Stalker

Chapter Fifteen

‘You’re home very early,’ Elsie Flint remarked as Derek let himself into the hall.

‘I’m not feeling well, and I can come home when I want to, can’t I?’ She’d made it sound as though he hadn’t a right to be there during the day.

‘Well, don’t go giving me your germs. I hope you’ve had your lunch. There’s nothing in the fridge, I need to go shopping.’

Thanks for your concern, Derek thought but didn’t say, and why not go shopping? You’ve nothing better to do. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he mumbled.

He poured himself a glass of water and went upstairs, accompanied by the mundane dialogue of early afternoon television. Going into his bedroom, he bolted the door. Thank God. His one safe haven. He still felt sick, although he suspected it wasn’t from any illness but the visit he’d just received from the police. It had badly shaken him and he was kicking himself for the way he’d handled it.

He took a sip of water, dumped his jacket on the bed and powered up the computer. Khumalo must have pointed the accusing finger at him. He’d been so angry and out to blame him in the message he’d left on his voicemail and had obviously told the police. Now they were going to speak to Paul. It couldn’t get much worse. Why he’d laid the blame on Paul he still didn’t know. It was the first thing that had come into his head. He hadn’t had time to think it through and consider the consequences. Of course the police would want to talk to Paul now he’d implicated him. He’d have done better admitting he’d installed the surveillance at both properties, but he’d panicked.

He needed to speak to Paul quickly before the police did. But what to say to smooth over what had happened between them and get Paul on his side? Perhaps he should offer to give him his job back but even as he thought it he knew that wouldn’t work. The reasons he’d got rid of Paul in the first place – that he knew too much – hadn’t gone away; indeed this last development would add to the problem.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have let Paul go in the first place? It had been a knee-jerk reaction, but then what alternative had he had? Pointing out to Mr Osman that an email should have been generated! He doubted many of the other lads he’d taken on over the years would have spotted that, but Paul was far more technically minded, computer savvy and on the ball than most. He’d been interested in the business of surveillance from the start – too interested. Whereas the other lads had been content to hang cameras and check alarm bells, Paul had repeatedly asked about the company’s online presence, feeling it could be improved upon. Either Paul was brighter than he’d given him credit for, or Derek was getting careless and becoming complacent. Either way he’d really cocked it up.

He clicked on the file that contained the details of his apprentices, as thorough in collecting information about them as he was on his clients. Eighteen apprentices since he’d signed up for the scheme ten years before, averaging two a year, which was just about acceptable before the administrators of the scheme started to complain. A few – the less astute ones who could be relied upon not to learn too quickly or pry – he’d allowed to stay longer, but not Paul. He’d only been with him five months. Too clever by half for his own good, he thought again, but what he was going to say to him he didn’t know.

He could hardly come clean and admit what he was up to and that the reason the email hadn’t been sent to the Osmans was because there was no automatically generated email. It relied on him sending it if he saw something untoward, which he hadn’t done with the break-in at the Osmans because he’d been asleep. Paul knew enough about the laws governing surveillance to know that what he was doing was illegal.

Reading Paul’s details, Derek saw that he lived at home with his parents, older brother and younger sister. The landline number was included, as was all their ages. His father was a builder and his mother a nurse. None of his family had criminal records or anything dodgy that Derek knew of, so there was nothing he could use to put pressure on Paul. Paul had been very angry when he’d told him he was terminating his contract and had called him some nasty names like creep, perv, arsehole and so on. Not appropriate or nice. Hopefully he’d had time to calm down now, but, even if he hadn’t, Derek still needed to speak to him, or the police would just turn up and start asking questions and no doubt Paul would tell them everything he knew. Why shouldn’t he?

Using the VPN – Virtual Private Network – software he’d downloaded that allowed the user to browse and phone anonymously, Derek plugged in the handset and dialled Paul’s mobile number. He answered on the third ring. The nausea in Derek’s stomach rose and he swallowed hard.

‘Paul, it’s Derek Flint.’

‘What the fuck do you want?’ Paul demanded. ‘Why are you phoning me and on a private number?’

‘Paul, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you working for me, but I need to talk to you, ask you something.’

‘About what? You had no right to fire me like that. I could report you to the manager of the apprenticeship scheme.’

‘I didn’t fire you. I let you go.’

‘Same thing. You owe me wages.’

‘I paid you up to the end of the month.’

‘Yes, but I should have been given compensation in lieu of notice.’

Derek knew there was no legal obligation for him to compensate Paul, that was why he used the apprenticeship scheme: he could take on help and let the lads go as and when he wanted to, although he wasn’t going to antagonize Paul by telling him that now.

‘I’m sure we can work something out,’ Derek said, at his conciliatory best.

A small silence, then, ‘Why are you phoning me?’

Derek cleared his throat and concentrated. ‘The police want to talk to you about the break-ins at some of the properties where we installed CCTV. I thought you should know so it doesn’t come as a complete shock, so you don’t blurt out something you might later regret.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No, of course not. I hadn’t meant it to sound like that.’

‘I don’t mind talking to the police; I’ve done nothing wrong,’ Paul declared adamantly.

‘I know you haven’t. But if they start asking about my business can you say you don’t know anything about how it works and that you made some mistakes? I mean, you might have seen and heard stuff you didn’t completely understand.’

‘Or understood too well.’

Derek felt his heart step up a few beats. ‘What do you mean? Like what?’

‘Like something dodgy. I’m not sure what it is yet but I bet I could find out. If you’re in trouble with the police then I’m guessing it’s your own fault.’

‘I’m not,’ Derek blurted too quickly. Then, ‘You won’t say anything like that to the police if they visit, will you?’ A long silence. ‘I could make it worth your while.’

‘How?’

‘I could give you good references for your interviews.’

‘Do me a favour!’ Paul sneered. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

‘What do you want then?’

‘Money.’

‘That’s blackmail.’

‘Suit yourself. No skin off my nose. I don’t mind talking to the police, I’ve got nothing to lose.’

‘No, all right, stop. I’ll give you a month’s wages. Two hundred pounds.’

‘A thousand,’ Paul said.

‘What!’

‘I’m guessing it must be worth that or you wouldn’t have phoned.’

‘All right, a thousand then.’ He wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘But no more. I’ll pay you after the police have spoken to you.’

‘Before. You might not give it to me after.’

‘Half before and half after.’

‘Done. I’ll have the first lot tonight.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes. You know where I live. Put the cash in an envelope with my name on it and push it through my letter box.’

‘All right, I will,’ he stammered.

‘At eight o’clock exactly. I’ll be waiting on the other side of the door. Make sure no one sees you.’

‘You won’t tell anyone I’ve given you the money, will you?’ Derek asked pathetically.

‘You’ll just have to trust me on that. Five hundred quid, at eight o’clock sharp.’

‘Yes, I heard.’

Derek cut the call, sat back in his chair and gulped in air. A thousand pounds! It was his own stupid fault for ever implementing Paul in the first place. Hopefully this would put a stop to it once and for all but he’d need to make sure. He now logged the amount in the accounts file on his computer just as he did with all his business transactions.

Eight o’clock, Paul had said. Plenty of time before he had to leave. It had been a shit-awful day and he desperately needed to spend time with his family. He craved their comfort and support. But as he zoomed in on the live streams coming from his clients’ cameras, the business with the police and Paul overshadowed any pleasure or comfort. Many of the houses were empty in the afternoon with the parents at work and the children at school.

He looked in at the Khumalos’ house but that was empty too, as was the Williams’. Since the night their babysitter had behaved so deplorably they hadn’t been out in the evening. He’d heard them discussing the difficulty in finding a trustworthy and reliable babysitter. ‘I mean, if you can’t trust your goddaughter then who can you trust?’ Mrs Williams had declared.

Derek hoped they found a sitter soon so they could go out again together. They were a nice couple and deserved an evening away from their kids. Ironically, Derek had recently taken on a client who was a qualified nursery nurse. She lived a mile away and supplemented her income by occasional babysitting. She’d be ideal. When things settled down again he’d give some thought as to how he could bring them together. He liked to help nice people.

A movement on another screen caught his eye, and he quickly enlarged the images coming from the Hanks’ house. Mrs Hanks was opening the front door to her lover again; a sleazy salesman named Tim Riseman.

Derek was furious. The deceit made his blood boil. The affair had been going on for six months after Riseman had called one afternoon selling conservatories. Derek was finding it difficult to contain his anger. Every second Tuesday, while Mr Hanks was at work, his wife had sex with this seedy bastard. Not only was she making a fool of her husband – who was a decent guy – but Derek knew from listening in that Mr Hanks hated his job and would have retrained as a nurse had he not had to maintain the standard of living dictated by his greedy and materialistic wife. Derek had been holding back from intervening, not wanting to raise suspicion while Paul had been with him, but now he was gone he was free to help. This would be his next project, he thought, but for now he watched in distaste as Mrs Hanks seductively unbuttoned her blouse and exposed her very large breasts.