Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller

by Sibel Hodge

  I had to sit on my hands in the end because I’d drawn blood on the skin around my fingers. After what seemed like an eternity, Alistair entered the room. He was short and nondescript but had an air of stature and solid strength about him.

  I stood up so quickly to introduce myself that I knocked my chair over, and it went clattering to the floor. My face flushed with embarrassment, stupidity, and probably the fact that my blood pressure was about to hit top figures.

  Mitchell picked up my chair as Alistair gave me what I thought was probably a well-practised politician’s smile, holding out a manicured hand for me to shake before turning his attention to Mitchell.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you both, Matt and Jane.’ He sat behind the desk and rested his forearms on it, leaning forward, his thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed and a grave expression on his face. ‘Simon Wheelan had some very disturbing news to tell me in relation to this meeting.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said and started at the beginning again, telling him everything I’d told Simon about what had happened. He interrupted me occasionally to clarify points, and although his face paled, he didn’t give any indication that he believed what I was saying.

  ‘My condolences to you. What a very tragic turn of events,’ Alistair said when I’d finished. He glanced at the desk for a few moments, appearing deep in thought. ‘Those are very serious allegations you’ve made.’

  ‘Which is why we came to you,’ Mitchell said. ‘You’re in a position to put pressure on the justice system to take this seriously. Obviously, because of the people involved, it’s likely that if we went to the police, any investigation would be shut down in a political cover-up.’

  He glanced between us. ‘I take it Matt and Jane aren’t your real names?’

  ‘Of course not. Our involvement has to remain secret,’ Mitchell said.

  ‘Whoever killed my boyfriend may come after me.’ I waved my forefinger between myself and Mitchell. ‘Or both of us, if they find out what we know.’ I sat back in the chair, feeling sick. I couldn’t deny I was scared. I could end up kicking and screaming at the end of that rope, begging for my life. Or killed in an anonymous hit-and-run accident. But my anger overrode the fear. I didn’t care much about my own life anymore. I just wanted those sadistic, evil people to pay. But what about Mitchell? I couldn’t be responsible for anything happening to him.

  Mitchell gave him a tight-lipped smile. ‘You don’t have to reveal where this came from. You can easily keep our involvement out of this because the evidence speaks for itself.’

  Alistair tilted his head. ‘Do you have the photographs and video evidence, along with the diary in question?’

  ‘Yes.’ I pulled out of my bag the brown envelope containing the originals we’d picked up from Simon on the way there. In Jamie’s diary, we’d changed any reference of him to ‘Ian’, just as Simon was going to do in his forthcoming news report. And we’d changed the names of all the other innocent boys to protect their identities. We didn’t tell him about the digital copies of everything Mitchell and I had made. They were safely hidden.

  Alistair held his hand out for them.

  I clutched the envelope in my hand tightly, unwilling to hand it over until we had assurances he was going to do something.

  ‘How do we know you’re going to take action about this?’ Mitchell asked suspiciously, wanting the same assurances as me.

  ‘I assume you know I was the only MP calling for an enquiry into the Litton Care Home child abuse scandal?’ He glanced between us, and we nodded. It was one of the things we’d researched on Alistair. ‘Some of the people involved were esteemed members of society. Priests, teachers, solicitors, and of course staff. Not quite as prominent and powerful as we’re talking about in this case, but nevertheless, we were dealing with some well-respected people. I spoke to a lot of the victims, who were damaged irreparably by the actions of these predators, and I don’t care whether the offender is a teacher or the Queen of England, I will not stand for the systematic abuse of children. The system failed them once, but I couldn’t let it fail them a second time. I’m a father myself, and I couldn’t sleep at night if I didn’t do my utmost to uphold the law of our country so we can protect the most vulnerable in our society. So we can learn from past mistakes and stop it happening again, as well as obtain justice for those people who’ve been wronged in the most abhorrent ways.

  ‘The children’s home care system of the past cultivated, protected, and defended sexual abusers and predators, and we have a duty to stand up and say enough is enough. It can’t be allowed to continue.’ He placed his hands flat on the desk. ‘Please believe me when I say that if what you’ve told me is correct, and I will need to review the evidence you’re going to give me, then I will stop at nothing to press for a police investigation to be made at the highest levels. And I will make sure that there is no cover-up. You have my absolute word on that.

  ‘I didn’t go into politics to protect the wrongdoings of the Establishment. I did it to serve the people of my constituency and the general public. And while I’m still an elected MP, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. Now, I understand the concerns for your safety, and you have my utmost assurance that your involvement will remain confidential.’

  I glanced at Mitchell, who looked at me with a clear message in his eyes. How can you believe the word of a politician? And yes, most of them told lies for a living, after all. But Alistair’s voice was sincere. His body language appeared sincere. He seemed genuinely shocked, upset, and disturbed by what we’d told him.

  And we had to trust someone with influence.

  I handed Alistair the envelope.

  ‘I’ll be in contact when I’ve gone through this in detail to discuss the next course of action.’ Alistair placed it on the desk in front of him and opened it. He pulled out the tape and the flash drive with Jamie’s diary on it. When he got to the photos, he flicked through them, his frown of deep concentration being replaced by one of pure disgust and horror. He shook his head slowly. ‘Well,’ he said, his voice choked with emotion. ‘I can guarantee this is all going to explode now.’

  Chapter 36

  It was a waiting game, the days and nights blending into each other as I waited for Alistair to tell us the police were going to do something. Waited for Simon’s story to progress as he contacted the people from Jamie’s list who were still alive, and tried to trace any other witnesses. And waited to get through each day without thinking of Jamie for every second of it.

  It had been four months now since Jamie had been murdered. That meant 120 days. Or 2,880 hours. Or 172,800 minutes away from him. The photo I kept of Jamie in my wallet was now dog-eared and cracked from me taking it out and kissing it all the time. I was worried I’d forget what he looked like eventually. That his face would vanish from my memory, just like the scent of him slowly disappearing from his clothes I wore around the house, and then there would be nothing left to remind me that he really had been here. I talked to him in my head all the time. Talked to him out loud when I was at home on my own. I no longer saw him in random men I passed in the street or spotted him from across the supermarket. I knew he was gone. I got that now. It still didn’t make things any easier, and I didn’t know whether it ever would. I was being dragged down into an overwhelming dark pit.

  The only thing keeping me from going insane with all the waiting was helping Mitchell catch the men he chatted with online. After what I knew now, I wanted these people exposed and convicted as much as Mitchell did. I would chat to these paedophiles, pretending I was an underage girl or boy, and I became good at talking like a teenager or pre-teen, learning all the texty-chat abbreviations. Mitchell had discussed paying me for helping him out, making it an actual job. In one of the rare moments where my sense of humour returned briefly, I wondered what job title I would put on my CV. Maya Morgan: Paedophile Hunter. But Jamie’s estate had been pretty straightforward, and I was living off the money he’d left me and my own savings. His house had no m
ortgage, so I was okay for a while. I couldn’t think about getting a real job while this was hanging over me, and I told Mitchell to keep his money. For the time being, it was what I had to do. It was almost cathartic, knowing I was helping in some way to stand up for the children who couldn’t speak out themselves, but who knew what would happen in the future? It was hard to think about next week, let alone next month or next year.

  I often visited Jamie’s grave, and as strange as it was, given what I’d found in the field by the river, I went there, too. It made me feel closer, more connected to him, knowing it was one of the last places he’d been before he was murdered. And it was a place Jamie had always loved. He was happy there. It meant something to him. We were happy there that day he took me for the picnic.

  The weather had been terrible all week. The sky a painting of charcoal and slate and navy blue. Rain lashing down in sheets, leaving thick, dirty puddles on the ground. Wind whipping through the trees. But on Thursday the weather broke. It was cool, but the sun was out, shining weakly in the spring sky.

  Today was the day.

  I stopped at the supermarket and bought the same things we’d had on so many of our picnics. French bread, Brie, tomatoes, olives, and pâté. Easy things I could eat with my fingers. Instead of champagne, I bought a bottle of Buck’s Fizz. After packing it all into Jamie’s wicker picnic hamper, I drove on towards Codicote.

  Again, the place was deserted, and my car was the only one in the gravel lay-by where I parked. I carried the hamper and picnic blanket up the hill, through the woods, and down the slope on the other side to the river. For once, I didn’t think about how Jamie’s life had been cruelly and mercilessly snatched away from me. Instead, with the birds and rabbits and squirrels as witnesses, I celebrated Jamie’s life and allowed myself to remember our time together. I sat beside the flowing river, toasting him with the Buck’s Fizz and eating slowly, savouring every mouthful, just as I’d done when I was with him, and feeling him close, so close he was like a blanket wrapping around me, holding me up.

  I stayed there for hours, whiling away the afternoon, lost in my memories of happy times, twisting the engagement ring on my finger. Taking Jamie in and breathing him out again. Trying to not let everything twisted and bad taint everything that had been good, for just a little while.

  And saying goodbye in a way I hadn’t been ready to at the funeral.

  Chapter 37

  I hardly slept, which was nothing new anymore. But this time it was because of an excited flutter beating inside me instead of the weight of loss and anxiety swallowing me. Simon had phoned the night before to tell us the story would be on Truth.com’s website at 7.00 a.m. the next morning. I phoned Mitchell, who invited me to his house to read it together. Simon had already emailed the proof version to Mitchell for us to read and give our approval prior to publication. Mitchell had some kind of software on his laptop that made him completely anonymous when using the Internet, courtesy of Lee, Jamie’s old mate in the Signals Regiment who had worked with Mitchell and was a communications expert who now owned a cyber-intelligence company.

  But it was going to be different seeing it in black and white, live on the screen. With the click of a button, it could be in millions of homes, worldwide. Even if the names of the offenders weren’t revealed, people would be talking, speculating. People would be shocked and outraged and furious. And along with Alistair’s involvement, that could only help drive a police investigation.

  I drove to Mitchell’s house impatiently in the pre-dawn darkness, speeding, huffing at red traffic lights, cursing people pulling out in front of me who I couldn’t overtake.

  ‘Have you looked at it yet?’ I breathlessly asked Mitchell as soon as he opened the door.

  ‘No. I said I’d wait, didn’t I? Come in. The laptop’s in the kitchen. Kettle’s on.’

  I stood in front of the laptop, looking at the home screen on Truth.com’s website as a slideshow of news stories appeared with their headlines.

  Why We’ll Never Win the War on Terror

  How to Bring Down a Global Economy

  Who Really Owns the Federal Reserve and the Bank of England?

  Cowspiracy and Racing Extinction: 2 Must-See Documentaries Showing the Environmental Catastrophe Governments Won’t Talk About

  And there it was…

  Rich and Powerful Held Child Sex Abuse Parties

  Truth.com has received explosive and shocking new information and evidence that highly respected members of society held child sex abuse parties at a London mansion.

  According to one witness we will call ‘Ian’, these abuse parties took place every weekend during the early – late ’80s. At the time, Ian was in the care of Crossfield, a London children’s home, where he suffered frequent physical and sexual abuse by staff that he believed was designed to groom him.

  Ian reports that he was a young boy when staff from Crossfield began to traffic him to a mansion he calls ‘the Big House’ for abuse parties. He describes how he was plied with alcohol and drugs and, along with other boys from the children’s home, was repeatedly raped, tortured, and beaten.

  In his disturbing account, Ian describes sadistic and sickening assaults by high-profile and powerful men, including two serving cabinet ministers, a high-ranking police officer and judge, an investment banker, a children’s home inspector, and an unknown man who always remained hooded and masked.

  Ian also describes the death of one child at ‘the Big House’ in front of himself and other witnesses, along with the connection of the VIPs to another child murder.

  Because the allegations are linked to the Establishment and Westminster, we understand that other witnesses to the abuse parties may not trust the police enough to investigate, however, Truth.com has received and authenticated irrefutable and shocking proof of Ian’s allegations of assault and murder.

  Truth.com is in liaison with one highly placed official who has previously campaigned vehemently against historical child abuse, and who is taking an active role in ensuring this evidence is passed to the police for a criminal investigation to proceed.

  If you have any information that might help our investigation, please contact us in the strictest confidence…

  My mouth lifted into an unfamiliar smile. I looked at Mitchell, whose face was lit up like mine. And at that moment, I was happy. I was proud of myself. I was strong. I was invincible.

  And they were going to pay.

  Chapter 38

  Mitchell had been right about the mainstream media. After Simon’s story broke, not a single newspaper or TV station picked up on it.

  Simon called one day to say that he’d spoken to some journalists, and there was a media blackout on the story. They’d been issued with Defence Advisory Notices by the government, warning them not to publish any intelligence that might damage national security. The Cabinet Office’s Media Monitoring Unit would not let anyone else touch it. Simon explained how difficult it was to get someone to report it when their salary depended on not reporting it. Someone had also tried to hack into Truth.com’s website and take it down, but they hadn’t succeeded.

  ‘There are rumbles that another “War on Terror” is imminent in the Middle East, and nothing buries an embarrassing and dangerous story more than directing the public’s attention away from it and onto something else.’ Simon blew out a frustrated breath as we sat in Truth.com’s conference room for an update. ‘But I thought you’d like to know a witness has contacted me about the story.’

  ‘That’s good. Who?’ I asked.

  ‘She was a care assistant at Crossfield. The same woman Jamie spoke about in his diary. She said she only worked there a short while. She became suspicious about the abuse that was going on and reported it.’

  ‘So there’s a record of it?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. The person she reported it to was Ted Byron.’

  An angry growl escaped from my throat. ‘The children’s home inspector? The one who was involved in it all?’
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  ‘Yes. She had some disturbing things to say. He became quite aggressive, telling her she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. And said that she was only a lowly assistant and didn’t understand the type of discipline needed to keep control of an unruly home full of adolescent boys. She told me he made veiled threats about her own children. Basically, the gist was that if she didn’t keep quiet about it all, she would find her own kids removed and taken into care themselves.’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘She was obviously very scared. She quit working there and never went back. She’s not willing to go on the record.’

  I didn’t blame her.

  ‘And someone else contacted us,’ Simon said. ‘He wanted to tell his story, but he’s too scared to go to the police or get involved.’

  I could understand him being scared. Fear of being discovered was something that followed my every move. But the fear of not being able to expose them was worse. Yes, fear was my constant companion these days, along with spiking-hot rage and black sadness.

  ‘When I spoke to him, he regaled a very similar version of events as Jamie did in his diary. The abuse at Crossfield. The parties at Crompton Place. He talked about how he’d left Crossfield at sixteen and tried to put his life together, but what happened had affected him so badly he’d turned to drugs to blot it all out. He’s been a heroin addict for years.’

  ‘Another life wasted and ruined.’ Mitchell’s nostrils flared as he spoke, his fists clenching and unclenching.

  ‘He also spoke of some other boys at the parties who didn’t seem to be from the children’s homes, and I’m wondering if Moses and the other boy who was killed were kidnapped to order because they had a certain look that members of The Friday Club preferred.’