Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  ‘I like bother. It pays the rent.’

  ‘Okay. Don't blame me. Miss Wootten is one of our regulars. She's rung us several times, lives with a weirdo called Sean, who beats her up and …’

  ‘He's gone now. And that doesn't mean she was wrong about someone following her.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But the last time she was in here it was to make a serious complaint.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of rape.’

  I swallowed hard and tried not to seem too surprised. ‘All the more reason to believe her, I would have thought.’

  ‘Yeah, but that's all she did – complain. She refused to bring charges.’

  I was beginning to feel Roade had cleverly made me walk into a verbal trap.

  ‘Why was that?’ I asked. ‘She must have had a reason.’

  Roade shrugged. ‘It seemed strange to me. She was in a right old state when she arrived at the station. Then she calmed down, said it had all been a mistake and that she was sorry.’

  ‘Did she name the man?’ I asked. ‘Did she actually know him?’

  Roade raised an eyebrow at me which I presumed meant he was going to enjoy telling me.

  ‘She said she didn't see him properly because he wore a black mask but that she thought she knew who he was. We questioned him, of course, but the bloke accused had a cast-iron alibi.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘He was on duty at the time with a colleague.’

  ‘A colleague,’ I echoed.

  ‘Yes, Miss Kinsella, another PC, both on police duty at the time of the alleged incident.’

  It was my turn for my mouth to drop and for Roade to smile in triumph.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said, trying to flutter my eyelashes in a suggestive fashion, ‘I've agreed to take on her case and find the man. Perhaps I shouldn't have …’ I tailed off, trying to sound a bit pathetic.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Roade. ‘You keep blinking.’

  ‘Conjunctivitis,’ I answered quickly, but by now I was thoroughly put out. I knew Roade wouldn't give me the suspect rapist's name and somehow I had to make this visit worth while.

  ‘I'll have to give her the benefit of the doubt,’ I said. ‘I promised her some help and I'll have to do my best. Is there any advice you can give me?’

  Roade grew visibly taller in his chair. ‘About surveillance?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Simple really. Always let someone know where you are. If you're sitting in the car take something to eat and drink, and in this weather a blanket. It gets perishing just sitting in a car and at night you can't keep starting the engine. And last, but not least, a good torch.’

  I stared at him. I was impressed. I had merely planned to sit in the car like some giant slumbering moth.

  ‘Thank you very much, Sergeant Roade. You'll be an inspector in no time. You really have been very helpful.’

  He smiled, embarrassed.

  As I left the office he said, ‘Don't tread on the wrong toes, will you. Vanessa Wootten may be neurotic but, and I'll tell you this off the record, the PC involved is an oddball and alibis can be faked.’

  ‘I could kiss you, DS Roade.’ I blew him a kiss and, before his face had completely turned a dusky red colour, walked out of the office.

  Chapter Three

  Surveillance, I decided, is a posh word for being bored rigid. This was only my second day of observing Vanessa Wootten's daily round but it felt much longer.

  At six a.m. I had begun surveillance on Vanessa's terraced house in Percival Road, Longborough. At first it was a novelty. I drank coffee from a Thermos flask, read yesterday's paper by torchlight and was more than grateful to DS Roade for suggesting the blanket. I couldn't remember ever seeing any TV or film detectives wrapped in a blanket in their cars but I suppose it's just not macho to admit you are halfway towards hypothermia.

  Dawn seemed temporarily held up that morning; it was cold, grey and very dark. The two-up, two-down, Victorian houses stood flush with the pavement, sombre monuments to domesticity and gardenless to ensure total commitment to the railway or factory. Gradually, though, one by one the lights of the houses shone through the gloom.

  Percival Road needed all the help it could get, appearing in the shadowy light like some hideous place caught in a time warp. I half expected men with ashen faces and cloth caps to appear, to hear the harsh call of the factory hooter. But now there were cars and satellite dishes and fancy curtains and I was watching number thirty-six to catch the man who might, or might not, also be watching thirty-six. The day before, Wednesday, I had followed Vanessa from home to the Health Centre and from there to fifteen patients scattered around Longborough and the villages. The only person following Vanessa Wootten had been me.

  Even so, I told myself as I sat there in the freezing gloom, I was being paid. Every five minutes or so I scanned the empty cars and watched the few men who left their houses. The man who had been following Vanessa could, of course, have come from anywhere in or near Longborough but just as easily he could have been a neighbour.

  The bedroom light at number thirty-six went on at seven a.m. The pink ruched curtains cast a reddish tinge that almost matched the blood red of the front door.

  I continued to watch the street and the departure of various men and women between seven and eight, all of whom either got straight into their cars or walked slowly, and with what seemed like reluctance, towards the centre of Longborough.

  It was just after eight when Vanessa appeared. She glanced to both left and right then got into her car and drove off.

  Following someone isn't that easy. I strained to see her red Mini from behind two other cars that had managed to get in front of me. At least one was driven by a man but it was impossible to tell what he looked like. I did manage to memorise one of the numbers and at the traffic lights scrawled it into my notebook.

  I guessed she was going to the Health Centre first, and it took the pressure off my driving, which was just as well, as it had started to rain and every so often I had to wipe the condensation from my windscreen, the heater in my car functioning, like me, only in spasmodic bursts.

  Longborough Health Centre stands in the midst of a thirties council estate, incongruously modern, looking more like a wrecked ship than a symbol of the new-style NHS. I supposed the portholed windows gave that impression, together with the domes and turrets and the inside piping that lay bare across the roof space like internal rigging. The captain of this craft, Dr Hiding, I knew slightly, and that's how I wanted the situation to stay. His brand of medicine was so heavily laced with religious fervour that unless your condition was immediately obvious, such as a severed leg, you were likely to get a prescription for prayer and, if you were really lucky, a massage as well.

  It was here Vanessa collected her messages and the names and addresses of any new patients. I waited in the car park, running the engine occasionally so that I could use the windscreen wipers and then see well enough to take down a few car numbers, more for something to do than because I had a particular suspect in mind.

  After about fifteen minutes she reappeared, head down against the rain, walking fast towards my car. As she approached I wound down the window.

  ‘Hello, Kate,’ she said. ‘I've got a new patient in Farley Wood and two others to see there this morning.’

  ‘Fine,’ I answered. ‘That's where I live. We'll be able to have coffee and a chat.’

  Vanessa smiled wanly. ‘Sorry, Kate, have to be a short one, I'm really busy today.’

  That annoyed me a little. She was paying me well, not that I'd seen any money so far, but she seemed so … uninterested, as if by acquiring me she now had some lucky talisman that would protect her from … nameless, faceless chummy.

  After Vanessa had seen her last patient in Farley Wood it was her turn to follow me. My cottage sits in a row of four houses opposite the imposing St Peter's Church and a triangle of village green in which one small oak tree stands. In the summer it's a pret
ty place but in the winter it is stark and forbidding and the tombstones I can see from every window in my cottage stare back at me; made worse by the fact I now know a few of the names of those who lie within the church walls.

  Vanessa seemed impressed by my view and she stood gazing at the church from my front window for some time. I got the idea, though, that she wasn't so impressed with the general state of my cottage. I do have a frantic clean-up every three weeks on average, but housework is so repetitive, it's like having sex with a longtime, well-known partner. You think to yourself – well, that's it till the next time. And the next time it's still the same.

  I left her standing at the window, while I went out to the kitchen and made instant coffee and arranged chocolate biscuits on a plate.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said on seeing the biscuits. ‘I'm starving. I always eat more when I'm worried. Not that I put on any weight. I'm just lucky, I suppose.’

  Did I imagine it or did she give me a pitying look? I ate my share slowly, not wanting to appear greedy, and consoled myself with the thought that I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to do – including dieting and boring surveillance.

  ‘Have you made your hospital appointment yet, Vanessa?’ I asked.

  ‘I go next week,’ she answered with a brief smile before she turned and stared out of the window once more. ‘On Monday.’

  Neither of us spoke for a while. I wanted to ask her tactfully about her pursuer but could come up with nothing better than a direct question.

  ‘Have you any ideas at all who this man could be?’ I asked.

  She shrugged as she turned, then moved over to the sofa and sat down, her hands clutching her knees.

  ‘I may as well tell you,’ she began reluctantly. ‘There is someone I suspect …’

  So Hubert was right. ‘Why didn't you tell me this before?’ I asked.

  ‘I don't know,’ she said, ‘I really don't. In a way I suppose I want someone to find him but I don't want to know who or why. Can you understand that?’

  I nodded but I didn't really understand. ‘Tell me about him,’ I said.

  She looked straight at me then and smiled sadly. ‘I told the police all about it but they didn't believe me. I told you they think I'm neurotic.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘A bit,’ she said with an apologetic smile.

  I smiled too. ‘Everyone's a bit neurotic about some things,’ I said, ‘especially if they are under stress. Take your time, Vanessa, and tell me what happened.’

  She shrugged and stared down at her hands for some time.

  ‘He raped me …’ she whispered.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘His name is Paul Oakby. Some time ago I had an affair with him. It was very passionate I suppose at first, but it didn't last long. He became really possessive, wanting me to give up friends, even suggested I should give up my job. He suspected I was meeting all sorts of young attractive doctors. After a while things got worse and he began to accuse me of having an affair. He scared me. Anyway I broke off with him and he took it quite well. Sean moved in with me later. About six months ago I came home early from a party on my own. I'd gone with Sean but he'd got drunk and begun to get very aggressive so I'd walked out …’ She paused then and covered her face with her hands as if trying to blot out the memory.

  After a few moments I said quietly, ‘And then what happened?’

  Vanessa removed her fingers from her eyes but kept her hands cupping her face. Her eyes flickered over me briefly and then she looked away. ‘I opened the front door,’ she continued, ‘and went straight upstairs to the bedroom. I didn't notice anything unusual at first. I walked into the room and then the door slammed behind me. He was waiting there. His hands went straight to my mouth to gag me … I couldn't scream, but I kicked and struggled … I really did try to fight him off. But he was too strong. He forced me on to the bed and raped me … it didn't take long … he didn't speak … and then he left.’

  ‘It was definitely Paul Oakby? You saw his face?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, lying to me with her eyes shining as bright and true as the blue stained-glass windows in a church.

  ‘And this is the man who you think is following you and wants to kill you?’

  ‘I'm not sure.’

  ‘Why wasn't he charged with rape?’

  Vanessa's top lip trembled slightly. ‘I couldn't face testifying. I just couldn't face it. I knew he'd come up with an alibi and I couldn't have coped with all those questions about my private life, especially as we had once been lovers.’

  ‘I think I'd have felt the same, Vanessa,’ I said. ‘But what puzzles me now is why he should be following you. After all, you did him a favour. You didn't press charges and he lost nothing.’

  Shaking her head she said, ‘I don't know, unless he's mad.’

  I watched Vanessa for a few moments. She could have coped with most things, I thought, and she lied convincingly. But she couldn't fake the sudden pallor of her skin or her obvious depression, or even the fear that seemed to lie buried within her and which surfaced occasionally to flicker in her eyes.

  ‘Let's talk about the man following you,’ I suggested. ‘If it's Paul Oakby and he's still in the police force, surely he wouldn't have the time to follow you around. If he was on duty he would have been quite distinctive in uniform and you told me before you couldn't recognise the man but he was all-round average. How average is Oakby?’

  ‘How …’ she began, ‘how did you know he was a policeman? I didn't say. You're confusing me. I … I haven't seen him properly but who else could it be?’

  ‘I'll have to be honest, Vanessa,’ I said, feeling like a real snake in the grass. ‘I've already been to the police. They told me about Paul Oakby; well, they didn't actually name him, but they did say he was a policeman. I just wanted you to tell me your version of events.’

  ‘What do you mean my version? Don't you believe I was raped? Do you really believe I would lie about something like that? If you believe that perhaps you shouldn't be working for me.’

  ‘I'm sorry, Vanessa. I sort of suspected you weren't quite telling me the whole story. I didn't want to waste my time or yours. After all, there's been no sign of anyone. Perhaps the man has realised I'm watching and has given up.’

  Vanessa gave me a tight little smile before standing up and walking over to the window. Pulling my red mock-velvet curtains aside, she stared silently towards the church.

  ‘Please, Kate, just give me a few more days,’ she said, not turning her head. ‘That's not much to ask. I'll pay extra.’

  ‘It's not just the money,’ I said hurriedly, ‘although I could do with paying for these two days …’

  ‘I've got it with me. Sorry I forgot to give it to you before.’ She spun round to face me. ‘It's here, look!’

  From her uniform pocket she handed me a bundle of fivers. At first I wanted to refuse, money often giving me irrational guilty twinges as though somehow I didn't deserve any. But then I noticed her eyes filling with tears and I nodded.

  ‘Okay. A few more days,’ I said reluctantly. ‘That's all I can promise at the moment.’

  She smiled with such obvious relief that I felt guilty once again for even thinking of abandoning her.

  ‘Thanks a million, Kate. You won't regret it.’

  I knew then that I was bound to.

  ‘I must go back to the Health Centre now,’ she said. ‘Why don't you have a break and meet me there after lunch?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It's not far,’ she said. ‘And I know you'll be along later.’

  I shrugged. ‘You're paying, Vanessa. You're the boss.’

  As I showed her out there was just one thing troubling me. ‘The night you were raped?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How exactly did Oakby get into your house?’

  She pursed her lips slightly, with anxiety or confusion, I wasn't sure which.

  ‘He didn't break in,’ she said
slowly. ‘I think he had a key. I lent him mine once but he gave it back. Perhaps he had another one cut.’

  ‘And you didn't think to have the locks changed?’

  ‘I'd forgotten about it, Kate. Really I had.’ She smiled then, so sweetly, that just about anyone would have forgiven her just about anything.

  That smile unnerved me a little. ‘It was just a thought,’ I said. I watched as she started her car and I waved as she drove off. My hand was still in mid air when, from the pathway alongside the church, a dark green car slowly followed hers. A man was driving, but I couldn't see his face properly as he wore a cap pulled low over his forehead.

  I tore into the house to get my car keys. I'd managed to register some of the number plate: VMS 2.

  Well, Mr VMS 2, I'm coming after you.

  It's a pity he didn't know because he might have felt as uneasy as I was beginning to feel. Not just uneasy but scared, because to remember the letters of the car number plate I fitted words to them. VMS stood for VERY MAD SOD.

  Chapter Four

  We drove slowly in convoy on the winding road towards Longborough. It was a case of having to, because Vanessa's Mini was stuck behind a tractor. The green VMS in the middle of the sandwich, which I now recognised as an elderly Chevette, kept his distance from the red Mini but I kept close up his rear, partly to get the rest of his number plate and partly to get a better look at his face. The one reasonable glimpse I did manage confirmed that he was far too young to be wearing a cap.

  At the traffic lights I was left behind and when I arrived at the parking bay in front of the Health Centre Vanessa had already parked and VMS, bold as a naked bum, had parked beside her. I parked my multi-ownered, purple resprayed (to cover the rust) Ford opposite both of them. Then watched as Vanessa got out of her car and VMS wound down his window and they began chatting. After a few moments she waved to me and shouted, ‘See you at two, Kate.’

  VMS had now closed his window and was staring towards the Health Centre and making no plans to go anywhere. Even though he obviously posed no threat to Vanessa I still wanted to know why he was hanging around. After ten minutes I could stand it no longer and I walked towards him and knocked on the side window of his car. Startled, he wound down the window. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, trying to be polite. ‘Could you explain why you followed the red Mini here?’