Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [130]
‘I’m the probation officer for Peter Tobin,’ she announced, and at the very mention of his name my heart sank. Steeling myself to get the divorce had been hard enough, but at least I’d had a while to think about it. This call had come out of the blue and her very title gave away the bad news.
‘I have a note on Peter’s file that you should be kept up to date with his progress.’
‘Is he coming out soon?’
‘Yes, he’s behaved well and he’s won parole. He’ll be out in a few months.’
Her words were like a slap in the face. I’d built a very comfortable life for me and Daniel. Now, even though there was no way we wanted to see him, Peter could wreck it all.
‘Can you tell me where he is now?’ I asked.
‘Yes, he’s on the Isle of Wight.’
‘Christ, that’s close! I’ve actually been past there recently.’
He would soon be getting closer.
‘Can you stop him coming to Portsmouth?’
Susan was pleased to inform me that: ‘Yes, we can.’
‘Thank God.’
‘Yes,’ she continued, ‘we’re going to base him in Southampton.’
‘Oh, that’s much safer.’ I couldn’t hide the sarcasm. This was a man who could take my child for a walk in Portsmouth and end up in West Lothian. A few miles around the coast would provide no obstacle for him.
But I was grateful they’d told me. ‘Please keep me informed,’ I said, and she agreed.
I tried not to think about it, but by the time Peter was released on parole I was pretty nervous. They’d found him a starter job and a temporary home and he had to sign the sex offenders’ register once a week as a condition of his parole. After a tense seven days, I received the call I’d been waiting for.
‘Peter has signed the register. All is well.’
Great, I thought. He’s going to keep his nose clean. I can get on with my life.
The following week, they called again. ‘Bad news, Cathy. Peter didn’t sign the register today. He’s on the run – and we think he’s coming to you.’
You cannot imagine the fear that coursed through my veins. I’d had a comfortable few years, put on a pound or two through good living and generally learnt to enjoy the finer things in life now I could afford them. All of that meant nothing now I knew this madman was on the loose.
I swung into action. I told Tim I needed a spy-hole drilled in the front door immediately.
‘I think you’re overreacting,’ he said. He was trying to comfort me, but it just wound me up. He had no clue what I’d already been through – my fault for having kept most of it back.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘that man wants to hurt me. He’s still sore that I left him.’
But there was another reason I was scared. As far as Peter was concerned, I had robbed him of his son. I’d done it once when I’d fled from Bathgate. Now, as far as he knew, I’d prevented Daniel from visiting him in prison. I’d even forbidden him from having a photograph!
If there’s a chance he could use Daniel to hurt me, I thought, he’ll take it. And I’ve got to be ready.
My next stop was Havant police. They were more receptive to my fears than Tim had been. Within the hour, I had a crew round at Southsea, fitting panic buttons. They also arranged for a CID officer to be stationed at Daniel’s school. I would still take him and pick him up, but the policeman was there for the rest of the day – on the understanding that Daniel never found out. It was crucial to me that he didn’t worry and that his friends didn’t discover his past.
Looking back now, the idea of Daniel worrying about anything makes me laugh. He takes laid-backness to new levels. I’d like to take some credit for that, but he’s the one who’s done it all. He seems to have taken everything that happened before his sixth birthday and just dealt with it. Some kids might have become wallflowers or gone off the rails without a full-time dad around – look how it had affected me. Not Daniel. He was bright and intelligent and was always the first to sign up for new experiences. Junior RAF, the Marines, drums, guitar, camping – you name it, he wanted to try it. When he was sixteen, he would even climb Kilimanjaro with his Uncle Geoff.
But in 2001 this was the last thing