Watch Him Die by Craig Robertson

Watch Him Die

Watch Him Die (Narey & Winter Book #8) by Craig Robertson
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 3.9 MB

Police find a man dead at his home in Los Angeles. Nothing suggests foul-play but elements of the victim’s house show that something is deeply wrong. Meanwhile, in Glasgow, DI Rachel Narey is searching for a missing young woman – and the man she suspects of killing her. When a feed broadcasting the slow and painful death of a final victim is discovered, these two cases become linked. There’s no way to identify him. No way to find him No way to save him. Not without the cooperation of a killer. And the only way he will cooperate is if he can watch him die.

to seed.

Caleb could tell how long it had been since a lawn had been watered, it was like his own science. Even under a September sun, it didn’t take long at all for the blades to turn towards yellow and the moisture to be sucked from the earth. Five days this had been, that was his best guess. Six at the most.

Maybe that doesn’t sound long, but in Sprinklerville it was an age. For the grass, it was a lifetime. For Caleb it was three bucks.

‘You’re awesome.’

Yeah, awesome. Fool couldn’t even find the time to open the curtains properly and let some light inside.

Caleb bent to pick up his bag of signs and was on the rise when, from the corner of his eye, he saw someone move between the slight gap in the curtains. This could be bad – people weren’t always best pleased to have something stuck in their lawn unasked. It might even mean losing the three bucks.

He froze, mid-rise, and tried to wait it out, hoping he hadn’t been seen. Not that he was doing anything wrong, but he hadn’t exactly asked permission either and didn’t want some crazy with a shotgun rushing out and yelling at him to get off his lawn. It seemed okay, the door didn’t open and no one banged on the window.

When he stood fully, he couldn’t see anyone. Maybe he’d imagined it. No. Wait. There it was again, movement, definitely. He held up a hand in apology or greeting or something, he wasn’t quite sure what. No one waved back.

He took half a step away but was drawn back immediately as he saw a dark shape dance in the shard of light that split the drawn curtains. It wasn’t a person, but what the hell was it? He edged closer, seeing the shape sway and change direction. Caleb strode warily across the lawn until he was just a few feet from the window and could make out the shape. It was flies, a business of them, flitting across the window pane as one.

He couldn’t say quite why, but they freaked him. So many of them and so agitated. He moved till he was right at the window and saw them close up through the glass. Eight, no nine, of them were on the pane, their spindly legs scratching at the surface. At least another twenty of their brothers and sisters fogged the air.

Caleb slowly removed his headphones and could hear them clearly, buzzing like an army of tiny electric saws. This was wrong. Weird. His skin bristled and his heart pumped faster.

He pressed himself up against the glass, making an angle so he could see more of the room through the gap. He saw nothing but furniture and paintings, nothing until he followed his eyes and his instincts, seeing where the flies were thickest.

There was something on the floor below him, a shape immediately recognisable yet unbelievable. Caleb’s breath exploded onto the window pane in shock.

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