by David Barry
A cold tremor ran through my body as I was reminded of Olivia’s threatening troll, and how her hacker’s identity might be unbreakable. I glanced at my watch. Nearly five-thirty.
‘I think we need to sleep on this. We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning at nine and see what the next plan of action is. Meanwhile, I’ve got to see a man on the Isle of Sheppey.’
Bill pulled a face. ‘Lucky you. What a karsey that place is. Don’t bother to send me a postcard.’
I laughed, in spite of my dread of the journey across London and down to east Kent, which right now I could have done without. ‘Can I leave you to lock up?’ I said.
‘Sure, mate. Nicky and I’ll see to it. You dash off - or crawl off - in the rush hour traffic.’
I tapped the wallet in my back pocket. ‘Is there an ATM close by. I may need to get some cash?’
Bill chuckled. ‘There’s one just round the corner past the tube station. But watch out for the skimmers. A half a million’s a lot to lose.’
Chapter 10
There was no quick way across London and Kent in the rush hour, so I flipped a metaphorical coin in my head and plumped for a route via Islington, then over London Bridge and east along the Old Kent Road. It took me about forty-five minutes to get as far as Borough High Street, just across the other side of the river, when I felt my mobile vibrating. I stuck the hazard lights on and pulled over. I saw it was a text message from Rick.
The text read: “Urgent. Might know who Eclipse is. Vital u meet me. Matthew in bed by 8. Sarah home at 9. Meet me Joiners Arms, Ballards Lane, Finchley 9.30. Rick.”
I wondered why it was so crucial for Rick to want to meet me this evening. If this Eclipse who was frightening Olivia was in Poland, why the urgency? On the other hand, as it had already been pointed out to me, the address might be a smokescreen and the bastard could be in London.
I put the car back into drive and accelerated sharply into the traffic. A blast of a horn from an irate cabbie, so I raised a hand of apology in my rear view mirror. I was starting to feel anxious about the situation with Olivia, and uneasy about Rick’s message and having to wait until nine-thirty to discover what was so urgent. On the other hand, I was relieved I no longer had to journey to Sheppey.
Instead of going left at the end of Borough High Street, I did a right, and returned north of the river across Blackfriars Bridge. I toyed with the idea of going home first, but I had already driven what seemed like hundreds of miles today already, and I also needed to check out on a few of my club doormen, so I decided I would get a drink and a bite to eat in a pub just off Farringdon Road, somewhere like Clerkenwell Green, where I could make one or two phone calls and keep my other business flowing steadily.
***
By the time I got to the Joiners Arms in Finchley, my mood was dark, savagely angry as I thought about the internet pervert intimidating my daughter. And why did they have to call them trolls? I asked myself. Trolls I thought of as fictional monsters from fairy stories and pantomimes, nothing more than a string of harmless wicked witches, ogres or giants, about as real as Father Christmas. But the threat to my daughter was from a very real sick mind and I wanted nothing more than to find the person responsible and beat him to a pulp.
This being a Tuesday night, I was relieved to find the Joiners Arms was relatively quiet. I didn’t think I could cope with any forced hilarity tonight, or a pub quiz droning on and on.
I ordered a large Bushmills and sat in a quiet corner. Nine-twenty on the pub clock. Just ten minutes to go, and then I would find out what this was all about and hopefully put a stop to this twisted bastard threatening Olivia.
I sipped the drink as slowly as I could. I find it hard to make a glass of spirits last more than a few minutes, but as I patted my midriff, feeling the tightness of my waistband, I knew I had to cut down on the beer.
I stared at the amber liquid, swirling it around in the glass and frowning deeply, wishing the hands of the clock would move a bit quicker. Because I was stressed - it had been a long day - I wanted to leap up, go to the bar and get another large Bushmills, which I imagined downing hurriedly. Instead, I restrained the urge, and sipped minuscule amounts of whiskey as I watched the hands of the clock reach twenty-eight minutes past. I sighed and knocked back the thin layer of drink left. Any minute now Rick would arrive and hopefully give me some news that I could at least act on. It was feeling so helpless, unable to think of a scheme to combat the internet attacks that was so frustrating.
The last two minutes were the worst, my focus moving between clock and empty glass, feeling desperately in need of a good long pint.. As soon as Rick arrived, I promised myself, I could buy him a drink, and - to hell with it! - get myself a pint.
As the clock cleared nine-thirty, a jumble of chaotic thoughts bombarded my brain, so that I drifted into fantasies about all kinds of vengeance I might heap on this Eclipse scumbag. But it was pointless and hopeless, as it existed only in my imagination. Even the bastard’s name was unreal, like something out of a comic. Except this Eclipse bastard sounded deadly serious in his intention to harm in the sickest way possible.
In my dark vision of revenge, I had drifted, and the hands of the clock had almost reached twenty-to-ten. Where the hell was Rick? Perhaps he was held up by a domestic problem. Maybe his wife had been delayed. That was it. She’d got home late and he couldn’t leave his child on his own.
I went to the bar, glanced at the door, half-hoping he would walk in as I was getting a drink. But no one came through the door so, instead of a pint, I limited myself to a half. I returned to my corner seat and almost downed the half pint in one gulp. It was now quarter-to. I took out my mobile, scrolled to Rick’s name in the phone book, keyed the send button and held the phone to my ear.
Nothing. Not a voice mail message. Nothing.
I began to panic. I had a bad feeling about this.
From my meeting with Rick yesterday lunchtime, I knew vaguely where his house was in relation to the pub. So I typed in his postcode on my smart phone map section and discovered the most direct route was across a small park. I decided I would hurry to meet him, and if I didn’t bump into him on the way, then I could always call round. After all, his text message had said it was urgent.
I downed the rest of my half, said goodnight to the barmaid, and hurried out onto the main road. I crossed to the other side, turned right into a side street, and walked quickly towards Victoria Park, about 150 yards down on the left. What worried me most as I hurried breathlessly towards the park, was the fact that his mobile had registered nothing when I rang it. Maybe, I tried to convince myself, he forgot to charge it. Perhaps a pay-as-you-go which he’d forgotten to top up. Or just a bad signal.
I was clutching at straws. And then I heard it in the distance. Faint to begin with but soon getting closer and more urgent as the siren became more pronounced. Heading in this direction.
As I reached the park I heard a strangled scream and a babble of voices. Someone choking and retching, followed by the sound of fluid and more choking. I turned into the park, and I saw by the light from a streetlamp some people gathered round a body on the ground. In the bushes, a woman clutched her stomach and was sick. A man stood nearby, holding the lead of a small dog, incongruously wagging its tail as another man bent over the prostrate body, which lay across the path. I could see a dark pool by the figure’s head, which I knew was blood, even though there was no colour in the dark pool, like a shot from an old black-and-white film.
As I edged closer, I saw the victim’s military camouflage shorts, and then I inched even nearer, hardly daring to confirm my suspicions as I saw his blond hair. It was Rick. His throat had been slashed and he’d lost a lot of blood.
A man knelt at his side. ‘Oh God!’ he wept. ‘There’s no pulse that I can find. I think he’s dead.’
Rick had been murdered. But why? Was it a r
andom attack? A violent mugging? No, it couldn’t be. Meeting me with information concerning Eclipse and then winding up dead was too much of a coincidence.
The siren wailed loudly as it reached the street near the park, then died rapidly, the flashing blue lights adding an eerie brilliance to the night, a scene that was reminiscent of so many accidents. Except this was no accident.
The kneeling man stood up. ‘Over here!’ he shouted. ‘Over here! Quickly!’ The dog barked but still wagged its tail. I moved closer to the body, just in case I was wrong, but it was Rick all right. There was no mistaking him by his teenager garb, and his blond tousled hair.
Two police officers, one male one female, strode hurriedly towards us.
‘Someone’s been stabbed,’ the same man said, waving them over. ‘Right here. In the park.’
Behind the police officers, I could see more people gathering, moving forward towards the crime scene tentatively, cautious but curious. Another distant siren fractured the evening’s stillness as it drew nearer and I knew before long this crime scene would soon be awash with emergency services and forensic teams.
I made a split-second, impulsive decision, which I prayed I wouldn’t live to regret. I quit the scene. I drew back from the small group of witnesses near the corpse. The police didn’t notice me backing away, as they were now attending to the victim, bending down and checking to see if there was any sign of life. As I got to the end of the path leading from the park into the street, I lit a cigarette, to look as if this was my reason for moving away from the immediate scene; but the few people gradually moving toward the crime scene to satisfy their morbid curiosity hadn’t noticed me. I walked quickly up the street toward the main road as another police car, siren wailing, came flashing round the corner. Head down, I hurried towards my car which I had parked on the opposite side of the main road, just around the corner from the pub.
As soon as I reached the car I didn’t waste any time in leaving the district. I drove south towards the North Circular Road, trying not to go over the speed limit, the shock of Rick’s death numbing me into submission. Proceed cautiously, said that voice in my head, even though my inclination was to distance myself from the horrendous crime as quickly as possible. I could feel tears pricking my eyes and wanted to turn the car around and return to the crime scene to help the police with their enquiries. But I didn’t. That same warning voice urged me to keep going at a steady speed, telling me not to ignore my instinctive fear, the feeling that Rick’s murder was not a random attack, and involved much more than one perverted sicko targeting schoolgirls in chat rooms. My instinct told me I was involved in something deadly and widespread, and I was determined I would fight back, even though Jiminy Cricket’s bubble voice reprimanded me for not involving the police. My conscience screamed at me, telling me I still had time to change my mind, and I ought to turn around and arrive at the crime scene, pretending I had come from the pub where I was supposed to meet Rick.
Suddenly, I was dazzled by bright headlamps hurtling toward me, and I swerved left to give the vehicle plenty of room to pass. Flashing lights and the banshee wail of its siren, as the ambulance charged past me, north toward the terrible murder of the man who had gone out of his way to help me. I was instantly filled with remorse. Maybe I should have stayed at the crime scene and given the police the information I had concerning Rick and the internet troll. Why had I behaved with such recklessness? Was it ego? Working on Alice’s case - a case the police failed to solve after eleven years - and coming up with a few answers myself had perhaps deluded me into thinking I could do better at investigating my daughter’s troll. Who was I trying to kid? What did I know about computer hacking? Zilch. And even Rick, a computer expert, told me he was not a pro when it came to serious hacking. But expert or not, he rose to the challenge, went out of his way to help me, and for this he’d been brutally murdered. Unless, of course, it was just a coincidence, and it was a random, senseless knife crime, with no connection to the information he had regarding Eclipse.
I chuckled bitterly, and shook my head, as I waited at the red lights before turning east onto the North Circular. No. There was no way his murder was random. And it wasn’t like he lived in a shitty area. Hard to imagine street gangs and knife crime where he lived. I shuddered as a vision of his corpse in that park flashed into my mind. During my time as a soldier, and later as a mercenary, I had seen violent death many times at close quarters, but nothing grieved me quite as much as finding that nice young man with his throat cut. A guy just trying to help. Not in it for financial gain. An ethical decision. For this he’d been slaughtered. And had it not been for me seeking his help, he might still be alive. But much as I regretted his death, it was not my fault. I kept telling myself, over and over like a chant - not my fault. Just trying to protect my daughter.
The lights changed green and I turned onto the dual carriageway, putting my foot down now. Distancing myself from the crime. Maybe I was being stupid, but it was too late now. No going back. I had to keep going. My main concern was to protect Olivia. And if it was the information Rick wanted to give me which caused his death, then I needed to see if I could get the same information from the American on the Isle of Sheppey as soon as possible. Information that caused the death of family man Rick, a young man I’d involved in my troubles.
‘But why,’ I protested loudly, and thumped the steering wheel, ‘should I blame myself because of this evil bastard on the internet?’
Then it slapped me in the face. I’d missed what was obvious. There was no lone predator. There were others. And close by. No longer could I comfort myself with the notion that he or they were making futile threats from a country in Eastern Europe. It was now closer to home, and I was shit scared.
Highgate Tube station on the left. I’d almost gone too far to go back. Almost. But not quite. The sensible thing would have been to return to the crime scene and get some protection from the police.
Nah, I told Jiminy, Call me pig-headed but the police got nowhere with the Bayne family case, so I was not going to risk the same thing with my own family.
But as I drove home, questions fluttered in my head like confetti in a gale. What if they found Rick’s mobile and read the text message he sent me about meeting him urgently in the pub? And when this hit tomorrow’s news, how would Nicky react, especially if she found out I’d been on my way to meet him? And when I delved further into the identity of this Eclipse, would I be the next target?
Chapter 11
I arrived home around ten-fifteen. As soon as I walked in the front door I could sense the atmosphere. Houses are strange like that, almost as if the fabric of a building can absorb the moods of the occupants. And on this particular night, having witnessed the death of someone who was involved in our predicament, my emotions were brittle. I felt as if I were about to crack up. It was like entering a stranger’s home, alien and unfamiliar, but I guess my sense of dread was heightened now that my adrenaline rush had left me feeling weak and exhausted.
I didn’t call out that I was home, as I usually did, but walked quietly into the kitchen and dining room, which is where we all tend to live most of the time. A muted News at Ten was showing on the small TV set, and Michelle was sitting at the refectory table, staring at it lifelessly, a bottle and a glass of brandy in front of her. Which was worrying. The only alcoholic drink she touches is white wine.
She looked up at me as I entered and I could see she’d been crying. I guessed what had happened.
‘Has that bastard targeted Olivia again?’
She let out a long sigh before she answered. ‘It was another threat. Saying he’s circulated her photo to men who are lined up to sexually abuse her in his dungeon.’
‘Fuck! Where is Olivia now?’
‘She’s staying the night with Jackie’s friend Claire. They both offered to look after her, and Claire’s mother’s going to drop her off at school tomor
row.’
‘Well, that’s something at least. Let’s hope she stays away from the computer after reading that last message.’
‘She didn’t read the last message. I managed to persuade her not to use the computer until this thing is sorted, and I said I’d have a read of her emails if she didn’t mind. She doesn’t know about that last message. I deleted it right away. The same as she deleted all the others.’
I saw Michelle shiver as she thought about the message, reading it over again in her mind. I got another brandy glass from the cupboard, sank into a chair opposite her and poured myself a generous measure.
Michelle shot me one of those looks that I knew so well, challenging me to contradict her. ‘I think we ought to call the police.’
‘And what can they do? I mean, if this is some nutter in Poland...’
‘And what if it’s not? What if it’s someone right here in London?’
I swallowed too large a measure of brandy and stopped myself from choking as it brought tears to my eyes. My voice was strained and hoarse when I spoke.
‘This is happening more and more often. And the police can’t seem to trace these bastards. Look at that case in the papers recently where a young girl committed suicide cos she was being bullied on the internet. They still haven’t found the bastard responsible.’
Shaking her head intensely, Michelle said, ‘All the more reason to involve the police. Because of that case in the papers, they’ll have to take it seriously.’
I knew she was right, but I suspected this was something much bigger than internet bullying. And how the hell could I admit to having walked away from Rick’s murder scene, knowing he might have had vital information to do with Olivia’s internet abuser? I began to have serious regrets and doubts about my actions and realised I was sinking deeper and deeper into a dire situation, one which could only lead to more misery for my family. But I just needed a bit more time - time to find this Brad Shapiro bloke, the American on the Isle of Sheppey. Maybe I was clutching at straws, but I was hoping he might come up with some answers.
