Lisa Stone - Stalker

‘Can we have his contact details please?’ Beth asked.

‘They’ll be on file at home. I’ll have to send them to you.’

Matt was about to say something but Beth stepped in. ‘Thank you, Mr Flint, you’ve been very helpful. Here’s my card. If you could phone, email or text me Paul’s address, I’d be grateful.’

Derek saw his hand tremble as he accepted the card.

‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ Matt said. They turned and left, closing the door behind them.

Derek remained where he was, hot and nauseous. Of course they’d want to speak to Paul. Why the hell had he said that? Panic. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He needed to calm down and try to think what to do for the best…

‘Smarmy git,’ Matt said as soon as they were outside and out of earshot.

‘I know, but it doesn’t do any harm to be polite,’ Beth admonished. ‘You really wound him up in there.’

‘Sorry.’ He threw the receptionist of the firm next door a smile as they got into the car.

‘You’re incorrigible,’ Beth said indulgently.

Matt sat in the passenger seat gazing out of his side window and enjoying the attention coming from the receptionist who’d been joined by a female colleague. ‘So what’s Derek been up to do we think?’ he said, without shifting his gaze.

‘Maybe nothing. Perhaps he’s doing what a lot of blokes do and making himself appear more important than he is.’

‘Point taken,’ Matt said, drawing his gaze to the front. ‘But wouldn’t you have expected him to ask what had been stolen from the Khumalo’s house? He didn’t seem interested in the details. I think I might have been if it was my company who’d installed the surveillance.’

‘I expect Khumalo told him when he phoned. I can’t imagine he minced his words.’

‘So why didn’t Derek mention it? That nothing had been stolen but a voodoo doll had been left on the bed? I mean, it’s not an everyday occurrence.’

‘Agreed. So while I drive us back to the office, why don’t you run a check on Mr Flint?’ She started the engine as Matt lifted the lid on the car’s laptop but waited before pulling away so that he could enter the Home Security van’s registration number into the Police National Computer.

For some minutes as Beth drove, all that could be heard from inside the car was the sound of Matt tapping the keyboard. Then:

‘Well! Well!’ Matt said with a self-righteous grin. ‘I’m not just a pretty face.’

‘Not even,’ Beth returned.

‘I knew our Derek was hiding something. He was caught cottaging – having gay sex in a public toilet – nine years ago and prosecuted for gross indecency. He pleaded guilty and got off with a fine. Uniform caught him in the act after a member of the public reported him with another lad.’

‘So he has different sexual preferences to you, but that doesn’t help with the present enquiry,’ Beth said.

‘No, but this might: another break-in where his firm had installed the CCTV.’

‘You’re home very early,’ Elsie Flint remarked as Derek let himself into the hall.

‘I’m not feeling well, and I can come home when I want to, can’t I?’ She’d made it sound as though he hadn’t a right to be there during the day.

‘Well, don’t go giving me your germs. I hope you’ve had your lunch. There’s nothing in the fridge, I need to go shopping.’

Thanks for your concern, Derek thought but didn’t say, and why not go shopping? You’ve nothing better to do. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he mumbled.

He poured himself a glass of water and went upstairs, accompanied by the mundane dialogue of early afternoon television. Going into his bedroom, he bolted the door. Thank God. His one safe haven. He still felt sick, although he suspected it wasn’t from any illness but the visit he’d just received from the police. It had badly shaken him and he was kicking himself for the way he’d handled it.

He took a sip of water, dumped his jacket on the bed and powered up the computer. Khumalo must have pointed the accusing finger at him. He’d been so angry and out to blame him in the message he’d left on his voicemail and had obviously told the police. Now they were going to speak to Paul. It couldn’t get much worse. Why he’d laid the blame on Paul he still didn’t know. It was the first thing that had come into his head. He hadn’t had time to think it through and consider the consequences. Of course the police would want to talk to Paul now he’d implicated him. He’d have done better admitting he’d installed the surveillance at both properties, but he’d panicked.

He needed to speak to Paul quickly before the police did. But what to say to smooth over what had happened between them and get Paul on his side? Perhaps he should offer to give him his job back but even as he thought it he knew that wouldn’t work. The reasons he’d got rid of Paul in the first place – that he knew too much – hadn’t gone away; indeed this last development would add to the problem.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have let Paul go in the first place? It had been a knee-jerk reaction, but then what alternative had he had? Pointing out to Mr Osman that an email should have been generated! He doubted many of the other lads he’d taken on over the years would have spotted that, but Paul was far more technically minded, computer savvy and on the ball than most. He’d been interested in the business of surveillance from the start – too interested. Whereas the other lads had been content to hang cameras and check alarm bells, Paul had repeatedly asked about the company’s online presence, feeling it could be improved upon. Either Paul was brighter than he’d given him credit for, or Derek was getting careless and becoming complacent. Either way he’d really cocked it up.

He clicked on the file that contained the details of his apprentices, as thorough in collecting information about them as he was on his clients. Eighteen apprentices since he’d signed up for the scheme ten years before, averaging two a year, which was just about acceptable before the administrators of the scheme started to complain. A few – the less astute ones who could be relied upon not to learn too quickly or pry – he’d allowed to stay longer, but not Paul. He’d only been with him five months. Too clever by half for his own good, he thought again, but what he was going to say to him he didn’t know.

He could hardly come clean and admit what he was up to and that the reason the email hadn’t been sent to the Osmans was because there was no automatically generated email. It relied on him sending it if he saw something untoward, which he hadn’t done with the break-in at the Osmans because he’d been asleep. Paul knew enough about the laws governing surveillance to know that what he was doing was illegal.

Reading Paul’s details, Derek saw that he lived at home with his parents, older brother and younger sister. The landline number was included, as was all their ages. His father was a builder and his mother a nurse. None of his family had criminal records or anything dodgy that Derek knew of, so there was nothing he could use to put pressure on Paul. Paul had been very angry when he’d told him he was terminating his contract and had called him some nasty names like creep, perv, arsehole and so on. Not appropriate or nice. Hopefully he’d had time to calm down now, but, even if he hadn’t, Derek still needed to speak to him, or the police would just turn up and start asking questions and no doubt Paul would tell them everything he knew. Why shouldn’t he?

Using the VPN – Virtual Private Network – software he’d downloaded that allowed the user to browse and phone anonymously, Derek plugged in the handset and dialled Paul’s mobile number. He answered on the third ring. The nausea in Derek’s stomach rose and he swallowed hard.