Lisa Stone - Stalker

The long lapses into unconsciousness were a welcome relief. There was a cosy feel in being enveloped by darkness, like the embracing hug of a loving parent. But as soon as he woke, his fevered brain took over and tortured him with thoughts past and present; there was no future to worry about. Dying was a great leveller, he’d found; it had forced him to see what he’d done wrong in his life – just when it was too late to do anything about it. His mother, for example; his eyes filled every time he thought of her. He should have been kinder to her, more understanding and patient. He should have spent time with her rather than shut in his room with his clients as his family. Little wonder she’d taken solace in the television; it was all she’d had. What the hell had been so important that he’d spent all those years immersed in his clients’ lives rather than his own mother’s? She was his family, not them, but ironically it had taken his impending death to see that, and he was truly sorry.

Derek also thought about his father, whom he’d succeeded in tracing many years before but had never had the courage to confront. Given the chance, would he visit him as he’d envisaged doing so many times over the years? Turn up on his doorstep and say, ‘Hi Dad, remember me? I’m your son?’ Would he? Given the opportunity? No. Because any visit would be fuelled by bitterness, recrimination and resentment, which only now he saw he needed to let go of. His father had left him and he had to accept it, painful though it was.

Acceptance, physical weakness and delirium from the accumulative effect of the drug they kept injecting him with made him shout out things he quickly regretted. He called them names: scumbags, tossers, pathetic cowards. They beat him for it and he laughed. ‘You can’t reach me now,’ he said, and they beat him again, but it didn’t matter. He was just one step closer to the end. There was no escape and he’d overheard them talking, sometimes arguing, about the best way to dispose of him.

Through the darkness in the room he could see them grouped around the computer, busy planning their next ‘mission’. The challenge had been set by someone in the Far East and it involved all three of them this time. He learnt it was a high-status challenge, where, if successful, the points they earned would take them all to the next level.

It was the abduction and gang rape of a fourteen-year-old girl on her way home from school, and they were going to live-stream it onto the dark net for others to ‘enjoy’. They’d been planning it for some days now, stalking her through the webcam on her laptop and the CCTV at her parents’ home. He’d heard it going on in the background as he’d lapsed in and out of consciousness. But when he realized who the victim was, he exploded into anger and found the strength to shout at them again.

‘You fucking depraved idiots! Leave her alone. She’s done nothing to you.’ He knew her and her family; they’d been clients of his. He cursed and swore at them even as they beat him senseless.

When he’d come to, his mouth had been taped shut with heavy-duty parcel tape, which no one bothered to remove to let him drink. So he knew it wouldn’t be long. You couldn’t go for many days without water.

‘Good weekend?’ Matt asked, as Beth climbed into the passenger seat of the unmarked police car.

‘Slept for most of it,’ Beth said. ‘What about you?’

‘Same. Although I did play football yesterday morning. The first time in ages.’ Matt waited while she fastened her seat belt before pulling away. They’d arranged for him to collect her as it was on their way to Paul Mellows’ house and they wanted an early start. They should be there by 7.30am, hopefully before he left for work. They would take him in for questioning so the rest of the day was pretty much mapped out.

‘Still no sign of Flint then?’ Matt said as he drove.

‘No, no sighting since Wednesday. I’ll phone Mrs Flint when we’ve finished here and tell her we’re doing all we can to find him. Also, as soon as we’ve got Paul, I need to update the boss. The DCS is involved now.’

The traffic kept moving and they arrived at Mellows’ house on time. Matt parked right outside as there was no need for subtlety now. They were going to arrest Paul. The front bedroom curtains were open and a light was on in the hall. ‘Someone’s up, then,’ he said, opening his car door.

They went quickly up the garden path and Matt gave the doorbell one long, hard push. It was answered almost immediately by Mrs Mellows, dressed ready for work and looking anxious.

‘Paul’s not here,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t been back all weekend.’

‘Where is he?’ Beth asked.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Has he phoned?’

‘He’s been texting. His work clothes are here. I don’t know what he thinks he’s playing at.’

‘Can we come in?’

She opened the door wider to allow them in. A teenage girl still in her nightwear crossed the hall behind her on her way upstairs. ‘You need to be out of here in fifteen minutes,’ Mrs Mellows called after her. ‘I don’t want you being late too.’

‘Does he often stay out?’ Matt asked.

‘Sometimes the odd night, but not the whole weekend without letting me know where he is.’

‘Can I have a look at the text messages?’ Beth asked.

‘Come through.’ They followed her into the living room where they’d previously seen Paul. Mrs Mellows took her mobile from the coffee table and handed it to Beth. She angled it so Matt could see too as she scrolled down. Most of the messages were from Mrs Mellows as she’d grown increasingly worried, starting on Saturday morning.

Paul, it’s 8am. Where are you?

No reply. She sent a similar message again at 11.45am. Still no reply.

At 2pm she texted : Paul can you please phone or text to let me know you’re OK.

He’d replied an hour later: be back later or first thing in the morning.

At 7am on Sunday she’d texted: where are you?

No reply.

At 11.15am she’d texted: I’m worried. Phone or text please.

At 12.23pm he replied: I’m staying rest of weekend with friends. Will be home Monday.

‘I’ve tried phoning this morning but it just goes through to his voicemail,’ she said, with a mixture of exasperation and concern.

‘Does he have a girlfriend he could be with?’ Beth asked, handing her back the phone.

‘It’s possible, that crossed my mind. Paul finished with his last girlfriend a few months back – or rather she finished with him. But he hasn’t mentioned that he’s seeing anyone new.’

‘Could we take a look at his room?’ Beth asked.

‘I don’t see why not, although it will have to be quick as I’ve got to leave for work soon. You don’t think anything has happened to Paul, do you?’

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Beth said. ‘He’s been in contact.’

On the landing a shower could be heard running from the bathroom. ‘Hurry up!’ Mrs Mellows called to her daughter through the door. Then with a sigh to Beth, ‘There’s no way she’s leaving on time.’

A normal family at the start of the working week, Beth thought. Why had Paul gone off the rails and turned into a blackmailer? Greed? Drug money? He wouldn’t be the first. Or was it for another reason they had yet to discover?

Mrs Mellows opened Paul’s bedroom door. The room contained the usual detritus associated with a young single man living at home. His bed was unmade, a used mug, plate, and glass were on the bedside cabinet, and the chair and floor were clearly used as wardrobe.

‘I make no apology for the mess,’ Mrs Mellows said. ‘It’s his space so his responsibility.’