Lisa Stone - Stalker

‘Then what happened?’

‘We did as the email said and logged in while we were still in the restaurant. We’d just finished eating. We saw our babysitter and her boyfriend go into the living room tucking in their clothes. We had no idea he was there. We went straight home. Later, when we played back the CCTV we discovered they’d gone upstairs and presumably used our bed. One of my kids woke and she just got ignored. Thank goodness we took Mr Flint’s advice and had a camera in the house as well as those outside or we’d never have known.’

‘That was very fortunate,’ Beth agreed, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘What was the security issue?’

‘There wasn’t one. Mr Flint said that sometimes the auto alerts go off unnecessarily as the system is very sensitive to any disturbance. It was a lucky coincidence that it happened when it did.’

‘Yes, a very lucky coincidence,’ Beth said. ‘Well, thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch when I have some news.’

‘Is that all you wanted to know?’

‘For now. Thank you. And don’t forget to reset your password.’

‘I won’t.’

Beth set down the phone and punched the air. ‘Yes! Got you! One too many coincidences, Mr Flint! Your luck has just run out.’ She scooped up the paperwork she needed and went in search of the DCI. Surely they had enough to bring him and his computer in now?

At 6.30pm Derek logged on to his computer, and, to his horror, saw that virtually all four screens were empty. Only five live streams remained. For a brief moment he thought it must be a software problem for so many to be down, but then quickly realized that he’d sent Beth Mayes his list of clients. He’d been tricked. She was responsible; she must have gone through the list, contacted them and told them to change their passwords. Worrying enough, but what else had she said to them? What questions had she asked and, more importantly, what had they told her?

As he stared at the nearly blank screens, the Williams disappeared too.

Panic gripped him. His stomach churned and his throat closed. The police were onto him, they must be. Time was running out. He clicked the mouse to bring up the files and began deleting them. Rows and rows, column after column. Hundreds of documents, all neatly filed in order, his life’s work. He’d destroy anything that could incriminate him. But it was taking too long so he began deleting indiscriminately, complete folders: information on clients, spreadsheets, photographs, live streamed videos. As he deleted them, they were automatically sent to the trash bin, which he emptied every so often. Are you sure you want to permanently delete 1000 files? the message box kept asking him. He clicked Yes. Only of course he knew it wasn’t a permanent, complete deletion; nothing is ever completely deleted on a computer. All the files and folders would still be in the coding on the hard drive, and with the right technology they could be retrieved. But at least they weren’t obvious now and deleting them might have bought him some more time.

He unlocked the top drawer of his workstation and removed the two portable hard drives on which he backed up all his files – more incriminating evidence. Plugging in the first, he began deleting files and folders, trying to wipe it clean. The front door bell rang and his hand momentarily froze. Don’t panic, it’s probably a charity collector or double glazing salesperson, he told himself, and continued frantically clicking and deleting.

‘Derek! Door!’ his mother shouted from downstairs. He kept going and heard it ring again. ‘Derek!’

‘Answer it, you silly cow,’ he cursed, clearing the trash bin again. He heard the front door open and voices in the hall. Then footsteps on the stairs, more than one. He highlighted another line of folders and pressed delete.

‘Police! Open the door.’ He kept quiet. ‘Derek, we know you’re in there.’

A hard double rap and the doorknob turned and rattled, the small bolt keeping them out for now. Perspiring heavily, Derek continued to delete. They were trying to force the door now; the bolt wouldn’t hold for long. In a frantic last ditch attempt he cleared the trash bin and switched off the computer. Another thud against the door and the bolt gave way. The officers poured in. He stood and turned to face them, four in all. One stepped forward and began handcuffing him.

‘Derek Flint, I’m arresting you for aggravated burglary and grievous bodily harm with intent. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned…’

And, as the police officer continued to read him his rights, he looked past him to his mother who was standing on the landing, weeping.

‘But why would I want to harm Kevin Brown?’ Derek asked, perspiration glistening on his forehead. They’d been in the interview room for over an hour and seemed to be going round in circles. ‘It’s ridiculous. I wasn’t even there!’ He looked at the solicitor they’d provided, who’d advised him not to admit to anything at this stage.

‘You tell me why you wanted to harm Kevin and the others on this list,’ Beth persisted, tapping the crime sheet on the table between them. ‘The motorbike in your garage, registered to you, is the same model as the one seen leaving the area after the stabbing at U-Beat nightclub. And the man caught on CCTV running from the alleyway was wearing motorbike leathers and a helmet identical to the ones found in your wardrobe at home.’

‘Lots of bikers have them,’ Derek said.

‘Added to which,’ Beth continued, ‘the description given by the witness who saw Tom Murray run down by a motorbike matches you too.’

‘I’ve already told you I didn’t even know the guy, apart from fitting his CCTV.’

‘That’s probably sufficient,’ Matt put in, seated beside Beth; they’d decided that Beth would lead the questioning.

‘What motive did I have then?’ Derek asked. His solicitor cleared his throat as a warning not to be drawn in.

‘Revenge? Jealousy? Paranoia? I’m not sure yet,’ Beth said. ‘But I will find out. Just as I’ll find out why you kidnapped Mary Grey, held her hostage and terrorized her.’

‘I didn’t!’ Derek squealed, the tic on his eye flickering. ‘Why should I do that?’

‘The thrill of it? Power? Hatred of women?’ Beth said, holding Derek’s gaze. ‘I think you like to see women suffer. You don’t get on with your mother, do you, Derek?’

‘Who told you that?’ he demanded.

‘It’s obvious,’ Matt said, leaning forward and folding his arms on the table. ‘Your father left when you were a child and you blame her. That’s why you watch the girls at The Mermaid rather than going in person.’

‘Stuff you,’ Derek cried. ‘You’re not a bloody shrink.’

‘Charming,’ Matt said leaning back.

‘Can we move on, this isn’t really relevant,’ the solicitor put in.

‘The voodoo doll,’ Beth said, glancing at her notes. ‘You left it on Mr Khumalo’s son’s bed; I assume it was to get back at his father. What exactly had he done to you?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t. No comment.’

‘Was it intended for the child then?’ Beth asked repulsed.

‘No, of course not! It wasn’t me. I wasn’t there.’

‘The intruder knew the layout of the Khumalos’ house and grounds in detail. So well, in fact, that he knew which bedroom the child slept in. You are one of the very few people outside their family who would have had access to that information.’

‘Of course I knew the layout of their fucking house, I fitted their CCTV! Just as I did all the others on your list. It doesn’t prove I committed any of the crimes you’re accusing me of.’