Stalker

Chapter Thirty-One

Beth arrived in the office on Monday morning, refreshed from the weekend and ready to start, but knew straightaway something bad had happened. The air was charged. DS Hannah Grove, her immediate senior on this case, approached her.

‘There was another rape in the early hours of Saturday morning,’ she said. ‘Looks like the same attacker but he’s changed his patch. Mansion Gardens in Prospect Road, a small block of privately owned flats.’

‘I know it,’ Beth said.

‘Lorrie Gates, twenty-five, a junior school teacher,’ she continued, bringing Beth up to speed. ‘She lives in a downstairs flat with her boyfriend but he was away for the weekend. Her attacker got in through her open bedroom window but it was security locked – which we’re hoping will prove to be his downfall. We’re checking with the manufacturers to see how many windows had the same key, and speaking to any workmen who had access to her flat. Nothing useful from forensics so far. As usual the rapist wore gloves and a balaclava helmet and used a condom – so no sperm DNA. However, on a positive note the whole building was covered by CCTV so hopefully it will have picked up the attacker going round the back of the building. I want all the CCTV they’ve got asap. We haven’t been able to contact the firm yet. Collect it in person if you need to.’

‘Certainly, Sergeant. I’ll get straight to it.’ Beth took the printout Hannah now gave her. What a start to a Monday morning but it felt good to hit the ground running. She’d already had a few thoughts about the case over the weekend, which she would share with her boss when she had the chance. Beth picked up the phone from her desk and looked at the number she was supposed to call in respect of collecting the CCTV footage.

‘Serg!’ she called standing and rushing to her. ‘This phone is already with digital forensics in connection with an investigation into Home Security.’

‘I thought the name sounded familiar.’

‘This is Derek Flint’s phone number; he’s the owner of Home Security. It’s a one-man operation. I helped bring him in. He’d been using the cameras he installed to spy on his victims. All his computer equipment is here too.’

‘Now that’s a happy coincidence. Two birds with one stone. I suppose it would be asking too much to hope he is our rapist?’

‘He hasn’t raped before that we know of,’ Beth said.

‘OK. Let me know if you find anything useful on the CCTV footage.’

‘Yes, Serg.’

Beth returned to her desk, her thoughts racing. They were looking for a serial rapist, yet, had this crime been a stand-alone and taken place while Derek Flint was still able to work his evil, Beth would have almost certainly added it to her list. The similarities between this case and those Flint was accused of were striking – apart from the rape. The CCTV installed and maintained by him, the attacker aware of the victim’s movements – that Lorrie was alone that weekend. When digital forensics examined Flint’s online activity for Mansion Gardens would they find he’d been spying on its residents just as he had with all the others? But how? This attack had happened in the early hours of Saturday morning when Derek had been without his computer equipment for over forty-eight hours. A nasty feeling began to settle in the back of Beth’s mind as she picked up the phone and dialled forensics to say she was on her way.

Derek Flint sat at his empty workstation, staring into space. No computer, no monitor, no portable hard drives, no van, no motorbike and no phone. The police had taken the lot. His life’s work was on his computer, his reason for living all gone, as were his friends and extended family, and he’d no idea when any of them would return. He was a broken man and all because he’d tried to help people lead better lives.

A small knock sounded on his bedroom door. It was his mother again, trying to make amends. ‘I’ve brought your dinner on a tray,’ she said in a tiny, subdued voice. It was the third time she’d come up with his dinner, her way of apologizing for selling him out. She didn’t attempt to come in though despite the broken bolt.

‘I’m not hungry,’ he said as he had before, his voice tight.

A few moment’s hesitation and he heard her footsteps on the stairs, taking his dinner back down, probably to reheat and return again later. How many more times was she going to do it? It was almost comical, except Derek didn’t feel like laughing. He was upset and angry with her. When he’d first arrived home she hadn’t realized the damage she’d done in selling her story and talking to the media. She’d been glued to the television, watching herself being interviewed, channel-hopping so that as the news finished on one station she could see herself again on another.

‘We’re famous!’ she’d said, more animated and happy than he’d ever seen her before.

‘You silly cow!’ he’d thundered. ‘You’ve no idea what you’ve done, have you? Not only have you sold me out but yourself too.’

‘I didn’t, I just answered their questions honestly,’ she said taken aback.

He threw up his arms in despair. ‘You made me sound like a complete psycho and you a cold, heartless bitch. Have you seen what’s on our front door? No, of course you haven’t because you’ve been sitting watching yourself on that fucking television! Well, enjoy your five minutes of fame because you’ve destroyed us both!’

He’d stormed upstairs to his room where he’d remained since. He’d heard her scrubbing the front door trying to remove the spray-painted words: Nutters Inc. Monster House Schizo ward. He doubted she’d shift the paint; it was gloss. He’d have to see to it tomorrow; he’d have nothing better to do.

Ridiculously she’d made dinner at the usual time and called up to him that it was ready, but when he hadn’t gone down she’d started bringing it up on a tray. Every half an hour he heard the microwave ping, then her footsteps on the stairs and her slight voice at the door. ‘Derek, I’ve brought your dinner on a tray.’ Yes, it would be comical if he wasn’t so upset.

And angry. He was angry with her, and with the police for taking away all his computer equipment, stripping him bare. It was like a rape, he thought, the police taking all he had, going through his private records stretching back years and years. Emails – personal and work, files on those he knew, video recordings, notes he’d made on his clients, apprentices and others. His movements tracked, his inner- most thoughts and feelings shared, scrutinized for evidence and probably ridiculed and laughed at. It shouldn’t be allowed. Their behaviour was worse than the crimes of which he was accused.

And as bad and worrying as the police raiding his life and what they might find was that his friends and family were out there now, unaware that he couldn’t join them. Not only because of the loss of his computer but because they’d been persuaded to change their passwords by Mayes. Of course if you were a hacker the lack of a password didn’t stop you. A hacker would have been in, viewing the live streams coming from the cameras in no time. But hacking had never been his thing – his modus operandi. He wasn’t a hacker by nature; there’d been no need.

But then again the situation had changed, hadn’t it?

He paused thoughtfully for a moment and then straightened in his chair. He’d played fair in the past and look where that had got him. His clients still needed him and he needed them. What had happened didn’t necessarily mean the end for his life’s work, did it? More a change in working practice. He’d no idea how long the police would keep his computer so tomorrow he’d buy himself a new one, a laptop would do for now, then set about hacking into his clients’ CCTV, and anything else he fancied. Why not? What did he have to lose? With his knowledge of coding and the way computers worked online it shouldn’t take him long to master the skills, and what he didn’t know could be learnt from one of the hacking communities online.

A new world had just opened up and Derek’s spirits lifted. The next time his mother came up with his dinner he accepted it and ate it in his room while making notes on what was needed for the following day.