Lisa Stone: Stalker

One house she’d been called to had been burgled three times in as many months, with the burglars waiting just long enough between their ‘visits’ for the goods to be replaced. A professional couple who’d lost their laptops, iPads and phones three times. New-for-old insurance meant the replacements had a higher street value than the originals so why wouldn’t the thieves go back?

Detached houses in leafy suburbs were easy and rich pickings, she’d said. They needed to upgrade their security and possibly consider CCTV, which could be installed for less than the price of the average family holiday. Russ was researching it now upstairs on his old laptop, which they thankfully hadn’t taken.

The kettle boiled and clicked off. Heaving herself away from the support of the worktop, Julie took a mug from the cupboard. It was too quiet in the house without Phoebe and Jack. They were staying with her parents for tonight at least, possibly for a few days. Her parents had collected them from the hospital in the early hours, which had allowed Julie to concentrate on Russ, and meant that the police could look over the house uninterrupted – fingerprinting; taking their statements; collecting evidence. From the muddy footprints on the patio it appeared it had been two men who’d come over the fence from next door. No sign of the crowbar they’d used that would have Russ’s blood on it, no sign of a getaway vehicle on their neighbour’s CCTV, and none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything. Not surprising really at 2am.

Glancing anxiously over her shoulder – every little noise spooked her – Julie took a tea bag from the caddy and tried to concentrate on making the tea. How long before the house felt safe again? She doubted it ever would. It wasn’t so much the physical damage – the window had been repaired – but the psychological and emotional damage, as the police officer had said. Beth Mayes had given them a business card and said someone from victim support would be in touch. Wiping her eyes again, she added a splash of milk to the tea and began upstairs to their bedroom.

Russ was sitting propped up in bed with the laptop open in front of him, looking positive. Apart from the small shaved patch on the top of his head with its four blood-encrusted stitches you wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. When the nurse had finished cleaning and stitching the wound, the doctor had said Russ could go home but to rest and take paracetamol as and when needed, and return to the hospital if he experienced a severe headache, blurred vision or dizziness. Russ was made of strong stuff and had only come to bed because Julie had insisted.

‘How’s the head?’ she asked, setting the mug on his bedside cabinet.

‘Not so bad. Could have been worse.’

‘That’s what your mother said – could have been worse.’ She kissed his cheek and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her gaze away from the wound, which made her flinch.

‘And you still don’t remember what happened?’ she asked as he took a sip of the tea.

‘No. Not after getting out of bed. I came to in the ambulance.’

‘Lucky you,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forget it.’ Tears filled her eyes again as the images flashed before her. His cry, the front door banging shut as the intruders fled. Her running downstairs and finding him unconscious and bleeding from the head. Frantically calling for an ambulance as the children stood at the top of the stairs screaming and crying. Then the wait, seemingly endless although it was only ten minutes, as she held his hand and prayed he’d make it.

‘Perhaps we should move?’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine ever feeling safe here again.’

‘Of course you will,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I’ll make sure of it. We’ve only just finished doing up this place. It’s our dream home. They’re not going to drive us out. Look, Jules, I’ve learnt a lot online about thieves, how they work and how to stop them. Come and sit beside me and I’ll show you. I’ll make sure we’re all safe, I promise you, love.’

She went round to her side of the bed and propped herself beside him, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, his familiar warm smell now slightly tinged with antiseptic from the hospital. He took a couple of sips of his tea and set the mug on his beside cabinet.

‘It used to be the case that burglars usually only entered unoccupied property,’ he began, ‘but apparently the profile of the offender has changed according to this. It’s often not the old-style burglar making a living from breaking and entering, but drug users desperate and willing to risk everything for their next fix. Intruder alarms are no longer considered adequate, even if they’re linked to a police alert. Most thieves know that they have time to break in, grab portable valuables and easily disposed-of items, and be long gone before the patrol car arrives. And it’s men and women, although female drug addicts are more likely to resort to prostitution for drug money.’

Typical of Russ to research in so much detail, Julie thought. If he embarked on a project – whether it was at home or work – he did so thoroughly, researching and reviewing all aspects before he made a decision. As he continued profiling the would-be intruder and then showed her web pages with various security options for protecting their home, she began to feel some of the tautness in her body ease and she started to relax.

‘I’ve emailed three security firms to come and give us quotes,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the job done properly by a specialist firm with lots of experience. This firm is my favourite so far.’ He opened the company’s web page. ‘It’s a family-run business, established twenty years ago. Plenty of five-star reviews. Don’t worry, I’ll be here when they visit, and I’ve cancelled my meeting in Germany next week. I won’t do another overnight until we’ve got our security system upgraded and CCTV installed.’ Closing the laptop, he set it on the floor beside the bed and drew her to him. ‘It’ll be fine, Jules. I promise you. I haven’t let you down yet, have I?’

‘No,’ she agreed and snuggled closer, pressing her cheek against his strong protective chest.

‘It was a dreadful experience,’ he said softly into her hair. ‘Especially for you and the children. But the memory will fade in time. It’ll certainly make a good after-dinner story.’ He nuzzled her ear, kissing the lobe. ‘I know a very good way to take our minds off it. With the children at your parents and us already in bed, it’s an opportunity too good to miss.’

And as Russ’s hand found its way into her bra and the first flush of desire made her nipples stand firm and erect, the horror of the previous night began to fade. ‘Just be careful you don’t bang your head on the headboard,’ she whispered with a smile.

‘There’s a solution for that,’ he returned; ‘you on top. Now, no more bad thoughts.’

‘No, big boy.’

Derek Flint sat in his smart blue van bearing the logo of his company and, with mounting anticipation, surveyed the house and street. He’d already checked out the area on Google satellite map and street view as he did all the properties he was asked to visit – no doubt the thieves probably had too. The amount of information available on the Internet was astounding, and frightening if it got in the wrong hands. But it made his job that much easier, and very likely that of the thieves as well.

His expert eye noted that one of their neighbours had the full works from a rival security firm. A stylish alarm box on the front of their house, correctly placed CCTV cameras and two motion-activated floodlights. Their other neighbour had nothing beyond a ‘Beware of the Dog’ sign on the side gate, which could only be effective if it was a Rottweiler or similar dog, trained to attack, and not a house pet. When he’d driven down the road he’d also picked out dummy alarm boxes with fake CCTV cameras. He’d made a mental note of their addresses. Who on earth did they think they were fooling?