Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, that’s what it was like. Gaining entry to the fringes was the hardest part. I took time off work and changed my appearance. I used my life savings to set up in business as a freelance photographer and started dabbling in dodgier and dodgier commissions. First off, it was your mainstream swingers. Photos and videos, professionally edited and passed around in their limited circles. Three months of that and a foundation of trust was established. People came to me with requests. I asked the questions and started to be given contacts. I wasn’t interested in the whole online scene. To me, the access was always going to be in the source of that media. Eventually, having spent the night shooting hours of footage at a secluded country house, I was presented with the key to the door. I’d returned with the finished material and the house appeared empty. It wasn’t. The old guy who owned the place was there. Proper old-school landed gentry but clearly on his uppers. He invited me in and I sat with him as he scanned the films, the two of us seated together on a rank leather sofa in the only room in the house that seemed inhabited.”

  Carrington drained his glass again and refilled it.

  “The old boy complimented me on my work. We talked about other projects I’d been involved in, and then he asked me if I wanted to see some parts of his special collection. That was the first time I’d seen child pornography. You know it exists, but you don’t really want to believe it does. The kids must have been pre-teen. The adults they were with were all disguised. I looked across at the old man and was sickened by the smile on his face. When he glanced at me, I’d copied that same smile and secured myself a role in his world. A month later, I was deep in The Circle and my head span with images that I never want to recall, but which have been with me ever since. You name it, I saw it. I even filmed it. Does that make me complicit? I don’t know. What I can tell you, is that I never indulged in their depravity. I told them I was impotent, the result of an early-years attack by meningitis. They believed me and they even sympathised with me. How much do you want me to tell you?”

  “I think I get the picture,”, Philian wiped his eyes, “but you need to tell me where the Three Hombres came in. How did you track them down?”

  “Ah, yes, just when I thought I’d reached rock bottom,”, Carrington took a deep breath, “I then descended to the lowest level possible. I offered to edit old material. Hours and hours of the stuff flooded before my eyes. There were days when I physically couldn’t watch the material without being sick. So many children, so many adults too. You see, this wasn’t just child porn, it was torture and snuff movies too. And all points in-between. And then, I saw her. My Patty on film being raped and abused repeatedly. I had to watch it all. I had to gather as many clues as I could but it took me a week to work my way through the whole thing. I won’t burden you with the detail. Suffice it to say that nobody should have to see their child in such a position. But, she gave me a final gift. Although I only caught the merest glimpse of one of the perpetrators faces in a mirror, I was able to cross-refer voice recordings to other films. That gave me the Three Hombres, Sutherland, Wilkins and Powell. The other man in the room, the one who seemed to start it all and who I barely saw. Well, he remains a mystery to me.”

  “The rest,”, he began to conclude his narrative, “you can read about in the press. I lured them to my studio with the promise of some very rare work. I pulled a favour from the chemistry master at my old school and secured the drug I needed. They were out cold after a sip of champagne and that’s when I started my work on them. What the press and nobody else knows, is that they were with me for longer than I admitted to. The operations weren’t done swiftly and clinically as I told the police. No, they lasted three days. And there was no anaesthetic.”

  “For which you got ten years?”, Philian broke the silence.

  “Yes, for which I got the reward of a decade in solitary confinement. And that’s something else you need to know. It wasn’t as clear-cut as you may think. I put together the dossier of everything I knew. All the names, the acts, the places. I hadn’t just bought the Three Hombres to justice. No, I’d got the evidence against every member of The Circle. Naively, I chose to gift that dossier to the police. They thanked me. I met with the Chief Constable to hand it over and as soon as I’d done so, I realised my mistake. I had no back-up. I’d purged my studio, destroyed any evidence of my alter-ego and presented everything as items that I’d collected as part of my investigation. He listened to me, then he smiled and, as calmly as you like, thanked me for my work but told me that it was all inadmissible. They wouldn’t be pursuing any further enquiries. I would face trial for my action against the three, but I could be reassured that they would be brought to justice. Remember, I dumped them on the doorstep of the police station with the press attending? If I hadn’t, I’m not sure even they would have been prosecuted.”

  “So, the Chief Constable was involved?”, Philian asked.

  “I never saw him in any of the films or photos,”, Carrington sighed, “that’s why I thought I could trust him. But now I understand more. It’s all about covering for each other. They’re not all into the same corrupted scenes. What his particular foible was, I don’t know, but it certainly left him beholden to the wider group. And without any records, it left me only with the satisfaction of avenging Patty’s death. I had to live with that.”

  It was the early hours before they finished. Philian felt drained by what he’d heard but also strangely privileged to have been allowed into Carrington’s mind. As for Nathan Carrington, he did seem to be happier to have shared what he had. It was something that they’d needed to have between them and there were practical lessons to be learnt from it. What intrigued Philian most was the cryptic response he got when he asked if every shred of data had been destroyed.

  “Oh, there’ll always be a wisp from the smoking gun,”, Carrington had replied enigmatically, “and who knows, maybe something will come to light one day.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Having shared deeper secrets than he would ever share with anyone, Nathan Carrington opened up a lot more to Philian as they cruised away from the Midlands and out towards the Leeds Liverpool Canal. It wasn’t that they talked all the time about such serious subjects, nor was it that they sought opportunities to dwell on these darker topics. It was simply that an invisible seal seemed to have been broken, allowing Carrington to speak more openly as the need arose. Philian Gregory was never sure what to expect next. Things had changed so rapidly for him that he didn’t think any new insights into the alternative world that he now inhabited could surprise or shock him. He was wrong.

  “I’m not a great one for conspiracies.”, Carrington responded to a throwaway comment that his friend had made as they settled down for a day of lock-free travel, “So much of the popular theories just don’t stack up. Take Diana for example. No way could they stage that sort of crash. It may have been an opportune accident for some, but accident it was. Same with the rest of them. They argue a little too much capability on the part of man.”

  “Sorry I spoke!”, Philian laughed.

  “No, don’t be.”, Carrington hoped he hadn’t offended him, “And since we’re talking about it, I’m not saying that the plots and schemes aren’t there. Just that they may not be where we think they are. Take our situation. Not so long ago, you were a respectable City trader. A little longer back than that, I was a respected teacher. Ordinary people living ordinary lives. What changed? We got mixed up in things that ordinary people shouldn’t get mixed up in.”

  “Go on.”

  “Think about some of the surprises that you’ve been hit with.”, Nathan explained, “The visitors to your apartment, the invisible eyes that are waiting to catch sight of you should you ever surface. It’s a world you’d never believe existed, right?”

  “It’s certainly an insight.”, Philian replied.

  “But, you’ve only seen it for a short time and in
a small way, so far. I thought I could do my bit to bring Patty’s killers to justice. Sure, I went over the top, but did it openly, knowing I’d pay the price for it. I didn’t do it for any other reason than that it needed to be done. I thought I was helping to bring down a network of evil. Instead, I became the hunted. They left me alone in prison. I thought at first that that was some sort of respect thing, but then I started to hear the rumours. The few contacts that I had with other prisoners, all of whom were watching my back, yielded the same warnings. That they would be after me when I was released. The Three Hombres had cut a deal. I was part of that deal. They had evidence that they threatened to release. Now, is that the sort of thing that we learn as good citizens of this country?”

  “No.”, he continued before Philian could say anything, “So then you have to ask why? It’s because the morals and values and systems we live under are all subject to being superseded by the power of certain interest groups. It’s not conspiracy theory, just fact. But I wasn’t just protected by public opinion and other prisoners. No, I made it known that the dossier I’d compiled may not have been fully complete. They couldn’t take the risk. So, the four of us, the Hombres and myself, we had a certain illicit power that kept the balance. Do you not think the timing of all this is a bit suspect?”

  “What do you mean.”

  “The three that I exacted justice on. They’d have been released just as this situation started to kick off. Maybe they’re turning the screw. I was out there for ten years, aware of the threat and staying off the radar, but they never came for me. That seems to have changed.”

  “But we’re safe now.”, Philian replied, “I mean, they can’t track us and we don’t need to break cover. Not unless you want to get back at them with what you have. Which, and forgive me for asking, we’ve never talked about. Do you have anything?”

  “I don’t want to get back at anyone.”, Carrington sighed, avoiding the question, “One man can’t change a corrupt system. I did my bit and that will have to do. Believe me when I say that if you are thinking about getting back into the big, old world and avenging what’s been done, don’t bother. You’d be trying to fight things beyond your ability. It’s how it’s always been.”

  “But surely, we have a duty to correct injustice? We can’t just lie back and let ourselves be sucked into an evil empire.”

  “I’m not saying that,”, Carrington explained, “not at all. There comes a time when the majority are called to round against the worst that happens. Look at World War Two. This isn’t one of those times. You’re talking about taking on people who are white knights to everyone else. These are the respectable and committed public servants, businesspeople and artists who have the hearts of the nation. Every now and then, one slips up. Take Saville and Harris. The public rounds on them and their former associates encourage the witch hunt. Nobody really believes that they are all like that.”

  “They aren’t all like that.”, Gregory replied, “I tend to believe that most people are good. Is that naïve of me?”

  “No, you’re right.”, Carrington apologised, “Maybe I was overstating the situation. What you need to know is that the publicly vilified ones aren’t the norm, but they certainly aren’t exceptionally deviant. Believe me, I could name names. What’s important is the balance of power. Too many powerful people have too many dark secrets. Those who were in The Circle protect each other and, when they need protection from outsiders, they can get the information they need to blackmail others.”

  “And this from someone who doesn’t agree with conspiracies?”

  “You need to wake up to what I’m telling you, mate,”, Carrington seemed more urgent now in the way he was speaking, “because I won’t always be here. Don’t be overly trusting, that’s all I’m saying. It’s nothing new. Corruption, deviousness, self-interest, they’re as old as the hills. And nobody is immune. You know my Catholic background. I’ve read the Bible enough times. King David, superstar and greatly loved leader, take a look at some of the things he did.”

  “So now you’re going all churchy on me?”, Philian said, “You know where I stand with all that. It’s not really my thing.”

  “Don’t dismiss it.”, his friend replied, “But even if you can’t get much out of it, think about evil. You look at a primary school class and you see twenty or thirty young, innocent, carefree children. Fast forward twenty years and what have they done? The majority will be normal people living normal lives, but they’ll have done some nasty things. A few may have stayed immune. And a few will have lived lives of corruption and hatred. What happened? I’ll tell you, they got infected by evil. It’s real, Philian, believe me, I’ve seen it. But it has a smiling face and it’s not always where you think it is. Just be open-minded, that’s all.”

  They carried on in silence after that. Philian handed control of the boat over to Carrington at lunchtime and went inside to make them both a sandwich. He respected Carrington greatly and understood that he had seen more of the world than he himself ever wanted to. But there were times when he was just a little over the top. Surely, the world was really as it seemed on first impressions. It had to be, otherwise all bets were off.

  The two travellers lightened up a bit the farther North they travelled. Aside from a number of large towns and the motorways that roared above the water on occasion, their journey took them into more peaceful and more isolated locations. Under no pressure to hit any particular destination, they began to slip into a comfortable pattern of moving when they wanted to and never too great a distance. Some stretches of the canal were living testament to the power of nature to absorb this manmade highway, whilst others ran through once thriving towns whose very existence was a product of the prosperity that the cutting of that simple ditch had generated in its wake. The weather was turning in their favour and they had all they needed to live comfortably. Gone were the days when wanting something else took the shine off what they already had. Every day, they had enough, and then a little more.

  Had a series of random events not played out on their journey, they might well have lived out the rest of their lives as humble water-gypsies, living off Carrington’s mathematical brilliance and wanting for nothing. Life isn’t like that though. They chose to let a single-handed boater go ahead of them through the lock-flight at Nelson. That same single-handed boater took the last available mooring spot at Barnoldswick and because of that, the two decided to travel through to Skipton. With more locks to tackle, this inevitably saw them arriving in the town much later than they would normally like to, although they were fortunate enough to be able to find a space to tie up for the night. That space was a short walk from a very welcoming public house. The lateness of the hour and the proximity of the pub prompted them to decide to eat there that night.

  The food was excellent, as was the beer. The pub was also a little quieter than usual since a freak wind had taken out their satellite dish and that particular evening was one that would see a crucial international football match being played out. As if to top off the randomness of these events, the landlady adapted to the situation by filling the television screens with free BBC programmes. Nathan and Philian didn’t have a television. They kept up with the news a little, occasionally sharing a Sunday Times, but they were also extremely conscious that an excessive interest in current affairs might make their isolation feel harder to bear. That, and the fact that they didn’t want to risk dipping a toe in the internet that had always watched those who entered its realms with eyes that could see too much.

  Philian was just finishing his third pint. Nathan was outside having a smoke. He looked up at the television and nearly choked on his drink as he saw a familiar face. The volume was down quite low, but he was able to hear enough. ‘Crimewatch’ had returned to the screens only a year before. It had retained many of its familiar elements and what Philian was looking at now was a reconstruction of a crime that had happened several weeks ago. The presenter descri
bed it as “…a particularly violent and seemingly senseless assault on an innocent young woman…”. Philian recognised the apartment block immediately. He recognised the particular door that was opened to the courier and then he recognised the face behind the actress who was playing the victim’s role.

  Carrington returned to the table and began to say something, only to stop when he saw the look on Philian’s face. He too watched the violent attack unfolding. It was a tame reconstruction, they always were, but that meant nothing. It was the facts that were detailed by the presenters that told the whole story. Amanda Courtney was dead. She had been attacked and sexually assaulted in her apartment, before being murdered. The motive of the crime remained a mystery. No valuables had been taken and Amanda Courtney was a boringly respectable individual. Police were appealing for witnesses. In particular, they were keen to hear from Amanda’s last known boyfriend, a certain Philian Gregory. When they mentioned that name and accompanied it with an old passport photo, Carrington understood why his friend was beginning to shake.

  “We should get out of here.”, he whispered to Philian, “We can talk about it outside.”

  “Just a minute,”, Gregory brushed off the arm that was trying to lift him, “I need to see the rest. I’ll be alright.”

  He wasn’t. By the time they’d paid the bill and walked back to the boat he was a broken man. One minute he’d rush to be sick, the next, break down in uncontrollable sobs. Carrington could do nothing but be there.

  “You think it was them?”, Philian asked when he felt able to speak again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please, no more fence-sitting! Yes or no?”

  “It’s very likely.”, Carrington conceded, “I want to tell you something different, but it has too many of their hallmarks. Forgive me for being blunt but, the torture, the scapegoating and the fact that they can get it onto the television so soon. Yes, it’s them alright.”