Stalker

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘I don’t believe you could be so stupid!’ Derek thundered at his mother. ‘After everything I’ve told you about client confidentiality. I don’t believe it!’ He threw back his chair and made for the stairs.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think,’ she said, going after him.

‘No. That’s your trouble! You don’t think.’

He should have realized sooner something was amiss. She’d hardly said a word since he’d arrived home but had waited until after dinner before telling him the police had been in his room.

‘Not only did you let them into the house,’ he fumed, flinging open his bedroom door, ‘you brought them in here!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

He began frantically looking around for any signs that something had been moved or was missing. He’d been late home and hadn’t come to his room before dinner.

‘But what else could I have done?’ she asked, gingerly taking a step into his room.

‘Not let them in at all! You had the safety chain on when you answered the front door so when they showed you their ID cards, you should have said I wasn’t here. Finished. Period. And told them to go.’

‘I did tell them to go in the end,’ she said lamely.

‘But not before they’d had a good snoop around here.’ He was testing the drawers now but they were all still locked.

‘They weren’t here for very long,’ she said, ‘and I was here the whole time. They didn’t see anything.’

‘How do you know what they saw?’ he demanded, turning on her. ‘If you don’t know what they were looking for.’

She bit her lip, all signs of her usual abrasive and caustic manner gone. ‘They said you were helping them with their enquires.’

‘And you believed them!’

He took a deep breath and tried to regain some control. It wasn’t all her fault; they had no business coming in here. But he knew from previous experience how sly and devious these detectives could be. They tricked you into saying things you didn’t mean, got you to sign a statement or, as with his mother, had persuaded an old woman to let them in. ‘And they definitely didn’t say they had a search warrant?’

‘No. I would have remembered. They just looked in the wardrobe.’

He checked his clothes, then the corners of the room and under the bed. ‘I’ll put in a complaint first thing in the morning,’ he said, marginally reassured that nothing had been taken. ‘You go downstairs now while I get on with my work.’

‘I’ll do the washing-up tonight then, shall I?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said incredulously. ‘I’ll be busy up here.’

He watched her go, closed and bolted his bedroom door, then felt a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t really have gone on at her like that but she could be so daft sometimes, and had given him a dreadful shock telling him the police had been here. His legs were still trembling and he felt hot and clammy. He needed to calm down or he’d give himself a heart attack. He was pretty certain they hadn’t seen anything significant – there was nothing to see. But the fact that they’d been here at all, had broken into his fortress, infiltrated his castle and violated his domain made him feel defiled. He could picture the two of them – Mayes and Davis – snooping around, trying to open the drawers to his workstation. Just as well he’d followed his usual practice of locking away all his paperwork and switching off the computer at the mains before he’d left. The only access they’d gained was to his wardrobe and all they’d seen there was a line of neatly pressed clean clothes on hangers with his shoes paired beneath. Of course they’d have seen the monitors but given his job was in surveillance that probably hadn’t struck them as odd.

Yet why had they come at all? Had Paul said something to them? No good texting him to ask; he was unlikely to say if he had. Tomorrow morning first thing he’d phone the police station, speak to the most senior person available and get to the bottom of it. But for now he needed to regain control, concentrate on his work and get back in charge.

Trying to calm his racing heart, he sat in his chair before his workstation, switched on the power and drew in a deep breath. As he waited for the system to load he glanced around the room again. He was sure nothing had been touched or removed but to be on the safe side he’d fit a lock so the door could be locked when he left just in case they came back. His mother could leave his laundry downstairs or in the airing cupboard as that was the only reason she needed to come in.

The screens bounced into life and shone their welcome. The thumbnail pictures coming from the live streams arranged themselves across all four monitors and Derek finally started to relax. He took comfort from being with his friends and extended family again. They looked after each other. He knew their routines and what they were doing; pity the same couldn’t be said for the police. He didn’t have cameras at the police station so he’d no idea what they were up to. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but one large firm had the monopoly on installing and maintaining the security systems for most police stations in the UK. He knew because he’d enquired once if he could tender for the work at their local station and was told that the CCTV in police stations never went out to tender.

Having only recently adjusted the rows of thumbnail images after losing the Khumalo contract, he now needed to move them again to accommodate his new client, Mr and Mrs Reed. Derek had been feeling rather pleased with himself for winning the contract when he’d come home. The couple were an ordinary family with two young children and had accepted his quote that afternoon because they liked his personal service and attention to detail. This had pleased him no end – the personal touch was what he prided himself on. There’d been a break-in at the house next door while the family had been asleep upstairs so they were naturally anxious to secure their property as soon as possible. The contract was a good one: installation of an alarm system, four CCTV cameras outside and one in the entrance lobby, with online access, of course. The camera in the lobby would come with the added bonus of a built-in microphone, although Mr and Mrs Reed didn’t know that. Like all his other clients he would look after them well, make sure they behaved themselves and came to no harm.

He had a quick look at the images coming from U-Beat nightclub but nothing untoward was going on there, and, as far as he knew, the police were no nearer to catching Kevin’s attacker. He doubted they ever would. Then, as he did every night, he began checking his clients, working through them in alphabetical order.

At first glance it appeared that Mr and Mrs Hanks were in the living room having a cuddle on the sofa. A very good sign. Hopefully, she had seen the error of her ways and had stopped inviting that nasty runt of a salesman, Riseman, when her husband was out. But when Derek enlarged the image it became immediately obvious it wasn’t her husband she was with but someone Derek had never seen before. Another lover!

His anger surged. ‘You cow! You two-timing slut!’ His hands clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. Bad enough to be committing adultery with one bloke, but two! The duplicitousness of some women was unbelievable. Did they have no morals?

That was it. Decision made. He couldn’t stand by any longer and watch Mr Hanks being taken advantage of. He’d been on the sidelines for too long watching and monitoring, and now he needed to act. If he didn’t take up his cause – that of the underdog, the oppressed and lied to – then no one else would. He felt Mr Hanks’ humiliation as if it was his own. He knew what it was like to be deceived, ridiculed and laughed at.

And perhaps the indignation he still felt at the police violating his personal space was fuelling his drive for justice too. He needed to prove himself again, assert his authority – and what better way than by exposing Mrs Hanks?

Clicking on the Hanks’ file, Derek saw that their preferred method of contact was by email. Launching the firm’s email he clicked on the camera warning message, the same email he’d sent to the Williams: This is an automated message to alert you to a possible breach of security in your surveillance system. Please log in and check your cameras now. If you have forgotten your password, click on the link below. He inserted Mr Hanks’ email addresses into the To box and pressed send, a feeling of deep satisfaction surging through him. He was in charge and in control again – and he was helping Mr Hanks.

He’d no idea how far away Mr Hanks was or if he was in a position to check his messages. He hoped he was close and would be able to read and act on the message straightaway – then there’d be a good chance of catching her red-handed.

Mrs Hanks and the bloke were tonguing now, mouths wide open and lapping at each other like dogs on heat. Disgusting at their age, and all those germs. Derek instinctively wiped his own mouth on his hand. He could almost taste her foul breath just thinking about it. What some people found a turn-on he’d never understand. He’d watched the goings on in The Mermaid, sometimes with excitement but at other times in awe and horror. Sex with a bloke seemed preferable, but he banished that thought.

Mrs Hanks and her new lover seemed pretty settled on the sofa so were probably not expecting Mr Hanks home anytime soon, which was good. Lulled into a false sense of security. Derek briefly wondered what Mr Hanks would do when he found his wife, whom he lavished so much on, cavorting with another man. He was mild-mannered and self-effacing and never stood up for himself or to her. Derek had watched her boss him around, spend his money and then treat him like shit. Now, ironically, the security system she’d insisted on having to keep up with her neighbours was about to be her undoing. Wonderful! Karma at its best. He just hoped Mr Hanks had the gumption to take the opportunity he was being offered and leave the cow.

Fifteen minutes passed, during which time Derek checked some of his other clients while keeping an eye on the Hanks’ home. Mrs Hanks and her lover were still on the sofa groping each other, gradually removing their clothes and working themselves into a frenzy. He had little doubt that before long he’d mount her or she him and they’d copulate like a couple of animals.

But wait. As he looked he saw they’d stopped and were now grappling to sit up. Their faces registering shock and horror, they were looking towards the hall as they frantically tucked in their clothes, she doing up the buttons on her blouse and he the zip on his trousers. Derek quickly changed cameras and saw Mr Hanks letting himself in. Great stuff! Right on cue. Dressed smartly in a business suit, he looked as though he’d come from a meeting. But what was he carrying? What was that in his hand? Derek zoomed in. Something metal; he was raising it up to shoulder height, brandishing it like a weapon. It was part of the jack from a car, the large spanner for undoing the bolts on the wheel.

‘No!’ Derek cried and watched in horror as Mr Hanks entered the living room, his face red, eyes bulging, completely consumed by anger and hate.

Mouth dry and pulse racing, Derek changed back to the camera in the living room. Mrs Hanks and her lover were on their feet now as Mr Hanks advanced. His wife’s lover said something but it was lost in the guttural cry coming from Mr Hanks. Like a wounded animal making its last attack, he rushed at the man with the metal spanner raised high, ready to bring it down. Derek gasped in horror. The man jumped out of its way and the spanner thankfully missed. Grabbing his jacket, he fled the house. Mr Hanks didn’t go after him but turned to his wife, pure hatred in his eyes. He was usually so meek and compliant! Derek began to tremble.

‘No,’ Derek said. Mrs Hanks was backing away, backing herself into a corner as her husband advanced. ‘No, don’t! Don’t hit her with that! You’ll kill her!’ But he was raising the metal spanner higher. Derek started in horror as Mr Hanks brought the weapon down – once, twice, the full force of it on his wife’s head. She fell to the floor, a pool of crimson blood immediately forming around her.

‘Jesus! What have you done?’

Time froze. There were a few moments where nothing seemed to happen, as though the couple were actors freeze-framed in a horror movie. Mr Hanks was still holding the weapon, his wife’s apparently lifeless body on the floor, oozing blood.

Do something, save her, Derek willed. As he watched, Mr Hanks seemed to realize what he’d done, and his expression changed from hatred to shock to disbelief. The weapon fell from his hand, clattering onto the wooden floor as he dropped to his knees.

‘Maggie? Talk to me. Oh, my love. What have I done?’ There was no response, her eyes remained closed and the halo of blood pooled as the colour drained from her face. ‘Maggie, I’m so sorry. Wake up, please wake up. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

Derek felt his stomach churn and rushed to the bathroom to throw up.