Neither Dexter, nor the twins, had accounts with any of the major social media players. They didn’t need the validation of others and they simply didn’t have time to keep up with the avalanche of information that those sites tended to seek to bury you under. They were useful as a tool though, and a hastily constructed profile of a fictitious former pupil of St. Saviour’s High in Macclesfield, was quickly populated by numerous real-life former pupils whose reminiscences and long-winded posts seemed to reflect that they had lives that had not quite lived up to expectations. The past was a safer place to be when your present disappointed you and your future seemed to offer little comfort.
Zoe and Sam Summers planned their work meticulously. They began with a scattergun approach to draw in as many potential candidates as possible, before honing this down as they began to develop a picture of Daniels’ place in his former pupils’ memories. Whilst this forum was building itself, they worked to track down the histories of those whose names they might be able to fit into a carefully crafted profile of abuse victims. They gleaned this from the latest in psychological thinking and from assorted other sources. The jury was out on the specifics but there remained a consensus that the abused might become abusers, might suffer challenges in later life, or might even have a higher propensity for suicide. None of these victims were the primary target for the twins. They simply weren’t reliable enough and prompting them to consider Daniels’ actions as a cause of their difficulties might well begin a vicious circle of blame. They would however provide support further in their project.
The ones that the twins wanted to get to know were the ones who had moved on from Daniels’ attentions but who nevertheless remembered how he had abused them. There were quite a few of these. They didn’t dive straight onto the forums with their tales of buggery and blowjobs. They joined simply to connect with their former friends. Many anecdotes were shared, reminiscences posted and expressions of joy and anguish scattered themselves across the pages as family pictures were shared and the dead were identified. To look at the numerous posts, you’d think that St. Saviour’s had somehow found the Holy Grail of teaching and had delivered a generation of well-balanced and successful people. Behind the scenes, brief private chats from the twins began to unravel this myth and, at the same time, offer some hints about Daniels’ behaviour.
It was the subtlety with which the twins tackled their subjects that opened up floodgates. They flattered those whose posts marked them as being their target subjects and they marvelled at what they’d done with their lives. Once confidence had been gained, they used humour to joke about the antics of the form-master and were surprised by how many instances of his hideous behaviour were revealed in equally humorous responses back. Then they’d gone in for the kill. They’d mentioned, in passing, those who had killed themselves and those who had gone on to a life of crime or depravity. With that seed sown, they’d nurtured the most malleable candidates until the slightest hints of public duty began to show through. Daniels was still working with young children. Were they culpable if he was still up to his old tricks? It worked. Half a dozen former pupils gave detailed accounts of his activities and those accounts were picked up by an ‘investigative journalist’ who just happened to be researching something else. His dossier was presented to the police. Wayne Collins, a respected headmaster himself, considered it his public duty to do as the twins had advised and talk to the police about Daniels. The rest was history.
When they’d called on Daniels and confiscated his computers and the stashes of photographs that they found in his garage, he refused to tell them anything. They interviewed him, cautioned him and advised him to return home and prepare for a very likely arrest. He chose the safer option and hanged himself. The twins reported this development to Dexter who accepted the information with indifference.
“Proof of guilt, I’d say.”, he told them, “Good work though. Don’t forget to wipe the accounts, just in case.”
“And those who raised the allegations?”, they asked.
“Let them down gently. Talk them through the evidence and make them understand that none of this is their fault. Focus on the extra evidence the police unearthed. I can’t see there being any problems but maybe keep in touch with them for a while. The two deaths we’ve seen so far are all fine and dandy. Daniels and Samson are out of the equation. What I can’t face though, is an innocent victim suffering for what we’re doing. This is a clean-up campaign, not a battle against abuse. And none of it has bought us any closer to Gregory.”
“Understood, Sir.”, Sam Summers replied, “But I presume you want us to continue with the rest of the names?”
“Certainly.”, he replied, “But let’s take our foot off the pedal a little. What we’ve seen so far, it’s all a little bit more than I expected. Make the enquiries but do it discretely. And yes, I’m still angling for a meeting with Dave to catch up on the last one. I should be back in the office within a couple of weeks.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Elliot Jones lived in Spain. A lifetime in accountancy had served him well and he now enjoyed a life of luxury and ease in a sun-drenched enclave of the country that was populated by as many fellow British nationals as it was locals. His role within The Circle had been an unusual one. He’d only been in his early teens when they’d killed Carrington’s daughter, having suffered several years of abuse before becoming an abuser himself. Details of his activities were sketchy. The consensus was that he had turned native and had used his youth to help draw youngsters into The Circle but other than that, few records existed. Most frustratingly of all was the absence of any reference to him in the documents that Dexter had received.
Dave, still reluctant to fully commit to the project, had made his usual comprehensive survey of their subject, but even he had drawn too many blanks for his investigation to be considered fruitful. Yes, it was true that Jones was pretty much living in exile in Spain, having upset Her Majesty’s Inspector of Taxes and not wanting to return their money to them just yet. The sum was substantial, but not substantial enough for HMRC to be actively pursuing his extradition. He’d left behind certain assets that they had been able to claim without his objecting and he would never draw a pension from the UK exchequer, so there were some savings to be had there. Other than this darker side to his life, he looked and behaved much as any of the ex-pats he shared that beachfront peninsula with.
Using the pretext of scouting for development opportunities in the area, Dexter travelled under his own name and was accompanied by a colleague whom he caught up with at the airport. He never questioned Dave’s ability to be whoever he wanted to be and was happy to present him to all and sundry as Richard Harrison. It was enough that Dave was prepared to help out in this. Dexter was happy to let him do things his own way.
“Not that I’m complaining about the opportunity for a break in the sun.”, Dexter said to Dave as they settled back in the luxury of the complimentary limousine provided by the resort that they had booked, enjoying catching up on the hour or so journey from the airport, “But what makes you think this is the right Elliott Jones? I mean, it’s not a common name but it’s also not that rare.”
“I’m confident enough.”, the private investigator answered, “Although, we can’t exclude the possibility that we’re heading on a wild goose chase. The age and timings are right. That is, if Samson was correct in his assertion that Jones was both pimp and pimped. Added to which, Jones’ history following the breakup of The Circle also seems to fit. He was sponsored through college and an unlikely candidate for the graduate programme that he was accepted onto. Friends in high places and all that.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“Just one additional factor,”, Dave leaned closer to Dexter even though the driver of vehicle was unlikely to be eavesdropping, “but one that is a little more tenuous. It appears that Jones has, or had, certain links with a pair called Hendricks and Powell. Shady characters who w
ere used by The Circle as enforcers.”
“What do you mean, had?”
“It’s simple. Hendricks and Powell disappeared about six months ago. No word of their whereabouts, no bodies turning up. All I can pick up is rumours, but nothing of any substance. Not unexpected really, given their line of work. Either way, I was able to confirm via a few contacts that they’d also worked for Jones. Not just worked for him either. It seems that they helped orchestrate his flight from England. Again, nobody will testify to it, but my sources are reliable.”
“So, if Hendricks and Powell are connected to The Circle,”, Dexter summarised, “and this Jones is connected to Hendricks and Powell, we’re pretty certain he’s our man?”
“That’s about it.”
“And our angle of attack?”
“Truth be told,”, Dave sighed, “I haven’t got one. Not yet anyway. There’s just nothing out there that I can get a hold on. Hence our sunny vacation. It could be worse, I suppose. Spain certainly beats a lot of other locations. And, I happen to have some good contacts here. Something will come up, I’m certain of it.”
They spent the rest of the journey in relative silence, resting from their respective flights in and enjoying the warmth of the scenery that was made all the more palatable by the air conditioning that kept them comfortable. There would be more periods like this, of that Dexter was certain. Times when they simply had to keep moving towards their targets and hope that the opportunity to take them down presented itself.
Dave was a professional in this line of work. Bob Dexter was a property developer. That he was so far down the rabbit hole already was bizarre enough. Where that hole led, even he couldn’t begin to imagine. If he’d known, maybe he’d have turned back. Nevertheless, onwards they continued, amateur and professional together. Each trying their best. They couldn’t expect miraculously clean solutions every time, although he did have to admit that he enjoyed the challenge.
At breakfast the following morning, they compared notes. An early night had allowed each of them to review the limited documentation that they had on Jones and to consider the best way forward. Dexter was conscious that he was exposed in his own personality. He would have to make enough right moves to convince anyone who was observing him that it was his business that had bought him to Spain. Dave could allow himself a little more leeway. He was the inhabitant of a temporary, false, but very safe identity, and his current physical appearance matched the image of the ageing professor on his passport.
Despite the danger and the threats inherent in his pursuit of justice, Dexter continued to be reassured about the righteousness of his crusade by the good fortune that is seemed to be bringing him. The properties that Samson has led him to had already increased substantially in value and several suitors were chasing him to sell. He’d let them continue to drive up the price before letting them go. In Spain, he found a property market still reeling from the financial crash of a decade ago and showing few signs of recovery as the pound continued to head towards parity with both the Dollar and the Euro. The gains he made in London more than offset the differential in exchange rates and that made him a cash buyer and a very popular person with those whom he made contact with.
Having arranged multiple viewings of such diverse properties as half-completed gated communities, abandoned holiday villages and luxury apartments that had remained empty for many years, Dexter called the twins and advised them that he would be out of the country for a little longer than expected. They were used to such calls and had no difficulty in taking up the reins of the UK business and rearranging Dexter’s schedule as necessary. It was something of a welcome break for them as well, given the intensity of the work they’d done to expose Daniels. Everyone relaxed a little as things settled down without any sign of retribution.
Whilst Dexter was being courted by desperate sellers, Dave, as Richard Harrison, was playing the part of the wealthy tourist in his own impeccable way. That identity came with all the necessary credentials to grant him access to the best facilities on offer and to the exclusive haunts that continued to prosper even as the rest of the country struggled. One such haunt was the El Dorado Golf Club. The name was its only concession to its locality. It was pretty much a British establishment, popular with both the ex-pat community and the passing travellers who chose to combine business with pleasure.
Dave could be whoever he wanted to be and, were his private investigation business to fold, would have no difficulty in securing acting work. He’d never done an eccentric professor before, always shying away from the thought that his knowledge of his supposed specialism might be tested. He chose to give it a go this time, as much to try it out as anything. That said, he was confident that he would pass muster as he chose the loose and diverse area of Sociology as his area of study and supported this with an eccentric forgetfulness that would dig him out of any hole. He was an immediate hit with the El Dorado members and spent most of the time that Dexter was out property hunting brushing up his putting and drinking in the rich variety of characters that populated the bar at the nineteenth.
Needless to say, Elliott Jones was a long-standing member of the golf club. He was one of those players who had once strived to develop a boastful handicap, but who was now content to enjoy the camaraderie of the game over the competition. Truth be told, he didn’t really enjoy the game that much. It was okay in Spain where the weather was favourable and knocking the ball about was little more than something to do in the sunshine, but even so, he made few forays onto the greens and spent most of his time there watching others from the comfort of a well-worn bamboo recliner on the club’s extensive balcony.
It was there that Dave first spoke to him. It was a casual chat, man to man, Englishman to Englishman. Anybody eavesdropping would have chosen to switch off after a very short time, such was the inanity of the chatter. It ranged through the predictable topics of the weather, the UK government, football and other sports, and touched at times on shared contacts that each might have. However innocent these talks looked, they were always something of a means to an end for the participants who matched the best anglers in fishing for new networking opportunities.
Dave was the passive participant in that first conversation. But not as passive as seemed at first sight. He let Jones lead the chatter, fed him the necessary flatteries and encouragements to open up a little more, and asked many, many more questions than he answered. All the time, he was establishing a baseline. It was routine stuff for him and second nature at this stage in his post-police career, the whole thing being done without anyone noticing what he was doing. He’d learnt to do this early on in a past life, prior to his going it alone, when he’d worked for one or other of the covert agencies that had employed him. He still believed that it was probably the best tool that he had been given. If you wanted to establish a rapport with someone, you had to lay a foundation first. That foundation was what he was establishing now as he probed gently into the mind and motivations of Elliott Jones.
“He’s a tough one to read.”, he told Dexter later that evening as they caught up with each other, “Which isn’t really surprising. I mean, if he is who we think he is, he’s not going to give too much away to a stranger. I just need to keep working on him.”
“You think you’ll get somewhere?”, Dexter asked.
“Almost certain of it. He gave enough away for me to recognise at least one thing about him. He’s lonely.”
“But I thought you said he was quite popular down at the club?”
“Oh, yeah, he’s popular alright.”, Dave laughed as replied, “But that’s more a function of his being a very creative accountant amongst very wealthy people than it is about friendship. In fact, that’s one of the things that leads me to my conclusion. He offers his services to a few too many. Like he needs to buy his popularity.”
“There’s a big difference between loneliness and being a loner.”, he continued having poured them e
ach another gin and tonic, “Same as the difference between friendship and acquaintanceship. True friends, real friends are hard to find and most people only ever have a couple at most. When you find one, you know they are true friends because you feel comfortable with them in any circumstance. A lonely person is never really comfortable, even when they’re in a crowd of admirers and part of the pack of that moment. Whereas a loner is happy both with and without company.”
“I’m still not sure I get it.”
“This is the exception.”, Dave explained as he waved the glass of gin and tonic at Dexter, “Generally, you’re a beer man, like me. But you wouldn’t go into a pub on your own. That’s fine. Not many can. Me, on the other hand, I only ever go to the pub on my own. I’m the person that you see sitting at a table on their own, maybe reading the paper or maybe just watching the world go by. I move between different pubs. I have to. I can’t be associated with any particular fixed location, but I can tell you, it’s the same pattern wherever I go. The crowds of regulars, bonded for a brief time by the camaraderie of very loose friendship, and the odd single person relaxing over a pint. Who’s lonely? Not the single person, I can tell you. Watch them next time you’re in one. They’re alone, certainly, but they’re not lonely. It’s all about being comfortable in your own company. A loner can join a crowd quite happily, for a while, but they’re never lonely because they always have themselves for company and are happy with that.”
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