Stalker

Chapter Fourteen

Derek’s hand trembled and he felt hot and sick as he sat in his van and listened to the voicemail message. He’d heard his phone vibrate with an incoming call while he’d been talking to the prospective clients, but had waited until he’d finished and was in his van before playing the message. Mr Khumalo was so angry it was frightening. Derek didn’t like anger and people shouting at him. It upset him, made him scared and reminded him of his father.

Painful memories came flooding back of when he’d lain in bed as a child, listening to his father shouting at his mother, pushing her around and sometimes hitting her when he’d returned home drunk from the pub. Derek had spent the rest of his life avoiding anger and confrontation, and always tried to be nice to people. Yet now Mr Khumalo – one of his most prodigious clients whom he respected – was shouting at him: criticizing him and his work practice, saying that sending a recorded message was useless and that he’d sue him for negligence, despite the system doing its job. It was of no consolation that it wasn’t really his fault. Mr Khumalo was angry with him and that was enough.

The message ended with Mr Khumalo saying that he was terminating his contract as of now and would be using another security firm in future – one who knew what they were doing. And he’d let it be known Home Security was rubbish and couldn’t be trusted. Derek lowered his phone, his eyes brimming. He supposed he should really return Mr Khumalo’s call and apologize for what had happened, then try to make amends by offering to upgrade his surveillance system at cost price only. That would have been the adult, manly, thing to do, but Derek knew he wasn’t brave enough and Mr Khumalo had sounded far too angry and intimidating to approach even over the phone. He reminded Derek too much of his father, who he would never have approached when he was angry. Spineless, his father had called him and he supposed it was still true today.

A spineless coward. He had failed to protect his mother and now lived with the consequences that she was a bitter, dispirited woman. The only place Derek hadn’t felt weak and ineffectual was at work: seated in front of his monitors and in charge of his empire. Yet even there he seemed to be losing his grasp.

He was about to return his phone to his jacket when it rang again, making him start. Not Mr Khumalo, please no. He checked the caller display. A new number; the phone hadn’t recognized it. A new client maybe? How wonderful. It was just what he needed. When one door closes, another opens, he thought, brightening at the prospect, and accepted the call.

‘Is that Mr Flint of Home Security?’ the male voice asked.

‘Speaking,’ he said in his most professional voice. Fantastic. It was new business.

‘Good morning, Mr Flint, I’m DC Matt Davis from Coleshaw CID. Would it be possible to meet with you today? I have a few questions I’d like to ask you as part of a routine enquiry.’

The colour drained from Derek’s face, a knot formed in his stomach and it was a moment before he could reply. Struggling to keep his voice even, he said, ‘What is this about? I’m very busy.’

‘It’s in connection with a break-in on premises where your surveillance has been installed. If you’re free now that would be perfect, otherwise a time to suit you. My colleague and I are parked outside your office but clearly you’re not here.’

‘You’re outside my office?’ he repeated, horrified.

‘Yes. We thought there might be some clerical staff here who could help us, but the door to your office is locked. The receptionist in the electronics firm next door said you rarely use it.’

Derek fought to control his breathing. His chest felt tight and his palms sweaty. ‘It’s just a base,’ he stammered. ‘She’s right, I’m not there much.’

‘If it’s more convenient we could visit you at home?’

‘No,’ he said, far too quickly. He forced air into his lungs to try to calm himself. ‘I’ll come there now, but it will take me a good fifteen minutes.’

‘No problem. We’ll wait outside in the car.’

Heart drumming loudly and sick with fear, Derek started his van, swung out from the kerb and quickly completed a U-turn. Hell! What did they want? What break-in? Where? He hadn’t thought to ask. The police knew where his office was and where he lived. They were parked outside his ‘office’ now and had been asking questions about him in the firm next door. Shit! It had never happened before. He’d met the police by chance sometimes on premises that had been burgled but they never sought him out. Perhaps it was nothing to do with a break-in after all – perhaps his past was catching up with him. His mother had said it was bound to happen sooner or later – that such an evil act would come back to haunt him. Now it had.

His hands clenched the steering wheel as he drove as fast as the speed limit allowed, going through amber lights and taking corners in third gear. He needed to get there quickly to avoid the police spending more time talking to the receptionist of the electronics firm next door again. She was a nosy cow who never seemed to have enough work to do and spent most of her time filing her nails and gazing out through the office window. He would have sacked her if she’d worked for him but he supposed she was kept on because of her long blonde hair and big tits. She’d watched him come and go over the years, and he knew she didn’t like him. He’d overheard her refer to him as ‘that creep next door’ when she’d been talking to a colleague on their way in. He wondered how much she’d already told the police and his stomach contracted.

He took another corner too fast. The van rocked and he touched the brake. The officer had said it was routine, Derek reminded himself, and tried to calm down. The officer – what was his name? Davis? Yes – had said it was part of a routine enquiry into a break-in, but if it really was then what did they want him for and which break-in had he meant?

The Khumalo break-in seemed a strong possibility although there were others to choose from, he acknowledged bitterly. But why speak to him? Not because they wanted the footage from the cameras; that was for the clients to download, and if they needed help, the client contacted him. It wasn’t a police job, or it hadn’t been in the past. They’d only crossed paths if they were still at the crime scene when he helped the occupants download camera footage, or he had to repair a broken alarm or reconnect a camera disconnected in an attempted burglary. But the police had never asked to speak to him personally before, not since… No. He gave himself a shake. He wouldn’t think about that now.

And now they were waiting for him outside his office.

He entered the industrial estate, his mouth dry and the tic at the corner of his eye agitating furiously. His office was at the far side in a two-storey block in the oldest, cheapest, and most neglected part of the estate. As he approached, he saw a black Volvo parked right outside and guessed it was the police. Slowing further, he pulled over and drew to a halt, parking a few feet in front of the car. The car doors opened and two officers got out, a male officer from the passenger side and a female who’d been driving. Derek wiped his sweaty hands down his trousers and got out, leaving his phone in the van.

‘Good afternoon, DC Matt Davis,’ the male officer said as he approached. ‘We spoke on the phone. This is my colleague, DC Beth Mayes.’

Derek nodded. ‘I got here as soon as I could.’

‘It’s appreciated. Shall we go inside?’ Davis asked.

‘We can, but there’s nothing much to see. I haven’t used it for years. I just keep it as my business address.’ He knew his reluctance made him sound guilty, as if he was trying to cover something up, so he immediately turned and led the way in.

They walked past the large plate-glass window of the firm next door, Eastbury Electronics, where the cow of the receptionist was standing up for a better view, clearly unable to contain her delight. As they entered the building he saw Davis throw her a smile and she fluttered her long fake eyelashes ridiculously and pursed her lips.

‘This is the office,’ he said, stopping outside the second door on the left. Unlike the smart glass door opposite, the door to Derek’s office was the original, now chipped and in dire need of a coat of paint. It bore no company name but simply announced Unit 3.

‘So there are twelve offices in this building?’ Beth remarked as they waited for him to unlock, referring to the signage board on the wall listing the companies.

‘I suppose so,’ Derek said, struggling to turn the key. ‘This is the smallest and cheapest. I use it for storage sometimes.’

Finally managing to open the door, he flicked on the light and they followed him in.

‘Smallest and cheapest isn’t wrong,’ Matt quipped under his breath.

Beth threw him a warning look, although he was right. She’d seen bigger and better equipped cupboards. An old wooden table had been pushed against one wall with a single grimy chair beneath it. A metal filing cabinet circa 1950s was against another wall and a couple of large empty cardboard boxes were beside it collecting spiders. The only natural light came from a single small window covered with wire mesh at the very top of one wall. A bare light bulb hung from the centre of the ceiling, highlighting the starkness of the room. It smelt musty and shut up.

‘I see what you mean about not using it much,’ Matt said, taking a turn of the room.

‘Is this your main office then?’ Beth asked, as surprised as Matt was to see inside.

‘It’s my only office,’ Derek replied, his tic agitating. ‘As I said, I hardly use it now.’

‘The photographs on your website show something a little more upmarket,’ Matt remarked, unable to suppress the sarcasm in his voice.

‘That was a standard picture taken from the Internet,’ Derek said defensively. ‘Lots of small businesses use them. We can’t all afford grand offices but you have to create a good impression online now. Word of mouth recommendation is no longer good enough.’

‘So clearly no one actually works here,’ Beth said, stating the obvious but needing it confirmed.

‘No. Installing surveillance takes place in homes and businesses, not in an office. There’s no point wasting money on grand premises.’

‘Business isn’t good then?’ Matt asked, coming to a standstill a few feet from him.

‘It’s a quiet time.’

‘Really? I am surprised. It isn’t for us. Crime is up in the area. I’d have thought that was good for your business?’

Derek said nothing but absently touched his eye to silence the tic.

‘So where do you keep your stock if it’s not here?’ Beth asked.

‘On the van mainly. All the tools and wiring are kept there. Then I order in the bigger stuff, the cameras, monitors and so on as they are needed. Each client’s order is different and specific to their requirements.’

‘And that stuff is delivered where?’ Matt asked.

‘Here or to my home.’

‘So presumably your computer and paperwork for the business are at your home too?’ Beth asked.

Derek nodded and wiped his sweating palms down his trousers again. ‘Yes. I do all my admin work there in the evenings and weekends. There’s no other time.’

‘So you don’t have any clerical staff at all?’ Matt asked, struggling to suppress his dislike of the man.

‘No, there’s no need. But why are you asking me all these questions? You said on the phone you wanted to talk about a break-in.’

‘Yes. I’m getting to that,’ Matt said tightly.

‘We’re just trying to establish the extent of your business,’ Beth said. ‘The business card you give your clients, and your website, suggest a large, well-established organization.’

‘My company is well established,’ Derek snapped, finally losing his patience. ‘I’ve been in this line of work for over fifteen years. I have built up a good reputation.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Beth said conciliatorily. There was nowhere to sit so they’d have to continue this interview standing. ‘We’re investigating two break-ins in the area where your CCTV had been installed.’

Derek regained his composure. ‘I’m always very concerned to hear of a break-in where my company has fitted the surveillance.’ He felt on safer ground now. ‘Where are they?’

She caught Matt’s look. ‘I think you may know. One was at a newsagents owned by Mr and Mrs Osman and the other at the home of Mr Khumalo. We were there this morning. In both cases we’re a bit short of evidence and we were wondering if you kept a copy of their CCTV footage?’

‘No, not usually. It’s the client’s responsibility. Why? Have they wiped it?’

She didn’t reply. ‘So once the system is up and running your company has nothing more to do with it?’

‘Not beyond repairing and maintaining, and giving any help if necessary. These systems are very sophisticated and can confuse the less technically minded.’

‘I dare say,’ Matt put in.

‘Thank you, Mr Flint,’ Beth said, again counteracting Matt’s abrasiveness. ‘What triggers the automated messages? Mr Khumalo unfortunately didn’t listen to his until this morning, and Mr and Mrs Osman say they never received one.’

‘I can’t be responsible for people not picking up their messages,’ Derek said, again irritated. ‘I do what I can within their budget and no system is infallible. Some cameras rely on motion so a burglar climbing through a window could trigger it.’

‘Mr Khumalo had that type of camera?’ Beth asked.

‘As far as I can remember.’

‘Mr Khumalo said he was going to contact you. Has he?’ Matt asked, taking another turn of the room.

‘He left a message on my voicemail.’

‘Just a couple more questions, Mr Flint,’ Beth said. ‘How many engineers do you employ?’

‘I’m the only full-time qualified engineer and I take on help as I need it.’ It would be easy enough to find out that there was only him and an apprentice.

‘So who fitted the surveillance in the newsagents and Mr Khumalo’s home?’ she asked.

Derek looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘That would be Paul.’

‘Surname?’ Matt asked.

‘Mellows.’

‘We’d like to speak to him,’ Beth said.

‘I’m afraid he doesn’t work for me any more. Like many of the young lads I take on as apprentices they learn the skills and leave to work for a bigger firm with more money. I guess I teach them too well,’ he finished with a rueful smile.

‘Can we have his contact details please?’ Beth asked.

‘They’ll be on file at home. I’ll have to send them to you.’

Matt was about to say something but Beth stepped in. ‘Thank you, Mr Flint, you’ve been very helpful. Here’s my card. If you could phone, email or text me Paul’s address, I’d be grateful.’

Derek saw his hand tremble as he accepted the card.

‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ Matt said. They turned and left, closing the door behind them.

Derek remained where he was, hot and nauseous. Of course they’d want to speak to Paul. Why the hell had he said that? Panic. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down and try to think what to do for the best…

‘Smarmy git,’ Matt said as soon as they were outside and out of earshot.

‘I know, but it doesn’t do any harm to be polite,’ Beth admonished. ‘You really wound him up in there.’

‘Sorry.’ He threw the receptionist of the firm next door a smile as they got into the car.

‘You’re incorrigible,’ Beth said indulgently.

Matt sat in the passenger seat gazing out of his side window and enjoying the attention coming from the receptionist who’d been joined by a female colleague. ‘So what’s Derek been up to do we think?’ he said, without shifting his gaze.

‘Maybe nothing. Perhaps he’s doing what a lot of blokes do and making himself appear more important than he is.’

‘Point taken,’ Matt said, drawing his gaze to the front. ‘But wouldn’t you have expected him to ask what had been stolen from the Khumalo’s house? He didn’t seem interested in the details. I think I might have been if it was my company who’d installed the surveillance.’

‘I expect Khumalo told him when he phoned. I can’t imagine he minced his words.’

‘So why didn’t Derek mention it? That nothing had been stolen but a voodoo doll had been left on the bed? I mean, it’s not an everyday occurrence.’

‘Agreed. So while I drive us back to the office, why don’t you run a check on Mr Flint?’ She started the engine as Matt lifted the lid on the car’s laptop but waited before pulling away so that he could enter the Home Security van’s registration number into the Police National Computer.

For some minutes as Beth drove, all that could be heard from inside the car was the sound of Matt tapping the keyboard. Then:

‘Well! Well!’ Matt said with a self-righteous grin. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

‘Not even,’ Beth returned.

‘I knew our Derek was hiding something. He was caught cottaging – having gay sex in a public toilet – nine years ago and prosecuted for gross indecency. He pleaded guilty and got off with a fine. Uniform caught him in the act after a member of the public reported him with another lad.’

‘So he has different sexual preferences to you, but that doesn’t help with the present enquiry,’ Beth said.

‘No, but this might: another break-in where his firm had installed the CCTV.’