by Conrad Jones
When Jack was called Ian, his life in the care of Father Paul was a living nightmare. The boys under his protection were beaten for the slightest reason and subjected to sexual abuse at every opportunity. There was no escape from it. On one occasion, a visiting Bishop took prayers in the morning, and then joined the boys for breakfast at first break. He was friendly and appeared to be caring and interested in their welfare. Later that day at lunch, Ian and his best friend Clive, took the opportunity to tell the kindly Bishop what Father Paul had been doing to them at night. His caring facade led them to trust in him, and as such, they appealed to him for help. The Bishop was furious, and told them to keep it a secret until he’d had chance to speak to the other boys, and to Father Paul. The boys placed their trust in him and were repaid later that evening when Father Paul and the Bishop took them to his study where they were beaten and buggered by both men until the early hours of the morning. Jack wasn’t surprised that yet another adult gifted with his care had let him down and hurt him physically; it had become par for the course to him. Clive was never the same again after that night. It was as if his hope and trust in humanity had been shattered completely, and a week later he was found hanged by his dressing gown cord from a tree in the grounds, aged just eleven. Clive was Ian’s only real friend and his death turned something in his mind.
Ian couldn’t stand anymore, and when Father Paul had finished giving him his special kind of bible class that night, he’d waited until the priest bent down to pull up his underpants from around his ankles, and he stabbed him in the back of the skull with his own compass. Once he’d stabbed him the first time, he couldn’t stop, and he continued to plunge the compass point into the priest until he finally stopped moving. The priest had moaned and shouted for help but the boys were used to hearing wailing coming from his office, and his cries for help went unheeded. One boy had heard the priest’s cries and investigated by looking through the keyhole, only to see Ian ramming the metal geometry device into Father Paul’s eyes. The boy opened the door and closed it behind him, Ian had been oblivious to him, even when he joined the attack and began to kick the priest and stamp on him. The boys became wrapped up in a kind of hysteria, inserting over fifteen pens and pencils into the priest’s skull. Finally, they inserted the umbrella into the priest as an afterthought, ripping his internal organs to shreds. Covered in blood the pair ran from the home with a few pounds that they’d found in Father Paul’s desk. It was two days later they were caught sleeping rough in a park nearby, where Ian confessed immediately to killing the priest. He had talked for hours on tape about the abuse he’d received at the hands of the priest, but it bought him only a little compassion from the trial judge. It was twenty years later when he was released back into society as Jack, who went on to be called The Child Taker.
His release into the busy world of normal law-abiding citizens had been traumatic, to say the least. The years of violence and abuse at the hands of Father Paul were replaced by a similar regime in prison. Eventually he began to grow taller and stronger, and he developed long-term relationships with people similar to him in jail. There was strength in numbers and soon the dynamic changed and the abused became the abuser. Despite the years of abuse that he’d suffered, he felt no sympathy for his own victims, only excitement and a feeling of power and control. The first man that his twisted posse held down and raped in prison was a turning point for Jack. It released him from the years of being a victim.
Twenty years passed in jail, and a panel of experts decided he was ready for release into society, under the close scrutiny of the probation service. There were many restrictions placed upon his liberty, but none that denied him access to children. He had been convicted and sentenced as a murderer, not a sex offender. It was the system itself that had created his bizarre sexual desires, and because the probation service was so pressured by its workload, nobody noticed him spiralling out of control. His development from a victim to the most dangerous kind of sexual predator was a slow one. He evolved.
The first abduction that he’d carried out was purely an opportunist one, motivated by his own lust. When his desires had been satiated, he was left with a very tearful young girl covered in his DNA, semen, hair follicles and saliva. He knew that they would find him, lock him up, and throw away the key this time around. His instinct to survive took over and he killed her and disposed of the evidence where she would never be found. Months later when the press furore had died down, and the little girl had never been recovered, it dawned on him how simple it had been. It also dawned on him how many paedophiles were talking about the abduction in the chat rooms on the internet. It was a simple progression from the first one, to the second, and then the rest of them. It had made him a man of means financially, and as long as he remained transient, always moving on, then they would never catch him. A hard slap around the face brought him back to the real world, a world of pain.
“Wakey Wakey, Jack,” a gruff voice broke through to his consciousness.
“He doesn’t look well,” Alfie’s voice said concerned.
“Shut up and get the kids into the car.”
“The Moroccan said teach him a lesson not kick him to death.” Jack opened his eyes. One of the men was stood over him, and the other was coming out of the small bedroom with one twin in each arm. They looked cosy and unconcerned as they slept, and the man carried them out of the caravan and down the steps. Jack was doubled up in pain and he knew that he’d been seriously hurt, but he remained still. He heard the boot of a car being closed, and almost felt sorry for the twins. Almost.
“Jack,” Alfie shouted at him. “Talk to me, Jack.”
Jack looked up at the man but the world was becoming blurred and his voice sounded like an echo, talk to me Jack, talk to me Jack, talk to me Jack. His head began to spin as if he was drunk.
“He looks grey.” Brian said.
“Shut up will you,” Alfie sounded worried now.
“Jack!” he shouted in his ear.
Jack opened his eyes again, but closed them just as quickly as the world spun violently. He felt vomit rising from his guts, and he groaned as it filled his mouth and then splattered all over the floor. The taste of blood made him wretch again.
“Shit he’s throwing up blood.”
“What the fucking hell does that mean?”
“It means that you’re dead you fool. If the boss finds out that you’ve ruined his supply line by killing this scumbag, you’ll be wearing concrete boots, and looking at the fishes.”
“What should we do?”
“What do you mean, we?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Jack could hear the men leave, they turned out the lights and locked the door, ‘thoughtful of them’, he thought. He heard their engine fire up, and then the car roared as it sped away down the country lanes. Darkness descended on him as the pain in his abdomen intensified.
Chapter Fifteen
The Taskforce
Tank and Major Timms sat at a wide teak desk in Hayley’s study. She used it as her base to run a re-seller business on the internet, so that she could combine work with being a mother to five-year-old twins. The desk had a thin layer of household dust across it, a sign that the study hadn’t been used since the twins were snatched. Tank fired up the computer and the screen flickered through a series of different backgrounds as the broadband connected. Hayley’s home page appeared and an automated voice informed them that the e-mail box was full. Tank scanned the headers in the inbox to see if there was anything suspicious in there. It all appeared to be innocent. There were no ransom demands, ‘mores’ the pity’, he thought. A kidnap case would increase the chances of recovering the twins unharmed. He checked his watch and nodded to the Major before typing in a secure web address that was only accessed by members of the Terrorist Task Force.
“We’re in, Major,” Tank said. They were using a webcam to conference call with Grace and Graham Libby, the taskforce’s forensic maestro. The taskforce was based
in an underground bunker beneath the headquarters of the Merseyside police force, on the banks of the River Mersey. In the seventies a network of subterranean traffic tunnels were built to facilitate the movement of commuters beneath the river. The bunker had been built in secret, at the same time as the Mersey tunnels were constructed, and it spread for miles beneath the city centre. It had been built to house the government in the event of war, and contained intelligence gathering departments, and forensic facilities second to none. The Mersey Estuary opened out into the Irish Sea, and the depths of the Atlantic Ocean were only a few hours away in a nuclear submarine. The idea was that in the event of a Third World War, the bunker could be used by the government in safety, and could withstand a nuclear attack. It was also only yards to the river, where in the event of an imminent enemy invasion key personnel could escape by nuclear submarine.
“What have you got for us, Professor?” Tank asked.
“The blood samples that Grace found on the barbed wire fence match the father’s DNA profile,” Graham Libby said. He scratched his baldhead and removed his glasses. There were thick tufts of wild grey hair growing unkempt above his ears, which gave him the look of a mad scientist. In reality, he was one of the country’s best scientific investigators. “That doesn’t tell us much on its own. The results of the tests which we carried out on the hair follicle that was removed from the adhesive are far more interesting.”
“The blood on the barbed wire could confirm to the police that Karl was in the woods when the children were taken,” the Major commented. “It could take the focus off Karl.”
Tank nodded his head in agreement. The consensus was that the police were spending too much time looking at Karl for the abduction. The hint of an affair with his sister-in-law had added fuel to the flames. The Major was convinced all four adults that were present at the time of the abduction would be hauled in for detailed questioning, especially now that Hayley had mentioned the affair to Sylvia Lees.
“It would indicate that he was away from the tents at some stage, but it’s not definitive proof that he ventured any further into the trees,” the scientist corrected him. He placed his spectacles back on, and continued.
“Hayley witnessed him walking across the field with the speaker in his hands,” Tank argued.
“The police would argue that he could have placed it close to the fence prior to the abduction, and arranged for another party to take the twins. The sister-in-law coerced her husband into their tent with the offer of sex, to allow the abduction to be carried out unhindered,” the scientist replied abruptly. It was difficult to argue with the fact that family involvement couldn’t be ruled out by the police.
“Let’s leave the finer detail to one side for now,” the Major interrupted. “Tell me about the results from the hair please.”
“The hair follicle was from the hand, or fingers of a Caucasian male, probably in his sixties.”
“I thought you had more than that,” Tank interrupted impatiently. The how and why of a scientific investigation didn’t interest him. He wanted to know the results.
Graham Libby looked over the top of his spectacles and took on the appearance of an angry headmaster. “I have much more than that, Agent Tankersley, if you’d demonstrate some patience then I’ll explain.” He shook his head angrily and his cheeks and jowls wobbled.
“We haven’t got time to play with, Professor,” Tank retorted.
“We ran the DNA through our database, and discovered a match. The hair belonged to a man called Ian Thomas. Grace has the details,” the scientist said deflated that he’d been forced to rush his information. “I hope you catch him, Major, and I hope that your grandchildren are returned safely.”
“Thanks, Graham,” the Major replied. “What have you got Grace?”
The study door opened and Hayley tentatively walked a few paces into the room. She looked a stone lighter than she had before the twins had been taken. Her pretty features looked sunken and gaunt, and her eyes were lifeless and dull. She was wearing a baggy grey jogging suit, which hung loosely from her hips and shoulders, and her beautiful blond hair looked unwashed and lank.
“What have you found out, Dad?” she asked. Her voice was cracked and hoarse. Tank raised his eyebrows in surprise. He thought that she must have been listening to their conversation at the door.
“Give us twenty minutes, Hayley, and we’ll talk,” the Major turned away from the computer screen and walked toward his daughter.
“I want to hear what they’ve found out, Dad.”
“We’ve done some background checks into the investigation, that’s all. I’ll come and tell you in a short while,” he reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. He could feel the bones beneath her clothes. She was wasting away.
“They are my babies, Dad. I need to know what you know.”
Tank shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The Major looked back at the screen. Grace had heard Hayley’s voice in the room and she didn’t look happy. The Major tried to read the expression on her face. Judging by that, he gauged that the news that she had was not good.
“We don’t know anything yet, Hayley.”
“Bullshit! Don’t treat me like a fool,” her top lip quivered like it used to when she was a child. The Major felt like his heart was breaking as he watched his only child being torn apart. “I heard Graham say a name, Ian Thomas. Who is he, and has he got my babies?”
The Major closed the study door and then held his daughter’s hand. They stepped back to the desk together. Tank coughed and tried to smile at her but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the screen.
“Tell me, Grace, who has got my babies.” She leaned her head into her father’s chest and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye. She held a piece of well-used tissue paper tightly in her right fist.
“Perhaps we should do this later, Major,” Grace looked decidedly uncomfortable about revealing the details of their investigation in front of Hayley.
“She needs to know,” the Major prompted her to continue, against his better judgement.
Grace looked down for a moment and then took a deep breath before beginning.
“Ian Thomas was born in Irlam, Manchester. His father died when he was seven years old and shortly afterwards he was identified as a child at risk, and placed into the care of the authorities. He was placed into a catholic boys’ orphanage where he remained until he was arrested and jailed, aged fourteen.”
“Slow down a second, Grace. Jailed for what?” Tank asked.
“He was sent to a young offenders’ institution, until he was sixteen and then transferred to Parkhurst for the remainder of his sentence.”
“Jailed for what?” Tank repeated himself. The mention of Parkhurst indicated that the offender had serious mental issues.
“At the end of his sentence, he was released under licence and given a new identity, Jack Howarth. As far as we know that’s the name he uses now. ”
Tank frowned at the Major. Grace was obviously skating over the facts for Hayley’s sake.
“I need to know, Grace. Who is this man that has taken my babies, who is this man, somebody please tell me who has taken my babies..!” Hayley’s knees buckled and the Major grabbed her to support her. “Please tell me who has taken my babies, Dad, I want my babies, please!” Tears streamed from her eyes and she folded at the waist. “Why has he taken my babies....?” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Please don’t let him hurt my children.” her voice trailed off to a choked sob.
“Later, Grace,” Tank stood and helped the Major guide Hayley to the study door. Karl had heard the commotion and he was standing in the doorway when they opened it. He looked as tired and shattered as his wife did.
“What’s going on?” He asked nervously.
“Take her to lie down, Karl,” Tank put Karl’s arm under Hayley’s elbow and allowed him to take her weight.
“They know who has the twins, and they won’t tell me who has taken my babies!” Hayley whine
d hysterically.
“What?” Karl was incredulous. He looked from the Major to Tank and then back again. Their expressions said everything that he needed to know. “I’m going to call the police, right away,” he said exasperated.
“Hayley, calm down,” Tank glared at Karl as he tried to calm her.
“How can you know who has taken the twins?” Karl took Hayley’s weight and led her away from the study door. She was crying so hard that she was struggling to breath. Saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth onto the grey hooded top. Karl couldn’t take in what had happened. His mouth was wide open in shock, and he was shaking his head in disbelief.
“Karl, take Hayley to lie down, we’re trying to help,” the Major attempted to calm the situation down. “The doctor gave her some tranquilisers, give her two, and we’ll talk to you when she’s calmed down.”
“How dare you interfere in this, how dare you?” Karl had flushed purple with anger. “They’re our children!”
