The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  On the night of Lana’s death, we returned from a night class we both attended at Woolwich College at 9.30pm. I walked Lana to her door. She said she had a babysitter because Reggie was out. I think it was his darts night at the local. I said goodnight and kissed her cheek before heading home.

  It wasn’t until I reached home and unpacked my bag that I realised I’d picked up her notes as well as mine. I checked that Mary was comfortable, then headed back to Lana’s home at about 10.00pm.

  As I reached their window, I heard raised voices. I hesitated before I knocked on the door but when no one answered I slipped the paperwork through the letterbox then walked to the end of the balcony. It was then that I saw Reggie leave the maisonette and walk in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, he was rushing along the balcony knocking on doors asking for help. His voice echoed around the quadrant “My wife’s dead, someone’s killed my wife.”

  At the time, I thought it was odd that I thought I’d heard his voice raised in their home, but I also knew Nick, Lana’s son who was about four at the time, was at home. Reggie loved that boy, he wouldn’t have put him at any risk.

  It all seemed so bizarre. Reggie was surrounded with neighbours and out of the crowd, I knew some would support him and call the police. I decided I wasn’t needed and went home to prepare Mary for bed.

  “Great! And why do you think this wasn’t followed up?”

  Albie scanned the back of the envelope and scanned the list of items:

  Statement of Andrew John Reynolds (Friday 7th November 1975) - Withdrawn (Monday 10th November 1975)

  “Strange, isn’t it? Our man’s so sure of what he’s seen and heard at the house that he reports it to the police the next day. Yet over the weekend something made him change his mind.”

  Albie nodded. “Or someone. If it was a someone, they had the weekend to persuade him to change his mind. Is Harry Garrett still on the estate?”

  “He was. Shall I get him to pay Andy a visit?”

  Albie pointed to her phone. “Can’t hurt,” he said and flicked through the rest of the paper spread out on the table.

  50

  Familiar places always made Reggie feel comfortable. The journey from Blackheath to the crematorium was one he took often. It was a place he visited regularly, although generally when he felt inclined. Times that fitted in with the rest of his life. A man of routine, he needed to be in control of his movements and indeed his life, which had been disrupted more recently with the return of his son. ‘The Prodigal Son.’ He grinned to himself. Who would have thought that something taught in Sunday school forty years before would remain filed in his memory?

  The bus slowed, his knees hit the seat in front, and he reached out his hand to stop his body lunging forward. It came to a stop and waited while a queue of passengers struggled on board with shopping bags and buggies. He shuffled into the corner of the seat, his right side squashed against the window, to make room for a rounded young girl who gripped a struggling toddler and plonked down beside him. She pulled a crumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and jabbed blindly at the toddler’s face until she found his nose. The child wriggled in a desperate bid to escape, his body rigid as he screamed into her tissued hand.

  “Sit still ‘less you wanna clout.” The little boy stilled and whimpered at the sight of her raised hand. Pliable in her grasp, he gave up the struggle and accepted the attack on his filthy face.

  “Excuse me,” Reggie said already on his feet as the bus pulled in. The young woman snorted and twisted her body to face the aisle. She ignored the struggle of the older man as he clambered over her bags and tried to squeeze past her bulk. The bus began to pull away from the stop.

  “Can you wait, driver?” he shouted, leaning his hand on the request bell. The abrupt stop threw him into the side of the woman.

  “Watch what you’re doing, you clumsy sod. You’ll break the eggs.” The woman met his glare through a jagged greasy fringe. Anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach, colours flashed before his eyes, hues of reds into orange, and the pounding began. Throb…throb…throb. A steady pain grew with each pulse beat.

  Holding eye contact, he sneered. “Are you talking to me, scum bag?” His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. He lifted his foot and stamped on the bag she’d tried to slide under the seat. “Looks like you’ve got scrambled eggs for lunch.”

  “For fuck’s sake…” She begun then caught the look in his eye. She stopped, looked away, scanned the bus for support, and found none. She slid her bulk across the seat and stared out of the window. Reggie stared at the back of her head for a moment, then exited the bus with a smile on his face.

  Rubbish danced in the breeze. A sheet with forgotten news clung to his leg as he walked through the crematorium gates. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. The wind whirled, urgent in the openness of his surroundings. The chill slapped his face and assaulted the back of his throat with each gulp of air he took. He ducked into the first walled area and slowed his step. He was in a shiny plaque fortress devoted to generations of the dead. Reggie meandered between the neatly maintained gardens, relieved to find protection from the elements. He made his way around the brick maze and towards the familiar stone bench. He sat and bowed his head as if in silent prayer. His mind was a mess of warring thoughts when he all he asked for was a clear head.

  “Hi, Sweetheart. I know you’re wondering why I’m back here so soon.” He looked around before standing, then pulled a cloth from his coat pocket and began wiping the metal plaque as he continued. “I promised not to burden you on my visits, Lana, and I suppose I should keep that promise, but you know what it’s like an untold truth becomes a lie and the lies build up. I should have told you he was back home.” Reg sighed, slipped the cloth back in his jacket pocket, and backed away.

  “I thought he was okay. That things were better. I can’t keep it from you anymore. He’s doing it again, Lana. He’s…watching. It could be you, Lana. Her likeness to you is uncanny. I’m really worried. He’s shutting himself away again.”

  Reggie shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’ll do my best, Lana, I promise. You were always so much better with him.” He lowered his head and listened to the silence which was only interrupted by the occasional caw of a crow. Reg took a few steps towards the wall and rested his cheek against the cool metal plaque, relishing for a moment in the numbness that inched out across his face. He continued in a whisper, “You know I regret everything. I’ll always question what happened all those years ago. So much anger, lying, and suspicion crushed us in those final months. I’ve buried it all so deep that truth is distorted and blurred. Lana. I need your help. Always did…” Reggie buried his face in the palms of his hands. A young couple passed in silence, arms linked. Oblivious to his presence, they were immersed in their own personal grief.

  He fiddled with the flowers in the thin vase attached to the wall, then continued. “I’m going to say what’s on my mind, Lana. You’re not going to like this, but Nick’s obsessed with this girl. Remember how he was with you, trying to find ways to get between us? Well, he’s not getting away with it this time. It’s taken me so long to admit our son is ill. He’s unstable. But he’s not going to hurt this girl. I’m gonna protect her, just like I should have protected you.” Reggie leaned his forehead on the plaque, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, Lana.” His kiss lingered on the engraved letters of her name. Reggie wove his way through the concrete maze and looked towards the gates in the distance. The path, flanked by gravestones, resembled an evolving cobble scaled snake, alive in the gloom of the early evening. Reggie glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes until the next bus home.

  51

  The whistle from her phone jolted Josie from her unwanted thoughts.

  She had spent the last half an hour contemplating contacting Olivia, against the strict instructions of DS Edwards. He had made it quite clear that she was Mitchell’s social worker, and as s
uch was out of bounds. It was a sad fact, however, that her jumpiness at the slightest sound, the pounding and tightening in her chest, had worsened since her altercation with the thugs on the corner. She didn’t want time to think because she’d have to acknowledge that she’d never felt so alone. Josie could only conclude that from whichever angle she approached her situation, she came to the same conclusion. Anyone she came into contact with suffered in some way, and the fortunate were lucky to be alive.

  Why? She had no idea. They just did.

  Josie picked up her phone, looked at the message, and rang the number.

  “Mum. Is Josh okay?” she asked before her mother could speak.

  “He’s fine, just missing his mum. We’re packing his things. We’ll be with you in half an hour.”

  “No. He can’t come home, not yet.”

  “What are you talking about, Josie? Look, if this is about our little disagreement the other day, I may have been a little harsh. You know how often I say things in anger then regret them later. I didn’t mean to upset you. Josie, he’s missed you, he needs his mum.”

  Josie dropped to her knees. If she ever needed Irene to be a supportive parent, it was now.

  “It’s not about the phone call. Josh needs to stay with you. It’s not safe here. Please, Mum, for once do as I say. No questions asked.”

  An unbearable silence hung between them.

  “Can you be any more dramatic? Be honest with me, have you made some plans which don’t involve Josh? I hope not, young lady…”

  Josie hissed into the mouthpiece interrupting her mother’s outburst.

  “Listen. I think I’m being watched.”

  Silence.

  “It’s a feeling, nothing I can prove, but someone is watching me. It’s been going on for at least a few days now. But this morning I’m convinced someone was in the flat.” The memory of her subtle search for hiding places that morning crept to the forefront of her mind, and she made a conscious note to plan another sweep of the flat at her next opportunity.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you? Look, come home for a while. Contact the police.”

  Josie said a silent thank you to her mum.

  “I’m not going to bring you into this. The police are already aware and investigating, although they can’t do much.”

  “Shall we just come to visit instead? Josh has been so upset. He really needs a cuddle with his mum.”

  Josie listened to her son beg in the background. After speaking to Joshua for a short time, she relaxed and came to a compromise.

  “Okay, Mum. We could meet out in the open. Perhaps the park behind the flats?”

  An agreement reached, they said her goodbyes.

  Josie spotted her mother in the distance. Her brisk step was intentional compared to Josh’s weaving jog. From a distance, her mother looked focused on her destination. Low grey clouds had brought a gloom into what had started as a sunny, though chilly day. The area was deserted. By two in the afternoon, most people had finished lunch and were back in work, and it was an hour before the school run when mothers everywhere were indulging in the last hour of peace they expected to have until their little ones were tucked up in bed. Both sides of the road were dense with trees which were holding onto leaves until the winds kicked off and the rain joined in with the fun.

  Josie lost sight of her mother as she took Joshua’s hand and led him to the curb.

  She heard the screech of tyres before she saw a blue ford mount the pavement. A crunch and scream, intense and shrill, travelled in the air. Josie pumped her arms and rushed towards a figure bent over a mound of clothes on the floor.

  “Josh…No. Josh,” she screamed, but her own screams mingled with the crunch and scream that still echoed in her head.

  In the distance, she saw the figure stand and turn towards her, but instead of waiting for her to reach them, they opened the car door and drove away with the screech of excel-oration and the squeal of tyres. Josie ran through exhaust fumes and threw herself to her knees in front of the bundle on the pavement.

  “Mum?” Josie pressed her hands over a gash under her ribcage with one hand and pulled out phone with the other. “It’s alright, Mum. You’re going to be fine.” She listened to her mother whimper throughout the call, all the time scanning the pavement for Josh.

  “Josh, it’s okay. It’s safe now. You can come out of your hiding place.”

  Josie watched her son inch his way out from under a parked car until he could stand. But he didn’t stand; instead he crouched. His body shook as he twisted his head back and forth with startled eyes and a facial tick like a rabbit on the lookout for a fox.

  “Over here.” She held out a hand to her petrified son, all the time keeping pressure on the wound. Her mother had stopped whimpering, but she still had a pulse. It was faint but it still beat.

  Josh looked from Josie’s outstretched hand to the bundle on the ground. Red surrounded her head, the same red of the blouse she wore. For a moment she looked half-dressed. He shook his head and shuffled nearer to the car he’d hidden under.

  “It’s okay, Josh. People will be here soon to help. An ambulance will be here soon. You’ve always wanted to ride in an ambulance. That will be fun.”

  Josh shuffled towards her again.

  “Nana?” he asked as he backed into her eyes fixed on the park and people come out of their houses and offer help. Josie looked back towards the still body of her mother.

  “Nana’s sleeping,” she answered as she kissed the top of his head and tightened her hold on him as his face scrunched and he began to sob, soft helpless sobs.

  52

  Charlie Myers turned to the duty solicitor. “So what ya sayin’, are they letting The Rattler out or not?”

  “Well, as it stands, they have yet to charge Mr Sully; however they are within their rights to keep him at the station a while longer.”

  “Look, he’s done nothing wrong. My girlfriend’s friendly with lots of blokes. She ain’t gonna press charges or be a witness to nothing, so what’s the problem?”

  The solicitor took a step back to counterbalance the intrusion of his personal space. “Mr Myers, like I said he has not been charged as yet. There is the rather obvious question mark over his involvement in the attack on a police officer to consider.” Charlie shuffled his feet, shook his head, and opened his mouth to interrupt. The solicitor raised his hand and continued in haste. “If there is evidence to link him to the incident, have no doubt, he will be in serious trouble. The best way for you to help him now would be to confirm his alibi.”

  Charlie studied the man before him. He was older than Charlie, just by a few years. In fact, he could have sworn he’d attended his old comprehensive school. It was amazing what a bit of luck, a suit, a briefcase, and degree could do for you. After a few minutes of contemplation, Charlie turned and walked away.

  “You want a cuppa tea, Elsie?” Charlie turned to his left at the soft, carefree voice he knew intimately. “Elsie, it’ll calm your nerves. Sit over there and I’ll get you one.” He watched Chloe feed coins into the machine, then carry the drink in her shaky hand to where Elsie sat. “There you go.” She smiled as Elsie’s bulbous fingers cocooned the plastic cup. “It’ll be over before you know it. It’s for the best. Just tell ‘em what you saw. It’s all you can do Els.” She gave her arm a reassuring pat, then balanced her backside on the edge of a hard plastic chair. Elsie mumbled her thanks, then retreated into silence.

  Chloe didn’t question the silence. Elsie was deep in thought, trying to remember every detail of that night, whereas Chloe wanted nothing more than to forget. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her sister’s swollen face, disfigured, beaten beyond recognition. However harrowing that image, it was outweighed by the fear in her eyes when a hand reached out to comfort her. That was unbearable. Her strong, on occasion vicious, sister scared beyond belief—that was the real image she wished to erase. She was also aware that whoever was capable of that kind of damage needed a w
ide berth.

  “Miss Soren, come this way please.” Elsie clambered to her feet and followed with Chloe’s help.

  Chloe waited until the door closed, then headed for the open window. She felt in her pocket for her cigarettes but wrapped her fingers around a lighter instead.

  “You want one of these?” Chloe froze. The voice was unforgettable. Once it had sounded like a seductive melody, now a hypnotic snake’s hiss. Fear bubbled inside her like a silent scream. And she was furious at her inability to confront her sister’s assailant. There was so much she’d planned to say to him, but now he was here. Nothing. Chloe didn’t put up a fight when Charlie dragged her from the police station. Instead she’d let him guide her from the police station, and into a grimy back alley three streets away.

  “Here‘ll do.” Charlie grabbed her shoulder and shoved. Chloe flinched as the jagged concrete pierced her skin.

  She muffled a cry. “What’s wrong. Chloe? I thought you liked it rough…just like ya sister. What d’ya reckon?” he said as he angled his shoulder and pressed into her. She choked and gulped for air, wincing as he rammed his elbow into her ribs. Bile intruded into the back of her throat. She screwed her eyes shut and instigated a feeble attempt to keep his probing fingers at bay. Charlie fumbled under her jacket then, blouse, delving further until his fingers clamped her nipple and he squeezed.

  “Ah, don’t ya like it?” he said, sealing her mouth and nose with dirt streaked fingers. “No point screaming, slut. No one’s gonna disturb a couple getting each other off.”

  Chloe stilled. He slid his hand over her hip, then drew back without warning. Chloe squirmed from his touch, her scream lost on the breeze as her cheekbone exploded under the blow from Charlie’s fist. He lurched forward. “Dirty cow. I was there, remember? IN the boiler room. It wouldn’t take much for the police to put you in that boiler room with the kid.” he spat, used his fist again, dodging the splatter of vomit that sprayed the pavement. She gasped, desperate to fill her lungs and erase the excruciating pain settled in her stomach.