The Child Predators

by Aitor Echevarria

  The children were very cold in the orphanage in winter and it had been an especially harsh winter that year. Some of the abandon babies that had been left at the orphanage had died, frozen to death. Those found still alive and that had survived, would face a hot summer of insect bites, dirt, disease and hunger. At six they would be sent out to work in the fields and neighbouring farms. At sixteen they would be thrown out to fend for themselves. There was no social care in Albania. Sixty-five per cent of orphans did not see their twentieth birthday. Those that did would end up in prison, prostitution or in asylums. Since the fall of Communism in the country, the staff at the orphanage had not been paid regularly. The medical supplies the vans brought would be sold on the black market and would pay the missing wages of Natasha Lako and her staff of six for fifty-five children. A third of the children had learning difficulties and would not see their sixteenth birthday through neglect, disease and starvation. They were the unseen and unwanted. The babies spent their days in cots, in a long room with peeling paint on the walls and were fed haphazardly if at all. Some of the more backward and demented children were kept together locked in a room. The room stunk of vomit, urine and excrement and was only visited by staff to leave food and remove a body when one of them died.

  As the vans pulled into the orphanage courtyard they narrowly missed a pair of six-year old, twin boys playing in a dirty puddle in the yard. Natasha Lako quickly hurried out of the building as she heard the vans arrive. She could not contain her excitement at their arrival and the anticipation of what they brought was almost unbearable. As her eyes became accustomed to the sunlight from the gloom of the building’s interior, the first thing she saw was a man talking to the twins. A man she had not seen before. She observed him with distrust, and her euphoria evaporated. He could speak the language and the twins were laughing at his antics. He was splashing water at them by plunging his boot into the puddle. John Simpson the leader of the group approached Natasha.

  “Are you well, Natasha? How are the children?”

  “Who, that man?” responded Natasha in broken English and ignoring his question.

  “Joseph, come over here. There is someone I want you to meet,” John shouted.

  There followed a short conversation in Albanian, although strangely the name on his passport was Joseph Brent. When asked about his ability to speak fluent Albanian he would explain that he was of mixed descent, with an Albanian mother and English father. Few people knew that he was also known as Jeronim Dibra. He came over and had a short conversation with Natasha. That evening he and Natasha went for a walk in the grounds of the orphanage, under the pretext of showing him the new vegetable plots and the chickens.

  “Gjergj Fishta came to see you?” He knew the answer before he asked the question.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “You are willing to do business with us.”

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

  Jeronim gave Natasha a mobile phone and said,

  “You are to use this only to communicate with us, understood? Failure to comply with any of our instruction will lead to the immediate closure and termination of our contract with you. I have for you two thousand dollars. You are to open an account in the First National bank in Maliq with a one hundred dollar deposit. All the phone bills will be paid from that account.” He handed her a phone contract.

  “You will make the arrangements. When you have done that, phone the first of the two redialled numbers in your phone. Every month from then on two hundred dollars will be deposited in your account.”

  “I want five hundred. The risks are too great. I have to consider the costs and then…”

  “Stop right there. Give back the phone and go.”

  “Alright, alright, one hundred,” she said frantically.

  “Don’t you ever question the arrangements again! Understand?” Jeronim said sternly.

  Natasha looked at the ground and said meekly, “When will you come for the twins?”

  “The vans and I will leave in two days. Gjergj and a woman will collect them next week. You got the story straight in your mind and the papers for them?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “The price for each child you send us will be two thousand and fifty dollars. The price is not negotiable and they are to be all boys of between six and ten. Understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good then let us go back and enjoy some of the good food we have brought you.”

  Nine days later the vans were back in West Yorkshire. At the annual general meeting of ‘The Leeds Society of Christian Fellowship for the Relief of Albanian Children,’ the president of the society was able to report, with pride, that the aid that they had sent to Albanian had been safely delivered and had been put to the immediate relief of want and suffering. The audience were shown photographs of the trip and pictures of the children in their new cloths. Furthermore, he was able to say that plans were now being put in place for the adoption of the neediest children and he hoped to be able to give more details on this very soon. The president, Sir Bartholomew Stanford-Grey, sat down to mild and courteous applause.

  That evening Bartholomew was sat at his dinner table. His valet Joseph had just cleared away the dinner plates and handed him his after-dinner glass of cognac. Then he laid before him a group of photographs. They were of the twins. Bartholomew studied them with interest.

  “How long?” he asked without looking up.

  “Perhaps three weeks, if all goes well. The first part is easy through Greece and Italy. France is more of a problem and then there’s the crossing.”

  “How will that be made?” asked the judge.

  “By Eurostar. They will pose as a family on holiday touring Europe. They will arrive on the late night train. They will drive off the train with the kids drugged and asleep in the back of the car. It’s been done before,” said Joseph.

  “Sounds too easy,” said the judge.

  “It is if things go to plan. Otherwise…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Bartholomew ignored the ‘otherwise’.

  “Wonderful. I can hardly wait. You had no trouble with your identity? Your new passport, etc.?” ask the judge.

  “No sir. Genuine documents do not draw attention.” “Good… very good. You can go now, Joseph.”

  *

  He sat back in his chair and drew on his cigar. He savoured his cognac. What a divine combination cognac and cigars were. He was deeply satisfied with himself. Joseph knew his place. He was an Albanian Romany. He was coarse and uneducated but with an acute animal cunning and good family contacts all over Eastern Europe. He had no morals but knew his place. The judge had made it clear that he had the names and phone numbers of the gang members he had betrayed. If he did not do exactly as he was told, they would be informed of his location and he would be stripped of his new identity. He had been left with no choice but to comply with all the judge’s wishes. In time, Joseph grew used to his new life and slowly began to enjoy it.

  At that moment Bartholomew was brought round from his contented musings by the entrance into the dining room of his Housekeeper. She stormed in.

  “He’s done it again, sir.”

  “What?” asked the judge. There was irritation in the Judge’s voice.

  “He’s stolen, sir. Why do you allow a thief in the house, sir? What will people say? Your Honour should not be in such company. It’s undignified.”

  “What has he stolen?” The judge said in a tired voice.

  “Food, sir!” she said.

  The judge smiled. “Mrs Higgins,” he said as if speaking to a child. “Joseph comes from a very poor country and an impoverished family, were food is sometimes hard to come by. We can afford to let Joseph have a little extra food, can we not?”

  “Well, if you put it like that, sir. I suppose you’re right. But it’s still not right.” She turned and left, still in a huff.

  The judge smiled to himself. She was like an old mother hen. He had seen her husband, Norris,
as she spoke, at the back of the door through the door gap, pacing up and down the oak-panelled hallway. He would always hang around when his wife went off on some niggle or other. Worried that his wife would say something out of turn and upset the Judge. Norris was always fearful that her mouth would one day get them the sack. Poor Norris was a worrier but he was an excellent gardener and he need not have worried, the judge would never get rid of them, they were two very good workers.

  Joseph sat on his bed in the attic bedroom counting the dollars into neat five-hundred piles and munching on one of the packets of biscuits he had taken from the biscuit tin. There were also four cans of tuna and two cans of baked beans for his growing food store. He had been given five thousand to give to Natasha. He had kept three thousand for himself. He had plans. The money the judge paid him was little more than pocket money. If he was to escape and disappear, he needed more, much, much more. He had a plan and these dollars would help him fulfil it.

  Chapter 7

  The Leeds Central Police Station briefing started at 8 am sharp. All the police personnel were present except those that were off duty or covering essential services. After the routine business had been covered it was Andy’s turn to address the briefing. Everyone had a copy of the briefing documents on Lemming. These contained a photograph of Mark Lemmings, his known associates, which were few and his police record. Andy had also enclosed in the briefing notes, some information on habitual social services absconders and a profile of the sort of children that Lemmings would target. Bill Green introduced Rawlings and handed over.

  “Thank you, sir. The photographs you have in your notes, are on the screen now, and are the most recent we have of him. The best, marked item 1 is about three years old. The photos give the impression of a young dark-haired and handsome twenty-five year old. In fact he is thirty-six years of age. A real Peter Pan as far as his looks go. Nevertheless, don’t be fooled by his boyish good looks. He is one of the most dangerous men you are likely to encounter. He should be approached with extreme caution. He is a very, very dangerous individual and he preys on children. For that reason alone he must be found and found quickly. We believe he has murdered most of his victims.” He paused to let the words sink in.

  “These are some of the children he has killed.”

  There followed a series of photos of six children, some as young as five, before their deaths. Andy could see that the message was hitting home. Even the hardest coppers were close to tears. Two of the WPC’s were weeping openly.

  *

  “As you know all major criminals have singular ways of operating. So what is Lemmings Achilles’ Heel? He has several. These are:”

  He pressed a key on the laptop and a number of bullet points appeared on the screen.

  “He needs the following,” said Andy, pointing to the overhead screen.

  Boys of between six and ten.

  Drugs to stupefy and hold them with.

  Safe Houses to keep the children.

  He has and needs associates. He doesn’t operate on his own.

  Money. He must be making it or getting it from somewhere.

  Transport.

  A false identity.

  Somewhere to run his operations safely from.

  A secure communications system.

  *

  “At the back of the briefing notes you will see that you have all been allocated to teams. Each team is led by a sergeant who will report to the Vice Squad or C.I.D. Find any of the above and it will lead us to Lemmings. I want you to go on your shifts and go to every snitch that you have and squeeze them, until they scream. Then go to every source of illegal drugs that you know and find out if they are supplying Lemmings. Leave no stone unturned. If he is here, he will be killing again. We have to stop him. We are going to adopt a low-profile operation at first, but as soon as we find the first body, we will become high profile and knock on every door in the city. I don’t have to tell you that time is not on our side, so let’s go and get on with it. Report immediately as soon as you find anything; however small. Thank you.”

  *

  Briefing over Andy returned to his own squad room. As soon as his officer’s appeared from the briefing he addressed them.

  “You are going to co-ordinate everything that comes in. You will investigate the most promising leads but I expect that you will be mostly desk bound, until we get a real lead. It could be a long wait,” said Andy.

  Bill Green suddenly appeared and he and Andy went into Andy’s office.

  “What’s your next move?” he asked without ceremony.

  “With your permission, sir, I would like to interview Frank Dobson.”

  “I don’t think he will see you.”

  “Maybe sir, but it’s worth a try.”

  “O.K. but contact our colleagues in Manchester before you go. They may be able to give you a way, an angle into Dobson.”

  Andy followed the instruction and contacted Manchester.

  *

  The drive from Leeds to Manchester Police HQ had taken an hour and a half. During which DI Rawlings and his driver had barely exchanged two words. Rawlings had taken one look at DC Singh and had not liked what he saw. Small and slight, his first thoughts of her were, ‘What bloody use would she be in a tight spot?’ He was not impressed. As soon as Rawlings stepped into Manchester Police HQ, he was shown into DSI Robson’s office.

  “Understand you’re interested in Frank Dobson?” he said without further introduction.

  “Yes sir,” Andy replied.

  “Have you heard of the Simpson family?” said Robson.

  “No sir,” said Andy.

  “I’m surprised. They are one of the most successful gangs in the North. They are, by far, the most successful major criminal gang in Manchester,” said Robson.

  “What are they into?” asked Andy.

  “Good question. Extortion, scrap and drugs are their main sources of illegal income. Outwardly they are second-hand car dealers,” said Robson.

  “And their connection to Frank Dobson is?” said Andy.

  “Let me tell you a little about the Simpson’s first. It will help you understand the connection and perhaps give you a lever, an opening into Dobson,” said Robson. He sat back thoughtfully into his chair and closed his hands together in front of him. Then he continued,

  “The Simpson’s are the most feared gang in Manchester. No one crosses them with impunity and their response is extremely violent to anyone that does. The family consists of three brothers and their father, Peter. The father is all but retired now. The three Simpson brothers, Mark, Luke and John, are all big men and hard. They are more than able to look after themselves. Mark has done a couple of stretches for GBH and so has Luke. John has no criminal record but is probably the most dangerous,” Robson said.

  “How do they make their money?” asked Andy.

  “Mark and Luke run a scrapyard with their father. John is a second-hand car dealer. That’s the legit part of the operation. In John’s wife name, is a security company? Hard bitch she is. She’s from an Irish family, you know, well known travellers. They provide eighty per cent of all the doormen and women for all the pubs and clubs in Manchester. They don’t provide personnel outside Manchester because they don’t want them,” said Robson.

  “Big operation?” asked Andy.

  “Huge,” replied Robson.

  “And the main income from it?” asked Andy.

  “They make most of their money from protection money and prostitution also drugs. They are the major drug gang in our city and they give and provide the protection for other bent businesses. Anyone who tries to cash in disappears or they did until we locked up Dobson. There’s been a little bit of competition of late. This would not have existed if Dobson had been around,” said Robson.

  “So he has been a big loss to them?” said Andy.

  “Yes.”

  “Knows a lot?” asked Andy.

  “Yes.”

  “Why is he still alive?” said And
y.

  “Dobson and the Simpsons, they grew up together and he will never spill the beans on them and they know it,” said Robson.

  “So what’s this lever that you mentioned to me?” asked Andy.

  ”You know what the lever is. You may even have it soon,” said Robson.

  “Sorry chief, you’ve lost me,” said Andy.

  “Lemmings, they know about Lemmings and if you tell Dobson that they know, then his position and standing with the Simpson’s is compromised. It just might provide you with the lever you need to open up Dobson. Especially, since you are from a different police force and he doesn’t know you,” said Robson.

  “Do you really believe that Lemmings presents such a serious threat to the Simpson’s?” said Andy.

  “Yes.”

  “But why? He was just an acquaintance to Dobson in jail,” said Andy.

  “You have been misinformed. He was his lover and the love of Dobson’s life by all accounts,” said Robson.

  “Well even if he was. What possible threat could that be to the Simpson’s?” said Andy.

  “Until then they had perfect control over Frank. They provided everything for him and I mean absolutely everything. When Lemmings came along they lost control over him. He had met the love of his life. They lost the levers controlling Dobson and they don’t like it, believe me,” said Robson.