Lisa Stone - Stalker

And now they were waiting for him outside his office.

He entered the industrial estate, his mouth dry and the tic at the corner of his eye agitating furiously. His office was at the far side in a two-storey block in the oldest, cheapest, and most neglected part of the estate. As he approached, he saw a black Volvo parked right outside and guessed it was the police. Slowing further, he pulled over and drew to a halt, parking a few feet in front of the car. The car doors opened and two officers got out, a male officer from the passenger side and a female who’d been driving. Derek wiped his sweaty hands down his trousers and got out, leaving his phone in the van.

‘Good afternoon, DC Matt Davis,’ the male officer said as he approached. ‘We spoke on the phone. This is my colleague, DC Beth Mayes.’

Derek nodded. ‘I got here as soon as I could.’

‘It’s appreciated. Shall we go inside?’ Davis asked.

‘We can, but there’s nothing much to see. I haven’t used it for years. I just keep it as my business address.’ He knew his reluctance made him sound guilty, as if he was trying to cover something up, so he immediately turned and led the way in.

They walked past the large plate-glass window of the firm next door, Eastbury Electronics, where the cow of the receptionist was standing up for a better view, clearly unable to contain her delight. As they entered the building he saw Davis throw her a smile and she fluttered her long fake eyelashes ridiculously and pursed her lips.

‘This is the office,’ he said, stopping outside the second door on the left. Unlike the smart glass door opposite, the door to Derek’s office was the original, now chipped and in dire need of a coat of paint. It bore no company name but simply announced Unit 3.

‘So there are twelve offices in this building?’ Beth remarked as they waited for him to unlock, referring to the signage board on the wall listing the companies.

‘I suppose so,’ Derek said, struggling to turn the key. ‘This is the smallest and cheapest. I use it for storage sometimes.’

Finally managing to open the door, he flicked on the light and they followed him in.

‘Smallest and cheapest isn’t wrong,’ Matt quipped under his breath.

Beth threw him a warning look, although he was right. She’d seen bigger and better equipped cupboards. An old wooden table had been pushed against one wall with a single grimy chair beneath it. A metal filing cabinet circa 1950s was against another wall and a couple of large empty cardboard boxes were beside it collecting spiders. The only natural light came from a single small window covered with wire mesh at the very top of one wall. A bare light bulb hung from the centre of the ceiling, highlighting the starkness of the room. It smelt musty and shut up.

‘I see what you mean about not using it much,’ Matt said, taking a turn of the room.

‘Is this your main office then?’ Beth asked, as surprised as Matt was to see inside.

‘It’s my only office,’ Derek replied, his tic agitating. ‘As I said, I hardly use it now.’

‘The photographs on your website show something a little more upmarket,’ Matt remarked, unable to suppress the sarcasm in his voice.

‘That was a standard picture taken from the Internet,’ Derek said defensively. ‘Lots of small businesses use them. We can’t all afford grand offices but you have to create a good impression online now. Word of mouth recommendation is no longer good enough.’

‘So clearly no one actually works here,’ Beth said, stating the obvious but needing it confirmed.

‘No. Installing surveillance takes place in homes and businesses, not in an office. There’s no point wasting money on grand premises.’

‘Business isn’t good then?’ Matt asked, coming to a standstill a few feet from him.

‘It’s a quiet time.’

‘Really? I am surprised. It isn’t for us. Crime is up in the area. I’d have thought that was good for your business?’

Derek said nothing but absently touched his eye to silence the tic.

‘So where do you keep your stock if it’s not here?’ Beth asked.

‘On the van mainly. All the tools and wiring are kept there. Then I order in the bigger stuff, the cameras, monitors and so on as they are needed. Each client’s order is different and specific to their requirements.’

‘And that stuff is delivered where?’ Matt asked.

‘Here or to my home.’

‘So presumably your computer and paperwork for the business are at your home too?’ Beth asked.

Derek nodded and wiped his sweating palms down his trousers again. ‘Yes. I do all my admin work there in the evenings and weekends. There’s no other time.’

‘So you don’t have any clerical staff at all?’ Matt asked, struggling to suppress his dislike of the man.

‘No, there’s no need. But why are you asking me all these questions? You said on the phone you wanted to talk about a break-in.’

‘Yes. I’m getting to that,’ Matt said tightly.

‘We’re just trying to establish the extent of your business,’ Beth said. ‘The business card you give your clients, and your website, suggest a large, well-established organization.’

‘My company is well established,’ Derek snapped, finally losing his patience. ‘I’ve been in this line of work for over fifteen years. I have built up a good reputation.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Beth said conciliatorily. There was nowhere to sit so they’d have to continue this interview standing. ‘We’re investigating two break-ins in the area where your CCTV had been installed.’

Derek regained his composure. ‘I’m always very concerned to hear of a break-in where my company has fitted the surveillance.’ He felt on safer ground now. ‘Where are they?’

She caught Matt’s look. ‘I think you may know. One was at a newsagents owned by Mr and Mrs Osman and the other at the home of Mr Khumalo. We were there this morning. In both cases we’re a bit short of evidence and we were wondering if you kept a copy of their CCTV footage?’

‘No, not usually. It’s the client’s responsibility. Why? Have they wiped it?’

She didn’t reply. ‘So once the system is up and running your company has nothing more to do with it?’

‘Not beyond repairing and maintaining, and giving any help if necessary. These systems are very sophisticated and can confuse the less technically minded.’

‘I dare say,’ Matt put in.

‘Thank you, Mr Flint,’ Beth said, again counteracting Matt’s abrasiveness. ‘What triggers the automated messages? Mr Khumalo unfortunately didn’t listen to his until this morning, and Mr and Mrs Osman say they never received one.’

‘I can’t be responsible for people not picking up their messages,’ Derek said, again irritated. ‘I do what I can within their budget and no system is infallible. Some cameras rely on motion so a burglar climbing through a window could trigger it.’

‘Mr Khumalo had that type of camera?’ Beth asked.

‘As far as I can remember.’

‘Mr Khumalo said he was going to contact you. Has he?’ Matt asked, taking another turn of the room.

‘He left a message on my voicemail.’

‘Just a couple more questions, Mr Flint,’ Beth said. ‘How many engineers do you employ?’

‘I’m the only full-time qualified engineer and I take on help as I need it.’ It would be easy enough to find out that there was only him and an apprentice.

‘So who fitted the surveillance in the newsagents and Mr Khumalo’s home?’ she asked.

Derek looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘That would be Paul.’

‘Surname?’ Matt asked.

‘Mellows.’

‘We’d like to speak to him,’ Beth said.

‘I’m afraid he doesn’t work for me any more. Like many of the young lads I take on as apprentices they learn the skills and leave to work for a bigger firm with more money. I guess I teach them too well,’ he finished with a rueful smile.