Dead Wrong - [17]

‘Debbie, it’s Sal. I’m round the corner on Royal Avenue. I’ve just walked past him. There’s nowhere here I can wait, I’m not in the car. Can I get to yours the back way?’

‘Yes, down the alley.’

‘What’s your gate like?’

‘Green – look for the climbing frame.’

‘OK, see you in a minute.’

It was easy to find. The small back yard held the climbing frame on a patch of parched grass and a wheelie bin. Debbie was on the back doorstep.

‘Thanks.’ She looked completely washed out. ‘You can watch him from the front room,’ she said.

‘Are you all right?’

She didn’t speak for a minute. ‘Not really, no. Last night, he kept ringing. Every few minutes, on and on. I’m so tired. I left the phone off the hook in the end. I hate doing that. If my Mum needed anything…’ She was close to tears.

‘We can report it,’ I said, ‘was it a payphone? Have you tried 1471?’

She shook her head.

‘Can I? Has anyone rung you since?’

‘No.’

I dialled the call-back facility. The recorded voice told me that a call had been made at 3.43 and that the caller had chosen to withhold their number. Great.

‘Have you got a phone book…the ordinary one?’ She went to the cupboard where she’d kept the letters and returned with the one book. I showed her the section in the front where the number was given for malicious calls.

‘Ring them,’ I said, ‘explain that the calls are from someone who is following you and harassing you, and that you’ve already been to see a solicitor. I’m sure they’ll be able to help. They can monitor your calls or they might give you a new number. You could go ex-directory.’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t seem exactly galvanised by my suggestion. For a moment I wanted to shake her, encourage her to show some of her anger instead of this depressed resignation, then reminded myself that she’d hardly slept and that it probably felt to her as though things were just getting worse in spite of outside involvement.

‘We will sort it out, you know,’ I said, ‘though it might feel hopeless at the moment. What did he say on the phone?’

‘At first he was just going on like the letters. I kept hanging up. He got angry. He said…’ she swallowed and her hand pulled at the gold chain around her neck. ‘He said I was betraying him and I’d pay for it.’ Her voice squeaked and she turned away. ‘Would you like some tea?’ She needed to cry but she didn’t want company.

‘Yes, please. No sugar.’

I sat on the arm of the chair in the front room. From there I’d a clear view of the man opposite. I carry a small camera with a zoom lens whenever can. One of the tools of the trade. I thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t taken it out of my bag when I’d gone to town. I set it up, moved the vase of dried flowers from the windowsill, which left a clear section beneath the scalloped nets, and focused on the stalker. He was almost immobile, only shifting occasionally from foot to foot. He stood like someone at a formal service, a funeral or a wedding, arms hanging down in front, hands together, fingers laced. He waited slightly inside the alleyway so he was only easily visible from across the road. I snapped half a dozen shots of the man. Had any of Debbie’s neighbours noticed him yet?

She came back with my tea. Her hand was shaking as I took it from her. I was parched; I blew the steam to cool it down enough to drink.

‘Is there any news about work?’

‘No, it’s complete chaos. Jack, he’s the owner, he’s been into the Town Hall and got his pass but he couldn’t even get in to see the place till yesterday. He says it’s a right mess, the stock’s ruined. There’s loads of water damage with the sprinklers going off. The insurance company won’t give him a straight answer yet. I’m laid off, officially. Unofficially…’

‘He’s moving,’ and I hadn’t even had my tea. Talk about inconsiderate. I jumped to my feet. The man had set off towards the main road. ‘I’ll ring you later. Watch and tell me when he’s out of sight, I don’t want him to see me coming out of here.’

She moved up to the net curtains as I went through to the front door.

‘Debbie,’ I called, ‘is the door locked?’

‘Oh, yes.’

She ran through with the keys.

‘You’re best with just the Yale on when you’re in,’ I said, ‘and the chain. If there was a fire…’

She looked at me, her mouth tight. ‘I feel safer.’

And if anyone broke in the back way she’d be trapped.

She ran back into the lounge. ‘He’s gone.’

I opened the door and walked briskly out to the pavement. My stomach was tightening in excitement. He was up ahead. Now I’d got him. Trail him home, get the address, a word with the neighbours or the local shop and I’d have his identity. Get it to Rebecca along with details of the harassment and she could start the proceedings. In the distance he’d reached one of the side roads to the left. He turned into it. I was puzzled. Why wasn’t he heading for the bus stops on the main road at the end? Did he live locally, perhaps? I ran to the corner, slowing as I reached it. There he was, fifty yards down on the left. He’d stopped. Hands in his pockets.

I watched him turn, stoop, open the car door, get in and drive away. A blue car, a Ford – a Fiesta, perhaps. I got part of the number plate. Then he was gone.