The Voyeur

by Kimberley Shead

  Albie pondered her comments. “Okay he can go home, but make it clear that we may need to speak to him again. See you back at the car.”

  Still deep in thought, Albie retraced his steps to the pub. As he pushed his way through the crowd, he pondered on the subtle clue that niggled him. It was still too abstract to link the two murder victims.

  15

  Olivia smiled and she greeted the middle-aged couple as they walked through automatic doors that led to the hospital’s crowded reception area.

  “Well look at you, love.” The woman grinned ignoring Olivia’s outstretched hand and dragging her into a bear hug. Rather than pull away, Olivia huddled into the security of her cuddle. After a few moments, with reluctance, she untangled herself from the familiar arms and gazed into her compassionate blue eyes.

  “It’s great to see you again, Maureen.” Her dimpled smile reached her eyes. “Hi, Ozzie. How’re you keeping?” She scanned the lanky man as he leaned towards her and planted a kiss on her cheek. She noticed his hair carried flecks of grey and was finer than she remembered, but he still pulled it back into a ponytail. He had a pronounced limp now, so the cane he carried was probably a necessity rather than an accessory. And he still wore those round glasses, just like his namesake. Maureen, however, appeared to be a female Peter Pan. She had always been curvy. But middle age spread had parked a couple of tyres around her midriff, which only added to the overall package. She was still the caring, loving mother figure Olivia had known for two years of her life.

  “First things first, Livvy.” Maureen hooked her arm through Olivia’s and led her to the middle of the waiting area. She paused and studied the signs overhead. “We’ve had a bit of a stop start journey, so a visit to the powder room wouldn’t go amiss. Followed by a strong cup of coffee to make me feel half human again before we get down to business.” She turned to Olivia, smiled, grasped her hand between hers, and squeezed, then followed the signs to the ladies.

  “We’ll meet you in the café, love,” she instructed her husband as though it was an afterthought. However, after nearly thirty years of marriage, the telepathy they shared was uncanny, and Ozzie was already nearing the café entrance and extracting his wallet from his jacket pocket.

  “So how have you been keeping, Livvy?” Maureen asked the refection in the mirror as she washed her hands. Olivia lifted her head, noted blackened marks forming under her red-rimmed eyes, and lowered her gaze.

  “Oh…You know, not bad.” She yanked paper towel from the dispenser and dried her hands. “Thanks for stepping in at such short notice,” she added, hoping to deflect the conversation from her. “This young boy has been through a most traumatic attack, and you and Oz are ideal…”

  Throwing the used paper towels in the bin, Maureen grasped both Olivia’s hands and pulled them towards her chest.

  “We’ll discuss the boy with Ozzie over coffee.” then, lifting Olivia’s chin with the tip of her finger, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, she added. “I asked about you, Livvy.”

  Olivia’s bottom lip quivered, and tears threatened to escape her sorrow-filled eyes. Rubbing the back of her hand across her cheek, she took a deep breath, pulled the door open, and ushered Maureen out before she could delve further.

  “I’m sorry, Maureen, I can’t focus on me now.” She followed her foster mother round the corner and towards the cafe.

  “Well whatever’s bothering you, it’s unhealthy to keep it inside. I can tell just from your response that something’s not right.”

  Olivia spotted Ozzie and acknowledged his wave with a half-hearted wave of her own. She avoided Maureen’s gaze even though she was aware of her foster mother’s need for eye contact.

  “Whatever it is, you need to share it. Do you know what happens when you carry unwanted baggage around?” Olivia sighed. She knew the question was rhetorical. She also knew Maureen had a point. “When you need to offload, you can talk to me. You must talk to someone.” Maureen’s concerns voiced, she squeezed between the tables and slipped into the chair opposite her husband as he passed her a steaming hot coffee.

  Over coffee, Olivia began to relax as the conversation changed direction. They discussed the vulnerability of the child being handed into their care and the delicacy of the situation.

  The ward was unnaturally quiet as they wandered towards a room at the end of the corridor. They were in the lost hours when the consultants finished their rounds and visiting time began. It was a tranquil time when patients were expected to rest, but wakefulness reigned and boredom descended.

  Olivia gave a tentative tap on the door, and it was opened in an instant by a grinning officer. Tania stepped back and made way for the visitors to enter. She shook the McNallys’ hands after formal introductions before excusing herself.

  “Liv, I wondered if we’d see you here today.” Olivia pivoted in the direction of his voice. Albie leant his shoulder against the opposite wall and peered out at a limited view from a narrow window by the bed. Pushing away from the wall, he focused his smile on the couple who followed Olivia into the room.

  “You must be here to take Mitchell today. The McNallys, isn’t it?” He leaned across Olivia and shook both their hands. “I’m DS Edwards, part of the team investigating the attack on Mitchell and another closely connected case.”

  “It’s good to meet you. Ozzie, and this is Maureen.” Ozzie extended his hand and pressed his palm into the small of her back, edging her forward. Maureen acknowledged Albie with a grin, then broke the awkward silence.

  “Well Livvy, are you going to introduce us to this young man we’ve heard so much about? We can chat to him while you deal with any official business that you need to conclude.” She looked from one to the other, grabbed Ozzie by the hand, and tiptoed around Albie towards the tiny patient curled up in bed.

  “Sure,” she agreed, following the couple to the bedside. She concentrated on counting breaths to help calm her anger. She hated the power that man had over her emotions, but no matter how inadequate he made her feel, she couldn’t quite bring herself to hate Albie Edwards. But she would never bring herself to forgive him either.

  Mitchell sat up with the help of a number of pillows. His complexion still lacked colour, and with his white blond hair, he blended into his surroundings, which gave him a certain vulnerability. The only colour that radiated from the boy came from his ocean blue eyes, which looked obscenely round in his oval face. His mouth, which had for some time been swollen beyond all recognition, had eased, and the distinct outline of his bow-shaped lips was once more a predominant feature.

  Olivia spent time introducing Maureen and Ozzie. She’d spent the last few days preparing Mitchell for their visit. She’d told him his injuries were the reason he needed to convalesce with the McNallys rather than go home. As much as she hated herself for the lies, Olivia knew it was best for Mitchell until the devastation of Emily’s death could be shared.

  “So Mitchell, you must have some hobbies. Put your thumb in the air like this if you like playing outside.” Maureen gave him time, but Mitchell remained unresponsive.

  “He looks like a footballer to me. What do you think, Maureen? I bet he’s fast. Now let me think, I reckon he’s a striker.” Ozzie watched Mitchell’s hand. He noticed the subtle twitch of his thumb and gave his wife a wink. They were on the right track. Olivia stood, smoothed the creases from her skirt, and tucked in the back of her shirt into the waistband before excusing herself from the room.

  Visiting time was in full swing, and people bustled down the corridor carrying arrangements of colourful potently perfumed flowers and the obligatory bunches of grapes. They crowded in groups around bedsides, knowing the rule of two visitors at a time. They spoke in whispered voices so as not to draw attention to themselves. Some patients lay alone without company, many opting to draw the curtain around their bed to escape the pitiful expressions of others.

  Olivia took a deep breath, counted to ten, then released, clearing her thoughts. She walked towa
rds the familiar figure leant against a wall near the nurse’s station in deep conversation with his colleague. As she approached, Tanya moved away, excusing herself for the second time that afternoon. She headed towards the vending machine at the opposite end of the corridor.

  “Why are you here?” Olivia asked, pushing past him before he had a chance to speak.

  “Whoa! It’s good to see you too, Liv.” He grimaced and held his hands up, then took a defensive step back. “I just came to check our victim’s in good hands and all the T’s are crossed and I’s are dotted, so to speak.”

  Olivia strode forward, her fists clench at her side. Then she stood on tiptoes and leaned her reddening face as close to his as possible. Still, his mouth was at eye level until she tilted her head.

  “First,” she said as her piercing stare met his own, “I’m Liv to my friends. Olivia to you. Next, Mitchell is in exceptional good hands. The best in fact. And finally, how many officers does it take to check that procedures are followed properly?” Not waiting for a reply, she thrust the paperwork at his chest, turned on her toes, and stomped back towards the room.

  “Liv, stop.” Albie sprinted past her and blocked her way. Head bowed, she barged forward. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed back until he felt her effort lag. “Okay, I’m sorry. Olivia.” She raised her head and waited. Offering her file back, he continued, “It wasn’t your fault you know, what happened…You were good at your job. Naïve, gullible even, but still good at your job.” He waited for a response. Any kind of response rather than the wall of silence he faced. She opened her mouth as if to talk, but instead clamped her lips together, lowered her head, walked around his still body, and made for the room.

  Albie gazed after her, clenched his fist, and took a half-hearted swing at the wall.

  “Shit,” he said under his breath as he brought both hands to his face and ploughed his fingers through his thick sandy hair.

  The vibration of his phone brought him out of his reverie.

  “Edwards,” he answered as he by-passed the lift area and took the stairs to the ground floor two at a time. Albie listened intently to the voice on the other end of the phone. "We're on our way,” he said, and slipped the phone into his pocket. He scanned the reception area until he spotted Tanya and watched her take a mouthful of a flaky sausage roll.

  “I hope you got me one of those or you’re going to have to share.” His laugh rang out as he strode across the forecourt.

  Tanya handed him another drink nestled in the cardboard holder and pulled a plastic bag from her handbag like a magician. “Da dar!”

  “We’ve been summonsed. Let’s breathe some real air while we eat these.” Tanya followed him to a bench outside the main doors where they sat and ate in silence.

  16

  Albie removed his feet from the desk as his office door opened. He’d locked himself away since they returned. He was determined to ignore Olivia Devine’s diva attitude and focus on the murders. So he occupied himself by writing a few notes to refer to, if needed, at the briefing. Business was obviously picking up in the canteen when they returned. The offices were on the quiet side. Albie had exhaled a sigh of relief at dodging Rachel Fawn again.

  The chances of avoiding her were slim, since they’d been told to share an office which seemed to shrink more each day, especially since Tanya and Harry had moved in and shared a hop-on desk in the far corner.

  As he hoped, DS Fawn poked her head round the door, spotted him, and walked away, mumbling something about coffee. Albie entered the incident room as his colleagues began to enter in small companionable groups. Voices tapered as they entered the room and faces took on either a deadpan or serious expression, each a mask of their own, making an illusion of officialdom and strength.

  Albie, confident in the information he had to contribute to the meeting made his way to the front of the room. He glanced up at the board which was already over decorated with images and information. He acknowledged a number of people with a nod, and he felt a familiar tingle run down his spine. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, not in fear but because of a recognised sense of purpose that often accompanied him at crucial times. He scanned the room as his colleagues spoke on phones, keyboards tapping and voices murmuring like bees gathering honey to present to their queen. She entered the room unnoticed by Albie. The only clue that DI Masters was among them was the lull in activity and conversation.

  DI Masters shrugged her navy jacket from her shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair. She turned to face her colleagues after a moment studying the board and began to address them.

  “Good afternoon. The update will be as brief as possible. I’m sure you’ll agree we have pressing matters to attend to, like finding the person or people responsible for these murders.” She motioned to the images behind her, then continued. “DS Edwards will now bring us up to date.”

  Albie moved to the front and cleared his throat.

  “We have two bodies found within two days. Emily Dyer,” he said, pointing to her photograph on the board, “was found by a small group of youngsters climbing trees in Oxlea woods.. They spotted her feet poking out from what they originally assumed was a dumped carpet. The post mortem examination concluded death was caused by a vicious blow to the back of the head. However, there were signs of attempted strangulation plus bruises and cuts associated with beatings. Some of the injuries were old.”

  “What about the cuts to her chest?” Everybody turned their attention to Tanya in unison.

  “Thanks for the reminder, Watts. I’ll link back to it at the end.” He winked, she blushed, and he continued.

  “Now to our second victim. Tyler Duke, aged twenty-eight and a resident of Charlton. He was found at approximately 6.45am this morning beneath the underpass that runs parallel to the river Thames. A jogger found him, a local man, Zac Moore.” He added Zac’s photograph to the gallery behind.

  “Zac runs the same route every morning after finishing a night shift. He likes to exercise with his dog. Duke, like Emily, suffered a violent attack. He was stabbed repeatedly, and his throat was slit. We should have more information about the cause of death after a visit to the mortuary this evening.”

  Albie scanned the room in search of PC Gibbs.

  “Frank. What did you find out about our victim?”

  Frank stood and shuffled papers into an untidy pile with shaking hands, then drew a long breath before he spoke.

  “Quite a lot, as it happens. He’s known to us, has been since his teens. Duke was in and out of juvenile prison as a youth. Mainly for drug offences and a few cases of assault. Later, he developed a taste for violence against his missus, now his ex-wife, Josie Jeffries. Charges were always dropped. But something tells me the Jeffries family will not be mourning our victim’s death.

  “Isn’t Josie Jeffries connected somehow to the boy in the lift and Emily Dyer?” Harry Garret piped up from the back of the office.

  “I’ll cover that in a minute, Harry. Good to know someone’s using their head though. Anything else, Frank?” Albie’s focus returned to his colleague, who fiddled with his pile of papers again until his search uncovered what he needed.

  “Duke recently opened an Italian restaurant in central London, with an eye on branching out.” Frank cleared his throat, straightened his back, and appeared to grow in stature. “The main point is that after speaking to a business associate of our victim, I was led to believe Mr Duke had recently obtained a substantial loan to help him acquire his business. It was in the region of fifty thousand pounds. The loan company in question is run by your friend and mine, Donovan Coleman. Renowned for some pretty unethical ways of collecting unpaid debts.”

  “Thank you, Frank,” Albie caught Masters tapping her watch and moved on quickly.

  “Finally, back to the link Watts mentioned earlier. There was a particular similarity between one specific injury shared by both victims. Each had something carved into their body. The carving on Emily’s chest looks like a
crudely carved number four with the letters J and what could be a T below.”

  Albie hesitated.

  “So it appears that the two murders may well be connected.” DI Masters walked forward and gave Albie a nod and a smile. “We have a number of new leads to pursue. Don’t ignore the footwork needed. That means another door to door around both murder sites. Talk to people who regularly use the woods or the underpass. Plus, revisit the residence on the Fennick Estate. This time, focus on both the murders and Mitchell’s attack. Try and find other connections. Has anyone noticed anything unusual lately? Anybody hanging around making a nuisance to themselves? Or someone they haven’t seen before? You know, all the usual questions.”

  A buzz commenced around the room as officers started to follow the inspector’s instructions.

  “DS Fawn.” Masters called over the growing noise level. “Organise a team to do the legwork. Edwards, your team needs to chase up the angle on the loan business. It’s a tremendous amount of money for someone to owe. Also, the post mortem must be attended, and from there a visit to Ms Jeffries is required. See how she takes the news. You never know, she may be able to shed light on the crimes.”

  She dismissed DS Fawn with a wave of her hand and walked towards the double doors.

  “A word, Edwards.”

  He followed her though the double doors and into an unoccupied office.

  “Shut the door and take a seat.” Masters gestured to a chair in front of a desk, then sat opposite. “This shouldn’t take long, Edwards. I just wondered what your initial feelings are about these murders? I know we are still awaiting Mr Duke’s post mortem report. Nevertheless, I’m concerned about exactly what type of killer we’re investigating. What are your gut feelings?”