The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  “Why don’t you draw something you’ve enjoyed today?” Ozzie pulled a mound of paper from the dresser with a tub of rainbow colour pastels. Mitchell, yet to acknowledge anyone in the room, smiled, scrambled onto a chair that faced the window, and grabbed the tub. He tipped it towards him until a pile of colours criss-crossed each other on the table. He slipped one leg beneath the other, which dangled over the edge of the chair and swung as he drew.

  Ozzie turned and addressed Albie

  “How are you, DS Edwards?” He extended his hand as Albie stood and gave it a firm shake.

  “I’m good, Mr McNally. Thank you for the updates.” He inclined his head in Mitchell’s direction as he scribbled away on his second piece of paper. “How do you suggest I… We go about this. It has to be as distress free as possible?”

  “If you follow my lead, he’s so engrossed in the mechanics of drawing, it may at first seem as if he’s not hearing or responding to your questions… You have to be patient to get results.”

  Ozzie secured his long tangled hair into a low ponytail and led the way to the table. There were two chairs to Mitchell’s left and one to his right. He still had an unobstructed view from the window.

  Ozzie pulled out the chair furthest from the child.

  “You sit here.” Olivia did as he asked.

  Ozzie then walked to the opposite side of the table and waited for Albie to take his seat.

  “That’s a fascinating sketch, Mitch. The sea look pretty rough. Which boat is ours?”

  Mitchell continued to mix yellow and white pastels to depict the sand, adding shades of greens standing on end like overgrown gelled spikes of hair on a balding head. Almost as a second thought, Mitchell chose a brown and added a hat to one of the stick figures on the fourth boat in the sea of foam.

  “Ahh! There we are. Is that a fish on the end of your line? I don’t remember the wriggly little sucker being that big. Perhaps a slight exaggeration, don’t you think?” A shadow of a smile fluttered across his lips, but the fish remained the same size.

  “Mitch. You remember Miss Devine and DS Edwards, don’t you?” He kept his full attention on his drawing.

  “Well, Maureen and I asked them to visit. They were excited about your drawing. It’s great to have a hobby.”

  Ozzie surrounded the boy’s small fist with his own hand. It worked. Both hands stilled, and Mitchell focussed on Ozzie’s face.

  “While they’re here we are going to ask you some questions. Wouldn’t it be great if you could have a go at drawing your answers?”

  He dislodged his hand from Ozzie’s light grip, then continued with his unfinished task by adding fluffy clouds to the bright blue sky.

  “Hi, Mitchell.” Albie choose an A3 sheet from the pile. “Here. If you feel like drawing while I’m talking.” He placed it next to the paper Mitchell was frantically colouring.

  “Mitchell. I need to ask you about the last time you visited Josh and Josie.”

  The boy froze. The tick of the clock was the only sound until Maureen’s cup clattered against the saucer.

  “It’s okay, Mitchell,” Albie began while he released the grip of each little finger of the crushed light blue pastel that crumbled into pieces in his tiny hand.

  Albie tipped the tub of colours, and more spilled onto the table.

  “Which colour are you feeling since I asked about that day? Draw…” He pointed to a blank piece of paper. A maze of black scribbles filled the page within seconds. Next he ripped holes in the sheet. Small ponds of sparkling salty tears smeared with the black. Olivia leaned forward and blocked Albie from the boy’s view.

  “Stop. He’s distressed.”

  “That’s his anger. He’s getting it out.” For the first time in days, he touched her hand. “It’s a good thing, trust me. I’ve been there. This is his release.” She squeezed his hand, caught Ozzie’s eye, and nodded to continue

  Replacing the paper, Albie’s forehead furrowed. The way he questioned Mitchell, he realised, was paramount to how he’d extract the answers he needed to catch the murderer. Mitchell having a meltdown was not an option. He needed to be sensitive. He needed advice.

  “Excuse me for a moment, Mitchell.” He stood, headed for the door, and beckoned for Olivia to follow.

  Olivia went to speak as soon as he shut the door. She tasted the saltiness of his finger as it covered her lips.

  “Wait. Hear me out. It’s important.”

  She shrugged and hung her head like a naughty school girl.

  “This has to work, Liv. No second chances. The questions I ask now could squeeze the information we need to find this animal. The wrong question could shut him down and we’ll all be back to square one.”

  She studied his twitching lips, deep frown, and narrowed unblinking eyes.

  “You’re afraid,” she whispered in disbelief. Albie was a man who in general was a decision maker. Annoyingly oozing self-confidence. And his face was etched with fear, genuine fear. “You’re questioning your ability. Don’t do this now. Don’t hide behind your insecurities. This is not about you and your career. This is about catching a killer.”

  “I’m aware of that. Are you going to help or not?” he snapped. “That’s why you’re here, right? To help me ask the right questions in a way that’s best for him?”

  Olivia studied his face once more, nodded, grabbed some paper and a pen from the kitchen draw, and began jotting a sequence of questions. When they were ready to join the others in the floral living room, Albie was confident they’d get somewhere with Mitchell if he kept Olivia’s warning in mind.

  Remember he’s a child not some criminal your interrogating. Keep it light, conversational. Give him thinking time. If he becomes agitated, take two steps back rather than overwhelm him.

  Kids had never been his forte, yet Olivia had always been on the same wavelength as them. Five years ago it had been the same, and look at how that’d turned out. Albie steadied his hand on the table top and sat back down. Mitchell smiled and slammed a playing card down on the pile.

  “Snap.”

  “Not again.” Ozzie flicked over the only card in his hand and shrugged. “You just get quicker at this every time.” He laid a new piece of paper on the table. “How about some more drawing?” Mitchell shut his eyes and shook his head. “Then I’ll play you at snap again, and next time I’ll thrash you. How does that sound?”

  Mitchell reached for the paper, grabbed the black pastel again, and waited.

  Albie wasted no time.

  “You remember going to Joshua’s for tea?” He waited for a reply he was never going to hear. “We spoke to Mrs Jeffries, but I just need you to fill in a few gaps for me, okay?” It unnerved him, not that Mitchell couldn’t speak, but he wasn’t responding in gestures. It was like questioning a stuffed toy.

  “Why don’t you choose a colour?” Mitchell glanced at the tub of bright colours, but held on tight to the black. Albie chose a light blue and split the page into six rectangles as Olivia suggested.

  “Right. Are you ready?” The question was acknowledged by every person in the room, except Mitchell, with nods of the head, simultaneous sighs, and deep inhalations of breath followed by a solid silence. “I want you to think back to the moment you left the Jeffries house with Joshua to play. Each of these boxes will represent something that happened.”

  “Try to think of it as someone else’s story. Like the adventures in the comics you read.” Olivia picked up a Batman comic from a well-thumbed pile on a small cushioned footstool. Mitchell took the copy from her and flicked through the pages. He stopped at a page with a similar layout, apart from a diamond dominating the centre of the page, and he busied himself adapting the squares Albie had drawn until it mirrored the page.

  A trace of a smile lingered on Albie’s face as he continued. “Your adventures began with a game, perhaps you could draw the game you played.” All eyes were on Mitchell as he replaced the black pastel with a pencil. He drew a stickman with an oval face covere
d with triangular hands that sprouted sausage shaped fingers. Numbers spewed from circular mouth and danced on the paper like musical notation. In the distance, a small stick figure approached a door that was ajar.

  Albie examined the drawing. Keep it light, conversational, above all remember you’re dealing with a young child.

  “Hide ‘n’ seek, hey? That’s got to be one of my favourite games. I loved hiding. My secret hiding place was in the large dressing up chest in our playroom. Where did you hide on the other side of the door?”

  In the next box, Mitchell drew the door to one side, a large cube in the middle with a large tube running up and along the page, sprouting smaller replicas of itself as it headed up to the top of the page. The stick boy sat behind the cube. Every other part of the box was blank.

  Albie exchanged a glance with Olivia who like a tag team partner, just like they’d planned.

  “You’ve started well, Mitchell. Let’s see if we can add some detail to the comic strip. We are going to pretend you are a superhero in the story. Remember whatever happens, you will be safe.” She explored his face for any negative response. “Now, as the hidden boy, I want you to look around the room. What do you see? Look in every corner on each level. Wait until your eyes adjust to the darkness and question every shape or shadow.”

  Olivia sat back in her chair while the whole room took a breath and waited. Albie tapped his foot to a nonexistent beat and leaned forward. Olivia’s lack of urgency grated on him. They had a killer to find and this was a waste of time.

  Mitchell drew in a trance like state. He drew until he collapsed on the paper, tears free falling. Ozzie lifted him from the chair and cradled him to his chest. He rocked him back and forth with the same tenderness and care he would have given to a newborn.

  “Mitchell needs to rest. I think that really is enough for one day.” He nodded in the direction of the cause of Mitchell’s distress. “I hope you’ve got what you need and it wasn’t a wasted journey. See you soon, love.” He bent awkwardly to plant a kiss on Olivia’s forehead before leaving the room.

  Albie untied the red silk ribbon Olivia had tied in a delicate bow around the drawing. He unrolled the scroll like a pirate’s treasure map and examined its contents.

  “Hey, you said you’d wait for me.” Olivia sipped some froth from the top of his pint of Guinness. She placed both their drinks on coasters and wiped condensation from the wine glass. She took a large sip of iced lemonade and joined Albie in scrutinising the drawing.

  Albie frowned at the mess in front of him. “What a waste of time. It’s just scribble, a kid’s drawing. I don’t know what I expected but I’m not sure this will help.” He smiled at the thought of what Frank would say if he put this up on the board next to the dead bodies.

  Albie pushed the paper to one side.

  “I’m starving,” He slid his finger over the inside of the menu and stopped at fish dishes. “Even though you say the meals are huge here, I hope you ordered large cod like I asked.”

  His eyes lit up as the waitress carried two plates to their corner table. Golden battered fish hung over the sides like a waterfall touched by Midas. They sat in silence and ate. Albie’s hunger blossomed after the first few mouthfuls. He had no idea how hungry he was and was thankful he’d finally agreed to eat. Olivia pushed her plate to one side after picking at the scampi. She’d always been picky with food. It had annoyed Albie five years ago and he felt the same now.

  “Have you finished?” Albie pointed to her food.

  “Be my guest.” She stretched across the table and opened the abandoned drawing. She brushed wisps of hair from her face, tucked what she could behind her ear, and scanned the dark images on the page between sips of her drink. She flipped the page over, and a mark in the corner caught her eye. She squinted and traced her finger over the squiggle. M7.

  “You’re wasting your time. Nothing there, I looked.”

  Olivia turned the paper towards him and pointed to the black marking. “M6. Any ideas?”

  “I don’t know. A code of some kind? He’s a seven-year-old boy who loves comic books, probably loves spies and code breaking. I know I did as a kid.”

  “M7, M for Mitchell, 7 for his age.”

  “Alright, Miss Marple, wipe that grin off your face. You’ve cracked a seven-year-old’s code. It doesn’t alter the fact that this whole escapade has been a complete waste of time. There’s still a killer out there. We need to get back.” He stood up and pulled out his phone. “I’ll be back in five. Be ready to leave.”

  Hidden codes, Albie had said. Young boys enjoy hidden codes. Olivia focused on each of the sections individually. After all, she’d encouraged Mitchell to sequence the story. He’s a scared child. If he knew anything it wouldn’t be obvious.

  “Come on, Liv.” She turned at the jingle of keys, then continued to scrutinise the drawing.

  “Wait, I think I may have something.”

  He slammed the keys on the table and cursed as one dug into his palm

  “Enough. This is madness.” He rolled the edge of the paper and she slapped his hand away. “Liv, really, we’ve got to leave.”

  “Look,” She pointed to four small circles at the back of the room which were obscured by a giant hand with two Js scrawled on the skin. “It’s his code. Can you see the letters in each circle?”

  “The letter I. Each has an I. So what are you getting at, Liv?”

  “There are four. Four Is or two pairs of eyes?”

  “He wasn’t alone. There were others. Witnesses.”

  “Not only that, but they knew he’d spotted them. Look at this pattern under the circle from the side, it says ‘Shhh!’”

  Albie made for the door. “You’re driving.”

  “Tanya, there’s been a new development. I think there were witnesses to the attack on Mitchell. Yeah, I’ll be back in an hour or two. Listen! Check on Josie Jeffries. If she’s not at the hospital, she’s probably either at home or on her way there.”

  57

  Twenty minutes after the first car pulled up on the curb outside the flats, a second entered the cul-de-sac. It continued to the end of the road, circled round, and parked nose to nose with the waiting vehicle.

  “Wait in the car. Just a moment.” Not waiting for a response, Albie angled his body towards the pavement and manoeuvred himself from the car, ignoring his joints’ protest at his rapid movements.

  “Sarge, did you receive the call? There’s been an attack on the Fennick Estate. Early reports are that there is one fatality.”

  Albie nodded his head at the keen young officer. His attention was drawn to the pallid face of the woman sitting in Tanya’s car, then back to Olivia.

  “PC Watts, I need you to oversee this investigation. Olivia will be able to give Josie the emotional support she needs. You keep them safe, get them inside, and secure the premises. I’ll go to the estate.”

  “But don’t you need me at the crime scene?” He stopped. “I mean if it’s a murder, you’re going to need everyone available to you.”

  “This isn’t babysitting duty, Tanya. She’s in danger. She’s connected to all the crimes we’re investigating.” Albie groped in his pocket for his keys. “And until we know more, Josie Jeffries is a potential victim.”

  “Voyeurs aren’t known to attack the targets of their obsession, Sarge…I’m not sure how this is more important than a murder.”

  Albie pushed his creased reddened face within inches of hers. He lowered his voice to a precise whisper. “I suggest you think very carefully before you say another word. I have asked you to protect a witness in a civilian’s home. It’s an order! If you have a problem with my request you can take it up with me later. Anything else to add?”

  She shook her head and watched him sprint to the car.

  The buzz of activity at a murder scene never ceased to shock Albie. The estate vultures had gathered and no doubt sent out the word to whomever was listening that a major event was about to be unraveled. They hudd
led together. Whispers floated on the air, gaining momentum, lies breading lies.

  “Police,” he said with a flash of his warrant card. A reluctant path opened in front of him, which closed with precision behind him as he forced his way to the open front door. A troupe of young officers hedged the cordoned area and hid their fear with the expertise of seasoned officer, dilated pupils the only clue to their immediate terror as they held back the hordes.

  Approached by two officers, Albie produced his warrant card again as he ducked under the blue and white tape.

  “Get rid of the spectators ASAP.” He ordered the nearest officer. He entered a narrow hall adorned with nicotine-yellowed chip wood wallpaper, met halfway by dark wood pine slats which added to the claustrophobic feel of a crowded rat run. Death hung on the air, a dangerous mix of toxins that clung to his taste buds and assaulted his senses.

  Albie coughed to hold back a threatened involuntary retch. He cursed at the excretion of fresh death he’d absorbed. The putrefied smell would linger for days. He took two paces inside and paused and looked into the room on his right. The whole frame was filled with the silent seated woman, captured like am image on canvas. If a plaque had adorned the wall behind her, it would have read: Sorrow.

  For the first time in his career he pitied the killer. He buckled from her despair. Her anonymous contact and the previous visit to the police station, he now realised, had been cries for help. Was she a victim turned desperate murderer in a violent bid to be heard? He stood in silent observation as two officers whispered instructions to the bent figure, transfixed by the remnants of her frenzied attack—a pallet of reds and browns splattered patterns like a counterfeit Pollock.

  With gradual coaxing and support, she attempted to stand. Taking cumbersome steps, she continued towards Albie, head dipped. He stepped aside. She paused, raised her head, and drew in a deep breath. Their eyes met for a second, and with a haunted smile she whispered, “You should have listened, detective.”

  As the officers threw a blanket over her head and moved her into the baying crowd. Any sympathy he felt flew after her. In one sentence, Elsie Soren had managed to support his theory: A killer kills. No excuses.