Stalker

Chapter Nineteen

‘Yes, I’m coming now!’ Derek shouted down the phone. ‘I told you I got held up.’

‘If you’re not here by eight-thirty I’ll tell the police all I know,’ Paul said.

‘I’ll be there, and don’t threaten me! You little…’ He left the sentence unfinished. He needed Paul on his side. ‘I’ll be there,’ he said again and cut the call.

Jabbing the phone into his jacket pocket he stormed downstairs. ‘I’m going out!’ he shouted to his mother as he passed the living-room door.

‘Ooh la la. Someone’s in a bad mood,’ she returned tartly. ‘Don’t take it out on me.’

Hot, angry and aware he was losing control again he let himself into the garage, flung up the garage doors and mounted his bike. Calm down, he told himself. It’s dangerous to drive while you’re angry. Ignoring his own advice, he pulled on his helmet and leather gloves and started the engine. Giving it a good rev he left the garage in a plume of smoke and petrol fumes.

Bloody Paul! Bloody pop-up advertisements! He wasn’t sure which was upsetting him the most: Paul threatening to tell the police, or his computer targeted again by malicious spyware. Who knew what information the company had gathered on him or had access to? It was impossible to tell. When he returned home he’d have to install more security software and then spend hours scanning all the files to make sure they were clear of viruses, cookies and so on. Another evening wasted!

It began to rain, a murky drizzle, which added to his gloom. Irritated, he slowed the bike; light rain on a previously dry road made for a slippery surface, especially on two wheels. As for Paul, if he threatened to tell the police again he’d remind him of the text messages they’d exchanged, proof he was guilty of lying to the police, perverting the course of justice, and blackmailing him: all of which carried a jail sentence.

Five minutes later he pulled into Paul’s road. Paul had told him on the phone to park right outside his house this time and he’d keep a lookout for him. He switched off the engine; it was 8.35pm.

He glanced up at the house, but there was no sign of anyone although the lights were on in the hall and a bedroom. Perhaps he should text to say he’d arrived.

He flipped up his visor and looked again at the front of the house. As he did Paul appeared at the bedroom window and then disappeared. Derek dismounted, took off his gloves and removed the envelope containing the money from his jacket pocket. It crossed his mind that perhaps he should have called Paul’s bluff right at the beginning and never got involved in paying him off, but he hadn’t dared take the risk. He’d already come to the attention of the police; he didn’t need Paul making trouble for him. One sniff of anything untoward and the police would be visiting him again, possibly at home this time. Better to pay up, although he wondered what Paul’s father would say if he knew his son was a blackmailer. From what he knew, the parents seemed decent people.

With his helmet still on but the visor raised, Derek walked up to the front door. He quietly lifted the flap of the letterbox and began to slide the envelope through. As he did it was taken from the other side. He carefully lowered the flap, straightened and returned to his bike. At least that was done and would hopefully put an end to it. As he mounted his bike he glanced up at the bedroom window. Two lads about the same age as Paul appeared at the window and were watching him. Shit. Paul had friends there. That wasn’t part of the deal. What had he told them? Snatching his phone from his pocket, he pressed Paul’s number.

‘Hello, Derek.’ He could hear the cockiness in Paul’s voice. The other two lads turned from the window so he guessed Paul had just entered the bedroom.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Derek demanded. ‘This was supposed to be our secret.’

‘And so it will be,’ Paul said.

‘What have you told them?’

‘Nothing.’

‘So why do they think I’m here?’ He could see them looking at him again, then Paul reappeared at their side, the phone to his ear.

‘I told them you’re my favourite uncle and that you like to bring me gifts,’ Paul smirked. ‘Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.’

Derek saw the three of them laugh. ‘What secret?’ he said with a stab of panic.

‘I’m sure you don’t need me to spell it out,’ Paul said, and cut the call. He threw open the bedroom window. ‘Night, night, sleep tight, Uncle Derek,’ he called down.

‘Love the kinky leather!’ one of the other lads yelled while the third wolf-whistled.

Derek snapped shut his visor, started the bike and, gripping the handlebars, roared away faster than he should have done on a wet road. Anger and indignation seared through him. How dare those little runts treat him like that! Laughing at him! They were half his age; they needed to show some respect. He hated being laughed at. It reminded him of when his father had ridiculed him. He’d show them. He’d get his own back. No one messed with Derek and got away with it.