A Thousand Cuts

by A N Drew

  Our breath hung in the air in front of us, in plumes of mist.

  "Okay, I'll go in through the front entrance. Rae and James, you take the rear. We don't anticipate any problems. The resident has been arrested for stalking, and he’s in lockup. Hopefully, it'll be A to B. Let's make it quick and effective.'

  "So, we're looking for anything that ties the resident to child murders?"

  "Yeah, we're looking for laptops, computers, photos, weapons, evidence of children at the property, anything like that.” I turned and nodded to Collen. "Let's go and get this over with; the sooner we get started, the sooner we can get out of here."

  We moved and began walking towards the property. I hadn't taken my hands out of my pockets, telling myself this was nothing more than the next step in the process.

  Somehow, I still hadn't fully convinced myself.

  Garrett took one of the vehicles and drove it a short way, parking it just outside the place. It wasn't like anyone other than the neighbours had seen us arrive.

  Marlin Jones's home was the same shithole as last time. Rae Swanson and James Wells headed down the driveway to position themselves at the rear and find a back entrance.

  I paused at the front door with Collen, and Weston and Garrett on either side with weapons out. Although none of us voiced it, there could still be someone in there, no matter how remote the possibility. I shared a look with Garrett. The screen door appeared to have been kicked open.

  We counted down, looking one to the other. Although Jones wasn't home, he hadn't exactly given us a key, so Garrett stood a few steps back from the door, with a battering ram we fondly and informally referred to as the key to the city. The air was thick and still, not a trace of wind.

  Strangely, at that moment I didn't hear a sound, no car doors slamming from neighbours, no birds, not a soul-stirring.

  "Okay,” said Garrett. "On four, I'm ramming." We moved back away from the door.

  He charged at the door; with an almighty bang, the wooden door splintered, and the frame snapped, followed by the door itself.

  I kicked the last pieces of the door away and crossed the threshold. We were in.

  One by one, we drew our weapons and cleared each room, just in case. Marlin may have rigged the house, and set it up to surprise us, but after a minute or two we all converged back in the hallway area.

  "All clear,” said Collen, brushing hair out of his eyes.

  "Right, let's get moving. We're looking for photographs, weapons, fibres, anything that can tie this guy to the crime scene. Let's split up and take it room by room."

  The first thing that greeted me was the stale, rotten smell. Obviously, housework was not high on Marlin's priority list. I moved rapidly through the rooms, scanning for anything that would help me press further charges against him.

  Within minutes, Rae and James met up with me in the kitchen.

  "Nothing," said Rae, hands on hips. "But maybe we're thinking like police officers, rather than criminals with something to hide. If I wanted to hide something, where would I stash it?"

  I stormed back out towards the hallway, casting my gaze upwards. Towards the rear of the hall, a square hole appeared in the ceiling. It looked cleanish, a sign it may have been used recently—there was no dust on the hatch from what I could see. It was a possible entrance to an attic.

  "Wells, Swanson—over here,” I called out. "See if you can find a ladder, can you? If I was Jones, I'd use this as a hiding spot.” I pointed up to the small square hole. Within minutes, a uniformed officer arrived with a ladder, and he set it up in the hallway.

  "Want me to climb up, Sir?” he said.

  "No thanks, want to check it myself.” I checked the ladder was sturdy by placing both hands on either side of the frame and began the slow tentative climb upwards. The uniformed officer held the ladder in place at the base.

  As I reached the hatch, I pushed it upwards, and it gave way fairly easily. I looked just inside and noticed a small light switch. I flicked it and looking up, a bare lightbulb lit up. I pushed away from the entrance; towards the back of the attic, I thought I saw a small cardboard box hidden in a dark corner.

  Shit.

  I'd have to climb across the timber frames, avoiding the open, insulated sections so I didn't fall through the ceiling. I hunched over almost double in the cramped space and inched my way to the dark corner. I squatted carefully on the piece of timber, maybe 15 centimetres wide, and reached forward, feeling for the box. Breathing heavily in the stuffy space, my fingers found purchase and I pulled the box towards me. I lifted the lid. In the dim light, I saw what looked like three USB flash drives.

  Bingo.

  I squinted in the dark and looked around for a laptop or similar device.

  I saw what looked to be an old rag, about two feet away. Holding onto a beam behind me, I tested my weight and stretched out as far as I could with my left hand. I pulled at the rag. I extended a hand and pulled at it to open up the rag.

  Inside was a grey laptop. This had to be it. I dusted it off and grabbed hold of both the cardboard box and the laptop.

  Scanning the area again, I verified there was nothing else hidden in the attic.

  "Okay, I'm done up here. Found a couple of things. I'll pass them down. Easy does it.” I passed the laptop and the flash drives to Collen, next to Swanson and Wells who stood at the bottom of the ladder looking up.

  "I'm heading down."

  "Okay, Jack,”

  I handed over the items and turned the light off in the attic. I slowly backed down the ladder, eventually reaching solid ground, where I dusted myself off.

  Rae Swanson appeared. "You found something?"

  "Yeah laptop and a couple of USB sticks. I'm going to have a look at them now while we're here. If he hid it in the attic, I doubt it was something he wanted us to see."

  I turned to Collen, who held the items out to me, and I grabbed them and clomped down the stairs towards the front porch, finding a couple of old chairs there. I sunk down into one of them and opened up the laptop. Rae sat down in the chair beside me and leaned over for a closer look.

  Surprisingly, there was no password. Opening it up, I went first to Explorer to search for images. Initially, there were what looked to be regular documents. As I clicked further, however, I saw a whole host of images. I clicked on the first and it appeared in a large view on the screen.

  Prickles raced up my spine, and my stomach turned. These were no ordinary images.

  Image after image contained children in various obscene poses, tied up, restrained, and in some cases dressed in various poses for the delight of the watcher.

  I closed my eyes and paused for a moment before continuing.

  "My God, this is it,” whispered Rae.

  This would certainly keep Marlin Jones behind bars for longer than anticipated. I'd need to take it back to the office and go through the entire laptop in greater detail for as long as I could stomach before handing it over to the e-crimes unit.

  I closed the lid and sighed heavily.

  "Are you taking this back to the office then?" said Rae.

  "Yeah, I'll need to let the team know."

  "I think I'll come with you. There's probably pictures of Louisa on there somewhere."

  "I'm hoping this leads us to who's behind this. It's him I'm after."

  Rae didn't reply. She stood up and went back inside to speak to the rest of the team. I paused for a moment, with the laptop under my arm and looked out into the street. This sicko had lived within walking distance of Jessica Holmes’ house, with no requirement to list his details on a public sex offenders register.

  The SOCiT team had been pushing for a national register for years, so at least families had some idea of who or what lurked in their neighbourhood, but in Australia, politicians weren't having a bar of it.

  Further down the street, a group of children bounced a basketball at each other, laughing and joking. At least now—if nothing else—Marlin Jones was off the street an
d in custody, far away from where he could do harm to other children.

  I'd make sure a healthy list of charges came his way, it was the least I could do until I’d found the bastard killing little girls.

  I took a few steps from the porch back to the front door and walked back inside. The team was busily searching each room, opening cupboards and drawers. Collen was in the filthy bathroom, leaning into the medicine cabinet under the sink, where he was going through the contents.

  "They should pay us danger money. Thank God I'm wearing gloves. Doesn't look like this joker cleaned this bathroom. Ever." Collen pushed hair out of his eyes and stood up straight.

  "I've got enough to put Jones away for a long time. Pictures of young girls on the laptop, tied up, in various poses. I haven't gone through all of it yet."

  Collen closed his eyes and opened them again after a moment. "Christ, are you up to going through all of that stuff?"

  "Yeah. I'll hand it over to e-crimes when I'm done. Swanson and I are heading back to the office to get started, there's a lot to go through. Looks like they had a whole network set up."

  "Okay, mate, well done. Well, I'll just finish up taking stock of this filth, and meet you there later.” Collen went back to bagging some of the contents of the medicine cabinet. I didn't mention that the sick greasy feeling had returned to my gut, and I swallowed hard, forcing the nausea down.

  I made my way towards my car, the wooden porch steps creaking as I stepped onto them. I'd almost reached the bottom when something brushed at my elbow and I turned.

  James Wells from SOCiT stood at my side.

  "Keep us updated,” he said intently.

  "Yeah, I'll go through these then pass them on to e-crimes. I'll call you and pass the information on to you and the Feds. There's a lot to go through."

  "I heard,” James voice sounded rough, guttural. "If it hasn't been said yet, well done. Don't need to tell you, you found something big today."

  "Yeah,” I said as James walked back inside the home. Just not in time to save Jessica, Louisa, or the other two girls I thought, shaking my head. My flesh crawled, and I wanted to take a shower after seeing some of the images. Jones had set them up, posed the children, dressed them in costumes, tied them up, and taken pictures for the sick pleasure of himself and others.

  I'd need to go through some of the images before turning the laptop over to IT. The thought of it turned my stomach, but I needed to do it, as it could take me a step closer to what was really going on.

  And I needed to talk to Jones if he hadn't clammed up—or lawyered up—yet.

  I trudged back to the car, trying hard not to think about what the young girls went through as the photos were taken.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  That night, knowing the nightmares would return, and to ease the loneliness of my empty house, I returned to my now constant old friend and companion, Mr. Jameson.

  I'd stocked up, after getting over my denial about my return to the booze. I’d bought three bottles of my favourite whiskey. Jameson’s, of course.

  I knew I wouldn't get much sleep, although eventually I'd nodded off and gained a reprieve, blacking out for at least a few hours.

  In the morning, with the early grey light, I showered, doused myself with mouthwash, and made my way into the office with the laptop under my arm, to begin the task of going through the images.

  Swanson had sent me a text. What time you in? Meet you at Crime Command 7.30? She probably hadn't slept either. I met her in the underground car park around 7.30 a.m., both of us bleary-eyed.

  "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets, and the sockets around her eyes were pronounced, deep trenches having formed.

  "Sleep is a luxury I can't afford on this job,” I said. We both knew we were doing this for the little girls, the young victims with no voices. Hell, we were their voices, and I wouldn't rest until I found the sicko responsible.

  I held the back door open to let her in.

  We walked in silently, both walking towards the kitchen most likely thinking the same thing. Coffee.

  Neither of us had the energy or inclination for small talk, so after we'd each poured a cup of black coffee, I walked out of the kitchen back to my desk, and pulled up an office chair, wheeling one across for Swanson. We sat at my desk. Only Jerry Wallace was in, and he looked as grim as we felt, giving us a serious nod, then turning back to his computer.

  I slowly pulled the laptop from under my arm, shoved aside my keyboard, and stared at it, sitting it in the middle of my desk.

  I thought about what I'd already seen, and what was there. For some reason, I paused. I'd come so far on the case, that now I was close to cracking it wide open, I wondered if I'd lost my nerve. Pretty pathetic for a detective of nearly twenty years.

  You're weak as piss, Fletcher.

  "Want me to start it up and start looking?" Swanson looked at me, waiting for an answer.

  "You have kids yourself?"

  "No, not yet, came close but..."

  I had no idea what came close meant but didn't really want to ask, it seemed far too personal a question. Instead, she answered it for me.

  "Just finished with a guy. Four years."

  "Relationships. Not easy, huh?"

  "That's an understatement,” she said quietly. We both stared at the laptop. Eventually, I pried the screen open and pressed the button in the left corner of the device. It made quiet whirring noises and the screen sprang to life.

  We were in. I took a gamble and went to Gmail. Marlin Jones hadn't seemed like the sharpest tool in the shed when I'd interviewed him, and I had an idea.

  Yep, there was his Gmail profile. I clicked on it and his password had been saved. It automatically filled itself in so I pushed login.

  And there they were. Emails between Marlin Jones and his buyers, judging by the subject titles.

  I clicked on a recent one. It talked about transporting goods.

  My heart pounded.

  "How does this fit? Fill me in, Jack." Swanson rubbed a hand over her mouth.

  "Confirms my theory. A child sex-trafficking ring. The sickest of the sick.” I swallowed, hard.

  "Who's involved?"

  "So far, only the dead shit in custody, Marlin Jones. He has a record from years ago, sex with a minor. Not only was he at the park where Jessica was taken, but he lives on the same street as the family. Arrested him at the funeral for stalking, walking past like the pervert he is. Couldn't tie him to anything else, DNA on Jessica's body didn't match. But now, with this, this changes everything."

  "So, what's your theory? Jones sought out the targets, brought them back to his place, then transported them to the killer?"

  "Possibly. David McElroy's involved too, I know it. Sicko number two got called into the station after someone caught him in the public toilets. His orange van is on bank CCTV footage, where Jessica gets into his car. Same deal though, no DNA match. Whoever did the murders has never been charged with a crime before."

  "Shit. So, Jones and McElroy are selling the girls to paedophiles.” Swanson's face had paled slightly.

  "Yeah, I'd say so. No proof they touched the girls, not that it matters as far as I'm concerned. They're just as guilty."

  I clicked on another email. Maybe that way, I could work up to clicking on the images that lurked on the hard drive.

  "Jack, got your text." Nikita Newhouse breezed past me, dressed in her usual gear. Orange shirt, green braces, cargo pants. She dropped her backpack on the floor and kicked it under the desk. "What we got?"

  Swanson stared at her, and I realised I hadn't introduced her to the young woman we referred to as the clown. Not because she was comical, far from it, but because she dressed like a clown, although her skills extended to all things technological rather than gags.

  "Sorry, this is Nikita Newhouse from e-crimes, IT."

  She extended a hand to Rae, who shook it briefly. "Good to meet you,” Newhouse said. “Niki is fine,” sh
e said.

  Newhouse pulled an office chair over and rolled it across to sit next to us. "Heard we're looking for images and details to find the location of a child serial killer."

  "Not sure that they'll make it that easy for us,” I cleared my throat. "My theory is, this is a network. They're snatching girls, holding them, and loading the pictures up onto a website for sale to paedophiles. At some point, the children are murdered.” I watched the lump form in Niki's throat.

  "I see,” she said. "Want me to take a look?" Niki extended a hand.

  "Shortly. I wanted to scroll through the images, see if our two victims are there."

  "Definitely,” Swanson stood, pushed her chair back and folded her arms. "I need another coffee, I think."

  "Might need something a bit stronger in this case,” I said, but she'd already headed for the kitchen.

  "Tell me about it,” she muttered, without turning back.

  My phone rang loudly. "Sorry, Niki, I'll need to take this."

  "No problems,” she said, lifting the strap of the purple backpack up and onto her shoulder. "You know where I am; give me a call when you're ready."

  I swiped the screen. "Yeah?"

  It was James Wells from SOCiT. I’d wondered how long it would take for him to want in on an update. Swanson arrived back with a steaming mug of coffee, her face drawn, and sat beside me. I was still on the phone with James.

  “I've got the laptop powered up, just going through it now," I told him. “I’m here with Rae.”

  "Okay. What have you got?" James asked.

  "Looks like Jones set up a buyer’s network, probably via a website. They'd upload the images for buyers to look at, and then do the transfer.”

  James sucked in a large breath.

  "Got an address of where they're holding the girls?"

  "Not yet, I'm wading through it, there's a tonne of information on here. If I get an address, I'll let you and the Feds know straight away."

  "Okay Jack, good lad. Thanks.” James hung up.

  I turned to look at Swanson. The colour had returned to her face.

  "You ready to do this?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be,” she said quietly.