Not Far From Aviemore

by Michael Reuel

X

  Stalking

  Not every mystery in the world is hidden because it defies logical explanation; some are hidden because their keepers consider them too terrible to unearth. Such a mystery was the one haunting Becky’s past, long suppressed and unspoken but one that, like Adam’s, had come to define her path through life.

  She had wished and made plans for her secret to remain that way, but it should be easy to guess that the parasite had revealed itself once more and caused her flight to the Highlands… though less easy to guess at what the terror might be.

  In order to tell her story, Becky had to look back as far as her sixteenth birthday and, compelled to understand its beginnings, we too must look back, cross the Atlantic and the entire width of America in the process. In doing so, those of us in love with warmer climes, sun-kissed beaches and the sounds of the ocean can feel at ease for a time in escaping chill and lonely heights but, as we shall discover, the destination is no less perilous for the teller.

  To the coast of California we must force ourselves to look for a time, even to the greater ocean of the Pacific; the silent blue that wraps half the world in peace and tranquillity regardless of what wars wage on man’s side of the planet. Becky had looked out on such a view in her youth from the city of Santa Barbara, a name that inspires visions of surfing, bikinis and soft-top cars among those she had come to live her life alongside. She was aware of the expectation, of course, though suspected that her upbringing had not been as spoiled as many brought up on Hollywood movies might imagine. She would often find herself having to tell people ‘No, I don’t know any celebrities’ and ‘No, my family didn’t own a yacht’. Her parents had worked hard to buy their home, both employed in the financial sector, and the city boasted families of far greater affluence. That said, she could not protest too much at the stereotype and knew that California must have been among the most wonderful places for a child to grow up in the world.

  A different question people often asked, however, was ‘How could you give up all that sun and sand for England’s cold and damp?’ and to this question she tended to smile politely and not offer up an answer.

  Unanswered questions betray our secret burdens, regardless of the distance we have put behind us. It is not inconceivable that her academic path might have brought her to a London university anyway, but it will become clear that her reason for not returning to the US was to avoid a dark time she had no desire to risk again. This darkness occurred in the first year of the new Millennium, causing great turmoil and upheaval to the life her family had built up in the coastal city.

  Settled and unsuspecting, none of them foresaw trouble coming or could later explain why it had been theirs to suffer, but it arrived anyway as Becky, sixteen years of age and taking her first steps into an adult’s social life, sipped champagne at a friend’s housewarming party.

  The party itself was not the kind that youngsters in California are reported to have when their parents leave them with an empty house to take advantage of. Growing up in a pleasant district, the gathering was more of a community event as the new owners of the house wished for their neighbours to get to know them and therefore feel welcoming towards their new residence. In this fashion, though many family members and acquaintances were attending, there was also an open invite to the rest of the street to turn up and bring a friend as long as some of their own drink was brought along and there would be plentiful food to enjoy at the barbecue and buffet. Such open parties are not uncommon in California and, in affable communities where the trust and respect of neighbours are highly valued, are generally greeted in a positive and laid-back manner.

  Becky did not live on the same street but was acquainted with some of its new occupants from school. There were many people her own age present that she knew but also many she did not, so when a stranger came and sat amongst her group of friends there seemed no cause for alarm or even wariness of any kind.

  Asked later by the cops to comment on their first meeting, Becky was frustrated that her memory of the introduction was not clearer. In truth she had hardly noted the individual, raising her glass lightly in acknowledgement but not expecting to be drawn into any further conversation with the man called Stevens.

  As generally happens at parties and large gatherings, pockets of conversations were struck up randomly as the guests mingled, forming incongruous groupings, some that disintegrated quickly, some that lingered. Balancing the influence of liquor and pleasant company, there seemed no cause for concern just because one didn’t know the identity of a certain person.

  On returning from the bathroom, Becky sat back down to a conversation she had previously been having with two friends. The two friends, it then appeared, were also sharing the discussion with the man Stevens but, having no reason to think anything wrong, Becky held no suspicions. Her friends were polite people and may have drawn him into discussion, while for all she knew they might have known him anyway. From then on, therefore, Becky spoke as if she was addressing a group of three and, admittedly with the champagne flowing in some volume, in retrospect it took longer for her than wisdom might have granted to consider the fact that Stevens was not actually making any contribution to the conversation, apart from simply looking in her direction and nodding. This factor in itself was not instantly alarming, occurring quite often in social situations where individuals long to be accepted by a group of people unfamiliar to them, and Becky would not have been the first to have left a party wondering if a certain person had been shy, insular or just plain weird. However, with no grounds on which to make such a conclusion, the man was neither challenged nor ignored and it was only afterwards that she found out he had never been involved in the discussion at all; Stevens had surreptitiously made his way over until it appeared he was listening to them and on the verge of interjecting, which he never did, in order that Becky would believe him to be involved in the same discussion.

  Too late she would discover her two friends had more speedily reached their suspicions that the man was either strange or heavily liquored, but they had failed to consider that Becky had not been present at the time of his approach and so might have had a very different impression. Even so, as events transpired, the focus of Stevens’ unhinged affections would still fail to understand she was the reason for the man’s strange behaviour. His peculiar character did reveal itself to all present before the evening came to a close, however, but in so random a fashion that there was too scattered a jigsaw of conclusions to decipher a clear picture.

  With her two friends suddenly called away, Becky temporarily found herself sat away from the rest of the guests with the increasingly puzzling man. There were plenty of acquaintances she could have latched on to, but she was unsure how to excuse herself without seeming rude and, though later she would rue her politeness, decided she could not walk away without at least making a courteous remark. Though shrewd enough not to actually make conversation – smiling as she informed him of her intention to see what other beverages were available – somewhere in Stevens’ psychology the damage had already been done, laid like a mine that the sight of her had caused him to stumble upon and trigger.

  At that point many casual responses were available to Stevens, but the man showed contempt for any opportunity to appear normal, instead beginning some strange story about one of the rose beds in the garden. Becky didn’t exactly hear or understand what he was saying – remarks lacking a context were made more incomprehensible by a twang to his accent that she couldn’t place. Uncertain how to respond she decided to reply with, ‘I think it’s lovely what they’ve done with the house,’ while at the same time allowing her legs to put distance between them, before turning her back on any more ambiguous comments.

  The tiny exchange had been peculiar, but at the time she thought no more on it, reconnecting with her friends and not bothering to ask who he might have been. False impressions are not unusual in large social gatherings, especially when drinks and loud music are present.

  Looking back
, Becky had often wished to locate a moment of stupidity on her own part; some form of action or behaviour that could turn itself into a piece of wisdom to inform the rest of her life, even if it could not relieve her of the consequences. A fruitless search and, in her heart of hearts, she knew there was nothing to blame other than misfortune.

  Stevens had arrived out of nowhere, giving no clues as to why she was to become a victim and with no signpost warning of the dark and lonely road on which she found herself.

  Becky never recalled what was being discussed when the first note of disruption fell, except that she was leaning back on a couch surrounded by her oldest and best friends with no indication of why she should have been treasuring such a memory. The comfort of all present was shattered by a commotion towards the back of the garden area. Broken glass and a table toppled, accompanied by cries for calm, told everyone that something other than clumsy joviality was occurring.

  By the time Becky and her friends found their way to the source of the disturbance it was all over, plus there was no immediate indication it had anything to do with her. Nevertheless, they all knew the individual who had been hurt, the brother of a good friend whose head was covered with blood and clothes drenched with water from the swimming pool he’d had to be rescued from in a dazed state.

  With all initial concern being for the wounded individual, it took some time for Becky and her friends to find out exactly what had happened. Some guests had witnessed the incident, however, telling of how the young man had been hit with a glass before having a table topped with mostly empty beer cans thrown over him. The culprit had fled the scene as quickly as it happened, jumping the back fence.

  The injured party was soon able to tell them he was fine, though an ambulance was called as it looked like some stitches would be necessary. It was only then that the identity of the violent individual was ascertained, when one of her friends responded to a description of the man by saying ‘It sounds like that Stevens guy’.

  This of course struck a chord with Becky but also with many others and an investigation proceeded among the guests to find out whom the man had been and who had invited him. It turned out that the party host, who had introduced him to Becky’s group of friends, had been told his name by someone who had met him on the way into the house, but was mistaken to have presumed they had arrived together. On tracking down the said individual, found to be ‘making out’ in one of the bedrooms, it turned out that he didn’t know who the man was either. Embarrassed at suddenly finding himself the centre of attention – for more than one reason – his claim to have introduced him ‘with a question mark’ was something no one present found to be very useful.

  So that was how Becky found out she had been left in the company of a man no one at the party knew. At least she had avoided engaging him in private conversation but, even though she had no suspicions that the violence had anything to do with her, she did not forget that he’d said something about the rose bushes not far from where he’d gone on to cause all the trouble.

  Life returned to normal for a week, by the end of which Becky had already long given up thinking on the attack at the party. Police had asked questions of many present but, as had already been ascertained, no one claimed to know the individual, where he had come from or even his first name. None of it seemed to be of lasting concern, with the injured recovering well, so long as the aggressive party did not re-emerge – a likelihood most surmised would come true. Surely the stranger wouldn’t want to show his face again once sobered up, if not out of embarrassment then for fear of arrest.

  There seemed no pressing need to turn the world upside down, but chaos had already entered Becky’s life even as she was just beginning to make her way through the adult world.

  Running was one of her hobbies even back then, and it was sitting in the café of her leisure centre after a 10k session when it was first made clear her life had become more complicated. She had initially met two friends there, unwinding after her run with a glass of mineral water while they waited for the start of their hockey match, but when they said goodbye Becky was left alone. Home was only two streets away, but she found her limbs longed not to move with any urgency as she leaned back and relaxed to the delighted cries of children echoing in the background and the splash of broken water at each leap from a diving board.

  Eyes closed and at peace, she was not aware of his presence until she heard a voice ask ‘Tiring workout?’ and turned to find none other than the man known as Stevens sitting on the next table. This time it took only a glance to know that the strange stare and now a smirk with which he beheld her was not shyness or insularity but downright creepy. In fact he was nothing like she first surmised, seeming both confident and, for some reason, giving off the kind of self-important air one might associate with a religious fanatic. Brought up to never pre-judge and to grant people the benefit of the doubt, she still found it impossible not to dislike the way he was looking at her; studying her, she thought.

  Once again she was presented with the task of removing herself from his presence, but this time saw she would have to have a conversation with the man in order to do so.

  ‘Not too bad,’ she responded, as casually as possible while her brain whirled with the many reasons Stevens might have been in that place she visited so regularly. ‘You use this place often?’ she asked, hoping to get away with giving the impression she didn’t recognise him.

  ‘Not really,’ he replied, frustratingly offering nothing more but the same furtive stare.

  ‘Those guys in the gym really push each other, perhaps you’d enjoy it,’ she suggested.

  ‘There are better gyms than this.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Becky responded, wondering why such a disparaging comment was necessary and, if he really felt that way, what was he doing there?

  ‘I can show you one if you like.’

  And there it was, the descent from awkwardness she had dreaded, into the outright unacceptable. At least she needed no more incentive to make her excuses and leave.

  ‘No,’ she said, managing a smile while standing up, collecting her backpack and water, ‘I’m happy here.’

  She left then, feeling a great sense of relief that he said nothing else and no longer caring if he thought her rude or aloof. Her mind was now made up that there was good reason to avoid him but, though she expected the sense of relief to last when she had left the café, it still felt like she was being watched and studied even as she approached the sports reception and exit to the car park. Did Stevens have some vehicle that he was trying, in his own crude way, to sweet-talk her into sharing?

  As humans we are more nervous creatures than our cocky modern lives suggest. Western lifestyles are organised to the ideal of a free world, even if the liberties our ancestors fought for are still trampled over by many. No doubt some people are successful in achieving their own mock-life of kings, but the truth is all fear the malicious nature of fate might one day be attracted to us for no obvious reason.

  Leaving the sports complex that day, Becky found herself alarmingly conscious of the fear that something awful and beyond her power was due to occur. It seemed certain the individual had been responsible for the violence at the previous week’s house party; and clear he had creepy intentions upon approaching her in the café, but could she go further to suppose the man should be considered a danger? Was it wrong to suspect he had deliberately sought her out and his presence at the sports complex had not been an unhappy coincidence?

  Had he acted normally she might have been able to suppose the meeting was unfortunate, but his response ‘Not really’ when asked whether he was a regular visitor was vague enough to be disturbing and, come to think of it, he neither looked attired or equipped for any kind of leisure activity.

  By the time she reached the gates her mind was in a high enough state of insecurity to assess that caution was needed, even if she could convince herself later on to forget the man again. There were only two streets between the leisure comple
x and her house, along roads she had never feared, but she found herself hesitating and looking towards the car park exit as if about to be followed. The last thing Becky wanted was Stevens finding out where she lived but the sight of a surprisingly busy street warmed her heart, with two lawns being mowed and one household in the process of relocating. This enabled her to overcome nervousness and make her way home.

  After her unease it felt heart-warming to be smiled at by misters Wilson and Carrow, who she said ‘hi’ to, and likewise farther along with Mrs Deacon and her ten-year-old son Billy – then within sight of her home. For some reason the memory of community kindness taken for granted had stayed with her ever since, as if by some premonition she knew it would be the last time she dared walk down that street. Upon nearing her parents’ drive she did let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as, looking back the way she came with the hope of seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she sighted the lone vehicle sat at the crossroads. With no other traffic around, the car was not causing a hazard, but there was no clear reason for its driver to be waiting there other than to spy out the road down which she had walked. Still unnerved, it was impossible to dismiss her suspicions as to who sat behind the wheel. And though wrong to say she could make out the driver’s features, it would be right to say that she could make out enough to believe that she had been pursued, unless imagining the same short dark hair, high shoulders and beige jacket she had opened her eyes to find sitting beside her in the café.

  Staying put until the vehicle moved on, Becky then entered her house shaken and with little hope Stevens did not then know where she lived. Believing the temperamental character to have a growing infatuation for her, she did not yet have the raw fear of someone whose life was in danger, but did have the frustration of someone who had been enticed to imagine it might be.

  Torn between the annoyance of wanting to give someone a piece of her mind and the doubt of not knowing what she was up against, there followed a time defined by uncertainty while Becky waited to see if and in what manner Stevens would show his face again. Needing no more excruciating meetings to decide she wished to stay away from him at all costs – to go out of her way if necessary – at that point she did not judge her anxieties substantial enough to discuss with her family, for fear of alienating herself through paranoia, or risking misinterpretations that could be twisted to evil purpose. There was nothing certain to say the individual had an obsessive nature and that he would not move on to other temptations if waiting became tedious. While confiding in family or friends was also rejected, in case the openness might cause someone to challenge him on her behalf, escalating a situation that might otherwise dissipate.

  So a solution that could not be seen as drastic did not emerge and the time Becky spent reflecting on Stevens’ reappearance did not present any clues as to what should be done about him if his attention continued to be drawn. Instead, hoping the problem would go away, she merely sought to lead as normal a life as possible, while compromising on any activities that might make her vulnerable to running into him again.

  Stalking was the eventuality she feared, however, and her senses were kept open to any subtler happenings she might previously have missed. Later that same day she thought the same car might have passed by the junction again, but it was just as night was falling that she knew it was back for certain. Once again it was too far away to make out the driver’s features, but it was clear the vehicle was not empty and there seemed every reason to feel the driver was staring up at her bedroom window.

  The next day the car was absent, but it was that second night when the phone calls started; just the one at first, waking her mother at midnight to an instantly dead receiver, but then more often and at all times of the day. Becky didn’t go out alone unless with friends and even then avoided public places, while all the time phone calls continued and at completely random times and days she would still see the car she believed Stevens drove. That he did not approach her again for a while was the only relief as the tension steadily grew throughout the household, then after a month the phone calls stopped and the car no longer appeared at the end of the road. No more word had been heard of the individual and Becky was able to consider being optimistic that he had grown bored and moved on. She was still uncertain on what level Stevens should be feared and, having not seen her friends for a month, decided to attempt a cautious return to society. Rather than pretending to revise in her bedroom for the weekend she accepted an invitation to the cinema that went without incident, but was soon to learn she had underestimated the serious nature of the unwanted attention.

  Tension escalated again on a day that she joined three friends for a game of mixed tennis doubles. One of her more affluent acquaintances had a tennis court in the grounds of her house and wanted a friend present as an excuse to invite her new boyfriend over. It was a beautiful summer’s day and after the match was over they all decided to walk to the beach and relax with drinks and ice cream. To onlookers it might have appeared the boys and girls made up two young couples and, after feeling shut off from the world, Becky was aware that being in the company of a likable member of the opposite sex felt heart-warming. On returning home there was a glow about her that had been missing.

  Enticed into thinking that the shadow on her life may have passed, a phone call from her friend the following morning was to tear at the fabric of her world. The boy she had walked the beach with the evening before was in hospital, having been attacked on his walk home and severely beaten. Subjected to a vicious assault from an unseen assailant, the result had been a broken arm and concussion though, the doctors agreed, could have been much worse.

  All involved had been scratching their heads over the attack, which had not occurred in a violent area and appeared to have no purpose other than for the pursuit of violence. Giles had been left lying on the floor with his wallet and other belongings untouched, having no memory of upsetting anyone during the course of the day. Struck from behind, he could not remember much of the attack and there had been no opportunity to put up a fight. Becky, on the other hand, instantly thought of Stevens and, although still in doubt, this time took the decision to inform her family of the anxieties suffered over the last few weeks and whom she believed was behind the prank phone calls. Once the information had sunk in her parents then took the decision to inform the police of a potential suspect, although stressing they were far from certain over the issue. Should any witnesses have seen or could testify that Stevens was close to the scene of the crime that day, then the authorities might have a solution.

  It took the police a few days to track the man Stevens down, but once they did the result proved an anti-climax to all parties involved. Indeed, it was not even deemed necessary to take him to the station for questioning and Becky’s family were only informed hours after the suspect had already been dismissed. The man had a secure alibi, apparently, being registered as taking part in construction work over the other side of town.

  Feeling a little embarrassed at having spoken out on an insecurity that appeared to be unfounded, Becky might also have imagined she had overestimated the danger that Stevens posed, but for some reason the anxiety did not leave and telling herself that she was irrational did not work. The coincidence seemed too convenient and the police work questionable.

  It was, therefore, little surprise when she saw Stevens looking up at her class window on her return to college the next week. She did not believe anyone else had attacked Giles and was further astounded that he even knew in which part of the building she was studying. From then on it seemed that his obsession hit another gear, as it became clear he had gone to extreme lengths to research every small detail of her life. Plus, if the police had indeed spoken to the correct suspect then an encounter with the authorities had done nothing to discourage his stalking.

  At first her loved ones treated her with kids’ gloves when she appealed to them that the investigative officers had been wrong, but she knew them well enough to understand the
y saw her as jumping to conclusions. No immediate action was taken and the first seed of discontent was sown between Becky and her family, though proceeding events soon made all realise there was a very real issue to deal with.

  The phone calls intensified; soon they were leaving it ringing for an hour at a time or off the hook completely. Junk mail began to pour through the door from all manner of companies responding to enquiries that had never occurred, addressed to all members of the household, while strange painted objects left in the garden overnight furthered the intimidation.

  Stevens’ car was no longer seen on the road, but Becky could not believe he was far away and not watching her every step. Such fears were proved sound when, after a weekend away, the family returned to find a fire brigade outside their house and smoke rising high into the air. On investigation it turned out that only the garage was badly damaged, the neighbours having responded quickly to the smell of smoke drifting through their windows. No witnesses, no fingerprints or clear signs of arson were found and the family then began to share Becky’s frustrations that no arrest could be made, even with the added complaint of stalking made in full which, as many before have found, held little weight in legal circles. No provable evidence led directly to him: not for harassment, GBH or arson, and stalking was not even an official crime in the US.

  Appeals to the authorities did nothing to alarm Stevens and from then on his attempts to disturb them accelerated, while becoming more malicious in intent. A major incident occurred virtually every week, starting with her father crashing his car because the brakes failed – fortunate not to have killed himself or others – and continuing with the cutting off of their electricity and the appearance of members of the household in the obituary of the local newspaper. All this was topped on the day police knocked at the door in order to question her parents about a tip-off claiming they had been abusing children. It seemed there were no depths to which Stevens would sink to tear their lives apart; the inquiry was quickly rebuffed and the police satisfied, but the shame of even being asked such a question shook the family to its core. Even though they would receive a full apology, it was in the aftermath of the family’s hurt that the stakes were raised – on the day her brother was shot.

  It was a drive-by shooting as her sibling Ben was out with his friends, having insisted on going about his life as normal regardless of the meddling they believed to have occurred to their father’s car. The bullet wound was in Ben’s hamstring and they would all visit him in hospital the next day, but this time there would be no reason for doubting the culprit after a letter was received the next day from Stevens confessing to the shooting.

  The message, pasted together with letters cut from newspapers, read:

  Aimed for Ben’s leg on purpose. Will shoot in head next time.

  Give up Becky or die the lot of you. I have killed before!

  With no grey areas remaining, this time the police did accept that the family was facing a very serious situation and a massive operation then ensued to locate the threatening individual at the same time as protecting the family.

  For three days officers stayed at the home with them, at first safeguarding a relieved family who felt that at any moment a knock at the door or a phone call would inform them that their tormenter had been arrested. Plenty of clues had been left behind as to Stevens’ movements after all and surely one such lead would see him running into the police at some point.

  Or so the next false hope went.

  On the third day a report came through that a pursuit was on some miles from the city, with officers having reported a sighting.

  With optimism raised that the net was closing in, the family relaxed temporarily; but it was a respite doomed to implode. The next report to come back from the police was one of pure chaos. Having tracked the driver they believed to be Stevens to an isolated house in farmland some miles from the city, officers had approached the property with the intention of making an arrest, or of holding out until the man gave himself up. With guns pointed at the house, officers shouted to indicate the abode was surrounded and that if they saw Stevens with gun in hand they had the order to shoot, but this villain had no intention of going quietly and, as they would soon find out, hadn’t even begun to contemplate the question of whether to be caught dead or alive.

  They would see the smoke for miles around after the house exploded; whatever concoction had been put together was powerful enough to set flame in the surrounding forest. Two police officers were hospitalised, one would not work again, but really it had been fortunate that none of them had been killed.

  In the chaos Stevens escaped, the police assumed via a nearby stream though no sighting had been made and no sign of him could be found. Certainly there was little time to debate whether he had destroyed himself in the blast, as Stevens made his next move before news of the failed pursuit had even reached the Green family. This time it was not a house going up in flames but the family waste can. No one was hurt but the incident brought into question the efficacy of the police protection plan. Seemingly the waste can had been laid with explosives some time before a watch had been set on the house and it was not to be assumed that there was nothing else due to explode at the touch of a button. Bomb experts who attended the scene found that the device had been triggered by remote control, they believed within a 500-metre radius. As the decision was taken to remove the family to a safe location, the hunt for Stevens – believed to be somewhere in the vicinity – intensified, but once again the family would be disappointed when learning on the morrow that all efforts had proved fruitless.

  Stevens was not found and with the search coming up cold the family faced having their lives uprooted with a temporary assignment to a witness protection programme – temporary is what they were told but, being increasingly sceptical of the attempts to locate the man threatening their lives, they feared the move would be for some time, if not permanent.

  Events would not find closure in such a straightforward fashion, however. As years later Becky would end up telling the London police, she was not part of a witness protection programme but was living in fear of someone declared dead in the US of A.

  The final day of incident came nine days later, the household having been moved to a rural location, to the outskirts of a small town 100 miles from Santa Barbara, where they were accompanied by a discreet security team. Assured there was no risk of their location being leaked to Stevens, once again both the family and the police would find they had underestimated their foe.

  Somehow their cover was blown and they were lucky that no severe consequences followed. It was Becky herself who, unable to sleep, looked out of the window and caught the shadow of an intruder making his way through the garden. She did not stop to consider the coincidence of a rogue burglar (by that point, and ever since, she had credited Stevens with any suspicious occurrence). The house was roused and mostly by her own insistence did the family, together with the dual security team, take to the transit van and flee the scene, leaving an incoming team to search for the intruder rather than attempting some capture themselves. Becky had by then learned not to underestimate him, dreading the depths of his obsession and his aptitude for manipulation and chaos.

  The house was left behind but again they found their reaction to be anticipated; they were pursued. A desperate night-time chase then followed that could have concluded with many outcomes, but the officers did well not to swerve off the road as Stevens attempted to cause a crash. Shots were fired at their driver, but it was return fire at the tyres of their pursuer that meant another attempt on their lives failed.

  Shaken but unhurt, the family made it to the nearest police station and remained looked-after for the rest of the night. They did not see Stevens again but it was during those nightly hours when a further bone of contention occurred that further divided the family in the weeks and years that followed.

  The story they were told had a similar ring to it. Search teams were able to locate Stevens’ vehicle, follo
wing the tracks from where he had left the road – evidently he’d had time to change the flat tyre and escape before the remote location, chosen for that very advantage, could be reached. As before, the vehicle was sighted heading towards another country lodge. This time the assembling officers had not even been given orders to approach the house when the explosion happened.

  There was no river on that occasion and, investigative teams insisted, there had been no escape. The property had supposedly been vacant when the lonesome owner had passed away three weeks before from a heart attack, nevertheless a body was found once the fire had dwindled and smoke faded. Too thoroughly burned to identify, police traced the teeth of the body to the dental records of a former inmate of a psychiatric hospital in Sacramento; one Pedro Rodriguez who had escaped and become a missing person aged thirteen.

  A few days later Becky was presented with a photo of the boy – as he had once been – in the San Francisco hotel where they had been further relocated. There was a likeness there for sure, but her own response was that she doubted the image presented to her had grown into the man who called himself Stevens.

  Following the trauma of being the object of spiteful lust there came a bitter fallout. Becky’s refusal to believe Stevens was dead was first treated sensitively, but soon became patronising. Foolishly – Becky would later assess – she agreed to meet with a therapist on the issue who filed the authorities with a report informing them that she was suffering from something called ‘denial of fact’. This was all the police needed to close the case, but any anger Becky felt towards the authorities was nothing to the hurt she would feel when her family began to doubt her sanity. None of them had seen Stevens close-up as she had and, though they had remained supportive at her original denial, once the police had decided to close the case her parents had suggested that maybe they return home and accept the conclusion. Under intense family pressure Becky insisted this not to be the case and that the police had failed them. She would not risk the lives of her family and in the end the decision to relocate was taken, a decision she felt to be necessary but knew that her parents attributed to her stubbornness.

  To the East Coast and Boston, from where her parents originally hailed, the family then took themselves. At first efforts to restart their lives were positively undertaken, but relations soon disintegrated as she sensed the blame aimed her way for no longer being in their beloved home in the sun-filled West. Her father was effectively semi-retired because of the relocation, with any potential for furthering the social situation of the family severely restricted; ambition was a rug that had been pulled out from under them and Becky sensed resentment for her ‘denial’.

  Growing cold to family life and having lost touch with all her friends, Becky turned her attention to academic matters and found studying to be her only solace. She had performed without excelling at school in Santa Barbara, but soon she began to progress in science and a new route opened up for her. There were opportunities to apply for the major universities in the US but, when the option arose to apply for a course at UCL College London, the decision to move far away from the country where she still feared seeing Stevens’ face around every street corner was not so difficult to take.