The Watcher - Grace Monroe

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      ‘That girl there looks Eastern European,’ he said, squinting his eyes at her. The one he was talking about was a stunning dominatrix who would have been at least six feet tall in her fishnet-stocking soles. Tonight she wore over-the-knee latex boots with seven-inch heels. I winced when I saw the nipple clamps.

      ‘Contessa.’ Kailash beckoned the girl, who flicked the black eight-tongued whip over her client’s butt before she left the cell. He squealed and I looked twice at him. I thought I recognized him, but it was hard to make out his features. He squirmed in the corner, presenting his naked, flaccid butt – Joe shuddered and I couldn’t blame him.

      Contessa, gripping the whip, marched over to her employer. ‘He wants a word with you,’ Kailash inclined her head in DI Bancho’s direction, and then started to laugh softly with Joe. I’d met her before – she was notoriously bad-tempered and born for this sort of work. It was unlikely that any attempt at questioning by the police would go down well.

      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

      Princes Street, Edinburgh Sunday 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

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