Unseen Evil

by Liz Mistry

  Alice entered the room and sat down opposite Zarqa who sat with her social worker.

  Calmly, with a small smile, Alice introduced those present for the video and began the interview. ‘Zarqa, you’ve not been charged yet and you have declined a solicitor, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Zarqa glanced at the social worker who smiled reassuringly.

  ‘You understand why you’re here?’

  Zarqa nodded and Alice gently reminded her she needed to speak.

  ‘Yes, I did it.’ The single word response was barely a whisper.

  ‘What did you do, Zarqa?’

  The girl looked down at her fingernails and then glanced up at Alice. ‘I spray painted the mosque.’

  Alice’s mouth fell open and she took a quick sideways glance at the camera. ‘You spray painted the mosque?’

  Gus looked at Carlton who was frowning. ‘I thought you said the girl had admitted to the murders, Gus?’

  Gus shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. ‘I thought she had… she did.’ Didn’t she? He cast his mind back. He’d seen Jo Jo’s name flash on her phone and taken a punt. She’d immediately admitted doing ‘it’, saying that Jo Jo hadn’t been there.

  ‘Okay, you spray painted the mosque. Who was with you?’

  ‘Nobody. Did it on my own.’

  Alice nodded. ‘You want to tell us anything else, Zarqa? It’ll be better for you if you tell us everything at once. You know anything else the police might be interested in.’

  Sniffing, Zarqa’s eyes flicked up and to the left. Then, wiping the back of her hand over her nose she nodded. ‘I’ve got some weed.’

  Weed… weed and spray-painting a mosque. Was that all she’d done? Okay it had been a pretty vile slogan, but if that’s all she’d done, things might still be okay. Then he remembered Jo Jo and the drones, and he knew that things were never that easy. Zarqa could still be a barefaced liar. He’d seen it before, kids looking them straight in the eye and lying. They were masters of the art of deceiving adults. He placed a hand on the mirror, wishing he could see right into Zarqa’s mind.

  Then from nowhere, the image of Alice and Zarqa began to shimmer, black dots punctuated his vision and Gus began to blink. He grabbed the back of a chair and cursed. Why did this have to happen now? Sweat dappled his brow and then his chest shrivelled into a tight knot and his breath came in heaving pants. Staggering, as dizziness overcame him, he tried to make for the door, banging into furniture, knocking past Carlton. Fuck! Sick! Vomit rose, stinging his nostrils and the back of his throat. Blindly he tried to locate a bin… anything…

  Then, a hand was on his back, firm and soothing, and a bin was thrust under his chin. ‘I’ve got you, Gus. I’ve got you. Slow breaths now… slow and easy.’

  Vomit splattered into the bin and Gus was, at once, embarrassed and grateful for Sebastian Carlton’s calming presence. He owed him big time.

  CHAPTER 73

  C ompo was in his element doing all things techie and was excited to get cracking, dissecting every aspect of Jo Jo’s computer and phone. He settled down, headphones on, The Kink’s ‘Waterloo Sunset’ blaring on repeat and a supply of snacks and drinks within reach.

  He started with the phone because that was the easiest thing to do. It was a battered old Nokia with a cracked screen and limited data. Jo Jo had given permission for it to be accessed and Compo sifted through his social media accounts. Instagram and Facebook were Jo Jo’s favourites although on Facebook he was a bit of a lurker rather than an active Facebooker. He had a modest number of Instagram followers, which surprised Compo. He was used to seeing thousands on a youngster’s account, but Jo Jo, it seemed, wasn’t your typical selfie king. On Instagram, more of Jo Jo’s interests became apparent. He followed some drone enthusiasts and occasionally he posted photos of a drone he’d modified.

  Going through the lad’s texts, Compo took note of one anonymous sender. The texts were infrequent, yet the most recent had been received earlier this week. Opening the texts, Compo soon realised that Jo Jo was being blackmailed. This matched what the lad had already told Gus, and judging by the contents of Jo Jo’s bedroom, it wasn’t much of a leap to conclude that it was his webcamming he was being blackmailed for.

  There didn’t seem to be much more he could learn here, so Compo printed off the threatening texts and set up a triangulation request to find out where the sender was when they sent the text and almost immediately the information that the phone was unregistered bounced back. Still, if he could narrow down the location of the phone when it sent those specific texts, it may come in useful further down the line.

  The next step was Jo Jo’s hard drive. Compo had seen the photos of the lad’s room and was aware that some of what he might find would be disturbing. An hour into it and Compo was feeling thoroughly sick. Jo Jo had a Bitcoin account, which probably allowed the lad to finance his drone interest but, as Compo went deeper, he discovered the full extent of Jo Jo’s exploitation. Images of the boy performing various sex acts using a variety of sex toys had gone viral on the Dark Web.

  As he delved farther into the depths of the Dark Web, Compo turned and flung his half-eaten sandwich in the bin. Standing up abruptly, he switched his music – sunsets had no place in this abyss, to ‘People are Strange’ by The Doors. Somehow, in Compo’s mind, Jo Jo had become the tortured soul of Jim Morrison and the discord of the song suited his mood. As he delved further beneath the surface, the enormous extent of the tangled network of people accessing Jo Jo’s web services was made apparent. What was worse, was that the lad’s Dark Web controller was using remote access technology to record all the boy’s activities, not only the ones he was being paid for.

  Watching Jo Jo fling himself onto his bed and punch his pillow before covering his face with it as he sobbed, made Compo’s skin crawl and this was compounded by the insidious comments from the voyeuristic bottom feeders in the depths of the web.

  Buttcomber: A tub of Vaseline and I’ll give the lad something to cry over… hell never mind the Vaseline. I’d go bareback on him.

  Freshbaiter: Don’tcha love it when they cry? Bet he’s ready for the big boys.

  The comments during Jo Jo’s ‘shows’ were equally offensive, and Compo was relieved the lad wouldn’t see those. His only regret was that in order to monitor the low lives that skulked beneath the surface, Compo would have to leave these forums live until they could be monitored by the Vice Department. The worst bit came when Compo found a clip of Jo Jo’s little sister, in her pyjamas, her hair all mussed and innocence written all over her little face, as she stood looking at someone just out of shot, holding a butt plug and nipple clamps in her hands. The five second image had gone viral. Users with names like Cumraider and Vio-hate-her were bidding for a longer clip of Jessie, the equivalent of tens of thousands of pounds.

  It wasn’t so long ago that he’d been Jo Jo’s age and in similar circumstances. He knew only too well how hard it was to survive when you were always the kid on the outside looking in. Jo Jo hardly had a chance, yet here he was doing whatever he had to, to keep afloat… to hold his little family together. If there was even the smallest possibility of finding evidence that would exonerate Jo Jo in the lad’s devices, Compo made a silent promise that he’d find it.

  Gus came in and Compo got to his feet, glad to be away from his computer. His skin was itchy and despite realising it was a reaction to the filth he’d had to sift through, Compo couldn’t shake the unclean feeling. He’d have a shower in a bit. ‘I’ve found loads of stuff, Gus, but nothing to implicate the lad in any of those deaths. He wasn’t friends or in contact with either of the victims on social media. There’s nothing at all, unless he had another device. I can’t find anything to link him to any of this other than the fact that he bought drones and drone parts.’

  ‘That’s circumstantial unless we find the actual drones in Jo Jo’s possession and unfortunately, that’s not looking likely. We don’t have anywhere else he could be keeping them.
You said the drones he had in his room are the same as the one caught in the CCTV image at the mosque, but the one that dropped the phone in my garden wasn’t found at Jo Jo’s. He admits to making two drones for an anonymous blackmailer and accepts that his fingerprints will be all over them. Maybe he’s being set up as the fall guy. We don’t have anything concrete yet.’

  Compo nodded. ‘Ah, but what I do have is text evidence from a burner phone, of someone blackmailing Jo Jo into making a specific drone. When I pinpoint where the phone was when the text was sent, it might give us some more information. At the very least, the fact that a third party is anonymously requesting a drone casts doubt on Jo Jo’s guilt for the killings.’

  Compo had heard from Carlton about Gus’ panic attack and he was pleased to see his boss smile, however briefly. ‘You’re brill, Comps, you know that?’

  Trying to hide his pleasure at Gus’ words, Compo turned to his workstation with a shrug.

  ‘Dun’t look like Jo Jo posted the images online either. S’ppose he could’ve used another device, but… well…it’s inconclusive.’

  ‘So, we’re no further forward with that?’

  Compo shook his head. ‘I’m getting closer, it just takes time. It’s inching through the layers, little by little that’s so time consuming, but we’ll get there.’

  ‘Yeah, I only hope we’re not too late. What if we’re wasting time on this pair of idiots when the real killers are still out there? Who knows what they could be planning next?’

  ‘No idea… but.’ He pressed a few keys bringing up his earlier findings on the screen ‘This isn’t pleasant, Gus, but you need to see it, before I forward it on to Vice. Jo Jo’s webcamming has gone viral and it’s attracting all sorts of vermin from under the floorboards.’

  CHAPTER 74

  I ’d never been in the Belle Hill Estate before and I’m fucking shitting it. It wasn’t that there aren’t any Asians here. It’s just that none of them are like me. Everybody I pass has a look about them – a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look. I thought I was tough at school and that, but this is some other level. Even the little kids on their bikes and skateboards stare at me with attitude, their grubby faces snarl at me in silence. My heart starts to thunder, and I wonder if I’m having a heart attack. The way some of these kids are looking at me, I almost wish I was.

  I deepen my voice and approach one of the bigger kids. He’s passing a football from hand to hand and staring right at me, his eyes like acid against my skin. Inside I’m saying, ‘Show no fear, Kiran,’ outside I’m barely managing to stare the kid out.

  ‘I’m after Razor, you know where he is?’ I think I’ve made a reasonable attempt at not looking like bricks are about to fly out of my arse, but the other kid’s smirk tells me I’m mistaken. He doesn’t even make an effort to intimidate me. Just keeps passing the ball back and forth, back and forth. The slap of the leather on palms taunts me and I feel like grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and marching him into the nearest flushable toilet. But even I know that’s just in my dreams.

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  I bulk myself up. I’m double the kid’s size but feel like a pygmy beside his attitude. He snorts at my efforts and I take a step towards him. Before I can take another, six guys fall in behind the lad with the ball. I hadn’t noticed them approach, I was so focussed on the kid.

  ‘You really want to try that, eh? Come on then, let’s see what you got.’

  Things are getting out of control and I don’t know what to do to stop it. All I want is to see Razor… to explain to him about my brother, to ask him to take the stuff back. I’ve got some of the money. Maybe that’ll be enough to get him off my back for now. I was already sweating when I arrived, but now it’s dribbling down the inside of my cargo shorts. For a second, I wonder if I’ve pissed myself. The kid moves closer, his mates keeping pace behind him. He tosses the ball backwards and one of the littlest kids catches it, while one of the others passes him a baseball bat.

  He takes another step towards me and it’s then I see glints of metal in his mate’s hand and hear the thud of wood hitting the pavement, in a trial swing. I drop to my knees and curl into a ball, hands over my head, ready to take the beating that’s coming.

  The laughter is incongruous, and I tense… waiting… nothing happens… then I feel something splattering on my back. The stench of ammonia rises in the air making my eyes smart and then there’s more laughter followed by a staccato…

  ‘Enough!’ And I hear a zip being pulled up.

  I lie where I am, soaked with piss, scared to move, nearly shitting myself. Their taunting voices begin to fade, and I can hear that familiar slap, slap, slap of the fucking football… but it too is growing fainter. When it’s nearly out of earshot, I uncurl, roll onto my back and open my eyes and immediately wish I’d stayed where I was… or better still, never left my cushty little street in Clayton.

  The sun haloes the person standing over me, casting sparks of light that almost blind me, making it hard to recognise him. He steps forward, raises one foot, and whams it into my stomach and I’m curling up again, the acidic remnants of spicy tea burning my throat as it spews onto the pavement.

  ‘That’s for being a prick. You don’t go down without a fight… ever. That right, lad? And you never, ever let kids piss on you!’

  It’s only then I realise Razor’s got two mates beside him; Goyley and HP. For one stupid delirious moment I actually think about asking HP where his scar is, but I stop myself just in time. Razor nods to his thugs and they each hook an arm under mine and yank me to my feet. My knees wobble and I nearly topple over, but Goyley, yanks me up again, with a laugh. ‘Fucking know this one, eh, Raze?’

  Razor doesn’t answer, just looks at me, his hand extended. ‘Money!’

  I shake my head and wish my legs would stop shaking. ‘I told you, my brother died… got murdered, like. You must’ve seen it in the papers.’

  Razor shrugs. ‘Not my problem. Just want my dosh.’

  I glance round, desperate now. ‘I’ve got your stuff. It’s all there… every last bit of it.’ I fumble down the front of my pants where I’d hidden it and offer the padded envelope to Razor.

  He takes it and I think I’m free. I sigh and risk a half smile, but Razor’s not done with me. ‘You owe me interest. Give me what I’m owed.’

  The colour drains from my face and it’s at that point that I realise that I truly am a knob. What was I doing, thinking I could play with the big lads? I swallow. ‘How much?’

  ‘Two grand… and we’re quits.’

  ‘Two grand…? But I…’ I bend down and fumble in my trainers and bring out the folded notes I’d withdrawn on the way. Surely, he’d take that, and we’d be quits? He’d got his stash back after all. ‘Two hundred, that’s all I’ve got.’

  Razor signalled. HP stepped forward, took the notes, and licked his index finger before flicking through them quickly. ‘Yep, two tons.’

  Razor turns and begins walking away and I swallow my relief. ‘You messed me around… but… we’re all square now.’

  He raises a finger and drags it across his throat. I barely have time to understand what it means when Goyley grabs me and stabs my stomach. A warm trickle of blood oozes through my fingers. As their footsteps retreat, my last thought is, How are my parents going to cope with two dead sons?

  CHAPTER 75

  S till wobbly after his panic attack, Gus sat opposite Jo Jo in one of the interview rooms dedicated to minors. Soft chairs, cushions, and coffee tables were supposed to make it less stressful for the kids. Gus didn’t know about Jo Jo, but right now his stress levels were through the roof. It was hard to focus, and he was glad that the chill from the cold bottled water between his hands grounded him a little.

  Jo Jo’s solicitor was a short, bulky man with a receding hairline, and beside him, Jo Jo tall and gangly, looked like an overgrown puppet with invisible strings that jerked his angles out every time he moved. The lad’s feet tapped a rhy
thm on the tiled floor and his lips were flaky and raw where he’d been gnawing at them. Despite Zarqa’s denials that she had anything to do with the murders, denials that Alice told him were convincing, Gus was too much of a professional to believe them without hard evidence to back them up. So, Zarqa, at least for the time being, was being kept in one of the family rooms.

  Taking his time, Gus studied the boy. His spotty face was streaked with dried up tears and despite the lingering aroma of ‘teen boy spray’, Gus could smell the boy’s fear filling the room. Despite his suspicions, Gus liked the teenager. How could you not like a lad who tried his damndest to keep his family together? Who was prepared to do unpalatable things in order to protect his much younger sister and his invalid mum? Gus doubted he’d have been able to take on such a responsibility at sixteen and he wanted to rage against the self-satisfied adults who so blithely disparaged an entire group of people purely on merit of their age; ‘Teenagers this, teenagers that’. He and Patti frequently talked about how easy some people found it to spout vitriol about the flaws of teen behaviour without once considering the problems and temptations they had to face. On the other hand, despite appearances, there was a strong possibility that Gus was looking at a lad who’d killed, or was instrumental in killing, two of his contemporaries.

  Aware of Carlton and Alice watching proceedings from the other room, Gus was simultaneously nervous and relieved. At least if he lost it again, one or both of them would come to his rescue. Alice had offered to conduct the interview, but Gus had refused. Interviewing Zarqa had taken it out of Alice. Questioning suspects was draining at the best of times, but interviewing a kid was worse and interviewing one you knew – on suspicion of murder nonetheless – was almost unbearable. Still, Zarqa had consistently denied any involvement and that was a bonus. With a sigh, Gus set up the equipment, did the necessary protocols, and looked at the boy. ‘You okay, Jo Jo?’