Ronnie tapped out a reply on the keyboard. It took him a few moments—typing had never been one of his strong points—and he had to pause to think a couple of times to make sure he’d got the sentiment right.
Annette,
It’s not who I am that concerns you. I am just a man with needs, exactly like Philip was. Except my needs are financial, not sexual.
I have a comprehensive collection of photographs and videos featuring your husband in a variety of different compromising positions. In some cases, quite literally. But his penchant for younger partners is not something that’s very popular. He had been helping me with my finances with a modest monthly contribution to my meagre savings, but now that he’s dead, he’s no longer in a position to do that. So, I’m turning to you.
Imagine a scenario where his penchant was exposed. How would that affect you? Your job? Your standing in the community? You would, no doubt, find yourself a pariah.
But this can be avoided. I am prepared to negotiate an amount of money in exchange for the permanent destruction of your husband’s personal mementos. This will be a onetime payment, and then we can go our separate ways.
So, let’s negotiate.
Yours, R.
Ronnie sat back in the chair and re-read the e-mail. He didn’t want to come across too strong in the opening salvo. He could, if he wanted, utterly destroy the slut immediately. But if he did that, he would have nowhere to go in the future. There could be no further requests for assistance, no little top ups along the way. He didn’t want an ongoing relationship with her, but a big hit straight away. Time was not on Ronnie’s side. The further in the past Philip’s misdemeanours were, the less impact they would have. So, Ronnie had to go in hard and go in early.
He sent the e-mail and decided to stay in the Internet cafe for a while longer. Ronnie got to his feet and walked over to the bored man behind what passed for a reception desk. He gave him a handful of rupiahs for another hour and returned to his terminal to open up TOR.
The Onion Router, to give the dark web browser he was using its proper name, wasn’t like it used to be a few years ago. These days, the chances were that the people using it would be more likely to be law enforcement officers than fellow enthusiasts like him. He was pretty good at sounding them out, though, and far down within the dark web was a service known only to a select few. Like the nature of its host, it was concealed under layer after layer of security.
Ronnie navigated his way through these layers, providing answers to various security questions. They were designed so that even if they were looked at together, they would give no clue to the user’s identity, but at the same time, they ensured that the only people who reached the bulletin board he was visiting were genuine.
The bulletin board he was making his way toward was for a tiny group of individuals. It nestled among a variety of other boards in a part of the internet only inhabited by very nasty people. People like Ronnie.
This board was different to the others, though. It didn’t look to trade paedophilic images or videos, weapons, or drugs. It traded people, in a sense. Ronnie reached the board and looked through the recent postings. There weren’t that many new listings. Several in America who had already been bought by another board user, and a man in Chester in the United Kingdom who looked like a possibility for Ronnie. The only problem was if he wanted the man’s details, he would have to buy them. It was a Catch-22 situation—to purchase the details of a suitable target cost money which he wouldn’t have until one of his other targets paid up and, with Philip McGuire gone, that cash stream had dried up until his slut of a wife paid up. The seller was promising a full identity. Name, address, personal details, and photographs. Everything Ronnie would need to turn the screws on him so hard he would be screaming.
How much for the one in Chester?
30
Laura looked at herself in the mirror of her bathroom and groaned. She had a painful tight band running across the nape of her neck, just like she did when she’d had too much to drink the previous evening. Which she had. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and there were shadows underneath them. Why hadn’t she left when she was planning to? If she had, she wouldn’t be hungover or full of regret.
“It was only a kiss, for God’s sake,” Laura muttered at her reflection. “That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Laura reached into her bathroom cabinet for some paracetamol, washing them down with cold water straight from the tap, and thought about what had happened last night. She had been just about to leave for the evening and, as her phone was dead, had got the bar staff to call her a taxi. Then she’d bumped into someone who’d persuaded her to have one for the ditch, so she had asked the barman to cancel her cab. One had turned into two, and then one more after that. The next thing she knew, she was hiding in a dark corner of the club, being kissed. The next thing she knew after that, she was kissing back, enjoying the feel of a muscular body pressed against hers. The inevitable question had been whispered.
“Shall we go somewhere more private? See what happens?”
Laura had refused, stopping the hand that was being slid temptingly towards her breast. She had known the question would be coming at some point, and couldn’t deny the thought of sex was a very attractive idea. It had been far, far too long since she’d been intimate with someone. Then, out of nowhere, an image of Sam appeared in her head. Before the conversation with Gareth, she’d not thought about Sam for years, let alone see them in her mind’s eye. That’s what it would be like, Laura had thought. The way she had just been kissed was urgent. Almost insistent. Just like Sam used to kiss her all those years ago, and exactly how she had wanted Gareth to kiss her earlier that evening.
“No,” Laura had said. “Sorry, not tonight.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“Yes,” she had lied, flustered and tempted. Sorely tempted by the proposition. “I am.” Thoughts of Gareth swam through her mind. “Sorry, that shouldn’t have happened. Too much to drink.”
“It felt to me like you were enjoying it?” Laura realised she was being examined. “You look like you enjoyed it. Where’s the harm in a bit of fun?” It was definitely Sam all over again. Wanting pleasure, but giving little in return.
“I did,” Laura had replied, immediately regretting saying that. “I mean, yes. It was lovely, but I can’t.” Her hands trembling, she had reached for her handbag and fled the club, not looking back.
“It was only a kiss,” she muttered again as she squeezed some toothpaste onto her brush. Laura brushed her teeth so hard that when she spat into the sink, there was red in the froth from her bleeding gums.
Twenty minutes later, Laura was feeling almost normal. The paracetamol had kicked in, and the tight band around the back of her head had loosened. She made some toast, spreading Marmite liberally on the top of the wholemeal bread, and plugged her phone back in. When she’d got back to her flat in the small hours, she had just fallen into bed. A moment after she plugged it in, the phone buzzed back into life. Laura looked at the screen to see a couple of text messages and missed calls. All from Gareth. She prodded the screen to read the first message.
I am such a chicken, it read. Laura checked the time of the message, realising that it had been sent not long after Gareth had got out of the taxi. Her phone must have died before he sent it. I really wanted to invite you in, but I bottled it. There’s wine in the fridge. Can you get the cab to turn around?
Laura groaned and looked at the time of the missed call. It was twenty minutes after the first text, while she was queuing up outside the club to meet her friend. Then there was another missed call from Gareth, about twenty minutes after that. Even if her phone had been charged, she wouldn’t have heard it in the nightclub. The second text message was timed a couple of hours later, probably just before she’d done a runner from the club.
Maybe not, then. Talk to you soon.
Laura swore under her breath. She sipped her tea, wondering what the best thing
to do was. It was Saturday, and Norwich City were playing at Carrow Road later, so Gareth would be at the football that afternoon. After the football, he normally went out in the city with his friends for a boozy lads’ night out. Deciding to act, she picked up her phone and called him.
“Morning,” his gruff voice came down the line, and she wondered if she had woken him up. Laura glanced at the clock on her cooker. It was almost ten.
“Morning, Gareth,” she said. “Listen, I’m so sorry I missed your texts last night. My phone died.” There was a silence on the other end of the line. She waited for a few seconds before continuing. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I am. You didn’t plug it in?”
“No, I forgot and just went straight to bed when I got in.” It wasn’t a lie, technically. That is exactly what had happened. It was just there was a bit in between that she wasn’t telling Gareth about. “Listen, what are you doing tonight?”
“City are at home, so I’ll be out with the boys. Why?”
“I was thinking I could cook dinner for you, if you wanted?” Another silence. “Have you still got that bottle of wine?”
“Nope, I drank it.”
“All of it?”
“Yep,” Gareth replied.
“Ouch.”
“I sat in my underwear on the sofa and drank it straight from the bottle.” Laura suppressed a grin at the thought.
“Oh. You’ll have to get another bottle, then. What do you want me to cook for you?”
“I’ve not said I’m coming round yet. Like I said, I’m out with the boys.” She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was smiling.
“Do you like roast pork?”
“I’d prefer it to seafood.” He was definitely smiling now. “How about eight o’clock?”
“Perfect. Don’t drink too much at the football, but grab a couple of bottles on the way over. Let’s just get smashed.” And you won’t be able to drive home.
“Okay, see you then.”
Laura put down the phone, a broad smile spreading across her face. She looked around her flat, realising that she was going to have to tidy it up a fair bit if Gareth was coming over. She walked into the bedroom and pulled the duvet from her bed, stripping the sheets and pillowcases. In the corner of the room was the lingerie she’d been wearing the night before. She scooped the lacy garments up and rolled them into one of the pillowcases before returning to the kitchen and shoving the whole lot into the washing machine.
Just in case.
31
“Morning, Kate,” Malcolm said, glancing at his watch. “Just.” He was sitting in the main office of the police station while he waited for his computer to update itself, something which it did with depressing regularity and never quickly.
“Morning, sir,” she replied with a grin. “I am in fact early. My shift doesn’t start until two. I just came in to go over some notes from an interview I did last Thursday.”
“That was two days ago,” Malcolm replied. “Isn’t it a bit late to be writing them now?”
“I’m not writing them,” she said, crossing to sit behind an empty desk. “I’m double checking them. CPS are pressing charges, so I’m double checking to make sure there’re no glaring typos.”
“Which case?”
“The alleged burglary in Costessey.” He looked at her closely and could see that she was pleased with herself. “It was the householder trying to pull the wool over the insurance company. So the CPS are doing him for wasting police time.”
“Nice,” Malcolm replied. In some ways, catching people who treated the police like they were stupid was more satisfying than catching people who were just plain stupid themselves. “Did you get Gareth Dawson in?”
“I did,” Kate said. “He’s quite sharp, isn’t he?”
“He’s no fool,” Malcolm replied. “What did he spot that you didn’t?” Her smile faltered a touch, and Malcolm felt bad. “I mean, what did he confirm for you?”
“Well, I knew something was off with the scene, but I wasn’t sure what. The vic was just a bit too eager, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Kate. It’s called having a copper’s nose.”
“If you say so, sir,” Kate replied, her smile returning. “It was the bloody lock on the back door. Gareth just looked at it and said, ‘I wouldn’t break the window, I’d just go in there’. That, and the glass all over the counter top on the inside.”
“That’s where Gareth’s so useful. He looks at things differently.”
“Anyway, the home owner soon rolled when I got him in.”
“I’m sure he did, Kate,” Malcolm replied. “Now, talking of Gareth, I wanted to chat to you about his sister.”
“Annette McGuire.”
“Yes. I had another chat with my mate Jon Brandon down in London. The NCA aren’t interested in Philip anymore on account of the fact that he’s dead. When we were driving to the hospital, you said something about her not being quite right. Have you had any more thoughts about that?”
“Not really, sir,” Kate said. “Just a gut feeling, that was all. Why are you asking?”
“I’m getting one myself. Do you remember that paedophile ring in Norwich a few years back?”
“No, but I’ve read about it. Are you thinking something similar might be going on?”
“It’s a possibility. There’re two scenarios I’m curious about.” He tried to wheel himself closer to her on his office chair, but the castors got jammed in the carpet so he had to pick it up instead. “First is that she was involved in procuring his victims for him. She works in children’s services, so would have access to vulnerable children’s details.” Malcolm watched as Kate frowned, considering the possibility.
“Okay,” she replied a few seconds later. “What’s the other one?”
“That she somehow got rid of him.”
“Because he was being blackmailed?”
“Yes.”
“I’d say that one’s more likely. How would it work, though?”
“Carbon monoxide in the scuba tanks would be how I would do it, but there would be a number of ways, I would imagine.”
“I don’t see it, boss,” Kate replied, pressing her lips together. “She’s not a diver, so how would she put all that together? Plus, it would be dependent on us not finding him.”
“But she was married to a diver,” Malcolm said, determined to think it through. “So she would have picked up quite a bit of knowledge over the years.” He tapped his pen on the desk. “And the fact we found any of him is luck on our part. Generally, floaters on the North Norfolk coast don’t come back.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I think maybe we should have another chat with her. We’ve got evidence of blackmail, so we could use that angle.”
“It’s not really evidence,” Kate replied. “All it is is payments to a bank in Indonesia, and that could be for anything.”
“Such as what?” Malcolm asked. He knew that Kate was making more sense than he was, but at the same time, he wanted to sound someone else out about his thoughts.
“Services rendered? Pictures or videos of his little hobby which, by the way, Mrs McGuire doesn’t know anything about.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Malcolm said, “and if my first scenario has any truth to it, then she’s complicit.”
“Maybe it’s both?”
“Both scenarios?”
“Yeah,” Kate replied. Malcolm watched as she paused for a moment, thinking. “How about she’s procuring children for him and someone’s found out? Maybe he’s got customers? One of them starts blackmailing him, and to make the problem go away she feeds Philip to the fishes. That would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
Malcolm got to his feet, a smile spreading across his face.
“Very good, DC Hunter,” he said. “So, how do you want to proceed?”
“How do I want to proceed?” Kate replied with an exaggerated frown. �
�This was your idea, boss.”
“Okay, let’s play ‘rank, paper, scissors’,” Malcolm said, smirking. “Oh, I appear to have won. I’d like you to pop back round to have another chat with Mrs McGuire, see what you can find out.”
“On what pretext?”
“Seriously?”
“I can’t exactly go round and tell her that we think her husband was a kiddie fiddler and, by the way, did she murder him?”
Malcolm made sure that he kept a smile on his face as he replied.
“Some bosses might take that the wrong way, DC Hunter,” Malcolm said, “and please don’t use the term kiddie fiddler.” He hardened his eyes, keeping the smile on his face. “Now get yourself round there under the pretext of investigating her husband’s death. See what you can get, but tread lightly until it’s time not to tread lightly.”
Malcolm stood, returning his chair to its original position. He looked at Kate with his eyebrows raised.
“Yes, sir,” she said, looking down at her lap. “Understood.”
32
Gareth sat back in his chair and rubbed an appreciative hand across his stomach.
“Annette,” he said, looking at the empty plate in front of him, “that was fantastic. Thank you so much.”
“I thought you’d want a bit of soakage for the football,” she replied. He smiled at her, relieved that at least today she seemed to be getting back to normal.
“I can’t have too much to drink. Laura’s cooking for me later this evening.”
“Gareth Dawson,” Annette said, laughing. “You cheeky bastard. You’re just going round people’s houses and letting them cook for you?”
“You offered, sis,” Gareth replied, grinning at her, “as did Laura.”
“Well, you can do the washing up, then. You know where the sink is.”
Gareth got to his feet, picking up his plate and Annette’s. He walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. In his pocket, his phone started ringing. The ring tone was set to a loud shrill, and he put the plates down to get it out of his pocket. When he glanced at the screen, he could see it was Dave, so he rejected the call and put his phone on silent. Whatever Dave wanted could wait. He could give him a bell on the way down to Carrow Road.
Gareth Dawson Series Box Set Page 74