Watching the Ghosts Read Online Free Page A

surprised that he didn’t have more. He was good looking and from time to time Jeff had made tentative jokes about him when she was working late, almost as if he was seeking some kind of reassurance that Joe wasn’t after her slightly overweight body. At first she’d blushed and protested too much but now she didn’t even bother to comment. Joe was a colleague, that’s all, and she had no time to bother about Jeff’s insecurities.
    She stood up, curious to know whether he’d discovered anything useful, anything that might help bring the bastard to justice. But as she moved towards the door the phone on her desk began to ring so she retraced her steps and picked up the receiver.
    The woman on the other end of the line introduced herself as Melanie Hawkes and when she said they’d met at her children’s school it took Emily a few moments to place her. Then she remembered: a smartly dressed woman of medium height, slim to the point of emaciation with shoulder-length brown hair and a slightly receding chin. She also recalled Melanie’s husband, who occasionally came to meetings with her; he was in his forties with a permanent tan, well-cut hair and expensively casual clothes, the type who emanated smooth prosperity from every pore. Melanie Hawkes was nothing more than a passing acquaintance but the urgency in her voice intrigued her. So much so that she agreed to meet her the next day.
    The Builder had been watching the house. He always watched before he acted.
    It was only a day since his last intrusion but he saw no reason to wait. Not when it was all going so well. Everything was planned down to the last detail as usual. He’d toyed with the idea of changing his method but he knew that would take courage. Courage to do it while they were at home; courage to trap them there inside their safe refuge so they couldn’t escape him.
    Often at night he lay awake, imagining what it would be like to have them at his mercy, to look into their pleading eyes and feel the power he’d have over their life . . . and maybe their death.
    Perhaps one day he’d find out. One day very soon.

FOUR
    S unlight was streaming through the thin blinds at the bedroom window and Joe opened his eyes to look at the clock on the bedside table. It was time to get up but he closed his eyes again. He hadn’t managed to drop off to sleep until the early hours of the morning because the old bullet wound in his shoulder had started throbbing. It sometimes happened when he felt under pressure at work and, with The Builder stepping up his activities, he knew they had to catch the man fast before things escalated and somebody got hurt.
    He showered and dressed in record time and grabbed a slice of toast before setting off for work.
    Walking down Gallowgate, he saw a young man slumped against the doorway of a discount shop, mousy haired and pale as a ghost with a mongrel lying loyally by his side. Joe stopped and squatted down in front of the lad who watched him with wary eyes as the dog stood up, ears pricked, suddenly alert.
    â€˜You OK, mate?’ Joe asked. He could see the boy’s eyes were sunken and dark rimmed.
    â€˜Have you got a quid for a cup of tea?’ he said in a low whine.
    Joe delved in his pocket and pulled out a ten pound note. The boy’s eyes lit up.
    â€˜There’s a shelter in Tarngate . . . near the superstore. Promise me you’ll go down there. They’ll give you a bed and a hot meal.’
    The boy nodded and stretched out his hand eagerly for the money. Joe handed it over, knowing he was taking a gamble: it might be used for food and shelter but on the other hand it might buy drugs or booze. But he couldn’t pass by and do nothing. Recently he’d been toying with the possibility of helping out occasionally at the shelter run by the cathedral. Work had got in the way as usual but a voice inside him insisted that he should make more effort. Maybe one