My cheeks were burning. I breathed in and out very slowly and studied a mole to the left of his nose. He passed me the piece of paper.
‘Goodbye, Mr Pitt.’
‘Ms Kilkenny.’
My restraint broke as I barrelled along Deansgate towards the station. ‘Arrogant bastard. Prat. Who the hell does he think he is?’ I muttered and cursed. People gave me a wide berth. I didn’t care. It had taken all my control not to rise to Pitt’s bait, not to argue the toss or try and needle him as he had me, but I couldn’t jeopardise the job like that. He had the power to withhold the information I wanted. Oh, probably not for ever. I could have got Luke to request it in writing, or even found the addresses a more convoluted way, but time was flying by and my pride had to be sacrificed to the urgency of the job in hand.
My mobile rang when I was halfway across town heading for the buses at Piccadilly Gardens. It was Debbie Gosforth. The stalker was back.
There’s a black Hackney-cab stand near the statue of Queen Victoria. I asked the driver to drop me at the bottom of Chorlton Green. From there I could walk along Debbie’s street. I needed a way to loiter without looking suspicious. Nothing occurred during the journey. The driver chatted about the Euro 96 results. I was aware that the Championship was on and that Manchester was full of European football supporters, but I hadn’t joined Ray in watching any of the matches on the television.
The sun was hot but there was a light breeze, just enough to stir the branches of the trees on the main road. There was no one about on Debbie’s street and I felt conspicuous as I walked along.
He was there. My heart kicked in my chest. I stopped to tie my lace before I got too close. Debbie’s description had been accurate. Slim, dark hair, probably late thirties or early forties. In his suit he looked like a displaced bank clerk or estate agent. Presumably he didn’t have a regular job if he turned up at all times of the day and night.
I straightened up and carried on purposefully, past Debbie’s house to the crossroads at the corner. I looked up and down the side street for some inspiration, something to do, somewhere to wait where I could keep an eye on him without drawing too much attention to myself. Nothing. No phone box, no bench, no shops. Certainly no convenient vantage point. I turned left and walked along until I was sure he couldn’t see me then I rang Debbie’s number.
‘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.
