Stalker

Chapter Thirty-Four

Sleep would be impossible until he discovered who was responsible and what they wanted. Derek drained the last of his water and typed ‘Watching You’ into a search engine to check what companies, if any, had that name. Up came pages of web addresses where those two words appeared in the description of the website but no actual companies. He looked as far as the fifth page but only found a film and a book with that title. He checked Companies House but there wasn’t a company registered with that name, so whoever it was must be an individual working alone, which made him feel very uneasy.

It must be someone with a grudge who wanted to get their own back. Perhaps someone he’d upset? Obvious contenders were Khumalo and Hanks, but Khumalo didn’t seem the type and had reacted by getting angry and changing security company, while Hanks would surely be too worried about his wife to engage in a prank like this? Added to which neither of them, as far as Derek knew, had the technical skills needed to mount this sort of vendetta. This was someone who was well versed in computing knowledge like himself.

With the email open, Derek selected options from the dropdown menu and a display box opened showing the coding path the email had taken, all the way from the sender to him. There were lines and lines of code, which to the uninitiated made no sense at all but to Derek contained a route map.

Very soon he found that whoever had sent the email hadn’t used a virtual private network, which would make tracing them easier. Then, with the same ease he saw that the Internet service provider responsible for sending the email was a large firm based in the UK. He continued checking the code. If he wasn’t sure of a piece, he copied and pasted it into one of the online code breakers run by hackers.

Dawn broke and finally he had what he needed: the sender’s unique IP address giving the location of his computer. Not the actual street but the area of the town. To Derek’s amazement the sender lived a mile away on the other side of town. The only person he knew living in that area was Paul Mellows, his last apprentice. He began to relax. Of course, it made perfect sense. Paul had been angry when he’d let him go and despite paying him off with £1000, he’d clearly decided to get his own back and wage this ridiculous war.

He sat back and allowed himself a few moments of satisfaction. He had what he needed, and knowing who was behind it reduced the threat. He wasn’t afraid of Paul, the little runt. He’d go and see him later and make it clear he wasn’t paying any more and if he continued to harass him or demanded more money – which Derek assumed was what this was all about – he’d have no hesitation in going to the police. He had nothing to lose now his illegal online activities had been discovered, but Paul had plenty to lose and Derek had proof of his previous blackmail.

It was nearly 5am now, too early yet to go knocking on his door and wake his parents, and he needed to eat first; he was starving.

More confident than he’d been for some time, he went downstairs, took eggs and bacon from the fridge and threw them into a frying pan. He warmed a can of baked beans and boiled the kettle, and began humming Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, a favourite of his. The theme of the opera was of revenge, which seemed appropriate given what he had on his mind. He took his plate of food and mug of tea into the living room and sat on the sofa. He hardly ever used this room when his mother was here; she and the television dominated it. But now the television was off and her chair was empty it seemed to have become neutral territory, although it remained a cold, friendless room with little natural light and not one he’d want to spend a lot of time in.

Plate and mug empty, he left them on the coffee table, then rested his head back and allowed his eyes to close. It had been a long night and soon a full stomach combined with exhaustion and he fell asleep.

He awoke to the sound of the neighbour’s dog barking and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Drat. It was eight o’clock.

He immediately stood. He’d slept longer than he’d intended. He wanted to catch Paul before he left for work and he was going to have to use the bus again. Never mind, he consoled himself, if Paul wasn’t in he’d leave a message telling him to contact him as soon as possible. He’d know what it was about, and would do as he asked if he knew what was good for him. Derek was in charge again.

Not wanting to delay leaving he quickly brushed his teeth but left showering and a change of clothes until he returned. He took his house keys and wallet from the hall table and went out the door, deadlocking it behind him. He walked swiftly along the street, keeping his eyes down and away from the prying busybody neighbours as he headed for the bus stop. A woman who lived a few doors away was already waiting but she turned her back when she saw him approach, which suited him fine.

Five minutes later the bus arrived and he went to the very back, which was empty and well away from the woman. He looked out of the side window as the bus began its stop-start journey, still feeling pretty pleased with himself. He had successfully been reunited with his friends and extended family all but three, had identified Paul, and later when he returned home he’d get down to the business of finding evidence to help his solicitor defend him as he’d asked him to. Against his advice Derek had confessed his crimes to the police, but he wasn’t going to take the blame for every unsolved crime in the district simply because he’d fitted their CCTV. True, it was a worrying coincidence that so many of his clients had become the victims of crime but that wasn’t his fault. He’d done his best to protect them but people did silly things and left themselves vulnerable.

The bus finally jolted to a halt at the stop he needed and he began towards the road where Paul lived. He knew his way. The first time he’d been to Paul’s house had been when he’d collected him as a new apprentice and the last when he’d dropped off the second instalment of £500 hush money. He’d had two mates with him and they’d shouted abuse and tried to make him look foolish; well, the boot was on the other foot this time. Now who was going to look foolish? It vaguely crossed his mind whether Paul’s two friends were in on this too, in which case he’d have them all.

He went up the short path, pressed the bell and heard it ring inside. A few moments later the door was opened by Paul’s mother.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said politely. ‘Can I speak to Paul?’

‘He’s not here,’ she said, eyeing him up and down.

‘Can you tell me when he’ll be back? I need to discuss something with him.’

‘I can but who’s asking?’ she said. They’d never met but Derek knew who she was from his research.

‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Derek Flint. Paul used to work for me.’

‘In that case, he’s left something for you,’ she said curtly.

‘He has?’ Derek asked, surprised.

‘Wait there…’

He stared after her as she disappeared down the hall, not knowing what to make of it. Paul had left something for him? What on earth could it be? He hadn’t known he was coming, had he?

Returning, she passed him a piece of paper. ‘That’s the address where he’s working. He said if you came here to tell you to go find him there.’

‘He was expecting me?’

‘Apparently. What do you want to see him for anyway?’

‘It’s a work matter,’ Derek said.

‘Is that everything then?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He returned down the path as the front door closed sharply behind him.

He read the address as he walked: 35 Bushmead Close, Cranberry Gardens. It was an estate, about a fifteen minute walk away. Slightly uneasy that Paul appeared to be one step ahead of him again, he tucked the note into his trouser pocket and began in the direction of the estate, deep in thought.

Had Paul assumed that sooner or later he would find out who was behind his silly Watching You prank and come looking for him? He must have done. It was the only explanation. It crossed Derek’s mind as he walked that he could have asked Paul’s mother when he would be back and visited him at home, but that would have meant more tedious trips on the bus and further delay. This nonsense had been going on for long enough; better to confront Paul now and put an end to it, then he could concentrate on more important matters like gathering evidence for his defence. He was pleased Paul had found another job and was working again, it should help sort him out.

Derek knew the location of the estate but wasn’t familiar with its actual layout. He’d been asked to quote for work there a couple of times in the past but those quotes hadn’t been accepted. Most of the Cranberry estate was social housing and part of it was due for redevelopment, so the residents had neither the money nor inclination to pay for surveillance.

Ten minutes later he arrived at the main road leading to the estate, hot and sweating from the walk. The day was warm, he should have brought a bottle of water with him but he hadn’t expected to be walking this far.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, stopping a man. ‘Could you tell me where Bushmead Close is?’

‘Follow this road round the edge of the estate to the far end,’ he said pointing. ‘It’s the last road on your right.’

‘Thank you.’ Derek headed off in the direction the man had pointed.

It certainly wasn’t a very salubrious area, he thought grimly as he went, rows of identical, tired-looking terraced houses and three-storey concrete flats. The buildings would have been drab and unimaginative when first built but now with years of weathering and the accumulation of general muck and grime they were positively depressing. Quite a few appeared to be empty while many others had been badly neglected, with torn curtains hanging at grubby windows. It wasn’t the sort of place Derek usually visited nor liked to be associated with. No, his clients were professional people who had nice homes and kept them well maintained.

The road ran right around the edge of the estate as the man had said and at the furthest point he saw Bushmead Close on his right. Another jungle of concrete flats, odd numbers to the right, he noted, and evens to the left. He crossed over and began along the right-hand pavement, the flats rising above him, pressing in, and even more suffocating and desolate in the narrow confines of the close. Some of the ground-floor flats seemed to be for the elderly with wheelchair ramps and handrails. A dog barked and a baby screamed from an upper floor.

He found that number 35 was in the last block at the far end of the close. He pushed open the outer door and went in. A flight of grey metal steps rose in front of him. Checking the flat numbers, he deduced that 35 was on the top floor and, avoiding touching the grubby handrail for fear of germs, he started up, his footsteps echoing on the metal steps.

What work would Paul be doing here? he wondered. Certainly not upmarket surveillance. Probably a more basic trade like plumbing or electrics; everyone needed those services at some time. Yet he would have expected to see a trade’s van outside.

Arriving at the top floor he found that 35 was at the back of the building. It was very quiet up here and had an empty feel to it. No doormats, outdoor shoes or children’s toys left by front doors, and no noise or cooking smells coming from the flats. The door for 35 was dark green and in need of a repaint like the others. The bell was taped over so Derek assumed it hadn’t worked for a while. Lifting the small metal doorknocker, he gave a double rap. No sound came from within. He knocked again, this time more loudly. Silence, then he heard the door chain rattle and a key turning in the lock. Why would workmen lock themselves in, he wondered with a stab of unease.

But then the door was opened halfway by Paul, who was smiling. ‘Hello, Derek, glad you could make it. Do come in.’

Dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt bearing the Watching You logo, it was a moment before Derek knew what to say.

‘So you’re not going to deny it was you,’ he began.

‘Of course not.’ Paul laughed and pointed to the logo. ‘But don’t stand there, come on in and I’ll explain everything.’

Not wholly reassured but needing to know and have it out with Paul – the reason he’d come here – Derek cast aside any doubts. As Paul opened the door wider, he stepped in. The hall was very dark; he could hardly see a thing. All the walls appeared to be painted black and the small single bulb hanging from the ceiling at the far end gave virtually no light at all.

‘Are you working here?’ Derek asked cautiously.

‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ Paul said, and closed the door behind him.

‘What’s that smell? Is something burning?’

‘That’s very perceptive of you, Derek,’ Paul said cockily. ‘We’ve just been smoking a joint. You can have one if you like.’

‘No. You know I don’t smoke.’

He heard the key turn in the lock behind him.

‘Why are you locking the door?’ he asked, spinning round.

‘Just a precaution.’

Derek hesitated. He didn’t like Paul’s manner, it was unsettling.

‘I think I should go,’ he said, taking a step to the door.

‘But you’ve only just arrived. Come on in.’

Derek remained where he was. Something wasn’t right here. Smoking a joint when he was supposed to be working? And why was it so dark?

‘We can meet later, another time,’ he said and took another step towards the door. Paul stood in his way.

‘What are you doing? I’m going now, unlock the door please.’

‘No. I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’ll see.’

Fear gripped Derek. He made a lunge for the door but Paul grabbed him.

‘What’s going on? Let me out now!’ He tried to grapple with Paul but he was younger, stronger and fitter. Derek was no match.

A chilling laugh came from the hall behind and Derek spun round. Out of the gloom a ghoul-like figure appeared, its face deathly white, sightless eyes staring at him, and fanged teeth stained with blood.

‘What the fuck is this! Let me out!’ Derek cried again, and with renewed strength managed to push Paul out of the way. He groped in the dark for the key but it had gone from the lock. He hammered on the door with both fists. ‘Help! If you can hear me, call the police!’

A movement from behind him, then a sharp pain in his upper arm followed by a metallic taste, dizziness and falling. His arms flayed the air as he went down. Down, down, collapsing in a heap on the floor. The last thing Derek saw before unconsciousness engulfed him was the grotesque face of the ghoul leering over him, holding a syringe.