Her Watchful Eye

by Julie Corbin

Genres: Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

The gripping new thriller from the author of What Goes Around and Do Me No Harm.

Do you ever feel that prickle on the back of your neck, as though someone's watching you?

Someone is watching Hannah. Her name is Ruby, and her job as CCTV operative means she can follow Hannah everywhere she goes.

It's against the law, but Ruby is willing to do whatever is necessary to keep Hannah safe. And there's no harm in just watching. Until just watching isn't enough....

So the next time you get that feeling, and you think you're alone...think again.

Release date: June 28, 2018

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 352

Sample

Prison isn’t as she imagines it. Nobody corners her in the shower or spits on her food. She’s allowed to read, send emails, write letters. They have daily computer time when they surf the net to their hearts’ content. And twice a week they are allowed visitors.

While she awaits trial she sleeps in the Vulnerable Prisoners Unit and that means she’s kept apart from most of the other women, the ones who have sold drugs or sold themselves or burgled one time too many. At meal and recreation times, all the women are supervised together, including the violent offenders, but still they are mostly wary of her; some even give her a nod and she senses respect. As if she could harm a fly. As if she’s ever so much as killed a spider. She used to scoop stray spiders onto card or paper, and ease them onto the garage floor, where she watched them scuttle off into the shadows to make themselves a home. She would open the window wider for wasps and shoo them outside. She once nursed a half-frozen hedgehog back to life with a pipette of warm milk and a hot-water bottle.

The prison officers aren’t unkind to her, but they make their expectations clear. She needs to fall in with the routine because she has no power in prison. She’s not special, she is nothing and no one, and her job is to conform. She’s done more than her fair share of troublemaking, so while she’s on the inside, she answers to whichever officer is on duty.

The first week passes in a blur of fear and favour. She doesn’t have time to think too much because she’s busy living moment by moment, learning how best to survive, who to please and who to stand up to.

It’s the beginning of the second week when the feeling creeps up on her. At first, she barely registers the sound of the door locks sliding into place – bolt, screw and rock-hard metal, keeping her inside her cell. But on the eighth night, panic rises like a cold-water bath inside her chest. She clutches at her throat; she begins to shallow pant, and then to scream: high-pitched, the sound of the insane, the grief-stricken, the dying, and it’s loud enough to draw the duty officer.

‘It’s a panic attack,’ the officer tells her. ‘Calm down. You’ll be fine.’

No sympathy, no time in the health centre. Because prisoners having panic attacks – this is routine too. Run-of-the-mill anguish.

Her cellmate is called Tiffany. She has red-rimmed eyes and the keen expression of someone on the lookout for the next trick. She watches her fall to the floor and pass out but she doesn’t move to help.

‘There’s no air in here,’ she says to Tiffany when morning comes and she’s lived through another night. ‘There’s no air,’ she repeats. ‘I can’t breathe the way I used to. And it’s not fair. It’s all a mistake!’ she rushes on. ‘I should have known. I should have guessed and then I would have stopped her.’ Her voice catches on a cry. ‘If I’d known. If only I’d known.’

‘Should have could have would have,’ Tiffany says, running the words together. ‘If only this if only that.’ She speaks loudly as if conversing with the hard of hearing. ‘You think too much.’ She taps her forehead. ‘You have to get your head in the game.’

She nods her thanks because this is what she needs to hear. She wants to – needs to – get a grip, to stop the slide into despair because this doesn’t have to be her fate. She doesn’t have to be in here. She could get out, couldn’t she? The door would slide open and the guard would say, ‘You’re free to go.’

Free to go. The words alone give a lift to her heart.

She just needs to tell the truth.

Her mobile rings as she’s running across the road. ‘Ruby, get me a coffee, will you?’ Lennie asks. ‘An Americano.’

‘You’ve not gone and broken the machine again?’

‘Not me. Not this time.’

‘Who then?’

‘No one’s fessin’ up. But it’s fit for the knacker’s yard anyway.’

‘Okay.’ She’s late, breathless, feels fit for the knacker’s yard herself. ‘But I’m not sure I’ll be able to—’

‘You’re twenty metres from Caroline’s Coffee.’

She laughs and stares up, past the tops of traffic lights and lampposts, blinking as a drop of rain lands in her eye, before she focuses on the camera attached to the outermost edge of the tenement. She stretches her arm out above her head in the direction of the camera and aggressively raises her middle finger.

Lennie chuckles. ‘Now, now. Keep it clean. And mind the old lady.’

She moves to the edge of the pavement to allow a woman on a disability scooter to hurtle by. ‘Could you stop watching me now, please?’

‘Keep walking.’ He’s urging her on. ‘That’s it. Push open the door.’

‘You know I’m already late?’

‘Aye. And not for the first time. But don’t worry, I’ll cover for you.’

‘Has he arrived, then?’

‘He’s warming up his iPad as we speak,’ Lennie says. ‘See you in ten.’

‘Two Americanos,’ she says to the girl behind the counter. ‘Both to take away.’

‘Can I interest you in our reduced sandwiches and muffins?’ She points them out at the front of the counter. ‘Take a rest from cooking tonight.’

‘I’ve been asleep all day,’ Ruby says. ‘I’m on my way to work.’

‘Night shift? You a nurse, then?’

It’s a fair assumption with a hospital close by and Ruby dressed in her comfy flats and navy trousers. But nevertheless – assumptions, Ruby thinks, make an ass out of you and me.

The girl starts to tell her about how her mum is also a nurse and has worked nights her whole life. ‘Do you often work nights?’

‘Almost always,’ Ruby says. ‘It’s antisocial but it suits me.’ It’s not only hospitals that are open at night. She could be a shelf-stacker or a firefighter, an office cleaner or a lorry driver. Or she could still be a police officer.

She pays for the coffees, buys half a dozen muffins too – might mitigate her lateness – and walks the final few hundred metres to work. The entry door is made of a hard redwood, weathered into a dirty grey that blends in with the stonework, belying the fact that the door is reinforced with steel through its centre and only opens with the right sort of electronic persuasion – a thumb on the keypad followed by a six-digit code, a safeguard that was put in place two years ago when the CCTV centre moved premises.

Her hands full, she presses the entryphone with her elbow and shouts, ‘Let me in somebody! I’ve got muffins!’

Within thirty seconds the door swings open and Lennie’s standing there. She hands him his coffee. ‘Has the meeting started?’ she says.

‘No, I told him you had a doctor’s appointment.’ Lennie walks behind her down the stairs into the bowels of the building. ‘I whispered it to him so that he’d get the vibe it was private and wouldn’t ask you for any details.’

‘Cheers for tempting fate,’ Ruby says, opening her locker. ‘Couldn’t you have said my boiler was broken or something?’

‘I can’t come up with a lie as quickly as you can.’

He’s got a point. She tosses her bag inside the locker and runs a brush through her hair, four strokes and she’s finished. ‘Do we know why he’s here?’

‘He hasn’t said, but when does management ever appear with good news?’ He swigs a mouthful of coffee. ‘Bugger me, that’s hot!’

‘It’ll be more cutbacks.’ Ruby uses her pinkie finger to rub Vaseline across her lips, then slams the locker door shut. ‘I bet they’re not replacing Jim.’

The whole team are gathered in the control room – all ten of them. There aren’t enough seats so several are balanced on the edges of desks. Some of them half smile as Ruby comes into the room but most are too tense to acknowledge her. The lights are on, a rare occurrence as darkness makes it easier to watch the CCTV feeds. Dark but never silent, what with the constant buzz of machinery and the intermittent chatter of the police radio.

On the front wall, six huge, square screens are divided into grids with nine views to each screen. One of the screens has been hijacked by their boss Alan ‘call me Al’ Magnusson and the words ‘Moving Forward with Spectra’ shimmer on the screen in bold, red caps. There are three fingers in the CCTV pie: police, council and for the last two years Spectra, a management company that has profitability at the heart of its decision-making. The money is pooled and services rendered but as far as Ruby is concerned most initiatives boil down to the fact that nobody wants any of the costs coming out of their budget.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Ruby says. She hands the bag of muffins to Fiona, a wide-eyed trainee. ‘Help yourself and pass them along.’ Instantly Fiona presses the bag into Freddie’s hands, as if it’s a game of pass the parcel and she’s terrified the music might stop.

‘Good to see you, Ruby,’ Al shouts across the room.

‘And you, sir,’ Ruby hears herself replying and immediately makes a where-did-that-come-from face at Lennie. Sometimes she slips back in time, finds herself in police mode. Once a copper …

‘I know a visit from head office fills you all with dread but’ – Al pauses to smile – ‘rest easy, the news is mostly good. Let’s start by reminding ourselves of our recent successes.’ He moves his finger across his iPad, and the screen on the wall reacts at once. The red lettering slides off to one side and a multicoloured productivity graph appears. ‘So … what have we done well this quarter?’ He glances around as if expecting an answer before providing one himself. ‘Three investigations are moving forward on the strength of our CCTV evidence. That makes it ten so far this year.’

‘I thought it was more than that,’ Freddie says. His arms are folded and he’s frowning. ‘Nearer twenty.’

‘These are accurate figures,’ Al says. ‘But we can talk about it later, Freddie, if you like?’

Freddie stares down at his feet and shakes his head.

‘Okay,’ Al says. ‘Let’s move on.’ He tells them about recent company plans for expansion, goes over health and safety concerns and then, just as the fidgeting starts, he raises his voice and says, ’Whenever we get together, it’s a good time to remind ourselves of current legislation.’ He takes a significant breath before reading from his iPad screen: ‘Camera operators are obliged to obtain authorisation from senior managers under strict surveillance rules set out in the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Scotland Act 2000 before tracking individuals.’

Silence.

‘As you know, there have been some issues in other parts of the UK, notably Greater Manchester, where an operator is being prosecuted for using CCTV to stalk his ex-wife.’ This time there is a rumble of assent.

‘Been on the news,’ Lennie says.

‘Following your children home from school, doing some window shopping, or worse’ – not much imagination is required for what could be deemed as worse so he doesn’t elaborate – ‘is directed surveillance without due cause and as such is illegal.’

Several people are avoiding eye contact and Lennie whispers into Ruby’s ear, ‘No comment.’

‘So … Some of you might be wondering whether we’re planning any redundancies over the next quarter? The answer is that we’re not. We can all relax. I include myself in that.’ He holds the palm of his hand against his chest. ‘None of us are exempt.’

Everyone breathes easy and Lennie mouths at Ruby, ‘Man of the people,’ while Freddie mutters, ‘He could have told us that from the get-go.’

‘Productivity is up. Staff relations exemplary. Give yourselves a round of applause.’

Most people put their hands together for a few seconds of half-hearted clapping, and when it ends Freddie says, ‘We’ll be getting a pay rise, then?’

‘Not this quarter,’ Al says. ‘But it is management’s intention to review all salaries next April.’

‘Thought as much.’ Freddie stares round at his colleagues to see whether anyone will follow him into battle. Nobody does. ‘Keep the profits for the shareholders,’ he says, resigned. ‘Nothing changes.’

‘Finally.’ Al glances across at Ruby and Lennie. ‘As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, we’re not going to be replacing Jim. And as this only affects the night shift, if the rest of you want to head off before the rain gets any heavier, then feel free.’

He doesn’t have to say it twice and Ruby gets out of the day shift’s way while they gather their belongings. She goes into the toilet and sits on the loo with her eyes shut. The coffee’s gone right through her, she’s got her period and her head hurts. And then there’s the business of why she was late. Why? Why? ‘Torturing yourself has become a habit,’ she says out loud. ‘You need to get a handle on it, Ruby Romano. Soon. Now, in fact. Now. Now, Ruby. Now, for fuck’s sake.’ She passes the palm of her hand in front of the flush button and comes out of the loo. Fiona is standing there.

‘I was just … I mean, I was …’

‘Don’t mind me, Fiona,’ Ruby says. She makes a face at herself in the mirror and sighs. ‘My advice, Fiona, for what it’s worth, is live life to the full. Carpe diem. Because before you know it, you’ll be thirty-nine, staring at your ageing face in the mirror and wondering what happened to your life.’

‘That’s what my mum says.’

‘I rest my case.’ Ruby smiles at her. ‘Mums are never wrong.’

She leaves the bathroom and joins Lennie and Al, who are standing in the control room. They are in mid-conversation and Ruby can see that Lennie is already frustrated, his fingers tapping against the side of his thigh.

‘I’m not convinced, Al,’ Lennie is saying. ‘Joints are beginning to creak.’

‘Jim has been on sick leave for six months and it hasn’t affected your productivity.’

‘You can’t say that.’

‘I just have. And I’m right. You know why? Because on almost every occasion this year when the police have asked us for corroborating CCTV evidence, we have been able to give it to them.’

‘Almost being the operative word,’ Lennie says, and his fingers stop tapping as his hands fly up from his sides to help him do the talking. ‘Because that’s not the whole story, is it? Surely part of what we’re here for is to observe patterns, and for that you need to watch certain areas’ – he points towards the screens – ‘not just have the camera recording in case you need it, but actually watch what’s happening, as it’s happening.’ His hands move sharply downwards, emphasising the words.

‘The criminals aren’t daft,’ Ruby says, adding her voice to Lennie’s. ‘They know how to outsmart us. And it stands to reason that three people can watch more feeds than two can.’

‘But the cameras don’t need to be actively watched, Ruby. That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? As long as they’re pointing in the direction that’s most likely to yield results, those recordings can be called upon later. It’s a win-win.’

‘I’m talking about crime prevention,’ Lennie says. ‘Proactive not reactive.’

‘I hear you, Lennie.’ Al glances at his watch. ‘It’s the wife’s birthday so I’m going to have to get going.’ Lennie tosses a dismissive hand in his direction and Al turns to Ruby. ‘How are you holding up?’

Ruby’s eyes widen. ‘What?’

‘Losing Grant. I know it’s been four months now but I also know that four months is nothing.’

His tone is sympathetic but still his words are like a sudden slap in the face, the harsh hand of reality reminding her that beyond these four walls her life is sad and lonely and more than just a little bit desperate. Work is her saviour. Work is a Grant-free zone, somewhere she can shut out the memories because Grant never came to the CCTV centre and she never saw him on camera. He didn’t work in town. Glasgow was his stomping ground when she first met him, and after they became a couple Glasgow remained his stomping ground. They only set up home in Edinburgh because she worked here.

Tears.

She feels them trickle down onto her cheeks and she’s not happy about it. She turns away from Al and presses firm fingers against her eyelids before she looks back and says, ‘Thanks, Al. I appreciate that.’

‘Cancer, wasn’t it?’

Her throat is a bottleneck. She tries to speak but no words come; her mouth opens and closes like an oxygen-starved fish.

‘My mother had cancer,’ Al is saying. ‘There was nothing anyone could have done but we were still left with that terrible sense of loss.’

Ruby clears her throat with a sound that’s a cross between a sob and a cough. ‘You’re …’ She tries to assemble her thoughts but they’re ballooning away from her, fragments of sentences that she can barely catch hold of. ‘… being able to … It’s just that … I miss … It’s just …’ – God help her – she’s turned into Fiona. Serves her right for her smart-arse advice in the loo just now. As if she’s qualified to give anyone advice, even a nervous trainee like Fiona.

‘I was sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral.’

‘That’s … Grant’s mother wanted …’ She trails off, looks to Lennie for help.’

‘The funeral was private,’ Lennie says. ‘Just close family.’

‘I got the flowers,’ Ruby adds. ‘Thank you.’

Al’s eyes are soft. ‘I know you refused the option of compassionate leave, Ruby, but you can still change your mind.’

She forces in a huge breath and when she breathes out she manages to say, ‘I’m better when I’m at work,’ and follows it with a mock salute. ‘Onwards and upwards.’

‘Good for you.’ Al pulls her in for a hug. ‘But remember to let yourself grieve when you need to.’

Ruby leans into him. She can’t help herself. It’s not that she fancies him – his physicality is simply an invitation to be held. Ruby lives alone and days can go by without anyone touching her. She closes her eyes and rests her head against his chest, and when after a few seconds Al moves away, she catches Lennie’s eye. Judging. Dubious. What the …? written across his face.

‘Management doesn’t take either of you for granted,’ Al is saying. ‘Ruby, Lennie – you’re the stars of the show. Don’t think we don’t know that.’ He packs his iPad into his suitcase. ‘How’s Fiona shaping up?’

‘Scared of her own footprint on the ground,’ Lennie says.

‘Give her time,’ Ruby says, suddenly sure that standing up for Fiona is akin to standing up for herself. ‘I think she’ll improve.’

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ Lennie says.

‘She just needs to build her confidence.’ Ruby looks at Al. ‘She’s about to start on the night rotation, isn’t she?’

‘She is. She’ll cover each of your nights off.’ He walks along the corridor and up the stairs to the exit; Lennie and Ruby follow him. ‘See whether she can tick off a couple more learning objectives from her training folder.’

‘Will do,’ Ruby says. She much prefers working with Lennie but as senior members of staff they work a rota and don’t normally have the same nights off.

‘And be sure to get in touch if you have any concerns.’ He glances back at them before climbing into his car. ‘You have my number.’

They watch him start the engine and listen to the low growl of excess horsepower as the car pulls away from the kerb. ‘He’s upgraded his car since he was last here,’ Lennie says. ‘While we’ – he shuts the door with a loud slam – ‘we are the victims of our own success.’ He stares at Ruby and frowns. ‘And could you have got any further up his arse?’

‘What?’

‘I know you’re recently widowed, Ruby, but …’ He shakes his head at her, a disappointed dad. ‘I was watching your face. Transparent as bloody cling film. And him a married man.’

‘Actually, Lennie. Actually …’ She trails off. Why can’t she just admit to needing a hug? Why was being honest so often beyond her? ‘He was being kind! What was I supposed to do? Push him away?’

‘It was the look on your face.’

‘For a man of forty-five you sound like a granddad sometimes.’ She pushes his shoulder. ‘He does have well-defined muscles, though, should you be interested.’

‘Protein shakes,’ he says. ‘Bad for the kidneys, so I hear.’

They come into the control room and turn off the lights. Edinburgh’s darkening skies bear down on the city. Streetlamps light up pavements and roads, from nook to cranny, and all points in between. ‘Any requests from the police?’ Ruby asks.

‘They want us to keep an eye on those lads who’ve been hanging around Cockburn Street,’ Lennie says. ‘I can do that.’

‘Okay.’

A hush descends between them as they concentrate on work. Ruby settles into her seat, puts on her headset so that she can hear the police chatter, and stares up at the screens on the wall before deciding where to focus her attention. It’s half past six on a Thursday evening. People are heading home, spilling out of shops and offices onto shiny wet pavements. The rain is heavier now and umbrellas are going up. Ruby sees what appears to be a disturbance taking place at the west end of George Street and with a few strokes of her keypad she brings two camera feeds down onto the spot screens in front of her. She uses the joystick to vary the camera angle, and zoom in on the three youths who are pushing each other. It quickly becomes apparent that they’re not being aggressive, just testing their strength, laughing as they nudge one another off the pavement. No need for Ruby to be concerned.

Lennie catches her eye. ‘Look.’ He points to his screen. ‘It’s the old guy from a couple of weeks ago.’

Ruby swivels her chair around so that she can see Lennie’s spot screen. An elderly man, barefoot and wearing pyjamas, is weaving his way along the street. Lennie briefly zooms in to catch the expression on his face – confusion battling with intense deliberation. ‘Bless his heart,’ Ruby says. ‘He’s getting soaked.’ She picks up the phone. ‘I remember the ward he was in. I’ll give them a call.’

Lennie flicks the switch on his headset to talk to the community police and direct them to the man’s whereabouts, while Ruby calls the ward. ‘One of your patients,’ she tells the nurse. ‘He’s about a hundred metres from the hospital entrance. Almost in front of the cinema. And he’s barefoot.’ The nurse thanks her and Ruby ends the call, watching the screen as the police arrive, closely followed by two nurses who are running along the pavement, holding on to the pockets of their uniforms as they run.

‘Mission accomplished,’ Lennie says, as the man is redirected into the back of the police car. ‘I thought he was in one of the locked wards?’

‘He must be finding ways around it.’

‘Hats off.’

‘The human spirit.’

‘We’ve all got to go down fighting.’

‘Do not go gentle into that good night …’ Ruby says, trailing off.

‘… Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’ Lennie smiles across at her. ‘Dylan Thomas. You’ll have to try harder than that to catch me out.’

Ruby laughs and stretches her arms towards the ceiling. ‘Coffee?’ she asks.

‘It’ll have to be tea,’ Lennie reminds her.

‘I’ll see if there are any muffins left.’

‘Freddie went off with the bag!’ Lennie shouts after her. ‘You know what he’s like for a freebie.’

‘Greedy bugger!’ Ruby says. She goes into the kitchen to find that the coffee machine really is broken. It’s in half a dozen pieces on the work surface. Two of the pieces are bent out of shape as if someone tried to fix it and didn’t know their own strength. Ruby makes two mugs of tea and takes them back to the control room.

‘When they can get robots doing our job, they will,’ Lennie says, taking a mug from Ruby’s hand. ‘But I don’t believe robots will ever be programmed to react before the trouble breaks out.’

‘Minority Report,’ Ruby says. ‘They have those three women in the water, seeing a possible future.’

‘They’re not robots. They’re psychics, pre-cogs.’

‘Same difference.’

Lennie has zoomed in on two blokes who are chest to chest at the top of the Mound. One of them is holding a beer bottle as if it’s a weapon. Lennie talks into his headset and directs the police to the scene.

‘Al just doesn’t get it,’ Lennie says, as they both watch the police car arriving next to the men. ‘Low-level antisocial behaviour leads to mid-level criminality. Everyone knows it’s a sliding scale. Everyone knows that the psychopath starts small, the petty burglar moves on to the job to end all jobs, the flasher becomes rapist becomes murderer.’

Maybe. Maybe not. Ruby listens but doesn’t join in when Lennie falls into a rant. She doesn’t mind. He works hard; he’s entitled to complain about management. Complaining makes things better. You get everything off your chest. You’ve said your piece and now you’ve let it go. It’s out there, floating in the ether, no longer weighing you down.

‘Sometimes you don’t know what the big stuff is until it happens,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘It’s not rocket science, is it?’

‘Not even close.’

They relax into a companionable silence again and Ruby checks through the police reports for the day to see whether there’s anything that sparks her interest. CCTV operators tend towards a favourite type of monitoring. Freddie loves to catch fly tippers and will sit for hours watching one particular spot until he gets lucky and he can zoom in on a number plate. Lennie loves his ‘wanted’ criminals and in the last five years he’s spotted three such men and contributed to their arrests, which is no mean feat.

Missing persons is Ruby’s thing. Missing persons she loves. People who disappear. Willingly disappear. They’ve had enough of their bosses or their families, or the whole enormous machinery of modern life that demands jobs are done and bills paid and you just keep on keeping on, showing up every day for whatever shit might be lobbed your way. It’s surprisingly common for people to simply opt out. Walk away and never look back. And it’s an iro. . .