead Manor?’

  Libby nodded. She rubbed her eyes. They were gritty and sore. Fran waited impatiently.

  ‘So, you reached the house. Did you see anyone?’

  ‘No,’ Libby’s voice faltered.

  ‘Don’t be scared Libby. No one can hurt you.’

  Libby was silent.

  Fran swallowed, took a deep breath, and said.

  ‘You entered the house. Can you describe what you saw?’

  Libby closed her eyes.

  ‘There was music playing … I remember my shoes were covered in sand, so I took them off before going in.’

  She hesitated. Fran waited. Best not to push it, she thought. But she was eager, desperate to hear.

  ‘I went into the hall,’ Libby said slowly. ‘I heard voices from the morning room. I started walking towards it and …’

  ‘Take your time,’ said Fran while desperately wanting to hurry her.

  Libby squeezed her eyes shut.

  ‘Aunty Rose started screaming and then I heard a shot. It deafened me. I was scared. I pushed the door open and saw a man shoot my uncle in the back and …’

  Libby broke off and opened her eyes. She was struggling to breathe.

  Fran clasped her hand.

  ‘It’s alright, Libby.’

  ‘I slipped on the floor. There was blood everywhere.’

  Her hands shook and the bed quivered under her trembling body. Fran wondered if she should call a nurse. She was reluctant. She’d wait just a few more minutes.

  ‘The man that shot your uncle, Libby, did you see his face?’

  Libby bit her lip until it bled.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ she said.

  Fran fought back a sigh. Libby was just a kid, best not to push it. There was time.

  ‘So you ran. You ran to the beach?’

  Libby nodded and clenched her fists.

  ‘Did the man with the shotgun follow you?’

  ‘I don’t know, I can’t remember,’ Libby said getting agitated. ‘I couldn’t think clearly. All I could see were their bodies and I kept thinking I should go back, to try and save them, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I ran to the beach.’

  ‘You saw no one else?’

  Libby shook her head.

  ‘Where do I go now?’ she asked.

  Fran hesitated. Jesus, this was a tough one.

  ‘I think your uncle’s lawyer is coming to see you later today. William Grant, you know him, right?’

  Libby nodded.

  ‘Yes.’

  The nurse swished back the curtain and strapped a blood pressure monitor on Libby’s arm. Fran excused herself, promising to return the next day. Once outside she pulled her mobile from her bag and called Mike.

  ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

  He seemed distant, disinterested. It didn’t bother Fran. She’d come to know Mike well over the past ten months. He was most likely going over a report at the same time. She couldn’t remember Mike ever doing just one thing at a time.

  ‘Poor cow,’ said Fran. The chill of the January air stung her face, but it made her feel alive and she was grateful for that.

  ‘Yeah, we know that much,’ said Mike.

  ‘She saw the killer,’ Fran said, unlocking the door of her Mini. Her fingers felt like icicles. ‘She won’t say who it was, but I feel sure she recognised the murderer. I could tell by her body language. I’m sure once she feels safe she’ll say who it was.’

  Mike seemed to perk up.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t suppose she described him, did she?’

  ‘I never said it was a man,’ said Fran pulling the car door shut and blowing on her hands. How did Mike manage to be one up on her all the time?

  ‘Apparently, Ewan Galbreith was overheard threatening to take a shotgun to Edward Owen just a few hours before. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was him she saw.’

  ‘Ewan Galbreith?’ questioned Fran. ‘But wasn’t he the one …?’

  ‘Yup, the gamekeeper. It’s like those thriller novels you devour. It’s always the gamekeeper isn’t it?’

  Chapter Three

  Present day (six months later)

  He looked at the wallet and pushed it into his pocket. Any minute they would open the door, any minute now. The seconds felt like hours before the iron door’s hinges shrieked and finally, shielding his eyes against the sunlight, he stepped outside. There was no one to meet him. Why would there be? His sister, Dianne, had the kids. It was difficult to get away, she’d said. A taxi driver waved. He probably did this all the time.

  ‘Ewan?’ questioned the driver.

  Ewan nodded.

  ‘14 New Road is the address I’ve been given. Is that right?’

  Ewan nodded again and threw his suitcase into the boot. He looked back, expecting someone to bark at him, telling him not to go any further.

  ‘You getting in then?’ asked the driver.

  ‘Yeah,’ mumbled Ewan.

  ‘All different,’ muttered the cabbie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Some of you can’t stop talking while some of you look dazed. How long did you do?’

  It was his whole life. His whole miserable fucking life, that’s how long.

  ‘Fifteen years,’ he said.

  ‘A long stretch then,’ said the driver, starting the engine. ‘You’ve got a lot to catch up on. Made any plans?’

  Oh yes, he thought. He’d been making plans for the past five thousand four hundred and seventy-five days. He’d thought of nothing else apart from what he would do when he got out. It had kept him going, got him through the darkest days.

  ‘Got a job lined up?’ asked the cabbie.

  Ewan didn’t answer. What business was it of his? Dianne had got him sorted.

  ‘For a short time,’ she’d said. ‘Greg needs someone to help out at the garage. It won’t pay a fortune but still it’s …’ she’d trailed off.

  ‘I don’t know much about mechanics’ he’d admitted. He knew he’d sounded ungrateful. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to make a job for him. It couldn’t have been easy for them.

  ‘You won’t get a gamekeeper job, Ewan. Not after what happened,’ Dianne had said. ‘Just give it a go,’ she’d pleaded.

  It would tide him over. But he had plans. He hadn’t spent fifteen years doing nothing. He just needed time to adjust and then he’d be ready.

  He pushed his hand into his jacket pocket. It felt rough and unfamiliar. He had to pull it tight to zip it up. He was heavier now. He had worked out daily. They passed a retail park, but he didn’t recognise it. Everything was different. He looked at his hands. They were sh
aking. Had they told her? Was she thinking about him now? He clenched his fists tightly to steady the shaking.

  ‘Can you stop at a pharmacy?’ he said.

  ‘You alright mate?’ the cabbie asked, looking at him through the rear-view mirror.

  Ewan unclenched his fists.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, looking out of the window.

  They drove through the town of Padley. It was mid-morning. There was no one around. Later it would be packed with holidaymakers. They’d be queuing outside the fish and chip shop, except he realised the fish and chip shop was no longer there, it was a McDonald’s.

  ‘Look different?’ said the cabbie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ewan.

  ‘Nothing stays the same does it?’

  ‘Do you know what happened at Manstead Manor?’ asked Ewan, meeting the cabbie’s eyes in the mirror.

  ‘Everyone around here knows what happened at Manstead.’

  Ewan continued to stare at him. The cabbie fidgeted under Ewan’s piercing look. Ewan didn’t have to tell him who he was. His hollow brown eyes told the cabbie everything.

  Chapter Four

  Present day

  Libby

  ‘Can’t I see a photo of him?’ I ask.

  Merlin claws the couch and I make a hissing sound at him.

  ‘What was that?’ asks Fran.

  ‘I’m trying to train the cat.’

  Fran laughs. It breaks the tension.

  ‘Look Libby, I’m not allowed to show you a photo of him. I do understand how you’re feeling …’

  ‘Do you?’ I interrupt.

  How can anyone know what I’m feeling? Every night I close my eyes and I see his. I hear him calling my name.

  ‘Libby, you knew this day would come.’

  ‘I know,’ I say resigned.

  I jump as a motorbike backfires outside the flat. My hands tremble. I check the locks on the door for the tenth time.

  ‘If there is anything that worries you, anything at all, you know you can phone me. It doesn’t matter what the time is. Will you promise to do that?’