The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  “Listen.” Albie leaned closer to Eva and nudged her arm. “I’ll have a word with Lucy. You’re right, she’s acting weird.”

  Eva nodded and laid her fork on the plate.

  “It’s unsettling. You know, being watched. I can’t really explain. It’s a feeling. A presence. You turn. There’s no one."

  Albie cupped her hand with his, “It’ll be okay, Eva. I’ll sort it. Promise.”

  She slipped her hand from his and giggled.

  “Well, she’s not the first wacky girlfriend you’ve had, and no doubt there’ll be more.”

  “Talking about past girlfriends.”

  Eva raised her hand.

  “You don’t have to say anything. Mack mentioned she’s a caseworker for that poor kid who was attacked”

  Albie nodded. Mack was a prosecution lawyer, often in and out of the station. At times, Albie felt that Mack was more up on the cases than him and his team. Nothing slipped past Mack.

  “What. So no wisdom you feel you just have to share?”

  Eva pushed her plate away and wiped her mouth and fingers with the napkin.

  “Not eating the pie?”

  She shrugged. “Go ahead. Look. Just, well…just don’t get involved. She’s no good for you.”

  Albie swallowed a mouthful of pie and shoved some money across the table.

  “I’ll have another pint.”

  Eva stood and picked up the coins one at a time.

  “Listen, you know what I think about your dad, but that was the first time ever that I was glad he’d not been knocked down by a bus. You might have been pissed off by his intervention at the time. Whatever you care to believe, he saved your career and probably your life.”

  He raised his face to hers, dipped a chip into tomato sauce, and ate it in one mouthful.

  “And whatever you think did or didn’t happen at that murder trial, it was my evidence during cross examination that sacrificed Olivia Devine. She took the fallout because of my statement.”

  Eva placed her empty hand on his arm.

  “I’m getting those drinks, and by the time I get back to this table I expect your guilt trip to be forgotten and helpful conversation to be back on the agenda.”

  He scowled at her too late. She already had her back to him. Albie recognised her need to support him. It had been her mission ever since they’d first met in the playground all those years earlier. In other circumstances, he wouldn’t have been so bothered by Eva’s interference. He supposed Olivia’s reluctant return, these last few days, had dug away at doubts and guilt he’d buried years before. And it had him questioning his lack of morals. In truth, the quickening of his pulse and throb in his stomach each time they met was more likely caused by fear—an adrenaline rush urging him to run from her and every seed of guilt she represented in his own mind.

  “Here.” Eva handed him his pint and tipped the coins from her hand onto the wet ring on the table. “My round. Anyway, I wasn’t going to stand there counting pennies out on the bar. You do that every time. I’m sure it’s your way of getting me to buy.”

  Albie lifted his drink to her glass. “Cheers mate, I’ll have to try something else next time.”

  They both grinned.

  “So, just to summarise. You’ll contact Lucy and ask her to stop with the stalking. You’ll stay away from Olivia and stop with the guilt trip. If the occasion suits, perhaps you can send Freddie a thank you card—only joking.” She said as his face soured.

  “Don’t joke about Freddie, Eva. You know better than that. Anyway, you may be closer to the truth than you know. I may have to pay him a visit in the near future.”

  Eva’s smile snagged on one side of her mouth. “Now you’re joking, right.”

  Albie shook his head. “If only. His name’s cropped up with this business loan of one of the murder victims. Not the person lending the money. A business associate. The money lender is accountable to Freddie. I think so anyway. They’re still making tentative links.”

  “Tell me when and I’ll go with you. He’ll be on his best behaviour if I keep you company.”

  “It’s not happening. This is work. You can’t be involved. Stop giving me that look. Look you’ve enough to do keeping Lucy off your back at the moment. Can you imagine leading her to Freddie? It would be like enticing her into a psychopath’s den.”

  Eva laughed. “That’s the first sensible suggestion you’ve had today. It’s one way of eliminating my stalker and feeding your sick father’s violent tendencies all in one hit.”

  “Yes, I can see the press reports now. ‘Detective Sergeant’s stalker girlfriend taught a lesson by his secret gangster father.’ Now that would sell a few papers and definitely be the end of my career.”

  He drained the rest of his pint and stuck out his elbow. Eva hooked her arm through and they made for the door and out into the fading sunshine.

  29

  Reggie fumbled in his pocket for his door key as he strode along the balcony. He’d unintentionally worked through his lunch break, overwhelmed with the clearance of one of the empty homes in preparation for new tenants. He’d flinched at the number of used needles and condoms that had decorated the rooms. It happened every time a family moved out—the parasites found a new base. It didn’t matter how vigilant he was with locks and metal window grates; they always found a way to slither into the properties and trash them within weeks.

  His stomach growled as he turned the key in the lock and leant against the door. He was met by resistance from the clank of the chain lock. With a sudden feeling of ill ease, Reggie stepped back, lifted his hand to shield his eyes, and tried to focus on an upstairs window. He squinted against the glare of the sunshine on the windows that distorted his vision. He put his ear to the open letter box and listened. Silence. Balling his fist, he hammered on the door repeatedly. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

  “Nick. Open the door.” His voice echoed into the emptiness. He called one last time before ramming his shoulder into the door. Wiping his forehead and circling his shoulder, he moved back until he felt the balcony against his back. Reggie breathed deeply, took a short run up, and hurled himself at the door, this time dislodging the chain. The momentum sent him hurtling through the hall, colliding with the staircase. He ended up spreadeagled on the carpeted floor. Slumping against the kitchen door, he lifted his hand and tentatively probed the back of his head. He flinched and withdrew his hand, examining his fingers, half expecting to see them coated in blood. Realising any damage was minor, despite the pain, he staggered to his feet and grabbed the bannister for support as he pulled himself from one stair to the next.

  The barely audible sound of his son’s name escaped his lips as he reached the landing. The thrumming in his chest quickened at the memory of finding his son unconscious with jagged congealed wounds on his wrists only months before. The hospital had assured him at the time that the wounds were superficial and a cry for help rather than a serious attempt to take his own life. Reggie was not so sure. After all, what did they know about Nick or the horrors he’d had to face over the years?

  Reggie tapped lightly on the bedroom door. “Nick. It’s Dad. Can I come in?” Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed down on the handle and edged the door open in increments. Hands extended, Reggie felt the air as he took cautious steps forwards as his eyes adjusted to the unnaturally dark surroundings. No sunlight intruded through the blackout blinds Nick had installed when he first returned home and worked the twilight shift at a local loading bay. He‘d become increasingly difficult when his routine was upended and, even worse, unable to adjust his sleeping habits. The only light in the room was the dim motion which escaped Nick’s laptop. The light slipped silently over Nick’s still body in a soothing caress. On closer inspection, he was relieved to see his son was sleeping peacefully.

  As he bent to cover Nick with a throw from the bed, he was distracted by the dancing screen. He pulled his glasses from his jacket pocket and balanced them on the rim of hi
s nose. The image came into focus, and hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He lowered the lid and scanned the room. The intrusiveness of his actions perplex him and he was uncertain of what he’d witnessed.

  Reggie rose to his feet. He scanned the room and noticed Nick had assembled the telescope he’d dismantled when he’d left for the city. Nick’s face had shone with excitement, and the hobby of star gazing had become a reality. He trod carefully, not wanting to disturb Nick but unable to resist a peek. He bent low and manoeuvred the blind to encompass the telescope. Rather than angled towards the sky, the instrument was directed across the estate. Reggie hunched over the telescope. One hand held it steady, and he pressed the other on the windowsill. The trajectory of the telescope drew his eye to a front upstairs window. Reggie froze in that position, his thoughts in a whirl. His hand dropped to his side, and he inched out from under the blind. As he closed the bedroom door and retraced his steps, he attempted to make sense of what he’d seen, but his mind refused to cooperate. Nick was alive and able to sleep. This was a bonus. Everything else would have a simple explanation.

  30

  “Is he here?” Albie pushed his warrant card inches from the face of a smartly dressed stocky man.” The man swatted the card away like an annoying fly. He stared straight ahead and smirked.

  “What brings you here, Eddie?”

  “Not your business,” he mumbled as he pushed past and entered a long dingy corridor. The claustrophobic decor did nothing to slow his stride. A black arched cavern with stencilled gold spider’s webs overhung a matted blood-red carpet. The rapid beat of his heart increased, and he raised his hand as it contracted above his rib cage. Loosening his tie with one hand, he inhaled, lifted his other hand, and rapped on a large oak door.

  Albie stared at the man blocking the doorway. He thrust his warrant card in his face and snapped it shut as he forced his foot and shoulder into the door. With one barge, he was in the room. A strong arm tightened around his neck from behind, and the glint of metal caught the corner of his eye. He reluctantly raised both hands in defeat.

  “Eddie. It’s good to see you after all this time.” A spray of saliva slid down his cheek, while the hiss of words vibrated in his ear.

  “Okay, Dominic, you’ve had your fun. Be nice to your brother.” Albie felt the hold on his arm loosen. He squirmed from his brother’s grip and pulled away from his sweaty body. Wiping spit from his face, he turned towards the familiar voice from the other side of the room. He approached a solid oak desk and was drawn to its intricate carvings and bulbous legs that epitomised the luxurious grandeur of his surroundings. A complete contrast to the rest of the building.

  Flanked by two men, Albie focused on the figure lounging in a plush high-backed leather chair, cigar in hand, a glimmer in his eye, and an amused grin etched on his face. Instinctively, Albie lowered his gaze from a sickening reality he couldn’t deny. His connection with the man on the opposite side of the desk was obvious and gut wrenching. Even an idiot would see the resemblance between them. All Albie could see was an image of himself in twenty years’ time. In truth, he believed that similarity in appearance was the only common factor the two shared, but each time he made a visit to his lair, he spotted another likeness. Still to him, the unbearable fact that Freddie Hurst was his biological father was insignificant.

  “Call off your henchmen, Freddie.” Albie said, attempting to release his wrists from their grip.

  The men acknowledged the slight nod of Freddie’s head and loosed their hold, then backed into the alcoves at the far end of the room. Freddie pointed to the chair opposite and then gestured for Albie to be seated. In response, he leant forward, placed his hands on the back of the chair, and stared.

  “It’s good to see you, son. Sit down will you. It’s only polite if there’s something you want to discuss. I’ve not got time for your childish hierarchal games.”

  Freddie lowered his head, picked up his pen, and began to sign papers. Albie watched the top of his father’s head before taking a seat. This was a small battle to lose. Freddie used the pen once more, placed it on the paperwork, steepled his fingers, and only then gave his attention to his son.

  “Sorry about the welcome party, but what the hell do you expect when you announce your entry by shoving a warrant card in everyone’s face. You’re my son. That’s all you needed to say to avoid the rough welcome.” He shifted in his chair and dipped the end of a cigar in the flame of an engraved pipe lighter.

  “How long’s it been? Four…Five years since your last visit.” He turned to his left and blew out a haze of wispy grey smoke. A rasp of a cough rumbled from deep within his lungs, raw and persistent.

  Ignoring his insinuations and waiting for the cough to subside, Albie studied the man he’d worshiped in his childhood, resented in his teens, and demonised whenever they came face to face. Anger bubbled under the surface of his calm exterior. His fingers itched and hands clenched. If it wasn’t for his career, he’d lunge across the table and end the old man now. Erase him from his life and the lives of those he loved.

  “This isn’t a poxy social. Believe me, it’s the last place I want to be. I’m investigating a murder and, surprise, surprise, whose name floated to the top of the pile like the layer of scum in a stagnant pond?”

  Freddie nodded and grinned. “I see. Have you just come to bollock your old man? Or is something on your mind?”

  “Basically I need to know if you’re involved and to what extent.” Albie leant forward, elbows on the desk, and fingers steepled.

  “Right.” Freddie smirked at the man in front of him and examined his face for telltale signs of emotion. Seeing not an iota, he continued. “So you decided to make the journey rather than send your minions. Still protecting your hidden secret? Don’t want to be tainted by association, do you? God forbid your bosses uncovered the truth ‘bout your patronage.”

  “Tyler Duke.” Albie slid a photograph of the man on his wedding day across the desk. “Ring any bells?” he asked without taking his eyes off the man opposite. “He recently borrowed money from an associate of yours. Wanted to open a small chain of restaurants.” Freddie’s nonchalant glance showed no surprise before the photo was shoved back in his direction without comment. “Well? Any recollection?

  Freddie shrugged. “Could be anyone. These kids all look the same to me.” He waved the photo away from his face as Albie tried to show him again. Freddie’s smirk was replaced by a grimace as he tried to control the onset of another coughing fit.

  “What about the name Tyler Duke, Freddie? Is he on your hit list?”

  “Look, Eddie. I’ve heard the name, but not for the reasons you’re suggesting.” Freddie leant closer and lowered his voice. “He called me. Wanted me to do away with his missus.”

  “Go on.”

  “She’d been against him seeing his kid.”

  Albie inched forward and slid a buff envelope across the table.

  “Well, you’ve lost a client. Take a look at this.”

  Freddie took his time. “Interesting.” With a slow shake of the head, Freddie waved the photo between them. “This isn’t a hit, son. It’s sloppy. Looks like the work of some sick bastard to me. Is that something carved into his gut?” He squinted and examined the markings. Albie grabbed it from his hand, slid it back into the envelope, and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket. The last thing he needed was Freddie to get any more warped ideas.

  “So it wasn’t one of your goons acting under your orders then?” That’s all I need to know.” He pushed the chair from the desk, stood, and made his way to the door.

  “I remember now, son. It’s been six years since we last met.” Freddie stood, walked around the desk, and perched one buttock on the polished surface. Albie’s hand slipped from the doorknob, his muscles tensed, and his jaw locked as Freddie continued. “Yes six years. If I remember rightly, you wanted a favour then as well. Both you and that pretty little social worker.” Albie clenched his fists and turned to face hi
m. “Now, what was her name? Carla…Fiona…No, Olivia, that was it. Miss Devine, classic.” A faint smile played on his lips as the space between them pumped with tension. “Little Miss Catastrophe she should have been called. Yes, you needed me then to cover your tracks, didn’t you? Remember I offered to do more than make her suffer? The offer’s still there. Seems like I’ve got room on my kill list now Mr. Duke’s no longer with us.”

  Albie launch a punch from nowhere, Freddie leant back and escaped with just a scrape before his henchmen joined the ruckus. One on either side, Albie was marched through the door spitting blood. “You don’t have to make a decision today. I’ll wait for your call. Look after yourself, son.”

  He stormed out of the corridor, followed by Freddie’s guttural laugh and the echo of his rasping cough rattling in his head. He made for the street and sprinted around the corner out of view. Humid air hung dense in the hazy late afternoon hazy sunshine without a cool breeze to hurry away the cloud. Bending forwards, Albie clenched his knees and breathed deeply. He brushed beads of sweat from his forehead and congratulated himself for extinguishing the molten anger that bubbled in the pit of his stomach.

  Soft circular movements of his fingers eased the dull ache that throbbed behind his temple. Images played through his mind in glorious cinematic colour. It was a miracle he’d suppressed them for so long. The timing of Olivia’s reappearance wasn’t great. The feelings he’d once had for her had been temporary, he knew that now. All he had to rationalise and control was the intense aftermath of guilt. Only that rattled his conscience and needed to be addressed.