The Child Predators

by Aitor Echevarria

  “Hello?” The voice was soft, full of sleep.

  “DI Rawlings?” he said.

  “Yes,” said the voice sleepily.

  “It’s John….. John Foster.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” said Andy irately, looking at his watch. It was 3.33 am.

  “Sorry I’ve lost all notion of time. I’ve just had my wife sectioned. I’ll ring later. Sorry, sorry.” He went to hang up when he heard an urgent.

  “Wait John. It’s alright. What can I do for you?” asked Andy.

  John hesitated. He stood with the phone gripped tightly in both hands, tears running down his face.

  “What can I do for you John?” Andy said again softly and kindly.

  “I think, I can help you,” John said between sobs. His voice thick with drink and lack of sleep.

  “How?” Andy said, pressing the record button on his phone.

  “We lost them. Lots of them and it’s our fault,” John slurred the words out slowly.

  “Lost who and how?” ask Andy intently and now fully awake and alert.

  “The kids,” sobbed John.

  “You mean Tommy? That wasn’t your fault,” Andy said.

  “No, no, no, many more than him. Many more,” John said.

  “More children? You’re not making sense,” Andy said with irritation. Andy paused and thought.

  “Go to bed John. I’ll be round at your house in the morning. Will 9 am be O.K.?” Andy said.

  “Yes,” came the reply after a pause.

  “See you then. Now go to bed,” said Andy.

  *

  Andy put the phone down. Turned over and went to sleep. Shortly after nine, Andy and DC Singh were knocking on John Foster’s door for the last time. They had been knocking for five minutes and they were about to go when a very haggard John Foster opened the door.

  “Sorry,” he said, “I took a sleeping tablet and it completely knocked me out. Come in, please.” As they stepped into the house, John asked, “Tea, coffee?”

  “No thanks,” the officers replied.

  “I’m making a coffee for myself. Are you quite sure?” John asked.

  “Yes,” said Andy. DC Singh nodded.

  “Come into the kitchen. We can talk there.” John led the way.

  “Sorry for the late call,” he began.

  “No problem,” said Andy.

  John went over to the kettle and filled it and put it on. He took a cup out of the cupboard and placed it on the kitchen surface.

  “I think that I can help you but it must be in complete confidence. If this gets out I will lose my job,” said John.

  “Anything you tell us will stay between us,” said Andy.

  “Right I’m going to trust you. If you betray me, let it be on your head. There are more kids missing than have been reported to the police. Normally, they turn up after a few days. So there’s no problem. Lately, and of more concern, some have gone from foster care and not returned.”

  “Has this been reported?” said Andy.

  “Yes, but often later than it should have been,” said John.

  “A cover-up?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, but more important is, what has not been reported. It is what the children have been saying. There are a number of children in local authority care that have been saying things in confidence to the carers and social workers,” John paused. “We have a duty of care to these children and we must never as social workers betray their confidence in us. You understand?” said John.

  “It’s a fine line that you walk,” Andy said matter-of-factly.

  “As you are aware there are always men hanging around care homes waiting to pick up young girls. It is more unusual to find men looking for boys and particular boys at that,” John paused again, collecting his thoughts. The kettle had boiled and he made his coffee. He went on.

  “We generally know which kids are the most vulnerable and some of the men that are hanging around. But lately some of the kids have become more disturbed than usual. They are frightened. In fact one of them is terrified,” said John.

  “Why haven’t the police been informed?” asked Andy.

  “Because we have nothing tangible and if we involve you we lose all credibility with the children and their confidence,” said John.

  “Go on.”

  “It appears that a man has been asking questions. He wants to know about young boys. Who cares for them? He’s only interested in very young boys,” said John.

  “How young?” Andy said.

  “Between six and ten,” replied John.

  “Who is giving you this information?” Andy said.

  “A young girl in care. She is very disturbed. A client of my wife,” replied John.

  “How reliable?” asked Andy.

  John shrugged his shoulders. “Only Sally could tell you that, but she’s not well enough to help and anyway I don’t think she would in normal circumstances.”

  “What has she said?” Andy asked.

  “Apparently she’s a very streetwise kid. She says the man is a child abuser and that she knows about him,” John said.

  “Would she talk to us?” asked Andy.

  “No.”

  “Do we know where this man has been hanging about asking questions?” Andy asked.

  “That’s the thing,” John said. “He doesn’t hang about. His information, according to the girl, is from the inside.”

  “What do you mean from the inside?” Andy said.

  “It’s coming from one of the carers the girl says. He’s from Morden House,” John said.

  “The care home?” Andy asked.

  “Yes,” replied John.

  “Do you know the man’s name?” asked Andy.

  “No.”

  Andy thought for a moment.

  “What about the child’s carer at the home?”

  “That would be Mike Robertson,” said John.

  “Know him well?” Andy said.

  “No,” replied John.

  “How sure are you of this information?” asked Andy.

  “I’ve had it verified,” John said.

  “By whom?” asked Andy quickly.

  “That information I’m not prepared to give you. You will have to take it on trust,” replied John.

  “O.K. anything else,” said Andy.

  “Not just now, maybe later,” replied John.

  “You know where to get in touch with me,” said Andy.

  “Yes.”

  “Right, well in that case let me know the moment you have more.” With that the two officers said their goodbyes and left.

  Once outside and in the car DC Singh said,

  “What do you think sir?”

  “It’s the only break we’ve had so far. I’m going to have to play this one very carefully. Let’s hope he comes up with more.”

  “Do you think he will, sir?” said Singh.

  “Oh yes. But we are not going to push. We are going to play him like a fish on a line. A very long line, but one made of woven steel.”

  Over the past few months the relationship between his DC and Andy had changed. He had read her record and looked into her background. It was impressive. She had worked on the Buttershaw estate in Bradford before being transferred to Leeds. Buttershaw had the reputation of being the cheapest place in Europe to buy heroin. Anyone that could survive there had to be good or bent. She was a Sikh and spoken five languages including Urdu. Sikhs were people renowned for their fearlessness and her record contained a commendation for bravery. Padwick had chosen well and he had jumped to conclusions and been wrong. Finally, there was her first name. It was Achal. It meant, constant, immovable. It suited her well. Back at the station Andy got his team together and briefed them and immediately after that he ran a check on Mike Robertson.

  Chapter 11

  The laptop screen glowed in the dim light. Mark looked at it intently. Mesmerised by the message he had read. The warning was not altogether unexpected, but it had come so sudden
ly. He had known that they would catch-up with him and for this eventuality he had his plans well in place. He would move on, but he liked it here in Filey. He liked his static home and until now he had felt safe. He read the message for the third time.

  ‘The pigs no that u r in West Yorkshire bro. The filth leading the search is DI Andy Rawlings. West Yorkshire Police. Ex Met and very good. There’s a contract on u bro. Get out and move on. Sus Peter Simpson. Still digging. Will let u no when I have something pos.

  Good hunting Mark.

  Luvs, Frank.’

  It was the last part that troubled him, not the police. Questions swam around his head. Who wanted him dead? John Simpson, why would he want him dead? He didn’t even know the man. He laughed inwardly. What a joke. What a silly question he thought. Lots of people wanted him dead. The real question was who had the means to kill him? John Simpson certainly had, but would he want to? Why would he want to? Because of Frank? Not likely. The Simpsons knew that Frank had not squealed for more than ten years. He would only talk if they upset him and if he talked, then he would sink them all. Would they risk that? No they would not. They would only do that if Frank was dead. No. It was not the Simpsons unless they had gone mad. Then who? A rich parent of one of his victims or a friend? A collective action by them? After all this time it was unlikely. Then what? He decided to wait and see. He still had time. He had his own group of contacts that could deal with any threat to him. He wouldn’t act in haste. There was too much at stake at the moment and too many things to do. Especially, his new little project. He had a network and he would use it to find out more. He needed some of the answers to his questions. He rolled himself a joint. He had to relax and think, and then he would move. He could not take the risk of staying, no matter how much he liked the place.

  *

  Andy was talking to the scientists that had looked at the mobiles retrieved from Frank Dobson. He had used them to connect to a gay contact website. There had been two communications through the site; neither of which were of much importance. It was obvious to Andy that Frank had somehow warned Lemmings. ‘Well it had been a long shot,’ thought Andy. It had not paid off, but all was not lost. He knew that they communicated and he could shut Frank off. He knew that Lemmings would be anxious and tense. He would make mistakes and he knew that he was active. Now if he could only make Lemmings break cover? Spook him somehow. What would make him take a risk? He pondered. The phone rang. Padwick wanted to see him.

  “How are your lines of enquiry?” Padwick said as he entered the room.

  “Giving Dobson a run with his mobile wasn’t a bright idea was it?” he added.

  Padwick had set the tone of the meeting. He wanted Andy on the back foot. He wanted to see what he was made of. Andy cleared his throat.

  “It’s gone much as I expected sir. The mobile was reported to the prison authorities. They removed it. However we did learn that he communicates over a website. He’s cell is turnover every day. He thinks there’s a contract on Lemmings. If nothing else happens it might have just spooked Lemmings.”

  He had bent the truth and left out the fact that Dobson had fooled him and had given him nothing.

  Padwick’s face turned sour. “Are you seriously suggesting that we want Lemmings to disappear? Go into hiding? Disappear completely? Listen carefully, Rawlings. I want Lemmings caught and I want him caught soon. If you can’t catch him then you’re no good to this force. Now what else have you done.”

  Padwick sat back in his chair. Andy Rawlings looked squarely into the face of Padwick.

  “Well for a start we have interviewed all the letting agencies. Gone round all the B & Bs and small hotels. Contacted the council and searched the tenancies. We have looked at all the CCTV footage for the last two months and given the operators his picture. We have checked vehicle sales and hiring. We have monitored the cars entering Leeds,” Andy said.

  “Well that’s only 95,000 in any given morning, Rawlings!” exclaimed Padwick.

  “The computer programme cut out the regulars. It left 15,000 that interested us,” said Andy.

  “Only 15,000?” Padwick said sarcastically. “Turned up anything?”

  “Nothing sir. I don’t think he’s in the city,” Andy replied.

  “Where is he then?” Padwick said.

  “Somewhere near. That’s my feeling, sir,” Andy said.

  “Have you widened the search?” asked Padwick.

  “Yes, by sixty miles. That would put him within easy driving distance of Leeds,” said Andy.

  Padwick sat thinking for a moment.

  “O.K., let’s put all those that can help him out of commission. We will get Dobson moved for a start to the top security prison on the Isle of Man. That should upset him. Next round up all the known sex offenders and question them. Shut the brothels. Pressure the sex shops. Just turn up the heat. I’ll know if their hurting by the number of complaints that start flooding in. Rawlings that will be the measure of your success. One other thing, I need results and soon. This inquiry is costing too much. Now go and get on with it.”

  “I’ll need your full backing, sir.” Andy said.

  “You’ve got it for now, but my patience is not infinite,” Padwick said.

  Another month went by with no further progress. All the usual suspects had been rounded up. Pressure had been applied, a few minor crimes had been solved, but of the elusive Lemmings, there was no sign or trace. Padwick, at a stroke, cut Andy’s investigation team by half.

  Chapter 12

  Jonny was cold. He wanted his mummy. He wanted the warmth of her body and the security of her embrace. Above all he wanted the pain in his bum to stop. He had never felt such pain. It had not stopped hurting for days and was very sore when he touched it. He wanted them to stop doing horrible things to him. Why were they being horrible to him? Why were they so nasty to him? He must have been a very bad boy. He must have done something terribly wrong, but he couldn’t think what it was. He wanted to feel safe and not frightened all the time. Above all he wanted the pain to stop and the nightmares to go away.

  He was curled up on the dirty wet mattress. He didn’t know where he was. He had no sense of time, but he missed school and he was worried what his teacher, Miss Shaw, would say, for he thought that he must be very late to school. Where were his friends? Where was his mummy? He wanted his mummy. He gave a small, choking sob. He curled up tighter on his wet mattress, with his tiny arms around his knees and he started to sob softly for his mummy again. The darkness enveloped him. It was always all around him. He didn’t like the dark, but at least it hid him from them. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Then the door opens. A glimmer of light enters the cellar and a form appears, silhouetted in the faint light. It approaches. His head is lifted from the mattress and a luke warm liquid is poured slowly down his throat. He can’t make his arms and legs do what he wants them to do. He loses consciousness again and returns to his dreaming and nightmares. He is dead by morning.

  *

  The mobile was ringing and it woke him. He looked at his watch as he picked it up through sleep-worn eyes.

  “Yes?” he said, in a rough voice with a dry throat, as he tried to make the time out on his watch. It showed 5.30 am.

  “Newton, sir,” came the reply.

  “Well?” he said in a voice full of sleep.

  “There’s been a crash on the M6. Lorry burst a rear tyre. Driver lost control and the lorry then swung across the motorway lane and hit an oncoming car. This caused the car to crash into the central barrier. It then bounced off the barrier and back onto the road. It careered across two lanes, hitting several cars and caused an enormous pile-up.”

  “And?” Andy said in a tired, disinterested voice.

  Newton paused before answering, savouring the moment.

  “Well?” Andy said with impatience and in an irritable voice.

  “There’s a child’s body in the boot of one of the cars involved in the pile-up.”

  Andy sat bolt
upright in the bed. Fully awake now. “Send a car for me. Get a message to the officer in charge. They are to close that stretch of road and touch nothing and wait for us to arrive.”

  “Already done it, sir, and a car will be with you in ten minutes,” Newton said with satisfaction in his voice.

  As the police car flew onto the sip road leading onto the M6; blue lights flashing and sirens blaring, Andy sat in the back seat. He could hardly hold back his excitement. Could this be the break that they had been waiting for, after all these months? Please, if there is a God, let it be so. The car moved through the light traffic at full speed and then they hit an eight-mile tailback as they neared the scene of the accident. The police driver moved onto the hard shoulder of the motorway, with sirens and lights full on. At 6.30 am, Andy was on the scene. The road had been cordoned off. The traffic diverted off the motorway. Only the emergency services and those involved in the accident were there. Several drivers and passengers were injured, none badly.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Andy said to the nearest traffic officer, as he got out of the car.

  “Inspector Grimms,” he replied.

  “Where is he?” said Andy.

  “He’s over by the white BMW. That’s seven cars in front of us.”

  The officer pointed in the directions of a row of cars, which were strewed all over the road.

  “Thanks,” said Andy.

  Andy walked rapidly in the direction that he had been given. As he approached, he could see a number of police officers and an ambulance. The boot of the car they were standing around was open. Andy quickly made out a tall police office with inspector’s applets.

  “Inspector Grimms?” Andy asked.

  “Yes. Who are you?” said Grimms.

  “DI Rawlings, Leeds Central Police Station. I’m on a multiple murder case and I think you may have another victim for me.”

  “Glad you’re here. The body is in this car.”

  “Anything been touched?” Andy said.

  “What do you take my men for?” said Grimms, with irritation in his voice. “The only people that have been around it have been the ambulance technicians. They had to determine that the boy was dead,” replied the inspector gruffly.