“At last you’ve come,” he said with exasperation. “Good, we can begin now.”
He went over to the child. Picked up the china- clay white limp body and placed him over the armchair’s arm. Face down into the seat, with his legs hanging over the side of the chair. The milk-white body of the child made a sharp contrast against the armchair’s rough dark and dirty material. The boy moaned softly in a semi-conscious state as he was moved into the position the man wanted.
Some hours later, the dank smell that had filled the room an hour or two ago was now overtaken with the overpowering smell of adult sweat, body fluids and spunk. Only Mark and Mr D remained in the flat. The others had gone. Mark drew heavily on a joint and offered it to the other man, who shook his head.
“Not while I’m working,” he said in a soft Northern Irish voice.
Mark shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.
“You ready?” the man asked.
Mark nodded, took a long drag on the joint, put it in the ash tray and got up.
“Let’s get the runt,” he said.
They both left the room and moved up the stairs that led to the second floor. They entered a small bathroom between the two bedrooms. The bath was full and in it was the boy, face down, his face covered by the bath water. Mr D pulled the plug chain and when the water had drained away, he wrapped the limp child’s body in a large towel. He brought the body down the stairs. Mark went over to a large sports bag in the middle of the room and held it open as Mr D placed the body in it. He lifted the bag and they took up the plastic sheet and folded it neatly and placed it in the bag on top of the child’s wrapped body. Zipping the bag closed he looked at Mark.
“I’ll bring the car round. You have a good look round and make sure there is nothing we have missed. Then clean up.”
He left, closing the front door carefully and silently behind him. Mark moved round the flat, emptying the ash trays, picking up odds and ends and placing them carefully in a plastic bag. Finally, he took the disposable syringes, the tube of KY Jelly and put them into the plastic bag. He went into the kitchen and placed five hundred pound, in twenty pound notes behind a tile in the kitchen wall. The occupant of the flat, a young drug addict and single mother, would collect the payment the next day. He smiled to himself. That money would soon be back in his pocket for the drugs he would supply her with. He took one long final look and moved outside, clutching the plastic bag. He took the stairway to the first floor and stepped into the open corridor that ran along the outside of the building. From this vantage point, he carefully looked around the inside square of the flats. Satisfied that nothing stirred he dumped the plastic bag and its contents, in rubbish bin outside one the flats, carefully placing it under some rubbish. He moved back down the stairs and waited for Mr D in the tunnel.
“All clear,” he said, as Mr D approached within hearing distance. They were both dressed in black jeans and hoodies. They had the hoods up. They both went back to the flat and let themselves in. They waited. As the cheap wall clock’s big hand, on the wall of the flat, moved to 5 am, they took a handle of the bag each. They moved out of the flat and down the tunnel. Once the bag was in the boot of the car, Mark got into the passenger seat. They drove towards his car that was parked some distance away. As they drove he pondered. It had gone well. The whole show had made him two thousand pounds after expenses, which he would invest in drugs to supply to his clients. Then he had to consider the big offer he had been made. It was an offer that promised riches beyond his wildest dreams. And then there was Mr D. He was the consummate and ultimate professional. No one knew how he did it, but his bodies were never found. He never left a trace. He was worth every penny of his five thousand pound fee. What a find he had been and all thanks to Frank.
They had reached his parked car. Mark got out without a word. Mr D accelerated his car towards the motorway. After a while Mark followed in the same direction. As Mark passed the motorway patrol car, the automatic number plate recognition system, came to life and beeped. A red light started flashing on the computer screen. PC Watson was at the end of his shift. After which he would begin his two-week maternity leave. It was his first child and he was anxious to get home to his wife and new child. He pressed the computer key half-heartedly. The information flashed-up immediately. PC Wilson scanned the information on the screen, with little enthusiasm.
Speed: 68 mph
Number plate: YP569 ****
Model: Ford Mondeo
Registered owner: Mr John Cole
Address*****
Taxed, insured and M.O.T., all correct, he read.
PC Wilson never gave the car a second thought. Turning the ignition on, he moved the patrol car effortlessly onto the motorway. Three mile later, he moved onto the slip road and towards the station. It was the end of his shift. He could not wait to get home. The car was a clone. Mr Cole’s car, the same identical Ford Mondeo, was safely parked in his driveway in Weatherby and Mr Cole was in bed with his wife. She was snoring heavily by his side. He was wide awake. She was rounder than when they had first met and married her. That had been twenty-five years ago. Since then her sedate domestic life and the Sherries that she had consumed every night for the last twenty years had changed her figure over the years. She was now four times the weight she had been twenty years ago. There was a one and only daughter and she was, just as fat as her mother. He detested them both, but he had no intention of divorcing his wife and handing her half his company’s final salary pension and the house. Hopefully, her smoking and her developing drinking habit, which he encouraged, would see her into an early grave. She was already a diabetic and, if she carried on smoking and drinking heavily, she would die soon from a heart attack or stroke.
He was a commercial salesman. In the morning he would drive to Nottingham. See his clients and make a good bonus. Then he would book into one of the more up-market hotels in the area, all on expenses and phone his favourite escort agency. The cost would be covered by his bonuses and his companies’ expense account. The thought of what he would do with the escort gave him an erection. His wife sometimes demanded sex, but lately he found that he could plead an erectile dysfunction, due to age, which she reluctantly accepted. He reached over to the small box on the bed-side table and took out the ear plugs.
Mark Lemmings had a set of documents in the glove compartment matching the details of Mr Cole’s car perfectly, including insurance and driving licence. All duplicates of the original documents. He even had a copy of Mr Cole’s company credit card for emergencies. In the side door pocket of the car door, was a Second World War German 9mm Lugar, wrapped in a cloth, with a full clip and a spare. Lemmings took the exit marked East Leeds off the M1. He took the slip road onto the M62 and headed for Hull. He would be there in an hour. Make the collection and head for Filey and his rented static home. Most static home sites were empty at this time of year. Only the diehards or the poor remained in them over the winter months. He was feeling tired now, but would remain on full alert until he got home. Then he would smoke a joint, relax and sleep. He had plenty to do in the next day or two. Frank had given him expert tuition on how to disappear and remain anonymous. He had provided him with the contacts to achieve this. More importantly, Frank had provided him with a way to make lots of money on the outside. Mark was well pleased with the way things were going and he had good reason to be.
Chapter 5
Andy had been ill with flu for ten days. He had returned to work, still feeling awful, to find that the raid on the Romanian brothel had taken place without him or his consent or knowledge. It had gone horribly wrong. Most of the girls had been moved and the raid had been an abject failure. He was in no doubt that the brothel keepers had been warned of the raid. Andy was fuming and out for blood. The first officer into his office was his DS that morning. His voice was icy.
“Who authorised the raid?”
“C.I.D. made the raid,” replied his DS.
“What the fuck have C.I.D. got to do wit
h a Vice Operation?”
“They said that they had reliable information that money from a post office robbery was on the premises and that money from other robberies was being laundered through the brothel and its owners. They said that they also had information that the premises were being used to supply drugs.” His DS finished looking uncomfortable.
“Was money and drugs found there?” Andy said coldly.
“Not in any substantial quantities,” Newton replied. “Are you sure Detective Sergeant?”
“Yes, I was there,” said Newton.
“Who was the officer in charge?” Andy said.
“D.I. Maguire,” Newton said.
“Declan Maguire, Deputy Head of the Serious Crime Squad?” Andy asked.
“Yes sir,” replied Newton.
Andy sat back in his chair. Why would Declan Maguire want to cock-up a raid on a brothel? It didn’t make sense. He had to think this one out, but not now. The raid had been a disaster. Never mind. There would be another time. They would surface somewhere else and when they did he would be there waiting for them. His DS was getting edgy and moving his weight from one foot to the other.
“Newton,” said Andy.
“Yes sir.”
“If another raid takes place without my knowledge or permission, I will transfer you out of this section. Clear,” said Andy in a hard and uncompromising voice.
“Sir!” exclaimed Newton.
Andy put his hand-up and silenced him. He paused.
“I want you to find out how many children and especially young boys, have been reported as missing in the last six months. Get me the exact numbers and those, if any, that have been returned home. I want every detail on the cases. Understand? Every detail and in double-quick time and another thing what is happening at the house copying the porn we’ve been watching?” said Andy.
“Operating at full tilt we reckon. A distributor comes every Friday to collect,” said Newton.
“Organise a raid for this Friday. I want any ‘snuff’ DVD’s put to one side and anything else containing child porn. OK? Set-up a briefing for 8 am. I want the whole squad,” said Andy.
DS Newton nodded and left. Andy had been studying Lemmings file for the hundredth time and he was sure that if Lemmings was in the area he would be back to his old ways. His stomach turned at the thought. He made an effort to turn his thoughts to other things. What was the other pressing problem? That was easy. Corruption and in a way the two were connected. He was beginning to have some idea of who the major rotten apples were in the station. He picked up the phone and asked for a conference with Padwick and Green. They would meet him at 3 pm.
It took DS Newton a couple hours to collect the information on the missing children and it surprised him. All the information was from the local police computer and only pertinent to West Yorkshire. There was no central registrar or co-coordinating body for the whole of Britain. In fact, it struck Detective Sergeant Newton that the police knew more about missing cars than children nationally. He decided to look deeper on his own initiative and his surprise increased. It was only children’s charities that had any real information. He became professionally more and more concerned as he searched. Three hours later, Newton gathered his papers and entered his boss’s office.
“Well?” Andy said without looking up.
“Twenty-six children over the past six months, sir. Nearly all of them from social services homes or fostered. A few are runaways from poor homes. They are all aged between six and fourteen years of age. Except for the two who are sixteen years of age. Only ten have been accounted for.”
“Is that all?” There was irritation in Andy’s voice.
Newton was taken aback. He was visibly shocked. He coughed and cleared his throat.
“I’ve got a number of reports here, sir. Mainly from charities, that I thought you might find useful; especially the PACT Report, ‘A Review of the Available Data on Missing Children in the U.K.’, plus the NCIS reports and several newspaper articles.” He placed the papers on the desk.
“Have you read them?” Andy said shifting them around his desk with his pen.
“Yes sir.”
“Well, it may surprise you to learn, that, I read most of them twenty months ago.” He paused, then Andy raised his voice,
“Newton, if you bring me something, then bring me something fresh and new!”
Newton turned pale and then erupted,
“If I knew what exactly you had read and what was on your mind, I’d get it for you sir!” He said in a loud voice. It had been much louder than he intended. Andy turned a pair of ice cold eyes on his DS. He spoke slowly and deliberately.
“When I have a DS that warns me when an officer, however senior, is pissing on my patch he may, just may, have my trust and confidence. You don’t have it. If you want it, earn it.”
Newton turned on his heel and walked out. Andy looked at the pile of papers on his desk and shook his head slowly. “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath.
Andy was outside his Super’s office at 3 pm promptly. He was not kept waiting long and was ushered in shortly after 3.15 pm. Padwick was behind his desk and Bill Green was in a chair to his right. Padwick spoke.
“I take it this meeting is important? You have something of interest to report?”
No pressure then, thought Andy.
“Two things and a request, sir,” Andy said.
“Go on.”
“I believe that Lemmings is here and operating in the area.”
“Why?”
“Sixteen missing children, over the last six months, only three accounted for, too many unaccounted to be just coincidence and the gay community is extremely agitated. I think we will be finding bodies before too long.”
“Stop right there,” said Padwick abruptly.
“Every year there are thousands of children that go missing in the UK. For God’s sake, what are sixteen kids? Are you really suggesting that this is a significant number over six months? Rawlings I despair. I thought and I was told that you were good. I’ve been clearly misled.”
Andy looked straight into Padwick’s eyes and spoke softly and evenly. He decided that flattery was the best course of action.
“You are right, of course, sir. To be exact, there are some 147,000 children that go missing every year in the UK. In that respect, sixteen is an insignificant number, but their ages are not.”
He had added the sting deliberately and Rawlings paused to let the words sink in. Padwick showed no emotion. He waited for Rawlings to continue without saying a word. Andy continued.
“Of the children that are missing: two are over sixteen years old and not important to the enquiry since they would not be of interest to Lemmings. Four are habitual absconders and will turn up before long. Four are twelve or over, again too old. However, the rest are six-year olds and that is significant, sir, for many reasons.” He paused. “The main reason is that they can be moved around easily and can be disposed of easily. Furthermore, Lemmings, as you know, has a preference for six-year old boys and five of the missing children are six-year old boys. The other is a girl. Paedophiles are predators. They need prey. Six year olds are Lemmings choice of prey and it is rare for parents to lose a six year old.”
“Five missing boys! Five missing boys,” repeated Padwick. “You’re clutching at straws, Rawlings.”
“Maybe, sir but when you deal with paedophiles, straws or a lucky break is all that you get in my experience, sir. Then there is the fact that paedophiles all have personal profiles and individual habits. This fits the Lemmings profile, sir.”
“You said that you had two things to report and a request?”
“You asked me to look for corruption in this station. I believe that DI Declan Maguire is one of the bent coppers you’re looking for.”
“How do you know?” said Padwick.
“He blew one of my operations deliberately. I think that he is taking protection money, which he could be investing into Spanish property.
On the basis of that theory, I had a friend of mine, an ex-Met officer, retired in Spain, look into his property deals. He buys in his wife’s name. The prices he has declared are all under what he actually paid. In order to hide and lauder his money. He is worth over a million in Spain. On his pay he couldn’t possibly afford to invest that heavily in property.”
“His wife could be independently rich,” Padwick said.
“She’s never had a bean to her name,” interjected Bill Green.
“Are you sure?” Padwick said.
“Yes,” Green said.
“Your request?” said Padwick to Andy with a smile. “A full station alert on Lemmings, sir,” said Andy.
“Granted. How long will it take you to prepare for a briefing, with full documentation on Lemmings?”
“About twenty-four hours, sir,” Andy said.
“Bill, put it on the agenda for the Monday full station briefing. That will give us time, for you and me, to brief all Section Heads. Bill, if this thing takes off your section will join Rawlings and you will take over the control of the operation. What else?”
“I need an officer that I can fully trust,” Andy said. “Man or woman?” Padwick said.
“Not bothered, sir.”
“Bill, assign DC Singh to Rawlings with immediate effect.”
“Sir, a DC will look a bit strange working next to a DI!” Rawlings protested.
“She can be your driver, Rawlings and as such, will not look strange at all. Look after her; she is a bloody good copper,” Padwick retorted.
Rawlings was dumbfounded. A woman, Asian and a DC! It was the last thing he wanted. Should have been more specific he thought. Must remember that next time!
Chapter 6
It had taken the two white transit vans three hours to cross the Albania border at the Greek town of Krystallopigi. The Albania border guards had been meticulous in their inspection of the documentation and the vans been thoroughly searched. Anything that they fancied had been given to the guards. Provision had been made for such an eventuality. Once inside Albania they headed for the village of Zemblak. They were on the last leg of their journey and would pass through the small village of Zemblak in about six hours’ time. Outside Zemblak, some ten miles away at the edge of the mountains was the orphanage that they were bringing relief goods to. The overland drive took six days and it was a trip the vans made once a year. On the roof-racks of the vans there were spare tyres, parts and the camping equipment. Six people had travelled with the vans and one was a native of Albania, travelling under a British passport. On the sides of the vans was written, ‘Relief Aid for Albania Orphans from the UK.’
The Child Predators Page 3
