Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller

by Sibel Hodge

  I cupped my hands tight around my coffee, confused, not knowing what to say.

  ‘So, if people don’t want a war—are totally opposed to a war—how do you get away with it? You change public opinion and manufacture consent, that’s how. You construct a carefully organised deception. A well-crafted and perfectly executed lie. Stage false flag attacks, created by our own security services, blame it on terrorists, blow up British or US soldiers, bomb our buildings, fly planes into them, lie about weapons of mass destruction that can annihilate us in forty-five minutes flat. And bombard people with it in the media. Terrorists! Terrorism! Cells! Al-Qaeda! Isis! So every single time you turn on the news or read a paper, it’s there. Despite the fact that statistically, you’re more likely to be killed in a car accident or by your own bathtub than killed by a terrorist! And all the while, they’re hiding the real reasons. Oil and gas. Gold. Regime change. Land. Power. Money. So they carry on until the public gets scared and angry, and yes, let’s bomb those bastards! And how dare these people threaten and attack us! Then they want the war. The public are practically begging for it by then! Like George Orwell said, “The people believe what the media tells them”. And if you control the media, the money, the politics, and the military, you control the whole system.’

  He flexed his jaw, a muscle twitching under the surface. ‘That’s how you sell the lie.’ He slapped an open palm on the table, making me flinch. ‘That’s how you manipulate the people.’ Another loud slap. ‘And that’s why the mainstream media will not touch this.’ A final slap. ‘Because the people you’re dealing with are the Big Boys. And they’re going to protect each other at all costs and fake a truth that doesn’t exist!’ He jerked to his feet, yanked open the sliding patio door into the garden, and walked to the end of it. He paced up and down barefoot on the frosty flagstones, muttering words I couldn’t hear, his hands on his head, leaving me staring in shock at his sudden outburst.

  I’d never seen this side of Mitchell. But then what did I really know about him? Nothing.

  Strangely, though, I wasn’t scared of him. I’d rather take my chances with Mitchell than anyone else right now. And after what I’d discovered about the Establishment, the so-called peers of our society, there was a profound truth to what he was saying. I’d been living in a naïve bubble my entire life, where everything I thought I knew about how the world worked was just one big lie. Seeing what I wanted to see. Closing my eyes. But there was a hidden world out there, where people were participating in extreme brutality—abhorrent, bloodcurdling things. Keeping secrets which determined who lived and who died. And nothing would ever be the same again. It couldn’t be after what I’d discovered.

  But it wasn’t fair of me to drag Mitchell into my problems. It was obviously sparking horrific heartbreak about Alex all over again and possibly bringing some kind of stress from combat to the surface.

  I grabbed hold of my bag and then shovelled my phones and the metal box containing the video and photos inside it. I pulled my coat from the back of the chair and felt his hand squeezing my wrist, his fingers digging into my flesh.

  I froze. Gasped.

  He let go. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  I turned around.

  He ran his hands over his bristly head and left them there, his elbows sticking out to the side. He stared at me, his eyes shining. ‘The world we’re living in makes me so insane with anger.’

  ‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you for help. I…you’ve been through so much, too. With your job and Alex. Things I can’t even imagine. And I…’ I glanced towards the kitchen doorway. ‘I should go. This isn’t your problem. It’s not your fight.’

  ‘No!’ His voice was loud but gentle now. ‘Don’t go. This is definitely my kind of fight. I want to get them off the streets as much as you.’ He pointed at the chair I’d previously been sitting in. ‘Please. Sit. I’ve had an idea.’

  I swallowed and sat down, wondering if I should leave anyway. I was still thinking about it when he spoke.

  ‘I follow an alternative, investigative news website called Truth.com. The guy who owns it writes most of the articles. He’s very thorough, very professional. His name’s Simon Wheelan, and the website covers things the mainstream media won’t publish. They have a particular interest in uncovering the truth that goes on in the political arena.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I think they would be very interested in publishing Jamie’s story.’

  ‘But then it would come out who Jamie is. Who I am.’

  ‘They could do it without revealing his identity or yours. They vigorously protect their sources and whistle-blowers. But they can easily cover what happened at Crossfield and Crompton Place in a way that doesn’t come back to you. There must’ve been hundreds, maybe thousands of kids through there over the years before it closed down.’

  ‘Would they publish the names of the people who did this to the children?’

  ‘No. For legal reasons.’

  ‘But that’s what we need to do, isn’t it? Show these photos and video to the world? That’s why I suggested the media. If they’re published, then the police will have to take action against them. They won’t be able to cover it up. There would be too much pressure from the public.’

  Mitchell slumped in his chair. ‘I don’t think anyone would dare to publish the tape or photos. Apart from the fact they’d be sued and probably have injunctions and gagging orders slapped on them left, right, and centre, they wouldn’t be able to because it would compromise any criminal investigation.’ I opened my mouth to say how outrageous and offensive that was to me, but he carried on. ‘But I think Simon will print the story with allegations, maybe name their professions. And I also think we need to show this evidence to someone else. The more people who see it, the more insurance we have.’

  ‘Not if they can’t tell anyone what’s actually in it or show anyone.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Mitchell shrugged. ‘But I still think it’s in our best interests for someone else to see this. It’s an offence for us just to have something like this in our possession.’

  ‘So, what are you suggesting? That we just hand the tape and photos over to a journalist?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No way! Like you said, this is our only insurance. And anyway, what good is an article that doesn’t name them or expose what they’ve done? These people are sadistic murderers!’

  ‘This isn’t my area of expertise, obviously, but I think this is the first step in exposing them, because we don’t know who else we can trust with this. Maybe other boys will come forward. Other witnesses. They can’t go round killing everyone.’

  ‘What if the evidence gets lost? Or stolen?’

  ‘We make a copy of everything first and secure it somewhere safe.’

  I thought about that as I swallowed the bittersweet dregs of coffee at the bottom of my mug. Thought about the powerful people involved. We couldn’t go to the police on our own. It would go nowhere, and Mitchell and I would be exposed straight away. Exposed and probably killed, like Jamie and Dave. My head throbbed, and my jaw ached. ‘I suppose it’s the only thing we can do.’

  He stood up decisively. ‘I’m going to cook us breakfast, then we can make digital copies of everything and contact Simon. But we’re going to use an alias for ourselves. Simon would probably do that anyway, for any story, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

  My stomach churned at the thought of food. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘I’m not taking no for an answer. You need to eat something after what you polished off last night. You don’t want to be flaking out in Simon’s office, do you?’

  I didn’t say I agreed, but I let him take charge as he sliced paninis, filled them with cheese and tomato and fresh basil leaves from his fridge, then squashed them beneath a panini grill. He made me more coffee from the machine, and it tasted a million times better than instant.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said a
s I tucked in, not realizing until then how starving I was. Mitchell was right that I needed to eat. I was no good to Jamie if I didn’t look after myself. No good to the others who could no longer speak for themselves. I’d never get justice then.

  I just hoped he was right about everything else.

  Chapter 33

  While I scanned all the photos via Mitchell’s laptop onto a flash drive, Mitchell converted and copied The Friday Club tape with his media equipment before adding that to the drive. Then Mitchell affixed false number plates to his pickup, and we drove into central London via a random route, Mitchell regularly doubling back and keeping a constant eye on his rear-view mirror for anyone tailing us. Eventually, we parked in an underground car park and walked another random route to the offices of Truth.com. Mitchell wore a baseball cap, the peak pulled down low, and sunglasses to obscure his face. He had the evidence secured inside his zipped-up bomber jacket. I also wore sunglasses and a hoodie that covered my head.

  After we took a seat for a few minutes in reception, a guy who looked in his early forties appeared from the lift to our left and strode towards us. He was tall and thin, with a protruding Adam’s apple. He had blond hair and grey eyes behind square, frameless glasses. He wore a smart, casual white-checked shirt with navy trousers.

  He smiled at Mitchell and held a hand out to him before turning to me. ‘Nice to meet you both. Let’s go up to the conference room.’

  We followed him into the lift and rode it to the fifth floor, then we stepped out into an open-plan space with cubicles containing desks, cabinets, and computers. The noise of keyboards and people talking and phones ringing brought me back to being at work in the call centre. It seemed like another lifetime away now. A past that belonged to someone else.

  Glass-fronted offices were around the edge of the room, and we walked to one right at the end that overlooked the busy London street below. The Venetian blinds were tilted slightly, making the room private from any prying eyes in the office windows on the opposite side of the street.

  ‘Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?’ Simon gestured at the large oval conference table in the centre of the room. Various TV screens on the wall were set to different news channels, the volume muted. A projector screen was set up on the opposite wall. State-of-the-art equipment was hooked up to another TV.

  I shook my head. I’d had enough coffee by then to keep me wired for days. ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘None for me, either.’ Mitchell removed his sunglasses, and I did the same.

  Simon sat at the head of one end of the oval. The padded chair made a poofing sound as he sat down. Mitchell sat next to him. I sat next to Mitchell, wringing my hands in my lap, trying to get my erratic heart rate back to normal.

  Simon leant forward, his elbows on the table, his fingers locked together in front of him. ‘So, you didn’t go into too much detail on the phone, but you think you have an explosive story we might be interested in?’

  ‘You never know who’s listening,’ Mitchell said.

  Simon gave an acknowledging smile. ‘I take it that Matt and Jane aren’t your real names, then?’

  Mitchell just gave him a wry smile in return and twisted in his chair to me. ‘Do you want to tell him why we’re here?’

  I swallowed hard and sucked in some air, hesitating, gnawing on my lower lip.

  Simon smiled again. It was warm and confident. ‘Obviously you’re using aliases, but I’d also like to assure you that we always vigorously protect our sources and whistle-blowers. If you’ve followed our website, then you’ll know we have the utmost integrity in that area. You have my guarantee that anything you tell me will be confidential unless you specifically agree to it being published. And even then, we also give aliases to sources. If we do video interviews, the sources’ faces are never revealed, and their voices are distorted.’

  I glanced at Mitchell. He nodded his approval slowly.

  ‘Okay, recently my boyfriend died.’ Those words still felt wrong on my tongue, even though I couldn’t deny them anymore. ‘It was made to look like a suicide—a hanging—but I started to question it.’ Once I began speaking, everything just poured out of me in a nervous vomit of words.

  Simon angled his chair to face me, sat back, and listened carefully, occasionally nodding, occasionally shaking his head.

  ‘The care system was rife with this kind of thing back then,’ Simon said. ‘It was a magnet for paedophiles and child abusers. The people in charge of the homes who had those predilections employed like-minded people, of course. It kept their circle close and avoided detection. It also isolated the kids because they had no one to talk to who wasn’t involved. There were also a lot of staff who weren’t trained or qualified, or were on minimum wage, which led to further abuse and neglect because employees didn’t care about the kids—the same as instances of animal abuse in slaughterhouses and farms.’

  Mitchell’s jaw clenched.

  I carried on with the story, finally getting to the part about finding the tape and photos Jamie had hidden.

  Simon’s eyes widened with horror. ‘You have actual video evidence of Moses’s murder?’

  I blinked slowly, trying to erase the vision behind my eyes. ‘Yes. And photos of the other unknown boy being murdered. Along with other photos that detail the vile abuse of more boys by these people.’

  Simon swivelled in his chair, blowing out a deep breath. ‘Whoa.’ He steepled his fingers together, apparently thinking.

  ‘There’s also a diary that Jamie wrote before he died, detailing most of the events that happened. The things I’ve already told you.’

  ‘If what you say is true, this is definitely going to be explosive.’ Simon tapped the table, his lips pursed.

  ‘I want this exposed, but if they find out I know about all this, they…’ I trailed off.

  ‘I can completely understand that, given the nature of the people you say are involved in this, and I reiterate that I always protect my sources. If you want me to publish this, then I’ll give your boyfriend an alias. Now, obviously I need to verify what’s in the evidence you have and try to make my own enquiries. Are you happy to leave it all with me temporarily, and I’ll contact you when I’ve reviewed it?’

  ‘I’ve brought the original photos and video, along with Jamie’s diary, on a flash drive, but how do I know someone else won’t be able to get hold of it all? Like I said, if anyone else reads this diary, it will lead them to me.’

  ‘Everything will be seen by me only, and they’ll be kept somewhere safe and secure until I return them back to you. We have the utmost security on our website, but all of the digital evidence you loan to me will be viewed on a system that’s not linked to our servers, so there’s no chance of someone hacking into it.’

  I glanced at Mitchell. Mitchell glanced at me. I had to trust someone, and if Mitchell thought this guy could help us, then I had to go along with that.

  ‘Okay.’ I took a brown envelope containing everything out of my bag and slid it towards him.

  ‘I’m not going to publish anything without contacting you first, you have my word on that. Your safety is obviously a huge priority here. Can you leave me a phone number?’

  Mitchell wrote down a mobile phone number and handed it to Simon.

  Simon pressed his hands on the table and pushed himself to a standing position. ‘Thank you for taking the time to see me. I’ll get onto this straight away so, hopefully, I can get in touch by the end of the day and return this all to you.’ He held out his hand for us to shake again.

  During the lift ride down Mitchell replaced his sunglasses and motioned for me to do the same. Back out on the street, he handed me another cheap mobile phone. This one was a Samsung.

  ‘What’s this for?’ I asked.

  ‘This is the pay-as-you-go number I gave Simon. Use it only for him. The other Nokia I gave you is for us to contact each other only. That way, if anyone hacks into Simon’s phone records, they can’t connect us to
each other, and they won’t know who you are.’

  ‘Right.’ So now I had three mobile phones, including my own. I just hoped I didn’t mix them up inadvertently.

  As if to remind me which phone was actually my personal one, my iPhone rang in my bag.

  ‘Hiya, Maya!’ Ava’s cheery voice sang out. ‘How are you? Do you want to go out for lunch? My treat?’

  ‘Um…thanks, sis, but I’m kind of tied up at the moment.’

  ‘Oh? What are you up to? I haven’t seen you for ages. You must be really lonely rattling around at home all alone. You haven’t even called me lately, and I just get your voicemail all the time.’

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s just…’ Just what? That I felt contaminated by murder and perverts and filth and evil, and I didn’t want my family immersed in that darkness? That was hardly something I could tell Ava. ‘Um…’

  ‘Where are you? I can hear traffic. Are you in town? Shall I bring Jackson up and we can meet for something to eat?’ I heard the worry in her voice again.

  ‘No, it’s okay. I’m not in town, anyway.’

  ‘Well, where are you then? Why are you being so secretive all the time? I want to help you, but you never talk to me anymore, and I don’t know what’s going on with you since—’ Ava broke off abruptly, not wanting to bring up Jamie’s death.

  I exhaled a huge breath. ‘Look, I’m sorry, sis. I’ve got to go. Give Jackson a kiss from me. I’ll see you soon, okay?’ I hung up before she could ask anything else and the conversation became too awkward. As I put my phone back in my bag, I heard a loud bang, like an exhaust backfiring. I glanced around sharply, but it was just an old car heading down the road. When I looked at Mitchell, who’d walked a short distance away to give me privacy during the call, he was leaning against the wall of the next building, breathing hard, blinking rapidly, his shoulders stiff.