The Child Taker & Slow Burn (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-four

Cheshire, two days later

Sylvia Lees stubbed out a cigarette in the overflowing ashtray of her car as she tried to gather her thoughts. The nicotine hit had only succeeded in making her feel lightheaded, and hadn’t calmed her nerves one bit. She reached for her packet of Benson and Hedges Gold, and swore when she realised that it was empty. That meant that she had smoked twenty cigarettes since teatime yesterday. Considering that she was trying to give up, it wasn’t good.

She had parked a few hundred yards down the road from the Kelly residence in order to avoid the crowd of paparazzi that were still encamped outside, waiting for a shot of a devastated mother to plaster on their front pages or a snippet of information about the case. The disappearance of the twins was news enough to cause a media storm, but the torrent of violence and intrigue which had dogged the investigation over the last week was unrivalled by anything that had happened before. The fact that Karl Kelly hadn’t been seen at the house for a few days had not gone unnoticed, it had fuelled speculation of a marital split, and that wasn’t helping to quieten the furore either. The police were not coming out well in the newspapers, as the broadsheet editors dissected one blunder after another.

In a very long meeting, superior officers briefed Sylvia about the findings at both Delamere, and Heysham. Now she had to relay the bad news to an emotionally broken mother, who was grieving both for her children and for the breakdown of her marriage. This had been a particularly difficult assignment for Sylvia, complicated by betrayal within the marriage and the arrival of Major Stanley Timms and his affiliates, and she was not looking forward to being the bearer of such bad tidings.

She opened the car door, took a deep breath and prepared herself to run the gauntlet of the press. Sylvia was less than fifty yards away from the house when the first reporter spotted her approach. He broke away from the pack and ran towards her, camera clicking and voice recorder thrust in her face. It was seconds before the others joined him in the scrum.

“Is there any news on the children’s whereabouts?”

“No comment.”

“Can you confirm or deny whether the explosion in Delamere Forest is connected to the investigation?”

“No comment.”

“Are the incidents at Warrington police station and Warrington General Hospital connected?”

“No comment.”

“How many police officers lost their lives in the forest?”

“No comment.”

“Can you confirm whether the main suspects in the kidnapping have escaped from custody?”

“No comment.” Sylvia had finally reached the garden gate and a burly uniformed officer opened it for her and let her through.

“Stand back and let the lady through please,” the officer shouted. The reporters continued to fire questions at the back of her head, despite her obvious insistence on remaining silent.

“Has Karl Kelly left his wife?” The last question was the most cutting, and she treated it with the same silent contempt as she had with the others. She reached the door and rang the bell. The curtains in the front window twitched as Hayley looked out to see who her visitor was. Sylvia waved her hand and offered an empty smile, but Hayley didn’t return the gesture. This was going to be a difficult encounter, especially if Hayley’s father was around. Sylvia needed to speak with him urgently, but she didn’t know how to go about it without compromising herself and the investigation. The fact that the investigation was in such turmoil had forced her hand, and after a sleepless night tossing the options around in her head, she had finally made her decision. It would be very difficult to broach, but she had to try. The handle twisted and the Major opened the door.

“Good evening, Officer Lees,” he said curtly as he stepped back to let her in.

“Good evening, Major,” she replied. Sylvia wiped her feet and waited to be asked for her coat, but the Major didn’t offer to take it. She took it off anyway, and hung it up. “I need to update Hayley on the investigation.”

“Rather you than me, from what I’ve heard,” the Major frowned. He nodded his head towards the hallway, and walked into the living room, Sylvia following him nervously at a distance. Hayley sat on a brown leather corner unit, which matched the colour of the wooden laminate floor. A white woollen rug covered half of the room, and Sylvia reckoned that it would need vacuuming everyday at least if Hayley wanted it to remain that colour, especially if the twins were recovered. A large plasma television was fixed to the wall opposite, and Sky news was replaying a roll of the latest pictures, which suggested there was a link between the previous week’s events and the abduction of the Kelly twins. Hayley held the remote, and she lowered the volume as Sylvia walked into the room.

“How are you holding up?” Sylvia asked sympathetically.

Hayley picked up a cushion and hugged it, but she did not reply. She was shattered and emotionally drained: being polite was not on her list of priorities right now. The Major seemed to be just as on edge as his daughter was, but at least there was no sign of his huge colleague – despite being built like a Greek god there was something about him that Sylvia found intimidating.

“Do you have anything new for us, Officer Lees?” The Major broke the ice.

“How much do you already know, Major?” Sylvia fronted him. She didn’t like the fact that he always seemed to be one step ahead of the police, and the death of her colleagues had frayed her patience to zero. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to play mental chess with the Major.

“We know what we have seen on the news. Pretty much the same as yourself really,” Hayley said sarcastically.

“Okay then, I’ll tell you what I’ve been told – ask me whatever you like, and I’ll answer you honestly.” Sylvia sat back and tried to build some kind of trust in them. There was an awkward silence for a few moments.

Hayley looked at her father and held out her hand. The Major took her hand and sat down beside her. Hayley tried a half smile, but her lips were quivering as she spoke.

“I’m sorry Sylvia, but I’m at my wit’s end.” Hayley apologised for her hostility.

“I’m not surprised, Hayley,” Sylvia replied. “I don’t know how you’re holding yourself together.”

“I’m not sure that I am to be honest,” tears filled her eyes. “I believe they found the horsebox, didn’t they?”

“Yes they did, not far from the ferry port at Heysham,” Sylvia replied. Only the Major could have known that it was the vehicle that they were looking for. The press had been told that it was similar, but they couldn’t confirm that it was the actual vehicle at this stage.

“Do they know if my babies were in it?”

“They found a sleeping bag which matched the description of the one that you said had been taken with them.” Sylvia watched the Major’s reaction, and she was certain that he didn’t know about the sleeping bag. Hayley glanced sideways at her father, questioning him silently, and that confirmed it to Sylvia that he didn’t know the details from the scene yet. “The twins had been moved somewhere, but there was no sign that they had been hurt in any way.”

“So the vehicle was empty?” The Major asked.

“No Major, it wasn’t empty.” Sylvia would have to pick her words very carefully. “We found evidence that the horsebox was being used as the carrier for a large drug consignment destined for Northern Ireland, but the perpetrators aborted the journey before they reached the port.”

“What kind of evidence, you said you would tell me what you know, Sylvia?” Hayley squeezed the cushion again. Her cheeks were hollowed and her eyes were bloodshot from crying.

“I’m sorry, Hayley, we found four dead horses and the body of a Moroccan woman that we can’t identify.”

“Oh God,” Hayley said. “Sarah loved horses, I mean she loves horses. Why would they kill them?”

“The drugs were placed into condoms and then force fed into the horses’ stomachs. The idea was to pass them off as breeding stock, and to take them to Ireland in the horsebox, and then sell the drugs over there.”

“So what happened?” Hayley asked naively. The Major shifted uncomfortably on the seat, as he had an idea what was coming.

“We think that the smugglers aborted the run when the news broke about the horsebox, and they killed the horses to recover their drugs.” Sylvia was as honest as she could be, leaving out the gory details.

“What about the woman?” Hayley was open mouthed as the images went through her mind, and it became obvious how the smugglers would have recovered their drugs.

“The same thing happened to her,” Sylvia replied to the question that she was hoping Hayley wouldn’t ask.

“What if they did the same to my babies?” Hayley’s face greyed and she stared at her father for reassurance.

“We think that the twins had already been moved before the horses were killed, Hayley.” Sylvia jumped in and rescued the Major from an awkward question. “The woman was found in a secret compartment that had been screwed back into place by the smugglers. We don’t think that they ever planned to take the twins to Ireland.”

“You’re saying that they’re still in this country, aren’t you?” Hayley whispered. A spark of hope glinted in her eyes and she squeezed her father’s hand tightly.

“We have no reason to believe that they’re not at this stage,” Sylvia replied and tried a smile. Hayley broke down into tears and buried her head into the cushion that she held.

“How did Jack Howarth escape?” The Major held his daughter and stroked her hair. “Did he have help?”

“The Moroccans cut his thumb off to slip him from the handcuffs and helped him out of the hospital dressed as paramedics. We lost the officer that tried to stop them, I’m afraid he was shot during the escape,” Sylvia replied.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s a pity that your colleagues weren’t around to help out, Major.”

“Why do you say that?”

“One of our uniformed officers has reported a large-built man with a shaven head who apparently apprehended the arsonist that petrol-bombed the police station, and left him handcuffed to a lamppost. Sounds like your colleague John Tankersley to me,” Sylvia raised her eyebrows questioningly.

The Major shook his head, and remained silent. He was mulling over the information that Sylvia had parted with. The fact the twins may still be in the country reassured him somewhat that they could find them.

“I’m assuming that it was your people that intervened with the hijack on a police prison bus near Risley which was transporting Alfie Lesner,” she pressed.

“I doubt that my people had anything to do with it, Officer Lees,” the Major batted the question away. There would be no comebacks, because there were no witnesses.

“Really? This Mitsubishi was found at the scene.” Sylvia took a Polaroid from her pocket and passed it to the Major. The picture showed the wreckage of a black Mitsubishi Shogun being craned onto a low-loader. “We ran the usual checks on this vehicle, and guess what, we hit a dead end. It’s registered to the Ministry of Defence, full stop; we can’t access any further details.”

“There are limits to everyone’s access levels, Officer,” the Major replied abruptly. He wasn’t sure where Sylvia was headed with this conversation. Hayley had stopped sobbing and she was listening intently to the conversation.

              “I’ve been trying to do some research into your unit, Major, but I can’t find anything to suggest that one exists.” Sylvia sat forward. Hayley wiped her eyes and stood up. She’d heard enough.

“If John Tankersley is out there looking for my children then I for one don’t care what he does.” Hayley walked out of the room sobbing like a baby.

“I can’t find any information on you or your team, Major,” she grinned nervously. The Major remained silent.

“If your people are as good as I think they are, tell them to follow this.” Sylvia handed him a folded piece of paper. “Our computer geeks were working on this – before the station burned down, that is. I’ll go and make us all a drink.”

The Major watched Sylvia Lees walk out of the living room, and he could hear her voice in the kitchen, soothing Hayley and offering words of encouragement. She meant well, that was for sure, and she obviously had empathy for his daughter’s plight.  He ran his fingers over the fold in the paper and then opened it up. There were several web addresses written on it, but they all had the same keywords in them, forbiddenfruitcompany.com. He took out his mobile phone and called Tank.

Chapter Thirty-five

Canning Place, twenty-four hours later

Canning Place, on the banks of the River Mersey, is the home of the Merseyside Police Force, a branch of army intelligence and a counter-terrorist unit. Standing on the banks of the river, overshadowed by the giant gothic Anglican cathedral, the smell of the sea and the sounds of ferryboat engines drifted up to the windows. Tank headed from the truck to take the lift from the car park. As he crossed the tarmac, a four-mast wooden sailing ship drifted majestically into the Albert Docks, the first of a flotilla of tall ships sailing to the port. Her sails rippled pristine white as the sun reflected from them.

He walked out of the lift into the government bunker.  The bunker was carved from the red sandstone bedrock which was deep below the city and home to several hi-tech listening posts, tasked with monitoring communications between suspect terrorist cells the world over. It also housed the task force trace laboratory, where computer searches and email monitoring were carried out. Today, the team was working on something completely different. He waved a brief hello, and headed to a bank of screens which were being monitored by Tara and one of their boffins. Searching the net for ghost sites is a thankless task, and they had been at it all night. Tara looked tired, but her face lit up when she saw him coming.

“Have you found anything?” Tank smiled back at her.

“We’re making progress. We have eliminated thousands of sites which have been confusing our search, and we’ve narrowed it right down,” she replied.

“How can you tell which ones could be of interest?” Tank asked. There were nine screens processing information and he couldn’t make head or tail of any of it.

“Okay, let’s pretend that you’re someone who has a porn site or you’re a webcam studio owner, and you want to make your films or pictures available for anyone to view but you don’t want to charge any money, then we can filter you out immediately,” Tara explained.

“How many sites come up when you enter that domain name?” Tank asked.

“It would appear that ‘forbidden fruit’ is a keyword linked to over three million sites,” she frowned.

“Yes, but how many of them are child porn sites?”

“That’s the problem, Tank. We can’t tell because they ghost the pay-per-view sites, and it would appear that not all their broadcasts are child pornography.” She pointed to the screens as if it would all be made clear if he looked at them. He looked, and it was as clear as mud. “They broadcast everything from hardcore porn to live snuff videos.”

“You mean they are killing people in these broadcasts?” Tank shook his head in disbelief.

“It appears that all their broadcasts appeal to the most violent end of the sexual spectrum, and the snuff broadcasts that we have found look very convincing. I’m convinced they’re not actors.” Tara sounded tired. “They’re making millions out of these sites, and their customers are paying hundreds of Euros each to watch the real hard stuff, and even more if they want to join in,” she explained.

“Join in?”

“Yes, the sites are totally interactive, and the action is guided by a majority voting system, while the longer they watch the more they pay.”

“You wouldn’t believe there were that many sick bastards out there, would you?” Tank was sounding worried now. “How do these things work?”

“There is software available now which can allow a video stream to be broadcast by anyone with a webcam, from a full-blown agent or webmaster to a private individual. They can stream their images from multiple cameras and collect payments from all over the globe. They show the images, and then they shut it, take the money and close the whole show down and disappear.
              “Can you trace them or not?” Tank wasn’t the most patient person in the world.

“I’ll cut a long story short,” Tara smiled again and tossed her blond hair.

“We’re looking for sites that have more than just standard interactive features, and if we can identify them then it will narrow down the search. A site like theirs needs webcam chat software that has lots of special functions like special show facility that allows them to have many cameras in one room, hot-or-not photo and video on demand, matched with an auto-translator that changes messages to and from ten different languages.”

“How many people watch these things?” Tank was amazed and sickened at the same time.

“Tens of thousands, world-wide,” Tara replied sadly.

“Once they take the site offline then you can’t trace it, right?”

“Right. They set up simulated streams, which are bounced off several stream servers at once, and they attach the streams to fake servers – it’s impossible once they stop broadcasting,” Tara finished explaining as best as she could.

“There’s no hope then?” Tank leaned on the desk, and Tara couldn’t help but look at his bulging triceps.

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” she teased.

“Tara, what have you got?”

“Look here. This site went live yesterday, it has all the features that we would expect on that type of broadcast, and it has been set up to be a pay-per-minute channel,”

“What’s the significance of that?”

“A pay-per-minute site fitted with an interactive facility is used predominantly for live streaming, so that the action can be guided by the viewers’ wishes, or votes, and if they want to carry on watching then the price goes up and up as the action accelerates.” she stared at the screen.

“You mean as the level of violence accelerates?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got something here,” the boffin spoke for the first time. He was sitting in front of a tray of chocolate-sprinkled donuts, which were half eaten, and he tucked into another one as he printed off some information.

“Please tell me it’s an address,” Tank said.

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” the tech guy said.

“What’s the good news?” Tank asked.

“I have a GPS position for four different servers in this country, but only one of the servers has been used for every broadcast,” he said. Tank took a print out from him and nearly walked away before he’d finished speaking. “The bad news is that they have started broadcasting a live feed.”

Tank stopped in his tracks and turned around. One of the screens showed a young girl, thirteen or so, Tank guessed. She was blindfolded and handcuffed by one hand to a metal link that was set into the wall behind her. The thin mattress that she was lying on was heavily stained, and by the coppery colour of the stains, Tank guessed that forensics would identify it as blood from several different secretors. Two hooded men appeared, one either side of the mattress. They were naked and aroused as they looked at the camera and then suddenly the screen changed completely. ‘Pay now to view the action live’ began flickering across the screen, along with the instructions on how to make a payment. For an extra fifty Euros the viewer could become a voting customer, which would give them the power to influence what horrors would be inflicted upon the young victim. Tank looked at the server address again and left the bunker without saying a word.