Stalker

by Gemma Rogers

  35

  Saturday 13 January 2018

  I couldn’t sleep, wired from the evening’s events. Too hyped up from the adrenaline pumping around my body. I’d done it. Palpitations developed every time I relived hiding the camera with seconds to spare. He didn’t catch me though and now I had a window into his life. It felt good having one over on him, having the upper hand. Ben was at work and I took one of his beers from the fridge, sure he wouldn’t mind. I needed to relax but was jittery and unable to settle. I considered taking two diazepam, but I wanted to remain alert. The PetCam app had been streaming continuously on my phone since I came through the front door. I’d chewed my nails down to the quick, but all I was watching was Ian’s empty sofa. He was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone to bed? Unless he’d gone out on the prowl? The idea made me nauseous.

  I had no way of knowing what he was doing unless I contacted him. It was gone eleven now, but I had his number. I tapped at my screen, composing a text.

  Had a lovely time tonight. Looking forward to doing it again. Off to bed now. Eve x

  I waited for my phone to buzz back, but it remained silent.

  I finished the beer, took off my make-up and cleaned my teeth. Checking my phone every few minutes. It wasn’t until I got into bed that my phone finally vibrated.

  I’m in bed too. Big game of rugby tomorrow. Looking forward to dinner soon. See you at the gym. X

  Whether or not he was in bed, I couldn’t know. I couldn’t be responsible for what he did, it was down to the police and they’d failed to catch him. Which is why I was going to deliver some justice of my own.

  By lunchtime the next day Ben questioned why I was so glued to my phone and I had to lie on the spot. The best thing I could come up with was a dating app, which I instantly regretted as his face darkened. I’d never been good under pressure, especially at lying.

  In truth, I couldn’t stop watching the window into Ian’s life, although there had barely been any activity; only a couple of flashes of him walking past early this morning, wearing his rugby kit. I knew he’d be out most of the day. Being a voyeur was addictive. In the end I forced myself to put the phone down.

  ‘What are you doing this weekend?’ I asked Ben.

  ‘Not a lot. Amy is on a hen weekend in Brighton, so I’ll be just chilling. How was your date?’

  ‘All right.’ I didn’t want to elaborate; Ben would see straight through me. Thankfully he didn’t push for more information.

  ‘Fancy a movie and a takeaway tonight? Or I could cook, we haven’t had a themed night in a few weeks.’ No, we hadn’t, not since Amy came along anyway.

  ‘Takeaway would be good,’ I replied.

  Whilst Ben was out collecting the curry, I opened the app to see if Ian had returned and almost jumped when I saw him sat on the sofa, a laptop across his knees. The PetCam had a microphone you could talk through as well as playing audio. When the app was opened, both features were set to mute. I unmuted the audio, so I could listen. Sounds of sex filled the room, slapping of skin on skin and a woman squealing. I baulked, wrinkling my nose. He was watching porn on his laptop. Not that different from other men after all. Cheeks flushed red with guilt for prying, watching his arm jolt up and down as he pleasured himself, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. After a minute, when I was just about to close the app down, the squeals turned to screams. A different sound came through the speakers. Crunching of bone and swear words spat venomously. On the laptop screen, it looked as though the man was now beating the woman. Something which had started out as sex had turned into a vicious attack. She was crying for help as punches rained down on her. My eyes brimmed with tears, the phone quivering in my hand, but I couldn’t wrench myself away from the horror. Ian’s arm was moving faster, his excitement palpable. It sickened me, how could someone enjoy watching such violence? Ian groaned, and I guessed he’d ejaculated. My throat constricted, and I thought I was going to be sick.

  I didn’t hear Ben enter the flat. When a voice came from behind me, I jumped out of my seat.

  ‘Are you watching porn?’ he asked, the corner of his mouth turned up into a half-smile.

  I closed the app and threw the phone onto the carpet. ‘No. Just one of those stupid horror things that make you jump,’ I lied, wiping my eyes.

  Ben went into the kitchen, the smell of curry turning my stomach as it wafted past. I rushed to the bathroom sink.

  ‘I bought elderflower gin, it was on offer. Didn’t you say you wanted to try it?’ Ben called, oblivious.

  ‘Brilliant, pour me a glass would you,’ I called back, sucking in air as the nausea subsided. I stared at my ashen face in the mirror. What was I doing? I was going to be found naked and dumped in an alleyway if I kept going down this rabbit hole. It was clear violence turned him on and that petrified me. Had he fantasised doing that to me?

  ‘It’s on the table,’ Ben called back.

  I splashed water on my face and returned to the kitchen. I was safe here with Ben. For now, anyway.

  ‘Best Indian takeaway, bloody annoying they don’t deliver though,’ Ben said, thankfully unaware of the torment I was trying to hide.

  I pushed the dhansak around my plate, willing my hunger to return.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Ben asked.

  I nodded, forcing myself to make conversation. ‘So, Amy’s on a hen do then. Are you going to the wedding?’ Glad to change the subject, I forced a forkful of curry into my mouth, chewing rhythmically.

  ‘Yep, it’s two weeks away and I’ve got to get a suit. She’s already stressing about what to wear.’

  ‘It’s what us women do.’ Well, most women, normal women. Not so much me.

  ‘I’m just hoping she doesn’t catch the bouquet.’

  I choked on my food then, spluttering as it lodged in my throat.

  ‘Otherwise you’ll be right up shit creek!’ I croaked.

  My mood lifted a little and we joked good naturedly about the sort of wife Amy would make. We’d lounged on the floor, eating left over poppadums and watching Anchorman. I didn’t want the evening to end. For a while I forgot about Ian.

  Saying goodnight to Ben was always difficult, especially after the kiss that seemed like it had happened years ago. Would it ever be repeated?

  My bedroom was cold after the warmth and laughter of the front room. Under the duvet, I was terrified to open the app but compelled to at the same time. Hesitating, I opened the portal to Ian’s living space, relieved to see he wasn’t in view. I didn’t think I could go to the gym tomorrow. I couldn’t look him in the eyes so soon without revulsion etched across my face. How could I hold a conversation with him? How do I attract this predator without becoming his prey once more?

  Sunday 28 January 2018 – DC Becker

  Hicks’s forehead crumples as he scans the preliminary lab results which have just been sent through. The ingrained lines doubling, the harder he frowns at the page.

  ‘Why would she lie?’ I ask.

  He shrugs, he’s not interested in debating, but I can tell something is troubling him.

  ‘She’s admitted killing him. There’s no reason for her to lie,’ I continue.

  ‘I think she’s lying about how it went down. Something’s not right. I’ve got a feeling.’ He’s still frowning, patting his stomach to indicate the bad feeling is coming from his gut. ‘Did she deliberately mislead us with her name?’ he continues.

  ‘That was our mistake, not hers,’ I say dismissively and gesture towards the paper he’s holding with the lab results.

  ‘Nothing surprising, his blood type on her, there’s tissue under her fingernails, but still waiting on DNA confirmation, but I think we’re safe to assume it’s him. Both fingerprints have been found on the knife, in different places, conducive to how she handled it. No trace of her so far in the kitchen, only prints in the bathroom and living room.’

  The girl looks too fragile for this and I’m concerned for her state of mind. I can tell Hicks thinks she’s too contained, but I
believe she’s in shock. Knowing she was raped only a few months ago, she must have some residual post-traumatic stress. It’s no wonder she reacted like she did. I would have done the same. Working these kinds of cases never gets easier. Looking at her is like looking in the mirror at myself twenty years ago.

  ‘Have you seen the papers?’ Guy, the newest member of our team, comes rushing in to the kitchenette, flapping the Daily Mirror. I scan the text before handing it to Hicks.

  ‘Shit,’ I sigh, this could change things. ‘Has the boss seen it yet?’

  Guy shakes his head. He’s on loan from another station, pending a transfer after buying a house in the next county. I like him, but Hicks isn’t too keen, although he takes a while to warm up to anybody. I can see why he rubs Hicks up the wrong way, Guy is like a puppy, constantly bouncing and requiring attention.

  ‘Who do you think leaked it?’ I ask.

  Guy’s eyes glint at the possibility of an internal leak.

  ‘No idea.’ The headline is ‘Victim Arrested in Rapist’s Killing’. A photo of a brunette Eve holding a cocktail is framed by three paragraphs of outrage on the miscarriage of justice.

  ‘The press will have a field day with this, it’s like the pensioner and the burglar all over again,’ I say. My left eye begins to twitch, it always does when I’m tired. At six o’clock this morning, I was singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star’. I can count the number of hours sleep I’ve had in the past twenty-four on one hand.

  ‘#ReleaseEve is trending on Twitter,’ Guy adds.

  I shake my head; social media is always the thorn in our side.

  He hands me a folder. ‘Psychiatrist’s report. She’s only been a few times. The doctor wouldn’t supply recordings without a warrant but has written an outline of her mental state.’ This is something I’m looking forward to reading.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, turning my focus back to Hicks. ‘Was anything found at either home address?’

  His eyes dart back to the sheet.

  ‘Rohypnol was discovered at Mr Shaw’s address, and there were traces of it in Eve’s saliva sample. Preliminary scan of his laptop shows he streams some pretty violent porn on a regular basis. A journal was found at hers, Lisa is going through it now but said nothing untoward.’ Hicks pauses, and Guy jumps in.

  ‘Financial and phone records aren’t out of the ordinary either. They communicated by text a few times, typical of a couple going out.’

  Hicks scowls at the interruption. He’s grumpy today.

  ‘Thanks, Guy. So, evidentially, it looks as though she’s telling the truth. Can you see what you can find out about Ian Shaw. Any previous? Ask them to run his DNA through the system, if that hasn’t already been requested. And can you check the report for the CPS please, make sure it’s got all the findings in it so far?’ I ask.

  Guy nods, scribbling the instructions on a notepad he cradles like a clipboard.

  ‘Already searched through the database for Ian, makes for interesting reading. I’ve sent the file over to you both,’ he says, before hurrying out of the office.

  ‘God, he’s so bloody keen,’ Hicks grumbles.

  I ignore him.

  ‘We need to probe Eve more, perhaps ask some difficult questions. Are you up for that?’

  Hicks grunts in agreement and takes a loud slurp of his tea. He is much better at squeezing information out of someone than I am, that I’ll willingly concede. He tucks in one side of his shirt which has worked its way out over his waistband. I’m sure he was wearing the same one yesterday. My nose wrinkles, I can’t help it. Personal hygiene should be a minimum for this job. Hicks is a good detective though and his gut has been a contributing factor in some other cases we’ve solved together. On the surface this looks like a clear-cut case.

  We head back to the interview room, but we’re stopped in the corridor by Guy.

  ‘Glad I caught you. More results just in: blood splatter and initial crime scene DNA.’

  36

  Sunday 14 January 2018

  Ian sent a text on Sunday afternoon, to see if I was okay. I didn’t go to the gym, I couldn’t face it, instead I managed a four mile run, a personal best for me as it was the furthest I’d ever done. It helped clear my head. Listening to the sound of my feet pounding the concrete, I let my mind drift. I did all my best planning whilst running, going through scenarios in my head, exhausting endless possibilities. On the way back, I stopped in to see Susie at Baristas, excusing my sweaty mess. I was the only customer, so I needn’t have fretted.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, love. Fancy a pastry? I’ll only have to eat them myself, won’t be fresh tomorrow. Free to you.’

  I hesitated but then accepted, I hadn’t had any breakfast. I put a couple of quid in the tip jar and paid for my latte. I devoured the cinnamon roll, flaky pastry covering me like a blanket.

  ‘All right, big tits! Americano please,’ boomed a voice behind me, an accent which sounded like they were from the East End. They were a long way from home.

  My head snapped round, even though I knew it was not directed at me. My décolletage could never be described as big.

  ‘Coming up,’ Susie replied in her usual chirpy manner. Turning her back to us, she seemed unfazed as the machine churned the coffee.

  I threw a filthy look in the direction of the man who had spoken. He was dressed casually, a long-sleeved polo shirt over a bulging belly, jeans and trainers. Unshaven and carrying car keys, a large gold watch adorned his wrist. He gave me a toothy grin, oblivious to the offence he had caused.

  ‘I only come in here because of her tits, you know. She’s got a lovely pair.’ As if I wasn’t in on the joke.

  ‘Tosser,’ I muttered, turning back to my pastry.

  ‘What’s your problem? You a dyke?’ He spat on the floor of the coffee shop and I stood up, mouth gaping.

  ‘You’re a pig,’ I said, temper flaring. I felt the vein bulge in my neck.

  Susie rushed to pass the man his coffee in a takeaway cup.

  ‘Go fuck yourself, pipsqueak.’ He launched forward, arm pulled back, like he was going to punch me and fell about laughing as I recoiled. My face steamed but he sauntered out of the shop, whistling to himself.

  ‘What a wanker,’ I growled, taking a napkin from the counter and bending to wipe the spittle.

  ‘I know, he’s in most days, Bob the cabbie, always the same.’

  ‘You shouldn’t let them talk to you like that,’ I said, but then looking at Susie’s large chest, emphasised by the low-cut purple top she was wearing, I saw I was fighting a losing battle.

  ‘Ah well, doesn’t matter. Are you doing research today?’ She gestured towards the back of the café. The four computers spaced out on a high bench, each with stools tucked neatly underneath. I always used the one on the far left, furthest away from the counter.

  I nodded, damn right I was.

  ‘I’ll put the lights on back there. How’s the book coming along?’

  ‘Slow.’

  ‘Then I’ll bring you a hot chocolate,’ Susie replied, squeezing my shoulder. She reminded me of a perfect mum, always wanting to take care of everyone. So different from mine. It was such a shame she didn’t have any kids yet, but her time would come. Perhaps when her husband was home from the rigs.

  I headed to the back of the café, my blood still boiling from the customer who had just left. What right did he have to talk to either of us that way? Why did men think they could say whatever they wanted with no consequences? Treat women any way they felt like? I had to stop myself from following him, although I fantasised about it for a while. Leaving a present on his doorstep, faeces in a bag set alight, or I’d heard brake fluid poured on a car melted the paint right off. Revenge stoked the fire within me and I liked it. Maybe a bit too much. Something had to be done. I had to make a stand. They had to pay, but Ian was first.

  I turned my attention to the search engine on screen and began to type. If I was going to do it, it had to be right. Every possib
le outcome had to be anticipated, every loose strand tied up. There could be no room for error otherwise the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

  I stayed for another hour, making mental notes. No pen and paper for me. I wasn’t stupid. When Ian texted me later asking how I was and telling me his team had won at rugby the day before, I left it a while before replying. I was deliberating on what to say. I sensed he liked the chase and I was happy to oblige. After a few hours, just before bedtime, I responded.

  Well done. Sorry, been out all day. See you tomorrow. X

  Hopefully it would be enough to pique his interest. When I saw him, I would make something up, a day out shopping with a friend or visiting relatives, but for now he could wonder. I called Jane briefly, she’d been on shift this weekend and had a tough week by all accounts, covering for a colleague on the oncology unit. Doctor Lush was throwing her a leaving party on Sunday 28 January and had hired the upstairs of a local pub. I could hear her wavering about going, although she wouldn’t admit it. She’d fallen for him hard. I promised I’d be there if I didn’t manage to catch up with her next weekend. There was no way I was going to miss saying goodbye to my best friend and wishing her well on her travels.

  Monday 15 January 2018

  The tables were turned when I arrived at the gym at five o’clock on Monday to work out. I’d spent all day buried in Jason’s accounts, trying to make sense of the mountain of receipts he’d shoved in a drawer and enter them into a spreadsheet. I was starting to regret the decision to work at the boxing club. I hardly had any time to train and my job description seemed to involve everything from cleaning the showers and washing the towels to strategising a marketing campaign. I didn’t mind variety, but it was a joke.