Stalker

by Gemma Rogers

  ‘It’s premeditated. I know it.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I sigh. I’m too tired for this. I just need to get Lily sleeping through and then it’ll be better. Whose idea was it to have a baby at forty?

  ‘She knows it and I know it. It’s premeditated. I’m trying to break her.’ A fool’s errand is what it is, but as usual, Hicks is like a dog with a bone.

  ‘Just don’t fuck up the case. We need that interview recording, don’t make it inadmissible in court,’ I snap, rubbing the back of my neck. Sometimes he’s hard work.

  He backs out of the kitchen, away from me, as though struck by an idea.

  ‘Where are you going now?’

  ‘Digging,’ he calls back over his shoulder.

  I hurry after him, unable to let it go. He shoots me a look of contempt, fleeting, but I catch it. I don’t give a shit. After all these years the feeling is mutual.

  ‘You know I’m good at this. Give me one more go at her,’ he says, softer now, his eyes imploring.

  ‘Fine. I can delay collection for a couple of hours or so, then she’s out of here.’

  He nods, quickening his pace and leaving me behind. I can’t hold it against him, he wants to retire this year, just before his sixtieth birthday, and every case must be wrapped up neatly with a bow. He’s told me before he doesn’t want any unfinished business before he goes; he’s planning to buy a barge and spend his retirement sailing the canals with Sandra, his wife of forty years. I can’t see this being one of those cases that will come back to haunt him.

  My desk is piled high with paperwork. A map of the local area sits on top, with an orange circle highlighting an area of approximately half a mile.

  ‘Phone triangulation for Eve; for yesterday.’ Guy manifests behind me like a ghost, making me jump. He’s so keen, eager to climb the ranks. I bite down on my molars and stifle a smile. A thought tries to push its way through the fog as I eyeball the map.

  ‘Guy, can you get whoever did this on the phone please and transfer them through?’

  ‘Sure, will do, he gives a quick nod and is gone.

  While I wait for the call, I rummage in my drawer for some pins. A red pin is pushed through the location of Ian’s apartment, another through Eve’s. Ian’s sits inside the circle to the left; Eve’s is outside. I stare at the orange, absorbing the road names within, my eyes shifting in and out of focus. I’m so tired. The desk phone rings, jolting me back to the moment.

  ‘James, I’m putting you through to Detective Becker,’ Guy says, then I hear a click and the obvious background sound of a call centre comes through.

  ‘Hi James, thanks for producing the phone triangulation for us. I was wondering, could you have a look at the last four months on that account?’

  I hear him sigh down the phone.

  ‘That might take some time. You want printouts for every day? What is it you’re looking for?’

  It’s my turn to sigh and I massage my temples, keeping the headache at bay.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. No, I don’t need a printout. I’m just looking for anything out of the ordinary, any patterns or usage spikes,’ I reply. Something about the way Hicks is so convinced of Eve’s intentions unnerves me. Could I be wrong about her?

  42

  Saturday 20 January 2018

  My mother regaled me with tales of Patrick, how they’d met and, more revoltingly, how he didn’t need Viagra, even at sixty. All I could think about was Dad. There was no denying I was a daddy’s girl and his untimely death destroyed our little family. I lost both parents overnight. Four gins down and I was struggling to hold my tongue. The urge to shake my mother by the shoulders was compulsive and I balled my hands into fists under the table.

  ‘I came here to let you know, because when I sell the house I’m going to send you half. It would have been your dad’s half and it’ll make a huge dent in the mortgage of this place.’

  ‘I don’t care about the money.’

  ‘Don’t be so ungrateful,’ she snapped, slapping her hand on the table. She wasn’t slurring yet, but it wouldn’t be long. I needed to turn this conversation around. I needed to get her some food to soak up the alcohol. ‘You’ll like him. I promise. I’m drinking less, he’s trying to help me stop altogether.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, hopeful that Patrick had made headway where I couldn’t.

  ‘Yes. I know I have a problem.’ No shit! ‘Also, I want you to be my bridesmaid.’

  ‘What?’ I said, incredulous. I rose to my feet, ready to let her have it. The image of me as a child, in a pale blue dress holding a posy, from when her and my dad renewed their vows clear in my mind. Before I had the chance to unleash the anger I had been withholding, there was a knock at the door. I didn’t move, glaring at my mother who was oblivious.

  ‘Are you going to get that?’ she asked, filling her glass yet again.

  I stormed out of the kitchen and into the hallway. A thought made me stop dead in my tracks. What if it was Ian? What if he’d turned up again uninvited? I dashed back to the kitchen and kneeled, so I was the same height as Mum.

  ‘Mum, listen. This is really important. I think the man I like, you know the one I was telling you about is outside the front door. I’ll explain later, but when I met him I was wearing coloured contacts. He thinks my eyes are blue. You mustn’t say anything about my eyes.’

  Mum was looking at me, confused. ‘You kids these days.’

  ‘Mum, it’s important, okay. I’ll be your bridesmaid. Just don’t tell him I’m wearing contacts, understand?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  Another knock came from the door as I quickly put in the contacts, hiding the case in the bathroom cabinet.

  I ran to the door and threw it open. My gut had been right. Ian stood in the communal hallway holding a bulging takeaway bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

  ‘I must get you a doorbell, you know,’ he said, stepping over the threshold and kissing me on the cheek. I was too flustered to be afraid.

  ‘Didn’t you get my text?’

  ‘I did,’ he said with a glint in his eye and before I could stop him he’d made his way to the kitchen. ‘Hello,’ he said in an enthusiastic voice that made me cringe. He sounded like he was talking to a child. Mum would hate him, I was sure. She’d see straight through him. It would be exhausting trying to defend him to her later, I could tell.

  ‘Mum, this is Ian,’ I said, leaning on the door frame for support. Could tonight get any worse? Now my mother and rapist were going to sit across from each other to eat a meal at the strangest dinner party I’d ever been to.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Ian. Are you my daughter’s lodger?’ she asked, and I snorted.

  Ian frowned at me.

  ‘No. Boyfriend, I guess you could say.’ My skin prickled.

  ‘Oh. That’s interesting. I was just telling Eve that I’m getting married, she’ll have to bring you to the wedding.’

  Ian began unloading the foil cartons from the bag and I got the plates out. My anger steadily rising as I digested the boyfriend admission.

  ‘I take it you haven’t already eaten?’ Ian whispered. I shook my head.

  A few minutes later we were gathered around the table and tucking into the Chinese takeaway Ian had delivered. The gin bottle was almost empty, but Mother had no problem moving straight onto the wine. I listened to Ian charm her with ease. He seemed to know exactly what to say. She lapped up every word of what he did for a living and how we met.

  ‘Well, Ian, you sound quite taken with my daughter. I think she would be a catch for anyone. Perhaps with a bit more meat on her bones.’ If Ian was surprised by my mother’s barbed comment, he didn’t show it. I didn’t retaliate, there was no need. Ian came to my rescue like a knight in shining armour.

  ‘I think she’s beautiful.’ He smiled at me and stroked my arm for show, all for her benefit. I wasn’t sure whether to be sick or grateful.

  My mother did her best to embarrass me t
hroughout the course of the evening. First, she told Ian how, when I was six, I’d wet myself in a corn field as I was adamant that I could pee standing up just like my father. When that didn’t get a reaction, she followed it up with how I’d got into trouble at high school for making a pass at my teacher. All variations of the truth, but there was no point in correcting her whilst she was in full flow. I was too nervous she was going to tell Ian about the contact lenses just to be vindictive. I sat at the table refilling my glass, becoming more intoxicated as I listened to her subtle jibes; while Ian defended me with compliments. It was like watching a game of tennis. The conversation was so strange, the polite match of one-upmanship, which I was happy to see Ian winning hands down.

  In the end my mother gave up and said she was going to bed. The evening had been much tamer than I expected, no hurling of abuse or furniture. Ian seemed to have defused the situation every time I thought she might kick off. The gin bottle now empty, she stumbled off, taking her clinking handbag with her into the lounge before shutting the door.

  Ian stared at me and shook his head. ‘She’s something else.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ I replied, although he had a cheek.

  I was exhausted, the battle had been won tonight, but it was bound to continue tomorrow morning. I wanted Ian to leave so I could go to bed, but instead he poured us both a glass of wine. Mixing wine with gin was making my head fuzzy, I hadn’t drunk this much alcohol in ages. I drank it anyway, partly to be polite, partly because I was grateful he’d seen her off.

  ‘I’m sorry about my mother.’ I wasn’t sorry but I had to keep him onside, play my part of submissive Eve.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I know how to handle people like that.’ He looked pleased with himself, but I wasn’t in the mood to inflate his ego.

  ‘Thanks for the Chinese.’ I stood and lingered by the door, gazing at my bed, across the hall.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Ian joined me in the doorway and kissed me hard. My head throbbed, and the room tipped, like I was on a boat at sea.

  ‘I’m really tired, Ian,’ I said, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he manoeuvred me into my bedroom. I didn’t feel sober enough to put up much of a fight.

  ‘Let me put you to bed,’ he said, easing me down on top of the covers. We kissed again, his hands roaming under my jumper and caressing my breasts. His touch was oddly gentle, not how I expected him to be, the alcohol dulled my ability to reason. It wasn’t until his hand reached inside my jeans that I came back to earth with a thud. What the fuck was I doing? The lines were blurred, and I had to get my head straight.

  ‘Ian, stop.’ I mumbled as he kissed my neck, pushing his fingers into me. I forced his hand away. He sat up panting, eyes wide and teeth bared. The mask slipped for a second and for the first time I was truly afraid of him. Quickly, he composed himself. Running his hand through his hair, he smiled tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry. Too soon?’

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ My stomach gurgled from the alcohol sloshing around.

  Ian straightened his clothes, then bent down and kissed my forehead.

  ‘I’ll let you get to bed. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’ Then he turned and walked out of the room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

  I sat in the darkness listening. Seconds later I heard the front door close. What had I done?

  Sunday 28 January 2018

  Terry sits across the table from me, munching on his free sandwich courtesy of the custody officer. We are alone in the interview room. This is our lunch break and there are no tapes recording us now. I nibble at my cheese sandwich from earlier, managing half of it by the time he has scoffed the lot. He licks his long fingers and a wave of nausea hits me.

  ‘Right, let’s get back to it shall we.’

  I nod, although I’m unsure of what he wants to get back to. At this moment, my fate is sealed. My bravado from last night is slipping in the cold light of day.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me now?’ It comes out like a whimper.

  Terry runs his hand back and forth over his bald head, sighing. It’s not good news.

  ‘Due to the seriousness of the offence, plus you’ve admitted to inflicting the wound which resulted in Mr Shaw’s death, you have been charged. So, later today you’ll be remanded into custody. You will have an appearance at a Crown Court, which could be as early as tomorrow, where they will read the charges against you. They may ask for an initial plea.’

  I close my eyes as my stomach plummets.

  ‘I have to warn you that the likelihood of bail being permitted is low. To that end, I think it would be wise to build a case of self-defence and I strongly suggest you plead not guilty to the murder charge. I don’t think they have enough evidence to prove intent. It’s likely it’ll be downgraded to involuntary manslaughter.’

  ‘How long could I get if found guilty?’ I ask, although I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

  ‘For murder? Could be anything up to life imprisonment, but I believe in this case, unless they can prove intent, you’ll be looking at a maximum of five years. Out in half for good behaviour.’

  I lean forward and rest my head in my hands. I have no more tears left to cry. Anger boils inside me, firing up from the pit of my stomach. It’s not fair. He was a monster. He would have raped me again, then killed me. I know it. I kick out at the table leg and Terry jumps back in his seat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  He gives me a pitying smile, one that says, chin up, it’s not all bad. He has no idea just how fucked I am.

  ‘You could plead guilty in the hope of getting a lesser sentence. However, I think with the evidence I’ve seen so far, we have a good case for self-defence.’ He takes his glasses off, holds them by the wire rim and proceeds to polish them with a hanky retrieved from his pocket. ‘You were attacked last year?’ he asks.

  I nod.

  ‘Good. Well no, not good. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,’ he stumbles on, ‘what I mean is, that it adds weight to your self-defence case.’ His cheeks redden. Jesus, where did they find him?

  ‘I need to think.’

  ‘Yes of course. I‘ll get in touch with any potential witnesses as soon as possible. Do you have any questions at the moment?’

  My mind whirls with thoughts of years incarcerated and life in a female prison. I shake my head, this isn’t what I’d bargained for, but it’s too late to turn back now. Whatever happens, I don’t regret it. The world will be safer without that scum in it.

  43

  Sunday 21 January 2018

  As tired as I was, sleep didn’t come for hours. The alcohol combined with Szechuan chicken and rice sat in my stomach like a brick. I stared out of the window, unease creeping over me like spiders on my skin, as I listened to my mum snore like a train from the lounge. Ben would get a shock when he came back if she was still at it. I’d survived the evening with my mum, thanks partly to Ian. Disturbingly, him being there made it easier.

  I couldn’t believe she was getting married again. Would she change her name? No longer be a Harding? My father’s name dropped after all the years they were married? She was like a different person since he died. Morphed into someone new, someone who only cared about herself. Could Patrick save her? Could I trust her when she said he was trying to help her stop drinking? I never knew what to believe. I stayed with her for a couple of weeks after Dad died, both of us holed up in shock. I missed the signs then, assuming it was grief and would eventually pass. When she was drunk, which became most of the time, she’d be violent. Smashing up the house, hurling abuse at everybody, you couldn’t reason with her. She’d forgotten I was grieving too. In the end it became too much, and I came back to Sutton. I spent the next month waiting for my phone to ring. For her local doctor to call and tell me they’d found her dead; that she’d drunk herself to oblivion. She was still going though and now she’d found herself a husband. I was sure his son owning the off-licence wasn’t a coincidence, probably how they met
but I hoped she’d turn things around. There was no way I’d be going to the wedding. I couldn’t watch her marry Dad’s replacement. I wanted her to be happy, but it would hurt too much. I had my own shit going on with Ian to deal with.

  Him turning up again out of the blue was worrying. It was starting to become a habit. Perhaps he was checking I was telling the truth. It was amusing to watch him run rings around my mother. Thankfully she kept quiet about the lenses. It struck me when she was airing all my flaws that I was sat at the table with two people that had caused me more pain than anyone else. My life was so fucked up.

  When I woke, I heard banging in the kitchen and it was a few seconds before I remembered my mother had stayed over. Dragging myself out of bed, I ventured into the kitchen, surprised to see her frying eggs on the stove. She wore an oversized T-shirt that just covered her backside, sinewy legs on show and a cigarette hanging from her lips. Patrick must think her a delight.

  ‘Morning sleepyhead,’ she said, nodding to the coffee waiting for me on the table. Hers already half empty and the ashtray full. I opened the window to disperse the lingering smoke. It was going to take ages to fumigate the flat when she went.

  ‘Morning.’ I glanced at Ben’s door. It was still shut and for once I prayed he had stayed at Amy’s.

  ‘Your lodger didn’t come home then?’

  ‘No, he works nights, Mum.’

  She whistled at that. ‘Something wrong with people that work nights, mark my words. You be careful, pet.’

  I rolled my eyes in response. Ben was harmless. If only she knew the things Ian had done as she sat across from him last night. Mother didn’t wait for a response before carrying on the conversation single-handedly.

  ‘That Ian was lovely, quite a catch you’ve got there. Looks like he’s got plenty of money.’

  I sighed.

  ‘He didn’t stay over then?’ Did she think she would be greeting him in the kitchen wearing nothing but a T-shirt? The thought made my throat constrict. Was she that desperate?