The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  Reggie knelt on the floor, surrounded by photos unable to look his son in the eyes. Both remained frozen and silent like a photograph. A time when unspoken words and thoughts become reality. Each awaited the other’s response.

  Reggie groped for support. His joints creaked and protested as he attempted to rise. He dismissed the need to ask questions. Instead he lowered his head, pushed past Nick, and walked from the room.

  “Dad.”

  Reggie didn’t stop. Instead he raised his hand. “Don’t,” he said. “I’m not ready to listen to any type of explanation you think you have to rationalise those photos.”

  “But…I care about her…” Reg stopped and shook his head.

  “I’m serious, Nick. I can’t hear this, not now.”

  Nick scoured the images scattered across the rug and tried to assess the damage his carelessness had caused. His eyes bulged in time with the pulse thudding in his head. He loosened his fisted hands and watched the blood pump through the blue veins that stood out in anger. Anger at his Father. He snooped in his grown son’s room. If he didn’t like what he saw, tough. He gathered the photos into a neat pile, sat on his bed, cushioned his back with pillows, and drawled over each picture each with an eager eye. He tried to imagine what they’d looked like to his father. Her naked body taken from different angles, without any knowledge of being watched. That was the very reason they were beautiful to him. They were natural, and she was uninhibited. That was their beauty.

  Light bounced from the bath water and sharpened the outline of her inner thigh. It gave the illusion of substance, reality. He narrowed his eyes and grazed the outline with his thumb. desire built so acutely his surroundings hazed. Self gratification his immediate aim, he gave in to his inner need. All he was conscious of was the throb pulsing though his body and her image. Photographs had become less gratifying. Still he smiled. He still had the videos of the day to scan through.

  Nick moaned, felt for his neck, and massaged small circles with his fingertips. This was the second night in a row he’d fallen asleep covered in photos, half supported by pillows, staring from an awkward angle at the flickering screen. He squinted through a slit between his eyelids and removed his jeans. Photos were scattered over the floor and a couple stuck to his bare feet as he settled down under a quilt and rearranged his pillows.

  The ability to establish a hold on reality had always been a problem for Nick. As he tossed and turned, he thought how unfair it was that others appeared to grasp reality without too much effort. When he lost his grip, the only way to regain control was in tablet form.

  For as long as he could recall, he’d been labelled. Post-traumatic stress, mental illness, whatever label they stamped on him at the time. It shaped the person he became. The person he hated.

  The brain has a complex structure, he’d been informed on numerous occasions by well-meaning physicians. As was his memory. Apparently it had gaps. When he was very young this used to make him think of the announcement at the train stations: Mind the gap, and he used to laugh out loud until he realised no one else found it funny. He grinned at the thought of how many experts had shared their opinions after picking about in his brain.

  As far as Nick was concerned, his memory was anything but complex. He remembered the night his mother died. He remembered the quiet before the shriek, then the mingled voices, shouts descending to whispers.

  Forgiveness was scarce, especially for his actions. He remembered how he had scurried away like a frightened rodent while his mother met her death. Of course he wanted to keep these memories suppressed. Memories of cowardice and fear. He wasn’t going to share these with anyone despite the careful, intricate attempts to unpick his well-hidden past.

  Nick reached for a cluster of pill bottles on the bedside table. The alarm clock read 03.10. He groaned. Another endless night, he thought. A brief glance at the laptop showed an absence of movement from any of the rooms on display. Relaxing, he took two tablets from a small bottle and pushed a larger oval tablet from foil packaging. He washed them down with a few gulps of water. He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes against the night.

  55

  Twelve hours had passed since Elsie’s well-meaning visit to the police station. She stroked Chloe’s feathery blond hair and inched her body to release pressure from her thigh and change the position of the dead weight of Chloe’s sleeping torso. Elsie had never been a mother, not even come close. Yet, since arriving at the flat, she had calmed, soothed, reassured, and comforted Chloe. It was probable that this was the closest to a mother and daughter bond either of them had experienced in their entire lives.

  At some point during the twelve hours, Elsie had made some decisions about her life. If asked at what point the decisions had been made or to associate them to a certain trigger, she would have had difficulty pinpointing that defining moment. All she knew was she’d been a victim and coward all of her life. Trapped in her own home, an isolated prisoner by design. Well not anymore. She lifted Chloe’s head and shoulders with ease and inched across the sofa, grabbed the cushions she could reach and replaced her bulk with the soft foam-filled cushions. Waited. Inhaled two long draws on her puffer and began the painful progress of manoeuvring her bulk from the seat with the help of an armrest and her mothers’ wooden Charlie Chaplin cane.

  Elsie buttoned her coat up to the collar. She took a last look around the kitchen, checking plugs, lights, and window locks—a security routine enforced by her Mother since she was a child and one she would no doubt continue to the grave. She stood a scribbled note against an empty vase on the kitchen table with Chloe’s name printed clearly on the front. The slow rhythm of dripping water hit a beat on her empty cup in the sink. She tightened the tap. Finally, without a second thought, she leant across the cluttered work surface and drew a metal knife from a large wooden block. She watched in fascination as the light hit the pointed tip before she slipped it into her already bulging handbag and headed out into the sharp early morning air.

  Elsie leaned her whole bulk against the rough brick wall of the flat adjacent to her own. The walk had been short yet painful. Her limbs ached, and she fumbled for her inhaler. The breaths she took were shallow and hurried. She shook the inhaler and cursed. If there was any medication left in the little tube, it was no longer effective. She eyed the sleepy windows of the quadrant. It was early morning and most normal people were waking up to alarms and preparing for work.

  Not on the Fennick Estate. Just as she thought. Here even the babies lay in. They soon learned that their cries attract angry, aggressive parents, and at best went unheard. This was the best time of the day for Elsie. She was free to leave the house without the stares and abuse. She was confident she had the upper-hand over her neighbours. If she wanted to make an impact, this was the time to catch them unaware.

  She straightened her stance to her full body height and slammed the knocker with assertive force. Then waited. She listened for an indication of movement from behind the door. Nothing. She knocked again. The flesh of her underarm wobbled from the vibration. The door swung open.

  “Do you know what the time is? You…Elsie Soren?” Andy scanned his eyes over the bulk filling the doorway. “I rarely see you out and about.” He continued to stare, pulled his dressing gown over his holey vest and boxers, then flattened the wisps of hair he used to disguise his bald patch. “Can I help you?”

  Elsie moved forward. “Andy, it’s been a long time. Too long.” She waved him to the side with her hand and pushed past him into the gloom of the untidy living area.

  “May I sit?” She gestured to a pile of clothes strewn over the settee. Andy grabbed handfuls of the offending items and threw them onto a building pile in the corner of the room.

  “I’ll sort those out later,” he said under his breath and gestured for her to be seated. “You’re looking good, Elsie.” His wink could have easily been misinterpreted as a leer.

  “Now you and I both know you’re chatting rubbish, Andy.” He glan
ced down at his linked hands posed as if in prayer. “I hope you are not going to lie so easily when I ask you questions? You see, I’ve some concerns, Andy. And I need answers.” He looked her in the eye. Good. She had his full attention. “Where are your daughters Andy? The girls you promised your poor late wife you would protect with your life.” Elsie watched his smile disappear.

  “Now just a minute, who do you think you are barging your way into my home at some god forsaken hour questioning me about something that’s none of your damn business?” He was on his feet now, his eyes narrowed. She watched as spittle collected at the corner of his mouth. He grabbed at her arm, clutched her coat sleeve between his fingers, and tugged. “Get out. Now!”

  Elsie wriggled loose of his grip and held up a hand.

  “As I thought, you have no idea that Chloe is with me. You already have one daughter in hospital after a vicious attack, Andy. Chloe was assaulted today by the same young man responsible for the other attack.”

  Andy sank back in his chair and wiped his forehead with a frayed handkerchief before blowing his nose on the filthy cloth. “Is Chloe okay? I mean…what happened?” He spread the fingertips of his left hand to his forehead, circling his temples. “Did he…? She’s only fourteen. Tell me she’s okay.”

  “Where is he, Andy? I know you’re protecting him. You make me sick. He’s hurt both your little girls and your protecting that bastard.”

  “Ssh! Keep your voice down, will you? He’s violent, Elsie, he doesn’t care who he hurts.”

  “He’s here? You selfish druggie. That’s what it’s about. Isn’t it?” She pointed to the small brown bottles that lined the mantelpiece behind him. “She’s gone, Andy. You are such a lucky bastard. Your Susan’s gone but she gave you two beautiful girls. If you won’t sort this out, I will. Stay here and don’t you try to warn him or I’ll come back for you.”

  Andy rose from his chair while she struggled to her feet. He skimmed the lids of the prescription drugs lined up on the mantlepiece.

  “You’re wrong about the drugs. Addiction is a ghost. It surrounds you and engulfs you. It’s always there, invisible yet demanding especially when you’re alone. It was never Susan’s ghost that tipped me over the edge. Lana is the ghost that haunts me. Will do forever.”

  Elsie’s opened her mouth to speak. Instead she stared in distaste, shook her head, and made for the door.

  “Elsie, what’re you doing?” Andy stepped without purpose to block her exit. “He’s a man with no conscience. He’ll not think twice about hurting you.”

  “He can try. If he thinks he can beat a woman with years of pent up anger, he can give it his best shot.” A flash of metal caught his eye as she turned towards the door. He froze like man under a hypnotic trance. Even the creak of the stairs could not move him as each stair strained under Elsie’s weight.

  A strong smell of stale alcohol mingled with cigarettes, body odour, and a faint hint of decay met Elsie as she entered the dingy room. She raised her hand to her nose and mouth and stood on the boundary until the nausea that threatened ceased.

  The subtle squeak of the hinges, the only noise which gave away her entrance, was drowned out by the guttural snore which escaped the stagnant figure caught under mangled bed sheets. Elsie stood, fascinated by the depths of sleep…And how it could disguise the most evil person as a peaceful innocent.

  The atmosphere in the room shifted as if a subconscious intuition warned him of the intrusion to his room. Charlie stirred, then sat bolt upright in bed. Elsie’s precise movements brought her from the shadows and within Charlie’s eye line. Startled, he rubbed his eyes and took another look.

  Charlie leaned back against the headboard and laughed. “You… Get back, you fat cow. You’ve come to throw yourself at me, have ya?” He sneered at her and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Forget it. No one’s touching you in your lifetime.”

  Elsie kept her composure. She stared at his tattooed torso. Hatred bubbled inside her. This person she faced now was nothing but a mouthy brat. After all, without his cronies, he was nothing.

  Charlie continued to speak, his face screwed with hatred and aggression. He opened and closed his mouth, but in Elsie’s mind there was no sound. All she saw were pictures in her head like a channel that repeats the old programmes on a continuous cycle. The years of abuse she’d suffered from him and all the others he represented. Images conjured from the vicious attack on Chloe’s sister, but above all poor sweet Chloe herself. A child thrown into the worst parts of an adult’s world. Pain brought her back to reality. She looked down at the nicks in her thigh and the globules of bright crimson dripping on the floor. She looked up at the silent face watching her.

  Within moments, Charlie sprang at her like a panther and lunged for the knife. The blade sliced his hand. His scream sounded like a wounded animal. He regained his posture in an instant only to witness the blade come down on him, once, twice…

  The frenzy began. Years of pent up anger released within seconds.

  Elsie had no desire to inspect her handiwork, nor did she wish to gloat in her internal victory. After all, someone had lost a son. Her thoughts instead focused on the number of lives spared and amount of heartache she’d saved others.

  “What have you done?” Andy whispered as he surveyed the blood splatters that patterned her body.

  “Saved your life.” She held out the knife. “Take this. Phone the police and put the kettle on, will you? I’m exhausted and at a guess I’d say this is just the start of what will probably be a long day.” Without another word, he watched her thud down the stairs as he dialled the emergency services.

  56

  An atmosphere of choking smog hung heavily between them for the majority of the journey. Not even calm classical music could lighten the mood. A lemony tang of perfume hung on the air, which clung to Albie’s tongue each time he tried to make conversation. The caustic bitterness silenced him and challenged him with each inhalation. Albie stuttered an occasional agreement and sprinkled in an occasional observation. Albie’s mind was elsewhere. He knew while he was on this wild goose chase with Olivia Devine, DS Rachel Fawn would be using his evidence and his men to solve the crimes. And that he could not forgive.

  Parking was easier than on their previous visit. The high tide exasperated by wild winds swirled the waves in a rabid dance. The sand sheets swept the whole beach and slapped anyone with the foolishness to get in its way. Olivia shrank into the fur trim around the collar of her winter coat. She did up the buttons and wrapped her arms around her body in a bear hug. Albie locked the car. Next, he turned up the collar of his jacket in a half-hearted attempt to fight the slaps of grainy wind. Without acknowledgement of the wild waves or his companion, Albie dipped his head, braced himself against the wind, and headed in the direction of the house they’d visited just two weeks before.

  Maureen’s smile lit up the whole of her face at the sight of her adopted daughter. She gave Albie a quick nod before elbowing him out of her way to embrace Olivia.

  “Oh, Livvy. We’ve missed you so much. How’ve you been? Let me look at you.” She took a step back and held Olivia at arm’s length. “As beautiful as ever. Now come on through. Let me take your coat.” She manoeuvred herself to Olivia’s side and began to pry her from her woollen fir-trimmed coat.

  “Stop fussing, Maureen.”

  “I’m allowed to spoil my little girl, aren’t I? Now, I hope you’re hungry.” She hooked her arm around Olivia’s shoulders, placed her head close to her guest as if embroiled in a conspiracy, and guided her into the neat floral living room. “I’ve made you lunch. You could do with putting on a few pounds. Like I’ve always told you, men like a little something to grab hold of. Isn’t that right detective?” She winked and gave Albie a cheeky grin. Without waiting for a reply, she pointed to the floral settee in the alcove and ignored her daughter’s creeping blush. “Take a seat. The kettle’s on. You must both be in need of a cuppa.”

  Olivia sat back into
the soft cushions. After a moment’s hesitation, Albie strolled to the armchair opposite.

  “Sorry, detective. Ozzie and Mitchell will be back soon. They’ll be needing the armchair. Mitchell’s still not comfortable with people he doesn’t know well. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course, Mrs McNally.”

  Olivia shuffled into the corner of the settee. The pale blue hand painted birds in full flight on each porcelain piece of tea service caught her attention. The tea service usually only made an appearance when Maureen was attempting to impress. The settee dipped next to her as Maureen left the room.

  Olivia waited just moments after Maureen left the room before facing Albie.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? We’ve hardly spoken since we left London. Is there a problem?”

  Albie kept his head bowed and studied his interlocked fingers.

  “Albie, this is pathetic. Speak to me.”

  “Keep your voice down.” He placed a hand on her arm. “There’s nothing to discuss. I told you I don’t want you involved in the case. You don’t need to know anything else.”

  “Tea’s up.” Maureen entered, clutching a large teapot with hundreds more minute, blue birds flying across a pristine white china background.

  “This isn’t over,” she hissed under her breath. Then to Maureen, smiled and said, “Fantastic Maureen. I’m just going to clean up from the journey.” Without another word, she left the room.

  Until they heard the key in the front door, Maureen had kept the conversation lively, mainly asking questions of Olivia about everything from her new flat to her job to her love life. The latter she declined to discuss and refused to be drawn in by Maureen’s declaration that DS Edwards would not mind them catching up, as she didn’t know when they’d get another chance.

  Ozzie entered the room, his hands on the young blond boy’s shoulders. He guided him in while whispering to him in a reassuring tone.