The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  “Sarge, up here. It’s not pretty.” Pulled from his thoughts, Albie followed the voice, taking the stairs two at a time, careful not to touch the blood-stained handrail.

  Albie stood inside the doorway and scanned his dark surroundings. He waited while his eyes adjusted to the inside of the victim’s lair. Blackout blinds blocked any natural light. In fact, black was the theme of the room—black walls, furniture, even sheets, interrupted only by the contrast of the pale body spread on his front, gaping wounds scattered intermittently over the left side of his back as if caused by pecks from giant beaks. However, the tears above his left hip and across his throat had been his downfall. He moved closer and switched on the bedside lamp which was covered with a dirty shirt, probably thrown there by accident rather than left on purpose for ambiance.

  On closer inspection, Albie noticed the aggression etched his face even in death. Bulbous eyes glared at him. His blood-soaked hair was spiked and reminded him of a Sex Pistols concert he’d once gone to with an angsty ex-girlfriend. It had scared him half to death. At this case looked cut and dry. He had a victim and his murderer. There was no more he could do except leave the others to do their jobs.

  He barged his way back through the crowds. Their faces were etched with curiosity and anger, and he even spotted a few girls in tears. He shook his head. They were grieving a violent drug dealing, bully. One less in the world should be celebrated, but scanning the crowd, he knew that for some it was now an opportunity to step into Charlie’s empty shoes, and it would happen within days.

  What next? he thought. He unlocked the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The huge vocals of Jon Bon Jovi filled the car. He took one look at himself in the rearview mirror, reversed out of the parking bay, and indicated right out of the estate before heading for home.

  58

  Tanya had checked every part of the flat, all the nooks and crannies. She’d just finished searching in and around the shed at the end of the garden, as well as the alleyway that ran parallel to the garden and led to individual garages. Access to this area was partially hidden by a large archway adorned with entwined vines and exuberant blooms in various shades of pinks through to deep purple. Two large hedges guarded each side of the dirt road. which led to the fragrant arch. Tanya explored the alleyway on foot, checking the security of each garage door.

  When she reached Number 25, she fiddled with the key until the lock sprung. As the lock gave, she pulled the door out and upwards and reached for the string which dangled from the ceiling on the right hand side. The bare lightbulb came to life and illuminated a sparse space, complete emptiness, no shelves, cupboards, or boxes. Even the walls bore nothing but flaking paint. Tanya took one step inside. She’d been surprised by the size of the flat and garden; however, this space was a real bonus. A place like this would be ideal for her. The next step on the property ladder, quiet and secluded. Her mind wandered. She made a mental reminder to find out how often these properties came on the market.

  Too late, a shudder trailed her spine and loose stones crunched under someone’s feet. The first blow connected across her shoulders, knocking her forward with force.

  “Damn police, always in the way.”

  She tried to identify the gruff voice, but other than that it was aggressive and male she had nothing. She turned on the balls of her feet, inhaling faint quick breaths, and lifted her head to glance at her attacker. Dark brown eyes stared from a face masked by a black balaclava. Tanya was drawn to his raised gloved hand, wrapped around a plank of wood. She swayed as it hovered above her head. The next blow hit her across her breasts as she attempted to regain her balance. She flew backwards, and before she hit the ground, he swung again. The impact from the weapon to the side of her head was the last pain to shoot through her skull, and the last pain she remembered.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down, bitch.”

  Nick let the wooden plank fall to the floor, hurried to the entrance, and pulled the garage door down. He strode into the space, then squatted to examine the police officer’s head. He studied the blood smears on his fingers. The bump above her left ear grew before his eyes, and he watched with fascination. He unbuttoned her shirt and rested his head on her chest. He stilled, closed his eyes, and let the rhythm of her heartbeat sooth the constant hurry of blood circulating his body, dictating his every mood. For the first time in a long while, he had time to reflect, plan, and justify his next steps. He rose and checked his pockets for his Swiss army knife, deadly in the wrong hands although so useful in the hands of others. He took one last look at Tanya before leaving the garage. He pulled the door to meet the gravel below, locked it, and slipped the key into his pocket.

  Nick reorientated his position. He picked up the wooden plank and trough it over a garden fence. After a moment, he vaulted the same fence and landed in the garden on his hands and knees. He crouched, just out of sight of the flat behind the shed, and waited.

  Olivia peered into the garden. A shadowed movement caught her eye. She pressed one hand against the window pane and used her other to shield her eyes from the low-lying sun. She scanned the back fence, dismissed the shadows as a trick of the light, checked the locks, and drew the curtains. It took her a few minutes to repeat this action in every room. All the while, the water hit the soap covered body in the shower cubicle.

  Josie’s exhaustion from the trauma of the last two days had etched her face when Olivia had supported her into her home. She was in no doubt that Josie would have fallen to the floor and slept on the welcome mat given the opportunity. Olivia had struggled singlehandedly to drag her into the bathroom. Dignity forgotten, she’d stripped her filth-covered clothes and propped her against the shower wall. Next, she’d covered her in jasmine shower gel, turned on the water, and shoved a sponge in her hand, then hoped for the best.

  Olivia looked around her. For the first time in days, she was at a loss. The spin of the washing machine’s rhythmic slosh sung to her like a soothing lullaby. She plugged in the radio, followed by the kettle. The kettle bubbled louder each second in competition with the music. To abate her own growing exhaustion, Olivia turned up the volume, danced towards the cupboard, and sang nonsense words to a classic as she heaped coffee into the cafeteria followed by the bubbling water.

  “Arrgh, shit.” She choked on a scream, threw coffee over her arm, and reeled away from the hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry. I thought you heard me.” Josie stood behind her wrapped in a soft white bath towel saved for guest use only. Water dripped from her hair and sat on her shoulders like the fine layer of condensation that slalomed down the side of the cafeteria. “I wondered where my clothes were?” Olivia nodded at the washing machine still part way through a cycle while holding her arm under the cold tap and gripping her teeth against the pain.

  “I laid some clothes on my bed, the room to the right of the bathroom. There’re toiletries in there as well. Help yourself. Coffee?” She patted her arm with a hand towel and lifted a red polka dot mug from the mug tree. “Or would you prefer tea? I’m making toast as well. You must be starving.”

  “Is your arm okay?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” She pointed to the mug.

  Josie smiled. “Thanks, coffee’s fine. I’ll get dressed and join you.” Opening the door, she scanned the living room. “Has the police woman left?”

  “I don’t think so, but you know how unreliable the police can be. She’s probably been called back to the station. I doubt we’re a priority.” She busied herself making the coffee. “It’ll be ready in five. Go get some clothes on. You’ll feel half human when you’ve brushed your hair.”

  Her gaze followed Josie’s languid walk in the direction of the bedroom. Turning down the radio, she listened for the click of the closed door before sinking barefoot into the pile of the cream carpet, luxurious between her toes.

  She ran to the front window, peeped through a gap in the curtain, then let i
t fall closed. PC Watts car sat in the same position she left it, the front wheels turned away from the curb and the outside mirror flat against the car. It was no doubt a habit from parking in busy roads and the loss of a few mirrors in the past.

  Olivia kept her eye on the bedroom door as she picked up her phone and scrolled her contacts. There’d been enough trauma in Josie’s life. The last thing she needed was Olivia’s added paranoia.

  “Pick up, Ed. It’s important.” She covered the phone with one hand, her whisper urgent. She glanced towards the bedroom again, then continued. “Did you call the police officer back to the station? Only she went to search the area and has been gone for nearly an hour. Her car’s still parked outside. I’m concerned, that’s all. Call back, Ed.”

  59

  Night crept in like a low tide, so gradual and seamless it was difficult to pinpoint when it conquered the haze of late evening light. Nick eased his body forward, one palm placed flat on the rough wooden fence, the other on the weather-beaten slats that held the patched-up shed together on a drunken tilt. He barely skimmed the top of the fence and landed awkwardly on one foot before tumbling to his knees. He stood and rubbed debris from his trousers.

  The garden held a mystical aura once the fairy lights came to life. A slabbed path snaked its way from the house. Blankets of lush emerald grass edged by pastel blooms alongside covered the first half of the garden. The whole area was lit by the flicker of lights draped on small bushes. At the end of the garden, a spectacular willow tree’s branches dipped into the silent pond. An ornamental bridge and large kissing seat finished the image. It was a picture he’d seen often as a young child in fairytale books. A snapshot of his mother reading to him flashed into his head and was gone in an instant. He took a deep breath, then with purposeful steps made his way towards the flat. He knew exactly what he’d come for and was determined not to leave without her.

  Albie held his chiseled jaw and inspected each side in turn. Once satisfied he caressed the contours one last time and turned off his razor. He secured the loosened towel that hung low round his waist, then leaned nearer the mirror. Black circles had set up residence under his eyes. The sapphire blue prominent in the brightness of the fluorescent bathroom light. His tiredness showed in the frowns and furrows of his maturing face. As he turned the overhead light off, he thanked God, not for the first time, that mature men were still considered attractive to woman of all ages. He took one last look with a cheeky grin before dancing his way back into the living room, blasting the vocals to Bon Jovi It’s My life. It had gradually become an anthem of his over the years.

  Dropping his towel, he struggled into a pair of joggers and headed for the microwave. He tipped a piping hot excuse for a pasta dish into a bowl, tore a chunk of French stick, and sat at the table with a large glass of Merlot. Albie wiped the last chunk of bread around the bland sauce left in the bottom of the dish and washed it down with a large gulp of the ruby liquid. Satisfied, he strolled into the bedroom and took his phone off charge.

  The phone came to life in his hand. Missed calls, texts, and voicemails. His first thought was to pretend he’d not turned his phone on, replace it in its resting place, and catch up with some much-needed sleep. Guilt got the better of him, and he took a casual stroll back into the living room, picked up his glass from the table, and lounged into the corner of his plush black leather couch. It was an investment yet to have much use, but appreciated when he was able to relax. Another mouthful of wine slid smoothly down his throat as he began to check the messages. He scanned the names until Olivia’s missed call flashed on the screen. Albie connected to voicemail. Within seconds, he was up, shedding his bottoms, throwing on a shirt, jeans, and jacket. Wallet in his mouth, phone to his ear, and keys hung between his fingers he rushed to the car.

  “Tanya, answer this phone. Where the hell are you?” He started the engine and reversed into the usually quiet country road to the honk of horns and angry hand gestures.

  “Thanks for the food and everything, really. I’m beginning to feel half human again.” Josie handed the last of the empty dishes to Olivia. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, picking up a tea towel.

  “How about getting a couple of glasses from the cupboard? The wine’s in the living room cabinet, unless you’d rather have the white that’s chilled in the fridge. Your choice.” She took the towel from Josie’s hand and replaced it with a cork screw, then shooed her from the kitchen.

  To her satisfaction, the cork not only dislodged with ease but came out whole, not like the cheap bottles of plonk from the local off-license. It even smelt expensive. She inhaled berries with a hint of some type of exotic spice. Josie poured a taster, rinsed her mouth with the flavours, then swallowed. No bitter aftertaste. She could get used to the finer things in life, she thought. She filled the glasses with a satisfied smile on her face.

  The first knock was so gentle it was swallowed by music from the kitchen radio. However, seconds later the next knock echoed through the room. Josie stood and headed for the kitchen. Olivia was engrossed in singing Mariah Carey while scrubbing the worktops. Josie gripped the soft, thick velvet curtain between her fingers drew it back. Squinting, she stared towards the front door. It was impossible to see anything but shadows. She undid the Chubb lock and opened the door as far as the chain allowed. The man on the doorstep looked up. His eyes locked with hers, and he smiled. A warm, amicable smile disguised the empty eyes she remembered from their first meeting. A flutter, faint and unformed, flickered in the base of her stomach. An animal instinct. A fear that only the polite ignore. He leant forward and raised one arm to lean against the door frame. She took a step back as his face inched closer.

  “Hey, Josie. How are you doing? I was asked to bring you some bits and pieces from home.” His smile widened as he held up her rucksack. Her blood ran cold, and the flutter developed momentum. She slammed her shoulder into the door as his Doc Martin boot jammed the gap.

  “Come on, Josie. Let me in, I’m here to help you. You need me. Stop this. Open the door. Fuck!” He grabbed his shin to protect it from the jab of the carving knife as it sliced into his leg. He dislodged his foot from the gap as Olivia rammed the door with her shoulder and fixed all the locks.

  “Get lost, creep. I’ve called the police. You’d better disappear. They’ll be here any minute now.”

  She dragged Josie into the kitchen and fumbled for her phone. The familiar voice on the other end of the line brought sobs from her mouth.

  “Liv, what’s going on?” Focusing on Josie’s wide eyes, framed by a pale face and trembling body, she breathed deep and long. “Liv, fucking answer me now.” She hoped her hysteria bubbling under the surface did not succeed in escaping as she spoke.

  “Eddie, where are you? Some nutter’s ramming the front door. I think he’s after Josie.” Each thud vibrated through her very being. She knew the door wouldn’t hold forever. “Oh my god, he’s nearly in…” She backed into the corner of the kitchen.

  “Liv, listen. Can you reach the bathroom?” Not waiting for a reply and leaning on his horn to get through a gap in the traffic, he continued. “Lock the door. I’m on my way.” Albie slammed his forehead against the steering wheel and swore at the queue of traffic. He indicted right into the nearest side road and called for backup.

  The route from the kitchen to the bathroom, simple on a regular day, was fraught with danger. With a tight grip across Josie’s shoulder, Olivia hugged her close and whispered instructions like a soft prayer into her ear. They followed a path furthest from the door, backs flush against the wall, hearts jumping a beat with each ram of the door. Nerves jangled and pulses throbbed to the beat of fear. Olivia turned the lock and slid down the inside of the bathroom door. Josie stared into space, unresponsive to Olivia’s attempts of engagement.

  Olivia scanned the ten by twelve foot bathroom. Pure white ceramic dispersed by snippets of metallic. She wiped the splatter of blood that dotted her hands and covered the knife on a w
hite towel and studied the repellent contrast. The noises were louder now. He was almost through, or was it pounding in her head. Olivia sprang to her feet. Decision made, she refused to sit back and be a victim. Those days were long gone.

  “Josie.” She knelt down and stroked Josie’s arm, then continued, “I’m going outside in a minute and I need you to stay here and lock the door behind me. You’ll be safe here. Josie, do you understand?” The nod was all she needed.

  She opened the door and turned back.

  “Lock it now. Don’t open it for anyone.” Josie rose to her feet with the aid of the bath and shut the door. Once she heard the click, Olivia, satisfied, ran to the French windows and fumbled with the bolts and locks. She slid them open as a final barge forced the front door from its frame. A cry of triumph mingled with agony echoed through the room.

  Olivia ran. Entangled feet threatened to slow her while her pumping heart willed her forward in flight. She tripped once, Gravel dug into her knees and the palms of the hands. A jagged stone, one of many laid for its unusual colour which added beauty to the garden, now carried her blood. The force of the impact split the skin across her cheekbone. Footsteps on the gravel behind her forced her to clamber to her feet. The desire to look back was unbearable. Instead she pushed herself forward towards the back fence, her only chance of escape.

  The rip of her sleeve slowed her, the woollen thread of her cardigan hooked on a rusty nail used for hanging baskets. She didn’t stop to untangle the thread. Instead she wriggled from the clothing and leapt for the fence. He was close. Ragged breathes and footfalls were now metres away.