The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  Freddie, however, had a different agenda. Dark, dangerous, and capable of all kinds of damage and destruction, he’d shown his hand. Yet another reason why his father’s legacy was corruption at best and death at worst.

  31

  Chloe squeezed her hand through the cool metal letter box and tried to ignore the scrape of a knife-sharp edge as it chafed her palm. She snagged flaking paint under her nails as she felt blindly and flayed her fingers before her hand grazed the dangling string that was attached to with the front door key. Surrounded by shopping bags, she knelt on one knee, angled her shoulders, and cricked her neck so as to manoeuvre the key through the letterbox and into the lock.

  Why would anyone make themselves such an easy target? She couldn’t fathom Elsie’s thinking. It was either a custom passed down from the last generation, when, if her nan was to be believed, ‘You could leave your front doors open. You never had to worry about nutters like you do now.’ Although, Chloe had always thought that was far fetched, and her nan was a bit doolally by then anyway. When had life ever been that safe? Sadly, Chloe knew the reason for Elsie’s lack of security was likely laziness. Why get up and walk to the door if everyone who visits knows they have access to Elsie’s home? Chloe sighed. She’d have to broach the subject before word got round. Charlie wouldn’t be shy about barging his way in and terrorising Elsie in her own home. She untied the string, slipped the key into the back pocket of her jeans, and pushed the door shut.

  “Elsie. It’s only me…Chloe. I’ve brought your shopping.” Poking her head around the door, she scanned the empty room and headed for the kitchen.

  “I’m in here, Chloe.”

  Chloe yanked the sliding door along its runners and cursed as it jammed part way. She kicked the bottom of the door into alignment and edged it along a few more inches, just enough to turn side on and squeeze through with the shopping bags.

  “Bloody door. You should get a proper one, one that opens.” She emptied the contents of the bag onto the worktops. “Want me to put away?” She asked, opening cupboards and stacking the shelves before receiving a reply.

  “You could put the kettle on as well, love, while you’re at it.” Elsie glanced at her for a second before focusing on the world through the kitchen window. Carrying two mugs of tea, Chloe slipped a packet of Jaffa cakes under her arm. Elsie took the mug and cracked open the biscuits without breaking her view.

  Chloe sat at the table, sipped her tea, and nibbled the chocolate from around the edge of the sponge, trying not to touch the orange centre. She studied the ungainly woman next to her and traced the outline of her heavy profile with her gaze. She considered what qualities Elsie possessed that made her feel comfortable with such a despised outcast on the estate. It didn’t take her long to conclude that at the heart of Elsie there was kindness. It didn’t radiate from her, and it wasn’t given freely, but nonetheless, it was there under the surface. Just like Chloe’s own grandmother—the only person who’d ever truly cared.

  She watched Elsie, engrossed in the activity in the square as if it were the latest box office hit showing at the local cinema. She felt a smidgen of sadness for the woman and her non-existent life.

  “What’s so interesting, Elsie?” Elsie didn’t respond until Chloe leant across and tentatively tapped her shoulder. “Whatever it is, it’s caught your attention.”

  “It’s the caretaker.” She pointed towards the left of the window. “He’s just broke into his own home, rammed into the front door, he did. Must’ve been panicking about something, I mean…Why would you do that?” Elsie gestured towards the maisonette and glanced briefly at Chloe to make sure she was paying attention. “Look, the doors still open.”

  Chloe followed the direction of Elsie’s finger and squinted. There was nothing to see. Just an open front door.

  Elsie grabbed Chloe’s wrist. With a slight bounce in her chair and her face lit up with a grin, she continued. “He’s been spending most of his time in and around those boarded flats opposite, you know.”

  “So.” Chloe laughed and wriggled her wrist loose from Elsie’s fleshy hand. “That’s his job, ain’t it? You’d be moaning if he wasn’t doing his job right, wouldn’t you?

  Chloe finished the dregs of her tea, grimaced, and rose from her chair.

  “I’m going, Elsie. Don’t know what kind of kick you get out of watching other people’s lives. But that’s up to you. It’s not for me. I wanna live my own life.”

  Bulky fingers gripped her arm.

  “But you don’t understand, Chloe. He’s creeping around there day and night.”

  Shrugging her arm free, she swung her bag over her shoulder and struggled with the door.

  “I’d love to hang around for a chat, but I’ve places to go.” Elsie turned away but not before Chloe noticed her watery eyes. She softened her voice. “I’ve put your food away and the change is in your purse. I’ll be back to see you tomorrow, Elsie. Just ring if you need me.” She tapped the pocket in her bag that held her phone. As she squeezed her way through the gap, she yelled, “And get this poxy door fixed.”

  “Wait.”

  Chloe poked her head around the doorframe as Elsie shifted awkwardly in her seat. Chloe’s hand was wrapped around a five pound note she’d kept that was scrunched in her pocket. Just a gift she’d helped herself to for her time and inconvenience.

  “I see all sorts going on outside those flats. People coming and going, hanging around. Some proper dubious looking characters. You know some of them, I think.” Drawn back to the window, she waved a hand in Chloe’s general direction. “Look after yourself, Chloe, and be careful who you trust.”

  “I’ll knock tomorrow, Elsie. Just to make sure you’re okay.” Chloe shook her head and tutted aloud at Elsie’s advice. She’d lived on the Fennick Estate all her life and never in all of those fifteen years had she trusted anyone, not that she could remember anyway. The only way to survive the estate was to leave. She pulled out the five pound note and kissed the scrunched paper. This was not the first time Elsie had unknowingly donated to the Chloe Reynolds’s escape fund, and she was truly grateful for her support. Chloe slipped the money into her purse and slammed the front door. Shoulders hunched, she turned into the wind and gripped her collar tightly, her effort fruitless as she shuffled along the balcony. She shoved her hands into her pockets and kept her head bowed against the intermittent gusts of wind which whipped strands of hair against her cheeks like a sharp slap from a cat-o-nine-tails. She was still a number of strides away from the dented door when she wrapped her arms around her chest. She shivered in response as the weak rays from the early evening sun disappeared behind a cluster of grey clouds, the centre black like the dilated pupil of a giant’s eye. She rubbed her arms against the flesh bumps as they crept over her skin and cursed at her irrational reaction. It was only a front door. It was as if Elsie’s overactive imagination was chicken pox, a contagious illness passed on through her suspicions and anxieties. The door, still wide open, swayed in the wind on rusted hinges. The closer the door, the more difficult it was to walk. A few steps away, blocks of concrete replaced her feet, and she had no choice but to stop and press her back into the balcony for support. The rough brick grazed her palms as she edged her way past the open doorway. Blinded momentarily by the reappearance of the sun, Chloe shielded her eyes and caught a slight movement in an upstairs window. At second glance, she thought her eyes had deceived her, and she reproached herself for reacting like an actress in a second rate horror film.

  A distant memory of her mother grasping her hand and marching her past the caretaker’s house when she was younger seeped into her mind. It was not fully formed, more the feeling of anger and even fear and vague impressions her mother shouting at a man about the death of her friend, being taken inside by her sister, and the shouting continuing until the policeman came and took her mum away. Fabrication perhaps? A distorted memory even? Either way, she didn’t want to hang about near the caretaker’s house longer than necess
ary. Panic bubbling, Chloe found her footing and tried to shake the feeling of being watched as she continued to her home with a skip to her walk.

  Once inside the safety of her own home, Chloe slid down the slammed door to the floor. She wasn’t too sure what to do with her head to slow her breathing, but decided to lower it to her knees. It just felt right. Breaths came quick, and she soon concentrated on deepening and slowing each one. Finally, she laughed aloud and shook her head at her stupidity. After all, she’d decided to walk the longer way round the square to avoid the boarded maisonettes. It wasn’t just Elsie’s comments; it was a gut feeling. She’d always been sensitive to energies, and if her gut spoke to her, she listened.

  It was true, you never knew who you could run into on that corner. Perhaps, today anyway, detoxing past the caretaker’s home was the better of two horrors waiting to happen to a lone girl in an empty square.

  32

  Tanya spied her colleague from the door of the canteen. For a young man, three years into the profession, he never failed to surprise her with his dedication to the job. Enthusiasm she expected, but Frank Gibbs showed a dedication seen more often in longer serving police officers. Unaware of his surroundings, he sat in isolation and scanned his notebook while chewing a mouthful of what looked like a cheese roll. A few other officers were scattered in groups around the room, absorbed in conversation or scrolling on their phones. When he had first joined the team, Tanya was of the opinion that his positivity would wane and in turn diminish this enthusiasm. However, she’d been proved wrong. Frank was shaping up to be a seriously good copper, and she sensed he possessed qualities needed to be an excellent detective.

  “Gibbsy,” she shouted across the canteen. “We’ve got go. Bring your roll, you can finish it on the way.”

  “Watch out, Frankie boy! She says that now, but if you don’t want to share it, I’d eat it now. She didn’t think twice about polishing off my lunch last time”

  “Shut up, Harry. You don’t share. What do you expect?” Tanya flicked her hair and marched away.

  Gibbs stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth, then used both hands to secure his seatbelt. He flicked crumbs from his trouser legs and swallowed the last of his mouthful. “Where’s the call out then?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Back at Fennick Estate. Someone’s pissed off with a gang hanging around a couple of empty flats. An anonymous caller said they’re being abusive, threatening members of the public.”

  “So they’re loitering? Not much else?” He sunk lower in his seat as if it was hardly worth the effort.

  “No. There was a mention of drugs being sold. Nothing conclusive. They probably think a police presence will calm the residence down. You know how it is. Everyone’s paranoid. I mean, the attack on the kid is raw.

  “A waste of bloody time if you ask me. By the time we get there, they’ll have buggered off. But we could giver that caretaker a visit. He’s one tenant who didn’t answer the door during house to house.”

  Enthusiasm, there it was. She knew it wouldn’t stay buried for long. “Perhaps. If we have time.”

  As if on cue, the sun that had shown itself intermittently throughout the day chose the moment of their arrival to hide behind an ominous black cloud. They slammed their doors in unison, both fixated by gloomy landscape which camouflaged the grey blocks of Fennick Estate.

  “I wonder whether the architects realised the isolation they were creating when they built housing for so many. Perhaps they thought the sense of community still existed?”

  “Come on, Tanya, pessimism doesn’t suit you. We always face a wall of silence when we visit. Doesn’t that count as community?”

  “Yeah. Ha ha! Very funny. Let’s go break down the wall of silence.”

  A halo of light glimmered over the block as they approached the lifts, raising their spirits a fraction. Tanya pressed the up button, and they waited in silence watching the sky.

  Reggie wiped sweat from his forehead, then shoved the dirt smeared hanky into his trouser pocket. Crouching, he huffed as he replaced each of his tools back in his toolbox. He chewed the final mouthful of toast, took a swig from a cup of tepid tea, and surveyed his handiwork, running his fingers over the repaired lock. Hesitating at the open door, he glanced over his shoulder towards the upstairs landing one last time, then slammed the door shut.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Reggie paused. Without looking back, he bowed his head and continued on his way.

  “Mr Lansbury, isn’t it?” The persistent voice continued. “Do you have five minutes? We really need to speak to you.”

  Reggie stopped as the officers quickened their pace. He shuffled towards them to bridge the gap.

  “Officers Gibbs and Watts,” Frank introduced the pair as they showed their warrant cards. “Mr Lansbury, we understand you’re the caretaker for the estate.”

  He nodded.

  “Perhaps we could talk inside.” Tanya smiled and gestured behind. Reggie huffed, fiddling with the ring of keys on his belt as he strode back towards his front door.

  “I can’t spare too much time. I should be back at work now.”

  Chancing a glance at the upstairs window, he ushered them into the maisonette and led them into the kitchen.

  33

  Josie checked her phone. She tightened her grip and shook it in agitation. No calls or texts. Joshua’s smiling face was her only reason to stay strong.

  Too late, she heard them as she turned the corner. The hiss of abusive language tainting the air. She shoved her phone deep into her pocket and gripped it with a balled hand. Shoulders stooped, she fixed her eyes on her shoes and quickened her pace.

  “Hey, you wanna have some fun?” The gruff voice, loud and cocksure, boomed, and she followed his movement as he bounced from one foot to the other, an erratic dance of intent. She stepped to his left and then his right, but bodies blocked her way. Their sniggering seeped into her shaking body as her composure crumbled. She lifted her head and shuddered at the dark brown eyes staring back and black straggly hair that bounced as he swaggered forward. His fingers gripped her shoulder while his thumb brushed her collarbone before gouging the shallow just above.

  She hit the wall behind just seconds before his fingers intruded. Josie’s hand gripped his arm as he thrust his other hand up her skirt.

  His breath brushed her neck as he leaned in. “Don’t fight me like your mate. She’s taken my secret to the grave.” He twisted his fingers in her hair until they grazed her scalp. “I wonder if you’ll scream like her?”

  Repulsed, she squirmed as his fingers yanked at her gusset and the thin sheath of material protecting her dignity.

  “Charlie, let her go…Look.” A young boy behind pointed across the balcony. Josie felt the pressure ease, pushed off the wall, wriggled from his grip, and ran.

  “Bitch. I’m not finished with you yet.” His voice trailed her to her door.

  Fumbling with the key, her heart pumped as she heard the click of the lock. She slammed the door behind her and crumpled to the floor.

  A thud battered the silence, the door shook, and she scurried backwards on hands and knees into the shadows.

  “Come ’n play baby. We can go next door. No one will know our secret.”

  Josie hugged her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. The taste of vomit stagnant at the back of her throat, she entwined her fingers to interrupt the constant shake of her hands and closed her eyes against the man’s threats, so like Tyler’s.

  “Chaz, let’s go. Forget about her, she’s a stupid slag anyway.”

  “Wait.” He lifted the letterbox, and her muscles tensed. “I’ve had a taste now. I want more. We’re gonna have some real fun.”

  In the distance, Josie could hear a whisper as the voices faded. Outside, the drone continued. She covered her ears. But tears fell freely when she realised the anguished sounds were coming from her. Josie groped around in her pocket, and pulled out her phone. She w
iped her face with a scrunched up tissue she’d slipped from her sleeve, and inhaled deep breaths until her heart rate decreased.

  “I need to speak to DS Edwards.” She scrunched the tissue in her hand. “No. I’ll only speak to DS Edwards. It’s Josie Jeffries.”

  The pain as her fingernails dug into her palm was nonexistent even though blood seeped from the crescent moon indents. She listened to the silence on the other end of the phone and finished the call before scrolling through her contacts.

  34

  The balcony stretched out before Layla, empty and in shadows. The absence of light was the result of caused by the systematic smashing of embedded light bulbs which had lit up the front doors of the maisonettes. The clip clop of her stiletto heels echoed on the concrete landing like an intrepid countdown to an unwanted event. She rubbed her sweat—soaked hands down the side of her jeans and continued forward to the throb which vibrated through her bloodstream and pounded in her temple.

  Charlie had insisted she stay away from the boarded maisonettes. A wide grin stretched across her face. That was obviously his first mistake. She’d always prided herself on having an inquisitive mind, and the kick of the adrenaline rush that heated her body from the chance of danger was enough for her to ignore his request.

  Layla wobbled on the sharp point of her black suede stiletto heel. Her well-worn trainers would have been the obvious choice of footwear tonight, but if she caught Charlie up to no good, she wanted him to regret messing with her feelings, and nothing said ‘piss off’ like a four inch pair of stilettos. Layla reached for the balcony, stilled, and tried to gain her footing. A pain shot up her shin as her foot rolled to the right.

  “Poxy shoes.” Without another word, she slipped them from her feet and limped forward. As she neared the gloominess ahead, a sudden fear of claustrophobia entombed her like a womb entraps an overdue baby. The silence of the corner houses spoke to her unease, and she took a long controlled breath to steady her increasing pulse. There was no sign of life in the carcass of maisonettes still in need of renovation. Debating whether to turn back, Layla pulled the band from her auburn hair, ran her fingers over the fine strands, and collected them back into a tight ponytail, securing it at the base. Exhilarated by tingles that shot up her spine, she moved forward.