The Watcher

The Watcher
Grace Monroe

When a twisted serial killer starts to prey upon the city’s vulnerable women, the media quickly dub him The Edinburgh Ripper. But when he gets closer to her own family, lawyer Brodie McLennan must fight to unmask him.Four days before Christmas, a young woman's body is found in a ditch in the grounds of Edinburgh Castle, the discovery rendered even more terrifying by the message 'More Will Die' written on her body in blood. Soon, the prophecy is fulfilled, more young women disappear - all redheads - their bodies later found bludgeoned to death, their feet severed.Quickly dubbed 'The Edinburgh Ripper', the murders bring the city to its knees. It might be the season of goodwill but its citizens live in fear of becoming the latest victim.Headstrong young lawyer Brodie McLennan teams up with DI Duncan Bancho in an effort to discover the identity of this warped killer. Soon, their investigations uncover a ring of human traffickers, selling Eastern European women as sex slaves, a depraved group called the ‘Hobbyists’ and a clandestine internet chat room.Unbeknownst to Brodie, the killer's web is spinning ever closer to her and her teenaged half sister Connie, recently back in her life. When Connie is reported missing, Brodie must quickly uncover the Ripper's identity - before her own flesh and blood becomes the latest victim.

GRACE MONROE

The Watcher

Copyright (#u7eceafa5-3462-54de-8f93-ee5e50863b62)

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

AVON

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollinsPublishers 2008

Copyright © Grace Monroe 2008

Grace Monroe asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9781847560421

Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780007287628

Version: 2018-05-29

From Maria:

For my Mum and Dad who taught me what it is to be loved.

From Linda:

For Paul – who knows what matters.

Contents

Cover (#u52fa3f28-1285-5cbb-9679-26ee10c862f3)Title Page (#u0b9b4e59-681c-5b41-be1d-85b36ebf4986)Copyright (#u296b09fe-a958-58b0-901d-0c4b5215038a)Prologue (#u6caa7166-9933-5f13-87ac-eabc6cbca676)Chapter One (#ua71f7307-e438-5341-b01d-235737e7f1fb)Chapter Two (#u9ba8c951-3fc1-51e8-9d68-0a98b251c1a4)Chapter Three (#u447e732f-f736-5c24-82d5-9970c196e8a0)Chapter Four (#u8b744344-8e40-5d5e-a0b0-2f71b7621eb0)Chapter Five (#u48cfac0b-6184-504a-9e33-3fafe84d33df)Chapter Six (#u9463c368-1642-5e9b-a37d-169c60cbbc90)Chapter Seven (#u09a9a8fa-7669-5a25-bf73-9d3f549810b4)Chapter Eight (#u0c18c876-19c8-544f-8d2c-89d7cc7c4e79)Chapter Nine (#u45ebe625-99e8-5e05-b633-d9cbbf97f8f9)Chapter Ten (#u3afe8fbb-543b-572d-a722-0f19d9d9e736)Chapter Eleven (#u046ca102-4671-5944-81b8-776b87c04a6a)Chapter Twelve (#ub4651320-ef72-53e4-b808-1ac138a96673)Chapter Thirteen (#ubf517612-3b06-56c2-8b93-e2db65a808b7)Chapter Fourteen (#uaea9bcd0-5101-5e4f-baac-27715dccf0fb)Chapter Fifteen (#u2820aad4-5490-5150-a4df-3aa507b7a864)Chapter Sixteen (#u84827996-275e-5fbb-9636-6ae02e4a447f)Chapter Seventeen (#u579bd697-639e-5b29-8fe8-95e62327be66)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue (#u7eceafa5-3462-54de-8f93-ee5e50863b62)

Edinburgh CastleFriday 21 December

When Katya Waleski stepped out of the Great Hall at Edinburgh Castle, she had less than fifteen minutes to live.

The castle ramparts were bitter but the chill went deeper than her bones. The north wind whipped and bit her bare shoulders; she shivered – not simply because of the temperature.

Her companion removed his custom-made evening jacket and placed it around her shoulders. Katya lengthened her spine like a cat and purred, more aware of the role she was playing than the man was of the performance he was receiving. Her wine glass was slippery with condensation; it almost fell out of her hand. Her usual poise had deserted her.

Katya gazed into his eyes, showing him white even teeth; for once the smile left her lips. The champagne bubbles tickled her nose, languorously she twirled her curls; it was not often she got paid to enjoy herself. Katya closed her eyes. For a few long seconds she held her breath as she savoured the champagne.

The biting north wind cut through her hair, a country girl. The stars shone in an almost cloudless black sky, the moonlight reflected off the snow, giving the castle battlements an eerie glow. It was difficult to walk on the cobbled stones; they were icy underfoot and the meltwater crept through her satin sandal. It was hard to keep her footing so she held on tightly to the arm of her escort.

She scanned the castle walls, peering into the shadows. Could she feel eyes upon her from somewhere in the distance? Katya was used to being ogled but this surely felt … different. A lone piper circled the half-moon battery, welcoming late comers to the ceilidh, serenading the lovers who sought intimacy in the ancient nooks and crannies of the castle.

Katya quivered at the caterwaul. You had to have the blood of the Celts in your veins to be stirred by such a noise. The lament merely made the fine hairs at the base of her neck stand on end.

The wind had picked up, and it blew a solitary cloud across the moon, the dense ground cover that hid his static body began to crackle and bend. Branches scratched his cheeks, his jaw tightened and his neck stiffened as the gale began to howl. He could see the clouds rolling in over the River Forth. It was going to snow. He rubbed his leg to ease the paralysing cramp.

The first flake fell.

Didn’t that just say it all, though? A snowstorm whilehe froze his ass off waiting for that bitch.

The Watcher dug himself in deeper; something large scuttled by his ear. They say in Edinburgh you are never more than thirteen feet from a rat. He disciplined his mind to ignore the different types of creepy-crawlies, which might, at this very moment, be crawling their way up his spine or nesting in his ears.

His eyes followed a couple as they left the castle early. The man staggered and leant on the railing of the wooden bridge; clutching on to the rails, the gentleman spewed his guts out. Flaming torches illuminated the massive stone statues of Scotland’s guardians – Wallace and Bruce looked down disapprovingly. Were these Protectors judging the drunk, who was now failing to heed the ‘don’t drink and drive’ warnings, or were they judging him? He sniggered at the thought.

The Watcher knows death stalks the castle ramparts.

‘The lovers,’ he spat out the words, were strolling hand in hand towards the battlements, their heads nestling together like two turtle doves. The man’s hand crept underneath the jacket and fondled her tight, high buttocks; he inched the dress up over her hip, and stroked her silky smooth skin. The Watcher held his breath. His tongue crept out of the side of his mouth, like a ravenous dog’s, flecks of spit formed at the corner of his mouth. With a life of its own, The Watcher’s cock stiffened, uncomfortably; he was forced to shift positions; the bed of leaves rustled beneath his weight.

With eyes only for each other, Katya and her beau strolled towards the cannons overlooking Johnston Terrace. ‘Love is blind’ hissed The Watcher. Using his top-of-the-range German night-vision goggles, and aided by the light reflected off the snow, The Watcher had a perfect view. He settled himself down to enjoy the show.

It’s freezing but Katya was hot; The Watcher could almost see the sheen of sweat on her skin as he licked his dry lips. She seductively slipped her lover’s jacket from her shoulders, mindful of the fact it cost more than she earns in three months, and she handed it back to him.

The Watcher held his breath as she used her lovely white teeth to undo her lover’s zip; the jacket is placed on his arm as he leant against the cannon to appreciate his girl. The red silk evening gown slipped easily from her shoulders, revealing full high virgin breasts; her head fell back in ecstasy. A tiny black dragon is tattooed near her nipple; it catches The Watcher’s throat when he recognizes it as Mushu, the dragon from Mulan. He shook his head – it would not save her tonight.