Stalker

Chapter Eight

‘You OK, Gov? Paul asked, barely able to hide his smirk.

‘Yes, of course,’ Derek snapped, coming down from the ladder. ‘It’s only a small snag. Fetch me the first-aid kit from the van, will you?’

‘Not a lot of point in putting it back, was there? Cutting yourself twice in one morning and you always being so safety conscious.’

Derek let the comment go, as he was increasingly having to do with Paul. He knew he wasn’t himself today; he had bigger, more worrying issues on his mind than Paul’s bad attitude. The incident at U-Beat nightclub kept replaying through his head just as he’d seen it but he needed to try to concentrate before he had any more accidents or let something slip.

Cupping his finger in the palm of his hand to stop the blood dripping onto the floor, he crossed to the small sink in the corner of the room and held it under the cold tap. The room was at the rear of the newsagents and used for storing stock. Cardboard boxes and crates containing bags of sweets, packets of cigarettes, crisps, fizzy drinks and so on were stacked all around him.

He was trying to fit a camera in this room to complement the one in the shop, and then put their system online. Originally Mr and Mrs Osman, the owners of the newsagent, had just wanted one camera in the shop to stop thieving from the displays and for their own protection, but on Sunday evening while the shop had been closed it had been broken into from the rear and stock stolen. They’d phoned him on Monday morning, desperate, and asked if he could fit the extra camera and put the system online. It was a relatively small job but the work wasn’t progressing as quickly as it should. He was struggling to concentrate, there was only limited space to move around, and Mr and Mrs Osman kept interrupting him – coming in for stock or to ask him questions when all he needed was to be left in peace to finish the job.

Paul eventually returned, carrying the first-aid box, with his phone still in his hand; taking advantage of him, Derek thought.

‘I’ll be nurse then,’ Paul said.

Derek turned off the cold water tap as Paul set the first-aid box on the work surface beside the sink and took out a plaster. Away from the cold water the cut immediately opened and started bleeding again. ‘It’s deeper than I thought,’ Derek said, holding it over the sink.

‘Is there a bigger plaster in here?’ Paul asked, rummaging in the first-aid box.

‘Should be.’

He found a larger plaster and a sterile pad. ‘Give us your finger then, and we’ll use this to stop the bleeding.’

Derek held out his hand and Paul steadied it as he pressed the sterile pad on the wound. Gentler than he would have imagined, Derek felt the cool tips of Paul’s fingers, the touch of his clammy palm, and the warmth of his body nearby. He was standing close, far too close. Soothed and excited, Derek breathed in the bittersweet seductive mustiness of the teenage boy, a heady mixture of testosterone, perspiration and deodorant. How long since he’d been this close to a young man? He knew exactly, and knew he mustn’t go there again.

He took a step back. Paul removed the sterile pad from the wound and then expertly peeled the plaster from its packet and pressed it gently into place.

‘Very professional,’ Derek said, his voice unsteady.

‘Should be; Mum’s a nurse. We’re all up to speed on first aid.’

‘Are you?’ Derek asked, feigning ignorance of Paul’s home life. ‘That’s good. Well done. You said “we”?’

‘Yes, Mum, Dad, my brother, sister and me,’ Paul clarified, closing the first-aid box. ‘Although they’re my parents’ favourites. I’m the runt of the litter.’ He threw the discarded packets and soiled dressing into the bin and then looked at Derek, waiting for his instructions. ‘What next?’

‘Oh, yes. Perhaps you could finish connecting that camera for me? You know what to do.’ His usual instructive manner had gone. The intimacy of a minute ago lingered and Derek was reluctant to let it go. He could identify with not fitting in. Although he didn’t have any siblings he was sure if he had he would have been his mother’s least favourite: the runt.

‘So you’re happy with the way your apprenticeship is going?’ he asked awkwardly as Paul climbed the ladder.

‘Yes. Why?’ He glanced down at him.

‘Well, I haven’t asked you before and it’s important you’re happy. The apprenticeship scheme will ask you for feedback.’

He shrugged. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘So no complaints?’

‘Apart from the abysmal pay, you mean?’

‘You’re on apprenticeship rates.’ He waited until Paul had finished clipping the wire he was working on. ‘And your home life? No worries there?’

‘None that you need to be concerned about,’ Paul returned.

‘And all’s going well with your girlfriend?’ Derek persisted. He knew Paul had a steady girlfriend because he disappeared most lunchtimes saying he was going to phone her.

‘I guess. Although last Saturday was a bit of a bummer after the stabbing at the club the Friday before.’

‘You go to U-Beat nightclub?’ Derek asked, taken aback.

‘Sometimes. The police were inside asking about the stabbing. It seems there might be a connection with some other crimes.’

‘They said that?’ He struggled to hide his shock. Thank goodness Paul was up the ladder and concentrating on wiring the camera.

‘Yes. They were trying to find out more about Kev, the bouncer who was stabbed. We didn’t know him.’

‘And the person who did it? Do they have any leads?’

‘Don’t think so. It seems he might have got away on a motorbike. Hey, you’ve got a bike, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, but I only take it out on Sundays,’ Derek said, a little too quickly.

Paul glanced at him, tightened the last screw, then came down the ladder and waited. ‘What next?’

Derek shook his head. ‘Nothing. Clear up and go home.’

‘You sure? It’s only one-thirty.’

‘Yes. I’ll be here a while talking Mr and Mrs Osman through accessing their system online; they don’t appear very computer savvy. Then I’m going home to catch up on some paperwork. I’ll see you at eight-thirty sharp in the morning.’

‘OK. Thanks.’ Paul quickly swept up the last of their mess and left.

Because Mr and Mrs Osman couldn’t leave the shop unattended, they came through to the stockroom separately to learn how to access their CCTV online, so it was three o’clock before Derek arrived home. His mother was exactly where he expected to find her – in the living room, watching television. She wasn’t surprised to hear him come in early, for his wasn’t a nine-to-five job.

‘I’ve put your clean laundry on your bed,’ she called. ‘Your room could do with a clean, but that’s your job.’

‘I know, I will,’ he said, bristling. She treated him like a little boy.

In the kitchen Derek put his lunchbox in the sink for washing later, poured himself a glass of water and went upstairs to his room where he would stay until she called him for dinner. It niggled him that she went into his room at all. At his age – forty-one – it should have been his domain, and she could have left his laundry in the airing cupboard, but he didn’t complain. He always turned the monitors off when he was out and even if she switched them on, which he doubted she would, she wouldn’t get any further than the screen savers, as the system was heavily password protected. It was the fact she had entered his territory at all that he bitterly resented, but he felt powerless to say anything.

With his bedroom door bolted, Derek sat in his office chair at his workstation, took a sip of water and powered up the monitors. As soon as they sprang into life he began searching local newspapers for updates on the stabbing at U-Beat nightclub. What Paul had said was worrying him.

The police were appealing for witnesses, the articles said, and anyone with any information should contact the number shown below. They were especially interested in talking to a motorbike rider seen leaving the area shortly after the incident, but there were no more details.

Derek opened the folder where he’d downloaded the footage from the CCTV camera at the front of the nightclub. When he’d watched in real time – as the attack had happened – he’d been concentrating on the actual action; now he scanned it for anything he might have missed. On the very edge of the screen he spotted a figure in black running from the alleyway just after the attack, but there was no motorbike in view.

He rewound to an hour before the incident and trawled through the footage, again concentrating on what was going on at the edges of the camera. His patience was eventually rewarded and he now saw what the police had presumably seen – what looked like the same figure entering the alley thirty minutes before the attack, but not detailed enough to make an identification, and no sign of a motorbike. He watched the footage for a few minutes more, then satisfied he had the same information as the police, closed the file.

Moving his chair to the centre of the workstation, Derek made a brief scan of all the live streams on all four screens, making sure nothing untoward was going on that might require his attention in the families he monitored. He zoomed in on a couple of images, then stopped at the Williams’ house, zoomed in and engaged the microphone on the camera in their living room. Mrs Williams was on the telephone, talking to her babysitter whom he recalled was their goddaughter. She was asking if she was free to babysit that evening for a few hours, and apparently she was.

‘That’s great. Thanks, Sophie, sorry it’s short notice,’ Mrs Williams said. ‘We won’t be late. Yes, come here for seven o’clock and Russ will take you home after.’ Derek had missed why she and Mr Williams were going out at short notice but he now knew their goddaughter was called Sophie. He liked to know all their names; it made him feel part of the family life he so yearned for.

His mother called from downstairs to say that dinner was ready and he clicked the mouse to put the system into sleep mode before going down. At least this meal would be freshly cooked and not dried or congealed from being kept warm in the oven for hours. She was already sitting at the table in the kitchen, waiting for him before beginning. The table as usual was covered with the faded flowered tablecloth and laid with the correct cutlery and the condiments set in the centre. They ate like this, even though there was just the two of them and even though he was sure she’d have been happier with her meal on a tray in front of the television. It was sad seeing her sitting there waiting for him, touchingly pathetic.

‘They’re putting CCTV in the flats where my sister lives,’ she said, picking up her knife and fork as he took his seat.

‘Oh yes?’

‘She was surprised we didn’t have it here. Why don’t we, Derek?’

‘Mum, when I asked you, you said you didn’t want it. That it would make you feel self-conscious.’

‘Yes, it would.’

He looked at her, not sure what to say for the best. ‘Don’t worry. This place won’t be burgled. You’re in most of the time and there’s little of value here for them to take.’

‘Whose fault is that?’ she snapped.

Derek didn’t reply. He knew the answer only too well. After his father had walked out, his mother had discovered he’d been borrowing heavily against the house and there was nothing left. It had taken Derek years to repay the debts, and the mortgage was still sixty per cent of the value of the house. He resented it too but he wished she wouldn’t keep harping on about it. It just made her more bitter.

‘Nice bit of braising steak,’ he said.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, then she returned to her chair in the living room while he washed up. It was part of their routine, their almost-harmony. Thank goodness he had his work.

He poured himself a glass of water and went upstairs as the theme tune of the first soap of the evening began in the living room. Dinner was timed around the soaps. She occasionally watched the news but not often. She said there was too much suffering in the world. She preferred the fictional world of the soaps.

What was it the poet TS Eliot said? Derek thought as he entered his room: ‘Human kind cannot bear very much reality.’ How true. He had liked poetry at school and would have liked to have studied it in higher education, but going to university had vanished along with his father and the debts he’d left behind.

Rolling his chair to the centre of the workstation, he brought the monitors out of sleep mode and the screens filled with the thumbnail images of the live streams. It was just starting to get dark outside and Derek liked this time of evening most of all. As the natural light faded and the infrared sensors took over, the pictures were tingled with a light pink hue, creating the impression of a magical fairy-tale land. Day and night images were harsh and uncompromising compared to this. He sat back in his chair and savoured the scenes for a moment. Then it was time to get to work.

Leaning forward with his arms resting lightly on the desk, Derek began scanning the thumbnail images and was immediately alerted to the living room of the Williams’ home again.

‘Sophie!’ he said aloud, shocked. She was lying on the sofa with her legs and arms wrapped around a lad Derek hadn’t seen before and assumed to be her boyfriend. ‘I bet Mr and Mrs Williams don’t know he’s there.’

He zoomed in so their image filled the screen and clicked on the speaker icon to engage the microphone on the camera. Grunts and groans, heavy breathing, sighs of pleasure accompanied the writhing bodies, as they kissed and groped each other. Disgusting, Derek thought. How old was she? He didn’t know but would guess fourteen, and the lad looked a couple of years older. They paused for a moment to drain the last of their drinks, ice cubes melting in the bottom of the cut-glass crystal tumblers.

‘Another G and T darling?’ the lad said in a voice that presumably was supposed to be an imitation of Russ’s.

Sophie giggled. ‘Oh, darling, I daren’t take any more of their gin; they’re sure to know it’s been watered down.’ She giggled some more.

Infuriated, Derek watched as they set their empty glasses on the floor and continued groping each other. The lad ran his hand under Sophie’s top and began fondling her breasts. She closed her eyes and moaned with delight. A few moments later the sound was interrupted by a child calling from upstairs.

‘Ignore it,’ Sophie sighed from underneath him.

You little cow, Derek thought. Mr and Mrs Williams trusted you to babysit and you’ve betrayed their trust, big time. But of course it was for reasons just like this that people fitted cameras inside their homes: stealing, underage drinking, and neglecting or maltreating the children or the elderly they were supposed to be in charge of.

As the couple’s passion grew, so did Derek’s anger and indignation. He loathed it when decent people were taken advantage of. It upset him and made him angry which was why he’d set up his online surveillance in the first place. Deceit and betrayal were near the top of his list of sins and part of his mission was to help those he found being taken advantage of. He hadn’t been able to help his mother all those years ago when his father had been deceiving her, so he was making up for it now. It empowered and emboldened him and made him feel more of a man.

The groping resumed and the lad pulled up Sophie’s top and lacy bra, exposing her pert tits. He started sucking her nipples. Ignoring his own arousal, Derek concentrated on the screen. The child had stopped calling out now, presumably having given up or gone back to sleep.

‘Let’s use their bed, it’s more comfortable,’ Sophie murmured.

The lad raised his head with a stupid grin on his face and climbing off Sophie pulled her to her feet. Giggling conspiratorially, they ran out of the living room and disappeared from the camera’s view, presumably upstairs. Time to act.

Derek minimized the image of the now-empty living room and launched the system’s email account. He couldn’t rely on Mr and Mrs Williams viewing their CCTV recording of the time they’d been out and discovering the betrayal for themselves. Busy people rarely viewed their CCTV footage unless they had reason to – and Derek was about to give them a very good reason.

The third standard email on his list of templates was entitled camera warning. Derek clicked on it, inserted the email addresses of both Mr and Mrs Williams and pressed send. He prided himself on monitoring his systems personally. He liked to be in control. With the satisfaction that comes from knowing justice is likely to be swift and sweet, he sat back and waited.