The Facebook Killer (10 page)

I decided that old Albert looked the most
like a rambler so I sent him off early next morning to find a
better spot for our van. He returned almost five hours later. I
could tell he had been drinking. He was smiling. It turns out there
was a campsite only fifteen minutes away from Laputa. It couldn’t
be seen due to the dense forest and we separated from it by a steep
ravine, so there was no chance of receiving any unwanted company.
Albert had left the van there, explaining that he was conducting an
ornithological census on bird life in that area of the forest. He
had paid three months fees up front explaining that his work went
on night and day so not to be worried if they didn’t see him around
for a while.

And so we were done, time to get back to
work. The apples weren’t going to pick themselves!

Chapter 15

Michael Collins
Jr.

I was dumbfounded when I realised that they
had Internet access in prison. Whatever happened to punishment?

Michael Collins Junior or
MCJ as he liked to be called. Aged: 29. Status: Locked up.
Likes:
Gangsta Rap & fast women.
Dislikes: His fourteen-year sentence for kidnapping, grievous
bodily harm and aggravated rape.
Current
Location: Whitemoor Maximum Security Prison,
Cambridgeshire.

Now I will be the first to admit it. This one
was going to be tricky. My father used to have a saying, “When the
going gets tough, get out your cheque book.”

After a little more research I learned that
the only way he could update his page was either with a mobile
phone that someone had smuggled in or he was getting a friend or
relative to update it on the outside. I checked his site and looked
like the latter as it only seemed to be updated once a fortnight,
probably after visiting time, actually it was always on a Thursday
evening.

I found an old news article about MCJ’s
crime. He had been inside for two years now. It turns out he had
gatecrashed a party in Notting Hill pretending to be a friend of
the family. The problem was that the father was at home and it was
his daughter’s sixteenth birthday party. When the old man tried to
eject him from the house he apparently went crazy hitting him
around the head with a chair before grabbing the birthday girl and
fleeing in a waiting car. The girl was repeatedly raped at
knifepoint. The other assailant was never traced. So, reading
between the lines, Mr. Hamid had probably done this before?

Now this is when my dangerous solar- powered
Internet really reared its ugly head and proved to me that nobody
is safe. Not even in a maximum-security prison.

Within half an hour I had read an article in
the Daily Mail, which called Whitemoor “HMP Islam“, I learned of
its gang problems. Another site told me the visiting times, I soon
knew every aspect of the prison, from the fact that the library was
only open half an hour a week to how much salary the prisoners
earned.

MCJ was not only friends with my Muslim
friend Hamid but he was also locked up with 135 more.

Emailaprisoner.com came as
one of my biggest shocks. “
Email a Prisoner enables you to send messages to
prisoners in the UK and Irish prisons that operate our service from
any computer, without any of the hassles of writing and posting a
letter, and it costs less than a second class stamp! What's more,
your message is delivered to the prison within seconds so that it
can be delivered to the prisoner by the prison staff in the next
delivery.” Jesus Christ it read like a cheap service
or
something

I was
flabbergasted. For the price of thirty pence I was about to turn
this rapist’s life upside down. Here he was sitting in a secure
prison, where he was put to keep the public safe and thanks to some
do-gooder somewhere who believed bastards like him and Hamid
deserved the same rights as us, I could send an email to him which
a nice guard would hand deliver to his cell. Actually I knew my
email would never reach his cell but at least the do-gooders had
given poor MCJ the human right to receive it.

The last thing
I had to do, as I shook my head in disbelief, was to sign up to a
Prison Chat site, which I would use to find out his prisoner
number.

Username:
Golden_Delicious

Password:
ApplePicker999

Email:
[email protected]
.

The do-gooders sent me the confirmation link
and I was in. It was like diving into a whole new world. The forum
was only supposed to be for friends and family of those spending
time at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. For them to discuss, comfort each
other and share tips.

There was an A-Z index of UK prisons, why
they had “Z” I will never know, I clicked on Whitemoor. Reading
through some of the threads you could see the coded messages; they
stood out like a lighthouse in the Sahara.

JamesBroyleisinoocent wrote: Hi Daphne I was
soz 2 hear bout yr mans sntnce bein extended. I hear it was
self-defence.

Daphne321: It was dat hun.
Protecting his black ass gainst them gangs in there and he gets
punished for it? But the good LORD
will
provide for me as he has done since my poor Daryl went down. He has
kept the roof over my head and food on my family’s
table.

A quick Google of “Daryl,
Daphne and Lord” revealed that one Daryl Amora was doing a
fifteen-year stint for the abduction, torture and tongue-removal of
a man who allegedly tried to blackmail Lord Havery of Essex over a
gay affair. Looks like the Lord
is
still providing for the family after
all.

As this wasn’t bad enough, the forum had a
private messaging service whereby I could contact any other member
in total privacy.

Golden_Delicious wrote: “Hello Daphne. You don’t me but I am a
close friend of your Lord. The Lord is very sorry about D’s longer
sentence and knows that you have waited a very long time for him.
The Lord would like to give you a chance to make a fresh start,
with or without D. The Lord is willing to pay you one hundred
thousand angels if you can help in this most heavenly matter. I
await your reply, Regards, GD. P.S. The Lord requires a reply
within 24 hours.”

I had the
option to add all sorts of smileys but I couldn’t find a serial
killer smiley, so I sent the message unadorned. We’d lost a lot of
time moving house so I decided to try and speed up the process by
also sending PMs to anyone Daphne had chatted to in the last two
days. Simply asking if they other means in which to contact
Daphne321 could they possibly ask her to check her messages on the
Prison Chat site.

I left the page
open and started to the read the day’s news in a new tab. No news
of the killings. That was a plus but at the same time I felt a
little let down. I’d kind of hoped that the brains behind the
Metropolitan Police Force might have started to realise what had
begun because as long as they remained unaware the apple picking
would continue in a humdrum kind of way. In Laputa I felt
invincible, like one of the villains in the films with their
impenetrable island fortresses. I was ready for the chase, but I
sure as hell wasn’t going to initiate it. It was their job to work
it out.

Not more than
fifteen minutes had passed when I heard a ping. A small box popped
up on my laptop. “You have a PM,” it said.

Daphne321: Wots da deal?

Golden_Delicious: The Lord asks only two things from his loyal
servant.

Daphne321: Nuff already wit da bullshit. Just
tell.

Golden_Delicious: 1) The Lord needs the prisoner number of Michael
Collins Junior. Serving 14 years in Whitemoor. 2) The Lord needs
you to pass a letter to D.

Daphne321: And
dats it? For 100K?

Golden_Delicious: That’s it. When can you give the Lord his
answer?

Daphne321: D
has a phone. I will text him now. Stay online.

Golden_Delicious: OK.

I checked the
Insidetime website. Sure enough it was lock up time for the
residents of Whitemoor. Ping!

Daphne321: His
no is 823756. What about da letter.

Golden_Delicious: Where can we meet?

Daphne321: I’ll
go and see him tomorrow if you like.

Golden_Delicious: I must consult with Lord. Stay online. I’ll get
back to you in five.

I went on to Google Earth. There was a
restaurant advertised not two miles from the prison. It had a rear
car park, which was good. It also backed onto woodland, which
appeared to have a path through it. We could leave the van on the
other side of the woods, yes that’s what we’d do, much better than
having her see it.

Golden_Delicious: Are you still there?

Daphne321: Waiting.

Golden_Delicious: There is a restaurant named Chesterman’s about
two miles from the prison. It‘s on Longford Street. I’ll meet you
there.

Daphne321: How will I know you?

Golden_Delicious: When you come in tell the barman you are looking
for Major Jones. I will have told him where I’m sitting. When you
approach ask, “Are you Major Jones?” I will reply, “I was before I
retired.” If you receive any other answer, get out of there.

Daphne321: Will you have the cash?

Golden_Delicious: I will, but the Lord says I can only give it to
you after you have delivered the letters.

Daphne321: What you talkin bout now boy
letters. Deal was only one letter.

Golden_Delicious: Sorry change of plan. There will be two. I will
explain over lunch. What time can we meet?

Daphne321: 1 o'clock. Visiting starts at 2.
By the way I want 2 see the cash and your paying for the food.

Golden_Delicious: No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow at one. May the
Lord be with you.

Daphne was nothing like Norman had expected.
Assuming she would be of Afro-Caribbean origin and of a larger
stature he was surprised when a white woman in her late thirties
approached him and asked if he was Major Jones.

He smelled a rat immediately.

“I was until I retired,” he replied, “you
must be..?”

He purposely left the question open
ended.

“Daphne,” she replied, “or Daphne321 as you
know me Major Jones.”

She offered her hand, which Norman shook
after getting to his feet. Always the gentleman.

“You look surprised,” she smiled, “not what
you’d expected?”

“Well not exactly.” Norman replied.

“Don’t tell me. You thought that I was going
to look like a poor Whoopi Goldberg instead of a middle class white
bird?”

“Well, now you mention it,” mumbled Norman
picking up the menu.

“
I used to work for the
Lord. I was his PA for five years. That’s how this whole mess
started anyway we’re not here to discuss my history. Do you have
the cash?”

Norman nodded towards the floor where
Albert’s shopping bag sat. Daphne used her foot to subtly open
it.

“I had a chat with Daryl after we finished
chatting last night. He is open to the deal but he says one hundred
thousand per letter.”

“So now you want two hundred grand?” demanded
Norman. The rage rising. Who was this bitch to double the stakes?
There were another five hundred prisoners in there that would be
glad of the money. Prisoners whose families weren’t being kept
alive by corrupt aristocracy. But it was too late. The email had
already been sent and two copies of it were in Norman’s pocket.

“OK, I think under the circumstances that is
a fair enough demand. The Lord told me that he thought this might
happen and therefore the rules must change to suit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have instructions to pay you the first
hundred thousand upon delivery of the letters. The rest you will
receive when we receive news of Mr. Collins’ death.”

Daphne leaned across the table.

“Are you telling me that the Lord expects my
Daryl to kill this man?”

“No, no, that will happen as a result of the
letters.”

“Good. Because I vowed to stand by him until
he gets out of that hell hole and no money in the world will make
me wait another fifteen years.”

“I respect your loyalty Daphne. Shall we
order?”

Norman clarified things over lunch. One
letter was to be handed in person to a prisoner named Muhammad
Karam the other was to be passed to the coordinating chaplain, Mr.
Fawaz.

“I have heard about this man Karam,” Daphne
said, a nervous look upon her face, “he runs that prison from what
Daryl has told me.”

“Exactly,” Norman replied, “now let’s enjoy
lunch and I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done at the
prison and by the way, the Lord has agreed to keep up your “family”
payments for those extra two years but he says that if you betray
him today. He will rescind his financial input.”

Norman ordered a double vodka and orange
juice. This was going to be a long wait. He sat back down at the
table and moved Albert’s shopping bag out of the way of prying
eyes. Daphne had left. She had the letters. Norman took out the
copy he had made for himself and read it for the fourth time.

“To whom it may concern,

I enclose a copy of an
email sent to Mr. Michael Collins Junior.
823756 by Mr. Abdul Hamid.

“Hey mikey I hope things ain’t too bad in
there for you. Just writing to say I did what you asked. I burned
that motherfucker to death along with your ex girlfriend. Fuck man
you should have heard Katherine scream. I should have taped it for
ya. Anyway listen, I couldn’t do all that shit alone so I got Khan
to give me a hand. Fuck man we prayed to Allah for forgiveness for
killing a fellow Muslim but we did it for you man. It just wasn’t
right him screwing infidels, never mind your ex. Listen we dumped
the evidence in Kat’s sister's car. Khan’s on remand in the Scrubs
at the minute on suspicion but I think he might get out soon. My
family barrister’s working on it. Look, take care of yourself. I’ll
try and get to see ya soon pal. Love Abdul”