But that night he never showed up.
The following week I was made aware that my computer had been infected with a virus, a Trojan horse to be precise. Someone had been going through my emails and selectively deleting personal ones. My father always started his emails with ‘Good Morning Darling’, these ones were removed, as were other emails from clients that conveyed any romantic or sexual undertone. Whoever had done this now had my life laid out for him. All my family’s names, addresses, contact details, and the same with the odd client who contacted me via email. He also had complete access to my calendar; when I was out, when Poppy was home or away, when I worked and which phone girl was on which day. He now even knew my fucking menstrual cycle. It didn’t take me long to join the dots to my mystery caller of the previous week. I had my PC debugged and military-style virus protection added so that this would not happen again. I reported my wallet stolen to the police as well as the computer hacking, but I could tell that nothing was going to be done about it.
Over the next few months, Stalker called me, trying to arrange times to return my purse. He only ever called when Poppy was at school camp, or holiday camp or at my brother’s for the night because I had a late class. It could not be coincidence. The stalker and the hacker and the thief were one and the same person. If he noticed any other car in my driveway, he cancelled, if he saw another person through the window, he cancelled. I had started keeping a diary of the dates of his calls and recording some of them, just to try to get the police’s assistance.
One officer was so kind he volunteered to come over after work on his own time, because I was going to be home alone and was genuinely frightened. I gave him strict instructions to park his car nowhere near my driveway, preferably a street away, and not to be seen entering.
I made the officer a late supper and a coffee as he was going to be sitting up all night waiting for this creep. Every window in my house now had curtains and roller blinds, which were closed every single night. I made sure that the roller blinds didn’t just extend to the window sill but at least thirty centimetres past it. They were lined in such a way that from the outside looking in you couldn’t even see the shadows of people moving about. This was what my life had become.
The officer mainly wanted all the details of this nutjob and my suspicions. I had no option but to tell him the entire story, warts and all. He didn’t bat an eyelid when I mentioned my occupation; it was nice not to be judged for a change. We talked about his profession and how long he had been an officer, where he was from and some of the tragedies he had witnessed.
Then I asked him about the toughest task he’d ever had to perform. To my surprise he recounted a day not long after he had first started when he’d had to go to confirm the identity of a suicide victim with a very young woman with a child. He told me how it had broken his heart and how fragile but strong in character the young lady was.
I was taken aback, I tried to look at him through new eyes, and tried to place his face. I looked at him directly and asked if this young man was Eurasian and if he had drowned himself with body-building weights tied to his ankles?
Now he was looking directly at me as well, but he couldn’t recognise me. Then I was a victim, tonight I was a whore.
‘That was me.’ I told him the story of Ben. I told him that he had not brought me sad tidings: Ben had suffered and now he was at peace. The officer felt better for the exchange.
I, however, was exhausted and went to bed. The stalker didn’t show that night.
The following day, Stalker called to apologise for not making it. I’d had enough by now.
‘Listen here, Johnny Stalker, I know you stole my purse by breaking into my house, I know you hacked my computer, I know you like to look through windows and have a toss. Keep the fucking purse, I have already replaced all my cards, just don’t call me again.’
The following morning my purse was placed outside my bedroom door. How the hell did he get in? The police came by again with a bunch of CSI-style equipment. They extracted finger prints and the entry point but he was not on any record.
I never heard from him again.
48
Education
All of my phone girls were university students, so between phone calls, making coffee and running errands to the shops they were busy on their laptops. I spent my spare time with Jerry Springer, Judge Judy or reading a book. I believed that I was smart, I just had no proof. So I decided to test that theory and enrol in night school to complete my high school certificate.