A Thousand Cuts

by A N Drew

  "The IT woman left?" Swanson warmed her hands on the coffee cup and brought it up to take a sip.

  "Yeah, I told her we wanted to take a look first, I'll turn it over to her once we're finished. She can probably find out the website details, which are probably encrypted."

  I removed the first USB drive from the box, plugged it in, and clicked on a folder. The images appeared one by one. Images of miserable little girls in various poses, bound and dressed up in a series of costumes for the pleasure of grown men.

  "Oh, my God,” breathed Swanson.

  Pictures of young girls I didn't recognise flashed up. Girls the same age as Jessica, and in some cases, even younger.

  "I don't see Louisa," said Swanson, scanning the images.

  "Me neither."

  My stomach dropped, and my throat ached. Without warning, there was Jessica Holmes, tied up, wearing a tiny, horrendously incongruous French maid’s outfit, sitting on a bed. Her eyes were wide in terror.

  "Keep clicking on the images, Jack, don't dwell on them. Easier said than done I know but keep going."

  I clicked on the next few. There were so many girls, no boys that I could see at all. Then my heart lurched. Louisa Fein appeared, and Swanson covered her face with her hands. She let out a gasp. Louisa had been bound in leather straps at both the hands and feet, and was dressed in a frilly pink dress, with far too much makeup plastered across her face. She lay on a bed, her miserable face telling the story.

  "If only I'd got to her earlier, she would have lived.” Swanson lifted her face, to stare again at the image.

  "I know that feeling, Swanson, but we can't let it eat us alive. There's a way we can fix this—by finding an address, and if any girls are still alive, get 'em out of wherever they’re being held."

  Swanson let out a breath, unable to speak for the moment. I watched as her face changed colour again from pasty white to pink, to scarlet, and she clenched her fists.

  "Let's get these bastards and find those girls. Open up the email program again Jack, they have to be holding them somewhere.” Her voice sounded deep and filled with a quiet fury, a fury I knew only too well. One that had become endless nights filled with nightmares, stopped temporarily—at least in my case—only by copious bottles of whiskey.

  "Okay,” I shut down the window of the countless images of little girls being held against their will. I opened up the email to scour the emails Marlin had sent to several anonymous receivers. Scanning the subject titles, one of them jumped out of me. The heading read, Transport of goods.

  That had to be it. Swanson sat up straighter in her chair and pointed. "That's it, Jack, we've got them. That's got to be it!"

  I opened up the email. It detailed a transfer of goods to a location in Melbourne, a few kilometres from the city. Date of delivery was Wednesday, March 24th, the next day at 10 a.m.

  I grabbed my phone and found James' number. "We'll need backup," Swanson said but she was already up and out of her seat. She began pacing. "Give me a few seconds to set this up, then we'll get moving."

  James picked up within just two rings. "We've got an address.” James sounded as pleased as we were.

  "In the email?"

  "So, when and where?"

  "Let me talk to the boss first, we might need to meet here to coordinate before we swarm the place and get any kids out. There may be no kids there, we don't know."

  "What does the email say?"

  "Delivery of goods tomorrow at 10 a.m."

  "Shit.”

  "Let me talk to Hicks, and we'll take it from there."

  "Okay, stay in touch. And stay frosty."

  "Come on Jack, let's go!" Swanson had moved down the corridor that led to the back door.

  "We can't just show up, it has to be coordinated."

  She paused, head turned, a frown crossing her face. "What? We have an address. There could be children there now, held in God only knows what conditions. We have to help them."

  "I get it, but this is a task force now, we can't go off half-cocked. Come on, I'll ring boss lady, then we'll talk."

  Swanson swore, blew out a long breath, then stormed back down the corridor and sat back down. She knew as well as I did we had to play it by the book, but I understood the emotion pulling her towards the location. I'd never tell another soul, not even Garrett, Collen, Holmberg—hell, not even my wife—that so far, this job had made me cry a whole lot of times.

  I pulled out my phone and rang Selena Hicks.

  "Jack."

  "We went through the laptop. They’re talking in code, delivery of goods tomorrow, it says in an email. Hundreds of sick photos, all little girls."

  Hicks didn't answer so I continued, repeating some of what we’d found a second time. "Jones sent an email about delivery of goods and gives an address."

  "So, the goods are the children." Hicks’ voice was quiet and low.

  "Girls, yeah. We have the address, delivery happens 10 a.m. tomorrow."

  Another pause. "Let's notify the Project Beacon team. It's 5 p.m. now. We'll coordinate in the briefing room at 7 p.m. before we head out. We'll check the place out. They could be holding girls there right now. See you then."

  I hung up. Swanson stared at me. "Well?"

  "We notify the Project Beacon team. Meet in the briefing room at seven."

  "That's two hours away." Swanson sat forward in the chair, hands balled into fists.

  "Look, I need to call the team. Then maybe we could grab something to eat."

  "Eat? Seriously?"

  I had a bitter tang on my tongue, my throat burned, and my stomach heaved. "Yeah I know, but who knows when we'll get a chance to go out and eat again."

  "Let's start calling." Swanson had her phone out.

  "Jack, hold on." Wallace turned from his desk a few metres away. "You didn't think you'd get to have all the fun without me, did you? You'll need backup, I've called for it; they'll meet us in the briefing room. You might also need an ambulance if the girls are injured, consider it done."

  "Great."

  "Thanks, mate, SOCiT will meet us here in a couple of hours."

  "Right,” he said.

  It was game on.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Project Beacon had hit full swing. We needed to move fast before the media got wind of the swoop on the address, 16 Calcutta Street, Footscray. The suburb itself had become a melting pot with hipsters and young urban professionals moving in over recent years, but the elements of drug dealers, prostitutes and crime lingered.

  Before we hit the address, boss lady had suggested a meeting, so here we all were at 7 p.m. Tuesday, the night before the supposed delivery at 10 a.m. Thursday.

  Eight officers, James Wells from SoCIT and Rae Swanson, Steve Wilcox from Federal Police, plus Hicks, Holmberg, Garrett, Collen, Wallace, Weston—and myself—filled the briefing room. The doors were closed, and the projector screen on. Armed with coffee, we milled around until boss lady kicked the meeting off.

  "Okay folks, this is it. As many of you know, we have a laptop, belonging to Marlin Jones who is currently in custody. We have photos of little girls in compromising positions and what looks to be a child network ring. The girls are sold, abused, and in some cases murdered. An email sent between Jones and an unknown person mentions a delivery tomorrow at 10 a.m. We're heading in tonight to search the premises. Prepare yourselves. There may be young girls in God knows what condition, held captive, and suspects on the premises."

  "So, we're going in to rescue girls potentially tonight. How about tomorrow?" Asked Holmberg.

  "Like any search operation, we're unsure of what we'll be faced with. We'll remove any children from the property and transport them to safety, as well as adults until they are cleared. Tomorrow morning, depending on what we find, either us or the special operations group sweep the place." Hicks said.

  Although I still felt sick, adrenaline surged. This was it. I might get my hands on the sick twisted fucker that did this.

  "It g
oes without saying to take care everyone; while this isn't our first time around the block, we have no idea what we're headed into. Logistics-wise, our armed officers will secure the front entrance,” said Hicks, fully kitted up.

  "Fletcher and Collen, take the back. Holmberg and Garrett, check the fence and boundary." I said. My heart pounded, and I hoped to hell my voice hadn’t wavered. I’d kept it low, quiet and as even as possible.

  Plans of the property flicked up on the screen. "And the basement?" Asked Weston.

  Swanson stepped forward. "I can cover that,” she said.

  "Okay, let's do this. If there are children in there, let's get them out safely.” The huddle dispersed. "Fletcher, Collen, Garrett, we'll go together,” Hicks said.

  Boss lady and I headed straight for the car park. She frowned so hard her eyebrows threatened to shadow her eyes. No one spoke. We got to her black Falcon. With a beep, it unlocked.

  Garrett and Collen got in and sat in the back, while boss lady and I took the front.

  "We got this,” Collen didn't look at me, his voice a steel edge. Hicks started up the car, turning her head around to reverse the vehicle. She swung the steering wheel in one fluid action, gunning the accelerator.

  I didn't answer, my body rolling with the car and my mind focusing on the cars in front of us at the traffic lights, thinking about the end goal. And that goal was arresting the piece of shit that raped, tortured and killed little girls for kicks.

  Hicks flicked on the siren, and eventually, the light went green and we took off. I cast a look across and noticed Selena Hicks's left jaw flickering, most likely also thinking about our faceless enemy. We hit three lanes, then the main road.

  The drive took no more than twenty minutes. We turned into a road on the right. Cars packed the narrow street, one marked Federal, an unmarked car for SoCIT, and two squad cars.

  I was out of the car in seconds, but Hicks was already out, and she slammed the door shut, sighing as she shoved both hands on her waist. She looked about and we huddled around her. The Feds and SoCIT had messaged me on the way.

  I planted my feet, directly facing her. Garrett, Collen, and three uniformed officers huddled up to my right and left. "Right, let's go. Let's take this as professionally and calmly as we can," said Hicks.

  I hadn't seen her like this for a long time, her mood-balancing on a knife-edge, threatening to teeter into full-blown fury.

  Hicks frowned.

  James Wells from SOCiT walked over, hands in pockets, grey-haired and clean-shaven. "Evening,” he said, staring at the ground. He stood between Hicks and Garrett. "Ready to go?"

  "Yep," Hicks pivoted on one foot. Hicks’ silent fury was more dispersed tonight with deep breaths, and her closed eyes had narrowed into a thick dark line.

  Drawn to her energy, we followed behind her, taking strength from a common purpose. Just as we’d been briefed to do before we’d set off, Collen and I crept around the overgrown garden as shadows slowly moved across it, heading to the back door.

  Holmberg and Garrett had already made for the back fence, and were about fifty feet away, almost obscured by bushes and trees, with weapons drawn. Two other officers scanned the windows; that way, the scumbags had nowhere to run. Swanson couldn’t be seen. I had no doubt she was hanging back until given the go-ahead to rush forward and scan the basement, once we were in.

  As usual, my heart rate had gone up, chest-pounding and blood flow speeding through my veins. I took heavy gasps outside the back door, on one side of the door, with my weapon drawn, and Collen had his drawn on the opposite side. Swanson stood behind om me now, weapon in the raised position. She had made it to the back door and wanted to be inside, searching.

  I took a second to slow my breathing, and focused on her.

  With an almost unnoticeable nod of the head, I tried the old-fashioned metal door handle knob, but of course, it was locked. I took a couple of steps back and thought of Jessica Holmes, her body in Sherbrooke forest, her family. I offered up a silent prayer as I slammed my body weight against the door and it gave way.

  This one's for you, Jessica. We'll get the man that did this, I promise.

  Entering through the smashed-open door, a stench wafted into my face, a combination of urine, stale decomposing food and dead animal.

  I turned with my firearm out, ducking through a doorway to my right, with Collen right behind me and Swanson went straight ahead through to the basement.

  Through another doorway, a painted white wooden stairway curled downwards to my right. I lowered the weapon in my right hand and indicated to Swanson, and Collen silently, motioning with my other hand. The stairs descended into the darkness. Hell, I wanted to get down there myself, but it was Swanson’s assigned tasking. I held my breath until I thought I would pass out. Swanson lurched forward, her own firearm held forward. “Police!” she cried. “I am armed, lie down on the ground!”

  I didn’t hear anything. Just a quiet echo.

  Steps creaked as she went. The staircase took a U-turn and she was enveloped in darkness. The stuffiness down there had increased. It seemed such a long time.

  My stomach curdled. I slowly crept down after her—what was the sense in waiting at the top? She needed backup. I walked down until I was a step behind her. Four narrow stairs lead off sideways, to a dark landing. I pulled a pen flashlight from my jacket pocket, motioning to Swanson that I would take the staircase down to the landing to my right. She nodded, silent.

  The door was stuck, and I tested it with my body weight before it gave way. I swung the flashlight around and my stomach almost heaved. The stench assaulted me like a hard slap to the face, the stench of human waste, of pent-up bodies in small, stifling cavities, and of blood, sweat, and vomit. Then, illuminated before us, were emaciated children with sticky hair and dirty faces as they stared wild-eyed.

  Weak groans and gasps filled the air. The children began calling and wailing in a language I didn't recognise. I crouched down to their level, and my knees cracked.

  "It's okay, girls, you're safe." The girls babbled louder, some of them standing up and screaming at full volume.

  A dark-haired girl to my right screamed, a bloodcurdling scream that set my teeth on edge. I put my weapon away, back in its holster.

  I extended a hand towards her slowly and gently, but she screamed louder so I stood up slowly and backed away. From the moonlight streaming into a dirty window with metal bars across it, I saw a metal bucket in the corner, filled with faeces and urine. But one bucket was nowhere near enough for this many children. I stepped around faecal matter, fluids and vomit as I went.

  I heard footsteps and turned toward the stairway. Swanson descended quietly toward me now, speeding up her pace as she reached the bottom of the four small stairs. She crouched down and approached the girls too, smoothing down one girl’s hair, whispering, "It's okay now, honey, it's okay."

  I grabbed the phone and called James Wells from SOCiT. "James, the girls are down here, in the basement."

  "OK we'll send the paramedics in; the ambulance was on alert, it's less than a minute away."

  The rest of the girls now wept and screamed quietly, their energy spent. I barely noticed the two officers filing down the stairs behind me. They paused as the girls screamed louder. We got the cages open to release the girls. Swanson stood up and hugged three of the girls close to her body as they sobbed into her arms. The others joined them, huddled in a circle of misery.

  I walked back up the first set of stairs, entering a trance-like state, cut off, numb. At the top of the second set of stairs, James Wells from SOCiT stopped me. "The ambulance is here. They'll be okay now, Jack."

  I barely heard him, nodding on autopilot, and continuing, cutting a path to the front of the house; I turned right at a doorway just after reaching the main floor and paused in the filthy kitchen. Someone touched my left shoulder, and I looked up.

  Collen and Holmberg. Neither of them smiled. “Did well, Jack,” said Holmberg . “Another one to
you.”

  "Jessica's still dead no matter what happened here today," I said, my voice low. I felt sad, deflated.

  "We saved lives, that means something," he said.

  "I guess,” I mumbled and continued walking towards the front of the house. I needed air. Holmberg didn't follow. I was glad.

  I figured I should wait for the ambulance, make sure the girls were okay, but the sick feeling had returned, along with a pounding headache. I opened the front door to Selena Hicks, and with the tilt of a chin, she indicated for me to meet her outside.

  I stood in the long grass in the pathetic mixture of old concrete, dying plants and shadows. Hicks shuffled her feet.

  "We got the girls, but not the sickos who did this," she said.

  "Yeah. Close, but not close enough. In my book, that’s a fail."

  Hicks sighed as if irritated. "Look. I get it, Jack, but seriously… Enough of this shit now. You want to beat yourself up over it, I get it, but we don’t all want to wallow in your continual misery. Some jobs affect us more than others—and it’s what we signed up to, goes with the job. But it's affecting your ability to find the killer. So, stop with the self-pity and recriminations, and crack on. Either us or another team will be back here in the morning to arrest the sickos.”

  I spun to my right. "Okay, whatever. I’ve had enough for one night."

  A flurry of activity interrupted us, a barrage of footsteps coming down the concrete steps behind me, and a series of paramedics with bags, moving up and down the driveway.

  Holmberg, Garrett and Collen joined Hicks and me outside.

  "The media will get wind of this soon enough. I better alert the Media Unit," Hicks said as she pulled out her phone and dialled a number, walking away a few steps as the call connected.

  The top of Swanson’s head appeared first, whispering to a dark-haired wraith of a girl, and as she walked out into the light of the front porch, she stared at me with dull unseeing eyes. Swanson held the girl’s right hand in her left, escorting her towards the ambulance.

  A paramedic with sandy hair appeared to my left, along the driveway where the ambulance was parked. He strolled along the footpath and walked towards the girl. A stream of dishevelled young females appeared behind her, walking beside officers. They came down the concrete steps and into the waiting arms of paramedics and female uniformed officers.