The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  At the age of fourteen, Chloe had on a number of occasions done things she wasn’t proud of or, as her mother used to say, ‘been in the wrong place at the wrong time’. But her latest experience was tattooed in her memory. Piercing blue eyes, wide with fear, bored into her thoughts like a bad dream. And no matter how hard she tried to rid herself of the memories, the glint of light reflected off the knife, and the hand held to the boy’s throat as he forced into the corner wouldn’t disappear.

  “Dad! Chloe! Dinner's on the table.” Leila’s voice echoed through the maisonette, startling Chloe back to the present. She cringed at the thought of sitting at a table and sharing a meal with her sister.

  Spinning, she checked her face in the mirror, looking for any changes that could give her away. Leila would kill her if she found out what Charlie Meyers had been doing to her in the boiler room. He’d been Leila’s boyfriend for a while now, and she thought he was the one. Dopey cow. If only she knew. Chloe smiled.

  Making her way downstairs, she reminded herself of the jar hidden under her bed and the tenners she added to it each time she did something Charlie liked. It was her ticket out of this dump. As she walked into the dining room, all thoughts of the little boy with the wide terrified eyes disappeared.

  13

  Placing a large manila file in the out box, Olivia drew her knees towards her chin and hugged them tightly. She pushed her hands against the desk, then she leaned her body to one side and turned her chair into a spin. It reminded her of the waltzer ride at the funfair she loved so much as a child.

  “Your being immature again, I see.” Her colleague Maisie giggled while lifting the lid on the photocopier.

  “I’ve just finished some paperwork and managed to place a hospitalised kid with a family and he hasn’t been discharged yet. I’m ahead of the game for once.”

  “Great stuff.” Maisie gave her the thumbs up and then continued. “I hate to burst your bubble, Liv, but…” She pointed to Olivia’s ‘In’ box, pursed her lips, and turned her attention back to her photocopying.

  “Thanks a lot, miss doom and gloom.” She took another case file from the tray. Maisie giggled as she watched Olivia’s reflection in the window, playfully poking her tongue out behind her. Their banter was broken by the shrill sound of Olivia’s ringtone which she sang along to for a few seconds before answering.

  “Hello, Delilah, and how are you this fabulous day? Before you answer that, you should know you’re on speakerphone, and Maisie is in the office with me.”

  “Hi Delilah, I’m actually going for a break, so you can curse at Liv as much as you want.”

  “Maisie my love, good to hear your voice. Don’t go on my account. I’ll curse Liv if I need to no matter who can hear.”

  “Alright, both of you. Don’t discuss me as if I’m not in the room.”

  “Okay, Liv, I’ll bite. What’s got into you today? Don’t tell me you’ve taken your daddy up on his offer to pay for everything for the rest of your life from the family estate. And even better, leave that awfully depressing job you call a vocation.”

  Always the same jibes. Olivia knew her friend meant well, so it was always the same— let her rant and get it out of her system, then they could move on.

  “Good guess, Lilah,” she replied. “But I’m afraid you’re way off the mark. The real reason for my bright mood is that it’s Friday, the start of the weekend.”

  “Okay then what are we going to do? Shall we go away for the weekend? Oo, I know. How about Paris?”

  The enthusiasm in her friend’s voice danced from the phone. Olivia breathed deeply. She knew Lilah wouldn’t like her response.

  “Wait a minute, Lilah, I can’t afford a trip like that as you know. Plus I may be needed to work tomorrow.”

  “See, that bloody job again. It ruins everything.” The line went quiet for a moment, and Olivia wondered if she’d ended the call. “Liv, you need a break. You work too hard. You know it’s because I’m concerned about you, don’t you?”

  “I know, Lilah, I’m grateful you’ve got my back. How about a meal? We could meet for dinner?”

  “Only if it’s somewhere in town. My treat, and after our catch up we can find somewhere to dance the night away.”

  Olivia smiled. She missed Delilah’s enthusiasm for fun. She agreed and ended the call as the office phone rung.

  “Hello, Olivia Devine speaking.”

  “Olivia, it’s Jess from reception. I have a woman in the foyer insisting on speaking to you. She won’t say why, but refuses to speak to anyone else. She’s adamant that it’s urgent and you’re the only one who can help her.”

  “What’s her name?” She tapped her fingers on the desk, staring once again at a pile of paperwork and contemplating how to get out of an unplanned meeting.

  “She says her name is Josie Jeffries, a friend of an Emily Dyer, if that means anything to you?”

  Olivia thought for a moment before answering. “Jess, I’m actually Mitchell Dyer’s caseworker, not Emily’s. I don’t see how I can help Miss Jeffries.”

  “Shall I send her away then? She seems in quite a state,” Jessie muttered into the phone.

  “Listen why don’t I trot down to the foyer, find out what she wants, and then see if we’ll need to use an interview room? Then we’ll know if she’s come to the right place.” Olivia made her way from the office. At least in the foyer, security men lurked in every corner watching for trouble.

  A spark of recognition came to Olivia as she regarded the small figure through the reinforced glass panelling in the double doors. She recalled meeting the young woman at Emily Dyer’s during a visit to assess Mitchell in the home environment. She remembered her in the background—timid with little to say. She could have been easily overlooked, transparent in Emily’s boisterous presence. Olivia took a moment to study Miss Jeffries. She was shorter than she remembered and fragile. The kind of girl her mum insisted would benefit from a few hearty home-cooked meals. The woman kept her head bent down and stared as if mesmerised by the twisted tissue. She threaded it between her fingers before picking at its edged and rolling the bits into a ball in her hand.

  The woman lifted her head and made eye contact as if she was aware of Olivia’s scrutiny. She moved forward swiftly the same time Olivia used her shoulder to push her way through the doors and into the busy foyer.

  “I’m Olivia Devine.” She stopped and linked her fingers, keeping her hands at waist height. “How may I help you, Ms. Jeffries, isn’t it?”

  Josie nodded and glanced around the bustling foyer. “Is there somewhere move private we could speak?”

  Olivia’s breath hitched, and a soft throb ignited in her right temple. “If you can give me an idea of what you wish to discuss, then I can decide the best action to take. It may be that another person or department would be more able to deal with your issue.”

  Josie noticed the confidence with which the woman she faced spoke, and for a moment, she was enveloped in feelings of inadequacy. She placed a hand under her ribs to still the barrage of emotions swirling in the pit of stomach, pulled her shoulders back, and forced herself to look Olivia in the eye.

  “Look, with respect, Miss Devine, I’ve come to you for help. I’m concerned for the safety of Emily Dyer and figured that anything affecting Em could be trouble for Mitchell and so must be your concern. Right?” Josie took a deep breath as Olivia raised a tentative hand and pushed the door, beckoning her to follow.

  Olivia led the way to the end of a dismal corridor. Paint peeled from the grubby walls, and the low ceilings and dim lighting collaborated to create a claustrophobic feeling in the hallway.

  “I think this room is free.” Olivia edged the door open, flicked the light switch, and ushered Josie inside.

  “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the plastic chair opposite the long formica covered table between them while sitting on a chair with a spongey cushioned base barely covered with threadbare fabric. She pulled the chair closer to the table, g
rabbed some scrap paper from a cardboard lid next to her, and retrieved a pencil from a pot by her elbow.

  “Right, Ms. Jeffries, what concerns do you have about Ms. Dyer?”

  “Please call me Josie,” she began, trying to control the emotions that now somersaulted in the pit of her stomach. “Emily is missing,” she blurted. “I’m afraid for her life.” She finished before Olivia had the opportunity to interrupt.

  Olivia shook her head and placed the pencil on the paper. “Look, Ms. Josie, you’ve come to the wrong place to report a missing person. May I suggest the best people to contact are the police…"

  She shook her head, her lips trembled, and she grabbed out for Olivia’s hand and squeezed. Olivia flinched at the pain as Josie’s nails dug into her palm. She stretched to her side and blindly felt for the panic button under the table.

  Josie scrunched her eyes shut as tears escaped her face and slid down her pallid cheeks. She released her hold on Olivia and sunk to her chair. Her whole body slumped forwards with just the table to stop her descent. She rested her head on her arms and sobbed.

  Olivia hesitated, watching the woman’s emotions erupt before her eyes. Her hand continued to hover over the button.

  “I’m sorry.” Josie reached for the box of tissues and jabbed around in the empty box, snot now mingling with her tears.

  Olivia offered her a tissue from the spare packet she carried around for emergencies. She’d learnt over the years that the chances were, if you had a crier, there’d be a lack of tissues in the room. She waited until the worst of the outburst had subsided and Josie had wiped her face.

  “This is different,” Josie whispered, barely lifting her head.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you. You heard what I said, speak to the police.”

  Josie stared ahead, the anguish in her eyes spoke to the guilt Olivia held about the information she was unable to disclose. She watched her drained face as she shook her head. “I can’t go to the police. They won’t believe me. Last time she went missing I heard them take bets on how long it would be before she’d surface. There was a side pot for how she’d spent her time off grid.” A tiny tear ran down Josie’s cheek. She erased it with the tip of her fingers, pretending to push her hair behind her ears. “Basically, they think she’ll go off with anyone who’ll put up with her and turn up when the bloke’s had enough.”

  Josie had caught Olivia’s attention, and although she knew questions were the jurisdiction of DS Edwards and his, there was one thing she needed to know.

  “So why is this time so different?”

  “It’s different because last time she disappeared, you told her to get her act together. You said if it happened again, you’d put the wheels in motion to have Mitchell put in care. That mortified her, the thought of losing her son. It was then she swore to turn her life around.”

  14

  Albie tapped his fingers biding his time as he edged out into slow moving traffic. An early morning chill seeped through a half an inch gap in the window, and the mournful sounds of Adele escaping from the radio did nothing to dispel his mood. Flicking through the stations, he searched for something more upbeat. He was relieved by the sudden interruption of his phone, and, jabbing the off button on the radio, he answered.

  “Edwards speaking.”

  “Sarge, a body’s been found near the river…”

  “Tell me more.”

  “The crime scene is in Charlton underpass. Tania and Frank are on their way. Are you near?”

  “Tell them I’m on my way, about twenty minutes away.”

  Albie indicated as the phone went dead. He made a complete u-turn and sped towards his destination, leaving behind a protest of blaring horns.

  After trying to park legally at the end of the road, Albie double parked next to an old Ford Escort that looked ready for the scrapyard. Instead of attempting to open the driver’s door, Albie clambered over the hand break and exited in the middle of the quiet road. He stopped for a moment, taking in the scene around the pub garden to his left. The place was already alive with customers. Many appeared to be taking up residence, sitting on the wooden bench tables, eating breakfast in all stages of undress. Obviously whatever was going on here was worth rolling out of bed early on a Saturday morning. He made his way towards the river which rippled, calm and unobtrusive.

  Adjusting his watch strap, he noticed it was just after 8.00am. He zig-zagged through a number of oncoming commuters heading towards the station. He slipped into an alleyway, keeping to the middle to avoid overgrown stinging nettles that bowed in his direction and swayed in the breeze.

  The road leading to the underpass was just ahead and full of people diverted from the crime scene. He could feel the humidity building already and was aware of the stench rising from the river. He knew the smell would be unbearable by midday, but it still wouldn’t rival the smell of the dead.

  The concrete tunnel entrance was split horizontally by a familiar blue and white police cordon—a symbol that something sinister lays beyond. Albie fumbled in his inside pocket for a second, pulled out his warrant card, and partially showed it while lifting the tape and bending to gain enter. He exchanged nonchalant nods with the officers on guard. Spotting his team near the far end of the underpass, he strode in their direction.

  “What can you tell me?” Albie looked past Tanya towards the large tent erected over the victim. The tunnel lights had the fascinating effect of silhouetting the people inside. Shadow puppets making decisive movements around the still form of the dead body.

  “He’s a local man. Tyler Duke. He’s twenty eight.” Frank held up some evidence bags containing the contents of the victim’s pockets. “The doc’s in the tent now. It’s quite ugly.” He added, glancing back towards the tent.

  “When isn’t it, Frank? Why don’t you head back to the station and run anything you have through the computers, find out everything you can about the victim. I’ll hitch a lift with Tanya.” Throwing the young officer his keys, he added with a grin, “You might want to take my car. It’s double parked.”

  “How’s it going working with ‘The Boy Wonder’?” Albie gestured to Frank’s retreating back. Tanya smiled as she led the way to the tent.

  She stopped just outside and considered her answer. “Well, it’s not as intense as working with ‘The Caped Crusader,’” She smiled. “But it’s great to pass on all you’ve taught me. Oh, and you’re right about his enthusiasm. It’s over and above!”

  Numerous emotions overwhelmed Albie as he entered the tent: Fear, anger, loathing, revulsion—all activated by the nauseous stink which overpowered the stench of the river, just as he had predicted. In those first few moments, his gaze wandered over the scene laid out before him. Albie held on tightly to those emotions. They reminded him of his humanity. Isolation in death was expected, but it often disturbed him that the struggle to stay in this world for some was so brutal and desolate.

  The body was slumped against the curved concrete wall. The victim’s head was leaning forwards onto his chest. His nose pointed in the direction of a large knife embedded hilt-deep just above his ribs.

  “Hi, Leo.” Albie nodded in the general direction the pathologist. “This looks vicious.” Kneeling by the side of the body, he pointed to a smattering of blood seeping through the material of the victim’s grey t-shirt. “What’s this?” he asked, distracted by a bloodied pattern made on the fabric.

  Leo sealed the bag he held and focused on Albie. He’d worked with him on many cases and knew he had an eye for detail. Unfortunately, because of this, he sometimes missed the bloody obvious. Tanya stood next to him jotting down notes. She was the jigsaw piece he’d been missing that made him so good at his job.

  “Right. This is how I’m going to approach this. Just for you, I’ll work backwards.”

  Albie glanced over his shoulder. “What are you taking about?”

  Leo smirked. Now he had his full attention, he inched the t-shirt upwards with tweezers, gradually exposin
g bloodied marks, like an amateur’s tattoo. “We’ll have clean this up and compare it to the carvings on the Dyer body. What are you thinking?”

  Albie shrugged. “It’s too soon to jump to conclusions, but you know how I feel about coincidences. Any ideas yet of the meaning of the other carvings?”

  “Still working on it. Could be some kind of message, I suppose. Anyway, that’s your job.”

  “Seems like the victim was quite into artwork himself,” Tanya interrupted as she studied a number of visible tattoos. “Not someone who’s adverse to pain. He's got quite a complex collection.”

  “Anything else?”

  Leo shrugged. “Apart from an extensive use of knives, it’s too soon to speculate.”

  “We’ve got the murder weapon though.”

  “Now that would appear obvious, but this wound may be post mortem. If so, the murder weapon is still missing.” Leo pointed to two small wounds in the victim’s back and throat.

  “Okay.” Tanya stepped forwards, her pen tucked behind her ear. “Time of death?”

  “Now that I can tell you. It’s not been long. Two or three hours tops. It’s a busy walkway. I’m surprised it wasn’t phoned in earlier.”

  Leo’s attention turned once again to the corpse. He bent, lifted a hand, and began to scrap under his fingernails.

  “Who found the body?” Albie asked as he followed Tanya out of the tent. She nodded in the direction of a young man. At a guess, he was in his early twenties, dressed in t-shirt, shorts, and trainers with a foil blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was on his haunches, his face buried in the fur of a black Labrador. The dog sat patiently between its owners knees, guarded and loyal.

  Pulling out her notebook, Tanya related the collected information.

  “His name is Zac Moore. He lives and works locally and runs this route with the dog twice a day. He works a night shift so runs early every morning to get the dog out. He’s in shock, says he doesn’t often see anyone on the early morning run.” Shutting her notebook, she continued, “And before you ask, no he does not recognise the victim and did not see anything suspicious or witness our murderer flee the scene.”