Stalker

Chapter Sixteen

At 7.30pm Derek opened the door to the living room to tell his mother he was going out.

‘You look ridiculous in that get-up,’ she sneered. ‘A middle-aged man dressed in black leather! And don’t go revving that bike outside; it upsets the neighbours.’

‘Do you want anything from the garage shop?’ he asked, ignoring the ridicule. ‘Sweets?’

She shook her head. She usually wanted to know where he was going when he took his bike out in the evening and invariably he told her it was to the garage to fill up the bike with petrol.

‘I won’t be long,’ he said, but already her attention had returned to the television.

With his helmet and black leather motorbike gloves tucked under his arm, and quelling his unease at what he was about to do, Derek went into the garage. It was too small to keep his van in so he used it for his motorbike, stock, and general clutter from the house that they no longer needed but his mother refused to throw out. At the sight of the bike, his confidence grew. It was a big and powerful machine, well respected by other road users. Riding it made him feel important, stand out from the crowd and in control, similar to when he sat at his workstation and viewed his empire of clients. Yes, on the bike he was someone who commanded attention and respect, especially when he opened up the throttle.

He raised the garage door, inserted the key into the bike’s ignition, put on his helmet and gloves and then mounted the bike. With a flick of the key the engine roared into life, a deep, resonating throb. He allowed himself one good rev, which he knew his mother would hear, before driving out of the garage, leaving the door open so it would be ready for his return. Once on the road he accelerated away and then out onto the high road. His spirits lifted. It was early evening; the street lights were coming on and the roads were emptying. He drove with purpose: masterful, head held high, but only as fast as the speed limit would allow for Derek always tried to follow the rules.

Five minutes later he entered Coleshaw High Street. Full of shoppers and office workers during the day, the shops and offices were closed now so he was able to park right outside the bank. Switching off the engine, he lowered the kickstand and removed his helmet and gloves. A couple were already at the cash machine and as he waited for them to finish he looked up towards the bank’s CCTV camera, aware it would be picking him up very clearly. Evidence, should he ever need it later. He didn’t think Paul would do the dirty on him but life had taught him that you could never be sure. If Paul did decide to make trouble for him, he now had some evidence that he was blackmailing him.

The couple finished and walked away, and Derek crossed the pavement to the cash dispenser. Unzipping his leather jacket, he took out his platinum debit card of which he was proud and inserted it into the cash dispenser. The screen showed what he already knew – that although he was allowed to withdraw £1000 in 24 hours, the maximum single transaction was three hundred pounds. He withdrew the maximum three times and then a hundred pounds to make it up to a thousand.

In full view of the bank’s camera he took two envelopes from his inside jacket pocket on which he’d already printed Paul’s full name and address. He carefully divided the money between the envelopes, counting five hundred pounds into each, and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He placed the receipts in his wallet and put that into his jacket too. Donning his helmet and gloves he returned to the bike, revved and pulled away, trusting it was all recorded on the bank’s CCTV.

Using the back streets Derek knew so well, he headed towards Paul’s home – about ten minutes away. When Paul had first applied to work for him Derek had spent some time viewing where he lived on Google Earth and Street View. Then once Paul had begun, he’d made a point of collecting him from home once to take him to a job. He’d done this with all the lads he’d employed so their family could see his work van with the name of his company emblazoned on the side and back doors. It helped reassure them that his was a reputable company and their son would be in safe hands. Most of these lads were straight from school and still wet behind the ears and their parents – especially their mothers – fretted about them in a way his own mother never had. He’d had to go to work when his father had left and that was that.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he cut the engine as he entered Paul’s road and cruised noiselessly to a halt, parking under a tree a few houses from where Paul lived. The street was quiet and the last vestige of daylight had gone. Derek raised his visor and checked the time. It was now 7.55. He remained astride his bike and waited. Paul had said to post the money through his letterbox at exactly eight o’clock and he would be waiting for it on the other side of the door. Derek assumed that was so none of his family got to the envelope first and began asking questions.

A man walked by with a dog and Derek kept his head down, pretending he was checking his phone. At 7.58 he removed one of the envelopes from his inside jacket pocket and, dismounting the bike, walked the short distance to Paul’s house. Dressed all in black with a black helmet, he blended into the night.

There was no front gate, just a gap in the small brick wall marking the boundary line. Derek went silently up the short path to the front door. The lights were on in the hall and front room. It was now exactly eight o’clock. He gingerly lifted the letterbox with one hand and posted the envelope in with the other. As he did he felt the tug of it being taken on the other side.

He returned to his bike and to be on the safe side texted Paul: Please confirm you got the £500 just posted through your letterbox.

Yes, got it came the immediate response. Then: I want the other £500 as soon as I’ve spoken to the police.

Perfect, Derek thought. If ever he needed a bit more evidence that Paul was corrupt and happy to lie to the police he had it in that text. First thing in the morning he’d email Paul’s contact details to that police officer, just as she’d asked him to.