The Spider's Web

by Ben Cheetham

  ‘Hello, love,’ he said, stooping to clear away the few leaves and weeds that had gathered on the grave since his previous visit. He was silent a long moment, head bowed as if in thought, before continuing, ‘I’ve done something. I don’t know if it’s the right thing. You’d know. You always knew…’ He faded off into another extended silence.

  He kissed his fingers and touched them to the headstone. ‘I’ll see you again soon, love.’ Slowly, he stood. Slowly, he walked away.

  3

  Jim was woken by a knock at the door. It was a familiar kind of knock – one that demanded to be answered. The thought came to him at once: Anna’s done it, she’s published the list! Pulling on his dressing-gown, he hurried through to the spare bedroom of the flat he’d moved into several months after Margaret’s death – he’d tried to remain in the house, but the place was haunted by too many memories, too many nightmares. The knock came again as he booted up his PC. ‘Alright, hold your horses. I’ll be there in a minute,’ he shouted, navigating to Anna’s blog. He wanted to know what he was about to open the door to – if the list had been published, it was most likely Garrett come to give him the hairdryer treatment.

  ‘The high-society paedophile ring the authorities don’t want us to know about’ ran the blog headline. Jim avidly scanned down the page. Anna had been a busy girl.

  ‘We’ve all heard the rumours,’ continued the post. ‘They’ve been doing the rounds for years. High-society orgies where for the right money boys and girls of any age can be bought, used and abused. The revenge killings of Herbert and Marisa Winstanley and Dr Henry Reeve gave us a glimpse into the truth behind the rumours. The uncovery of Labour MP Edward Forester and his half-brother Freddie Harding’s terrible crimes, and Chief Superintendent Charles Knight’s corruption, shed further light on this sickening little world. We waited for more revelations, more names. But they never came – until now…’

  There was a vague reference to a ‘source with police connections’. Followed by several paragraphs recapping the events that had been set into motion by Stephen Baxley’s fateful decision to attempt to murder his family, and culminating in the discovery of Herbert’s little black book. Then came the list itself. Anna hadn’t simply published the names. She’d put together bios with details of their owners’ nationalities, ages, professions and any connections they had to each other. She’d even managed to dig up photos of most of them. Beneath the post, there were already hundreds of comments, many from other bloggers promising to spread the word. The blog had clearly been getting a lot of traffic.

  The insistent hammering forced its way back into Jim’s consciousness. He headed to the door and squinted through the spyhole. As expected, Garrett was on the other side of it. He was dressed in an old grey tracksuit. His usually neat hair was dishevelled, his chin was dark with stubble, as though he’d jumped out of bed, grabbed the first clothes to hand and left the house in a rush. He looked angry – angrier than Jim had ever seen him.

  Jim took a breath and opened the door. ‘Sorry, I was in b—’

  ‘Have you seen it?’ broke in Garrett, pushing past him into the hallway.

  ‘Seen what?’

  Garrett’s eyes flashed behind their spectacles. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t think I do.’

  ‘You must think I’m a bloody fool! Maybe I am for putting my trust in you.’

  Garrett thrust out several sheets of paper. A glance told Jim it was a printout of the blog post. He kept his face expressionless – to a cop, false surprise was as transparent as a freshly cleaned window.

  ‘What have you got to say about that?’ demanded Garrett.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want you to own up to what you’ve done.’

  ‘You think this came from me?’

  Garrett made a dismissive slash with his hand. ‘Let’s cut the bullshit, Jim. I know you. I know what you’re capable of when you can’t get your own way.’

  ‘You make me sound like a spoilt child.’

  ‘Maybe because that’s what you remind me of sometimes. Do you realise what you’ve done? You’ve torn down everything you worked so hard for.’

  ‘There was nothing to tear down,’ Jim stated matter-of-factly, ‘because you never gave me the proper tools to build anything in the first place.’

  ‘How can you say that? I allowed you to handpick a team to work this case.’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t allow us to work it the way it should be worked.’

  Garrett stabbed at the printout. ‘Those people have a right to anonymity until their guilt’s been proven.’

  ‘And we have a right to warn the public that their children are in danger.’

  ‘So you admit you gave Anna Young the names.’

  ‘No. But I admit I’m glad that someone did.’

  ‘And what about the investigation being suspended, are you glad about that too?’

  ‘Suspended on whose authority?’

  ‘On Chief Constable Hunt’s. And if that’s not enough for you, on the authority of the Home Office, who woke the Chief Constable with a none-too-pleasant phone call this morning.’

  Jim exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, nodding as if to say, That sounds about right. ‘And what about me? Am I suspended too?’

  ‘No. But believe me, I’m going to find out who leaked this information. And when I do, I’ll have no choice but to hit them with the full weight of disciplinary proceedings.’

  ‘Well, good luck.’

  Garrett’s face twitched with conflicting emotions. ‘I realise I owe you a lot, Jim, but I’m not going to let you ruin my career for the sake of some futile crusade. I mean, for Christ’s sake, if any harm should come to anyone on that list because of this…’ He cringed visibly at the thought of the repercussions of such a thing.

  ‘Yeah, God forbid that should happen.’ There was more than a hint of sarcasm in Jim’s voice.

  Garrett grimaced angrily. He whirled away from Jim as though he couldn’t stand to look at him any more and headed out the door, throwing over his shoulder, ‘Make sure your mobile’s switched on. I’ll be calling you very soon.’

  Jim went in search of his mobile and dialled Anna Young. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked upon picking up, her tone abrupt and suspicious.

  ‘It’s Jim Monahan.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Jim, I didn’t recognise your number. My phone’s been going crazy all morning. I can’t believe this is happening so fast. I only put the list out there a few hours ago and already I’m getting calls from lawyers, journalists and your lot. I’ve even had some Home Office dickhead on the phone trying to pressure me into giving up my source. They’re threatening to close down my blog, just like you said they would.’

  ‘How long do you think it’ll take them to do it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Considering how much heat this thing’s generating, I’ll be amazed if it’s still up by the end of today. But that’s the least of my worries. The word’s already out and spreading like a fucking virus, nothing they do can stop it now.’

  ‘What else did they threaten you with?’

  Anna’s breath whistled between her teeth. ‘It’s more like what didn’t they threaten me with. Legal action, suspension of my benefits. They’re even threatening to take away my mum’s house. It’s a three-bedroomed council house. There are only two of us living here now, so apparently they can force us to move somewhere smaller. I told them straight out, they can do anything they want to me, but if they go near my mum I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to exposing each and every one of them for the heartless, paedophile-protecting bastards they are. That shut them up.’

  Jim smiled sourly. ‘I’ll bet it did. What about the journalists?’

  Another hiss of breath filled the line. ‘You called that right too. No way will they dare publish the list. There’s a lot of scepticism out there. I suppose it’s understandable. They’
ve been burnt by this kind of thing before. But I get the sense there’s a good chance they’ll write about what we’re doing without mentioning names. How about you? Any trouble?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle. It’s obvious where the leak came from, but they’ll struggle to prove anything so long as we’re careful who we tell what.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’d never reveal a source.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t. Call me if there are any developments, especially if anyone tries to intimidate you.’

  Jim hung up and returned to the computer. The blog’s hit counter was ticking over fast – there’d been more than a thousand visitors since he’d last looked. He Googled Anna’s name along with some of the names from the list. Pages of links came up to other blogs that had republished the post. For months he’d felt as inert and lifeless as the investigation. But scanning through the links, he had a sense of things moving, both inside and outside himself. Were they moving in the right direction, though? Right then he didn’t really care about the answer to that question. All that mattered was that the status quo was broken.

  All day Jim remained in front of his computer. By the afternoon brief articles had appeared in the online editions of several newspapers, carrying headlines such as ‘Blogger Reveals Alleged High-Profile Paedophile List’ and ‘Suspected Paedophile List Leaked’. As expected, the fear of libel was too great for the mainstream press to name names. There were also references to past witch-hunts of suspected ‘establishment paedophiles’, where names had emerged online, only for the accused to later be fully vindicated. There was mention too of Anna’s bankruptcy and prison sentences, and one newspaper insidiously marked her out as a scrounger by quoting her as saying that she ‘chose to be unemployed so that she could concentrate on her blog’. The first hints perhaps of a smear campaign to come.

  At half past four, Jim tried to access the blog again and got an ‘Error 404 Page Not Found’ message. His phone rang. It was Anna. ‘It’s down,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That was even faster than I expected. There are some people with serious influence throwing their weight around here.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Nothing. They’re doing far more for me than I could ever do for myself. Their eagerness to silence me only makes my words all the more credible. It’s a lesson these idiots never seem to learn. Oh, by the way, I had a visit from Chief Superintendent Garrett earlier.’

  ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘Only that I’d completely scuppered your investigation.’

  Jim blew out a derisive breath. ‘The investigation was scuppered before it even got started.’

  ‘He also said he knew where the leak came from.’

  ‘Of course he did. I’ll bet he didn’t accuse me directly though, did he?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Jim’s mouth spread into a thin smile. Garrett was far too cautious and calculated to make public accusations he couldn’t back up with hard evidence. That was one of the reasons they were in this position. ‘Anyone else been in contact?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve had a few more threats of libel and injunctions. A silent phone call too.’

  A little rise of interest came into Jim’s voice. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing much. The phone rang. The home phone, not my mobile. I answered and it went dead.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Just after one.’

  ‘That was three and a half hours ago! I thought we agreed you’d phone me if anyone tried to intimidate you.’

  ‘It was only a silent call. I’ve had plenty of them over the years. They’re par for the course.’

  ‘It could be a lead. You should have let me know straight away.’

  ‘Alright, keep your pants on. If it happens again, I will do.’

  Sighing, Jim wondered if Anna’s head was screwed on as tight as he’d thought. ‘I don’t suppose you got a number?’

  ‘Actually, I did. I think it’s a phone box number. I tried to find out its location, but BT gave me the usual data protection bollocks.’

  Jim reined in his irritation, reminding himself that Anna was a lone wolf with an inbuilt cynicism of authority. He was going to have to win her trust. ‘That’s where it helps to have a friend in the police. Remember, Anna, we’re a team now.’ He took the number, hung up and rang someone he knew at BT. They confirmed what Anna suspected – the call had come from a public phone box. What’s more, a phone box on Prospect Road, Sheffield. He frowned. That was about five minutes’ walk from her house. He phoned her and repeated what he’d been told. ‘My guess is this was a warning shot across your bow.’

  ‘I hope so because that’d mean we’ve really got the fuckers rattled.’

  ‘If you want, I can put a car on your house tonight.’

  ‘No. It would upset Mum. Besides, they wouldn’t dare actually hurt me. That’d be as good as an admission of guilt.’

  ‘I’m going to head over your way, find out if anyone saw anything.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s wise, you getting involved like this? Won’t it make it obvious that the two of us are in contact?’

  ‘It’s obvious anyway. This makes it legitimate.’

  ‘So in a way, the caller’s done us a favour.’

  Jim smiled despite himself. You had to admire Anna’s way of looking at things, if not her apparent lack of a self-preservation instinct. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’

  As Jim drove to Reece’s house – a modest semi eerily reminiscent of the house he'd shared with Margaret – he contacted forensics and asked them to check out the phone box. Reece’s car was in the driveway with a couple of holdalls in its open boot. The house’s front door was open too. As Jim approached it, Reece emerged with another bag and stopped abruptly at the sight of him. ‘Jim, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Have you heard what’s happened?’

  ‘Yeah, the Chief Superintendent phoned me. He’s not a happy bunny.’

  ‘What about you? What do you think?’

  Reece puffed his cheeks. ‘To be honest, Jim, right now I’ve got other things on my mind.’

  Jim glanced at the bag. ‘You going somewhere?’

  ‘London. Only for the night. Staci’s got an appointment with an oncologist down there tomorrow morning.’

  ‘A private consultant?’

  Reece nodded. ‘He’s supposed to be the best around.’

  ‘Sounds expensive.’

  ‘It’s not cheap. But I’ve got some money left over from the sale of my dad’s house.’ Reece turned at the sound of footsteps. Staci and her young daughter, Amelia, appeared at the door. Amelia looked up at Jim, but she didn’t have her usual cheeky smile for him. There was a kind of bewildered incomprehension in her eyes, as though she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she sensed it wasn’t anything good.

  ‘Hi there, gorgeous,’ said Jim, smiling at her.

  ‘Hi,’ Amelia replied quietly, her gaze dropping away.

  Jim turned his attention to Staci. She was wearing a heavy coat, but even so it was immediately apparent how much weight she’d lost in the month or so since he’d last seen her. Her face looked sucked in and there were shadows of pain around her eyes. Her once-thick strawberry-blonde hair was scraped back into a ponytail, through which showed pale glimpses of scalp. Self-consciously reaching up to check her hair, Staci asked the same question Reece had done, ‘What are you doing here, Jim?’

  He gave her a small, gentle smile. ‘I came to see Reece about something.’

  ‘Do you two need a minute to talk?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing that can’t wait.’ Jim’s gaze returned Reece. ‘Go on, I don’t want to hold you up.’

  Reece hurried to put the bag in the boot, before returning to help Staci to the car. With a tenderness that belied his burly frame, he supported her by the hand and elbow. ‘Good luck,’ Jim said as they passed him.

  Staci smiled wanly. ‘Thanks.’

&n
bsp; Jim flicked them a wave as Reece reversed the car out of the drive. Reece lowered his window. ‘About what you asked me before,’ he said to Jim. ‘It was high fucking time someone did something.’

  Jim acknowledged his colleague’s support with a nod of thanks. He drove to the phone box and spent the next hour knocking on the doors of nearby houses, asking their occupants if they’d seen anyone using the pay phone around one o’clock. Unsurprisingly, no one had. Equally unsurprisingly, forensics pulled numerous prints off the phone box. The handset, however, was clean. Too clean. Almost as if someone had wiped it over to make extra sure they left no trace of themselves on it. Jim knew then that his guess was right – the call was a warning.

  By the time he was done, his body was heavy with fatigue. Since his heart attack, he’d lived clean – except for the odd lapse – eaten well and adhered to the prescribed exercise, but even so his energy levels had never really returned to what they’d been. He stopped at a shop on the way home to buy some water to swallow his medication with. His gaze strayed to the alcohol behind the till. How he would have loved a drink, and a cigarette too.

  His phone rang. Garrett’s name flashed up. He reluctantly put the receiver to his ear. Garrett was the last person he felt like talking to, but he knew he had to answer the call. ‘Guess who I’ve been on the phone to,’ snapped the Chief Superintendent.

  ‘Forensics.’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘Anna Young contacted me concerned about a silent phone call.’

  Garrett huffed out an incredulous laugh. ‘You’re a brazen bastard, Jim.’

  ‘I’m just doing my job.’

  ‘Yes, well, how much longer you’ll be doing your job for remains to be seen.’

  The line went dead. Jim’s gaze returned to the alcohol. ‘Can I get you something else?’ asked the woman behind the till. With a quick shake of his head, he paid and left.

  4

  For the second morning in a row Jim was woken by that certain kind of knock at his front door. Christ, what does Garrett want now? he wondered. ‘If he’s just going to give me another earful, he can fuck off,’ he muttered to himself, heading to the door. He glanced through the spyhole to make sure he was right about who was knocking. He wasn’t. On the other side of the door was a broad-shouldered old man wearing a grubby, frayed suit. A thick white beard covered much of his nut-brown, leathery face. Dour brown eyes peered out from beneath equally bushy eyebrows. In contrast, his hair was short and wispy. He had the appearance of someone who’d long since ceased caring what he looked like. Jim guessed him to be somewhere in his mid-seventies. Under one of his arms was tucked a cardboard folder of a type Jim recognised. The sight of the folder sparked Jim’s curiosity as much, if not more so, than the presence of its bearer. He opened the door and waited for the man to speak.