by Sally Rigby
‘I think it’s ridiculous. He should value what you do for the force.’
Whitney’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Thanks. You’re a good friend. You always manage to cut through all my emotional crap and see everything for what it is, in a logical way. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I wish I could be more like you; then I would be able to make decisions without feeling like the whole world is tumbling down on top of me.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ George said. ‘I try to keep calm, but I think I did a Whitney on my head of department today.’
‘Why? What did you do?’ Whitney asked.
George picked up a glass and took a healthy swig of wine, enjoying the warmth of the liquid as it slid down her throat.
‘I heard today I didn’t get the job.’
‘What?’ Whitney exclaimed.
‘It went to someone else. Someone with no substantial track record of research in the field. Furthermore, my head of department didn’t even have the decency to tell me face-to-face. I learned of the decision from a letter. Can you believe it? A letter. He could have told me himself, before I actually received it. It would have been the fair thing to do, considering my standing in the department.’
‘I can’t believe it. I thought you were a dead cert for the job. You thought so, too.’
‘It’s taught me one thing. Don’t count your chickens because they can run out on you. Stupid analogy, but you know what I mean.’
‘Did he give you any feedback as to why you didn’t get it?’
Should she tell her? Knowing Whitney, she’d take responsibility for everything because she’d got George involved in the investigations. But it wasn’t Whitney’s fault. The fault was her own.
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I don’t want you to take this personally,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Basically, feedback from the interview, the presentation, and the lunch, which I missed, was I’m focusing too much on working with the police and not enough on my work at the university.’
Whitney’s jaw dropped, and she instantly regretted telling her.
‘Hell, George. I’m so sorry. This is all down to me. I was the one who called you when we found the body.’
‘Don’t say any more, because it’s not you. I made the decision to help, and I don’t regret it one bit. What I do regret is assuming because I’m so high profile in the department I’d get the job. I won’t make that mistake again.’
‘You’re not planning on leaving, are you?’ Whitney asked.
‘No, I love my job. I love researching, and I love working with students. But I also love working with you, because it’s the practical application of everything I’ve been studying over the last few years. I’m going to reassess my priorities and goals. If I don’t become a professor, then so be it.’
‘You’re being very calm about this,’ Whitney said. ‘By now I’d have been throwing things at the wall and anyone who stood still long enough.’
‘I don’t feel calm inside,’ George admitted.
‘You’re certainly not showing it.’
‘Because if I do, the university has won. The same for you and Jamieson.’ She thumped the table. ‘We can’t sit here feeling sorry for ourselves. We’ve had our five minutes of moaning.’
‘Agreed,’ Whitney said. ‘The only thing I can think of is we have to throw ourselves into this investigation and solve the case. Then we can prove to all those arseholes, well, to your head of department and Jamieson, they’ve messed with the wrong people.’
‘Good idea,’ George said, though she wasn’t quite sure how solving the case was going to make any difference to people in her department, other than proving what they thought about her divided loyalties was correct. But she didn’t care. She wanted to carry on working with Whitney.
‘Okay, let’s have a toast,’ Whitney said.
George picked up the bottle and refilled their glasses. She suspected she might have an overnight guest.
‘Here’s to solving the case and proving our superiors are a couple of wankers who don’t deserve us,’ Whitney said, clinking her glass against George’s.
‘To our wanker bosses,’ George agreed, laughing.
Chapter Twenty
Whitney followed Jamieson into the press conference. Her head was thumping, and she wished she hadn’t drunk as much wine as she had the previous evening. Then again, it was good to spend time with George. They’d got through two bottles, and with only crisps and dip to soak it up, the pair of them were pretty legless by the time they’d gone to bed.
She glanced around the conference room. As usual, it was full, with reporters in the seats and cameras at the back. Melissa, their PR officer, spoke first.
‘Thank you for coming in. I’d like to hand over to Detective Superintendent Jamieson.’
‘We’re here to report there’s been a second body found. Mr Kelvin Keane, from Lenchester. We believe the murder was committed by the same person who murdered Mr Russell Atkins. Both men were known to frequent the teen friendship site SnapMate.’
There were a few seconds of silence while Jamieson’s words sunk in. Then the place erupted, and so many questions were shouted out, it was impossible to discern any of the words spoken.
Melissa leaned to the side and pulled the mic in front of her.
‘One question at a time. Eric?’ She nodded at one of the reporters in the front row.
‘Are you saying both men were looking for teen girls to befriend?’ Eric asked.
Jamieson slid the mic so it was in front of Whitney. She glanced at him. What was it with the guy that anything contentious he passed on to her? She ignored the thought at the back of her mind that it made sense for him to do so, seeing as she was the one who knew the case best.
‘That is what we believe,’ she said.
‘Were they approaching underage girls?’ Eric continued.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed.
‘Paedophiles. Grooming young girls?’ another reporter called out.
She ignored the comment, as she didn’t want to be drawn too far down what was clearly an obvious track.
‘Where was the body found?’ a woman towards the back asked.
‘Near the disused railway station in Cross Street,’ she said.
‘And had the body being mutilated in the same way as the first?’ another reporter asked.
‘I’m not able to discuss any details relating to the victim’s body. But we would ask members of the public to come forward if they have any information.’
‘Do you expect people to help catch someone who has murdered two paedophiles?’ the same reporter asked.
A question Whitney had been asking herself.
‘Irrespective of what these men have allegedly been doing, we still need to solve their murders.’
‘Do you believe this to be the work of a vigilante group?’ another voice called out.
‘We’re not ruling out anything at this stage. We will keep you informed of any progress, where we can.’
Melissa brought the press conference to a close, and Whitney and Jamieson left together.
‘Where are we on the vigilante group angle? Have you looked into it?’ Jamison asked.
‘As I said yesterday, we’ve interviewed the leader of a local group, and I’m attending their meeting on Saturday with Dr Cavendish. We’re covering all bases, sir.’
Was he trying to catch her out? Did he think she’d been lying to him?
How dare he question her ability? She’d show him.
Chapter Twenty-One
George pulled on her jeans and T-shirt and stared at herself in the mirror. What did one wear for a vigilante group meeting? Who would be there? What were their backgrounds? What would be the proportion of men to women? She expected there to be more men, but maybe she was being stereotypical. When it came to aggressive behaviour, men outnumbered women. But, on the other hand, women were often fierce
ly protective of their families. So, it could be a mixture of both.
She’d been researching different vigilante groups around the country. Some were more political than others. Some focussed on online grooming and some on outing paedophiles in the community. She understood why people would want to take the law into their own hands, especially if they’d been subjected to abuse themselves. But where would it end?
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she grabbed her bag and ran down the stairs. She picked up her coat, which was on the end of the wooden bannister, and answered the door.
‘Ready?’ Whitney asked as she stood there under an umbrella. ‘It’s just started spitting.’
‘Yes.’ George pulled the door shut and ducked under Whitney’s umbrella. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go in my car?’
‘I don’t think your posh car will fit in as well as mine in the area. We don’t want to stand out,’ Whitney said.
‘Good point.’
The journey took twenty-five minutes, by which time the rain had virtually stopped. They parked on the road and walked into the pub. A typical street-corner local which was already heaving, with groups of people standing around the bar and seated at the oblong tables filling the bar area. A pool table stood in the far corner and a dart board in the corner opposite. They navigated the crowds to get to the bar.
‘We’re here for the Justice Hunters meeting. Where’s the room?’ Whitney asked.
The man behind the bar looked them both up and down. ‘I haven’t seen you here before,’ he said.
‘This is our first visit. Len White invited us. The room?’
‘Next to the ladies’ toilet, over there.’ He pointed to the left of the bar. ‘Do you want a drink to take in with you?’
‘I thought drinks were provided,’ Whitney said.
‘Beer, wine, and soft drinks. No spirits,’ he said.
‘We’ll be fine then,’ Whitney said.
They walked into the room and sat at the back. Behind them was a table with food and drinks. Already, most of the seats were taken. The chairs were in rows facing a table at the front, where Len White was sitting with a woman beside him. She was young, looked only in her twenties, had shoulder-length blonde hair and was wearing a leather jacket.
Scanning the rest of the room, George noticed there was a mix of people. Their ages ranged from twenties right through to a couple who looked like they were well into their sixties, maybe early seventies. Towards the front, George caught sight of someone she knew from the university. Dave Milton, a lecturer in the criminology department. They were both on the resources committee. He’d been at her presentation. Should she go over and find out whether he was one of those who’d put the boot in?
‘Is everything okay?’ She started as Whitney elbowed her in the ribs.
‘What? Yes. I’ve seen someone I know.’
‘Here? Where?’ Whitney frowned.
‘Front row, at the end on the right. The guy with dark curly hair.’
‘How do you know him?’
‘He’s a lecturer in the criminology department. Dave Milton.’
‘I see him. Don’t you like him?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Something to do with the evil eye you’re giving him.’
‘He was at my presentation. Probably one of those who fed back about my lack of focus.’
‘You don’t know for certain,’ Whitney said, resting her hand on George’s arm.
‘I suppose not. I got the impression everyone had given detailed feedback, but maybe I’d misunderstood. For all I know, Dave didn’t say anything at all.’
‘What’s more interesting is why he’s here,’ Whitney said.
‘Agreed. Is he a vigilante? Or perhaps he’s researching into them. If so, is it covert? He won’t be happy to see us, either way, in case we give him away.’
‘Has he seen you yet?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ll speak to him after the meeting. It might give us something more to investigate, especially if he can give us the run down on some of the members.’
‘Welcome, everyone,’ the girl at the front said. ‘I see some new faces. It’s good to have you here. After the meeting, when we mingle over drinks, please introduce yourself to everyone.’
George breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she’d thought they were going to have to stand and say who they were. Which wouldn’t have gone down well. At least now they could speak to people individually afterwards.
Len White stood. ‘We’ve arranged training for anyone interested in acting as a decoy online to trap any predators. If you want more information, see me at the end of the meeting.’
For the next hour, they listened to various people outlining what they’d been doing in respect of outing any suspected child sex offenders. Everyone cheered when it was announced one offender, who’d recently been released into the community, had been hounded out of his house and had left the area.
Were they enjoying what they were doing? It seemed for some, children’s interests weren’t their top priority. And what about the mental health of the people in this group? Did some of them have problems?
‘Thank fuck it’s over,’ Whitney whispered in George’s ear. ‘I’ll be doing background checks on many of these.’
‘Come on, let’s mingle,’ George said as she got up from her chair. ‘Shall we split up?’
‘Good idea. Why don’t you speak to the guy you know, and I’ll chat with some of the others?’
George walked over to where Dave was standing on his own in the corner, holding a glass of fruit juice. ‘Hello, Dave.’ She looked down at the short guy, who was wearing jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt.
Colour drained from his face. ‘Dr Cavendish. What are you doing here?’ He glanced anxiously from side to side.
‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ she said, arching an eyebrow.
‘I’ve been attending the meetings for a few months,’ he muttered.
‘Who recruited you?’
‘The woman talking to Len, the leader. Nikki Bosworth. She introduced me.’
George looked over to Len, who was talking to the blonde woman who’d spoken earlier. ‘How do you know her?’
‘She’s one of my mature students. She told me about the group and invited me to attend.’
‘Is this for research purposes?’
‘Yes, but no one knows, apart from Nikki.’
‘She’s happy for you to research this group, of which she’s a part, and not tell them?’ She shook her head.
‘It’s a joint venture. She’s doing a Masters on vigilante groups and their positive uses in society. We’ll do a combined paper on it once she’s completed.’
‘Does anyone else in the group know?’ Had he considered the ethical implications?
‘Not at the moment. She’s going to tell them before it gets published.’
‘And what if they refuse to give consent?’
‘We won’t be able to publish. But it shouldn’t be an issue, as none of them will be named.’
‘Glad to hear it. The university has ethical guidelines for a reason.’
She sounded preachy, but she had strong feelings about ethics in research and had seen in the past how some of her colleagues tried to flout them if it suited their purpose.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I’m with the police, and we’re here to talk to the members.’
‘Of course you are.’
‘Meaning?’
‘At your presentation you talked about working with the police on their cases. Why else would you be here? You’re hardly the type to join a group like this. It had to be the reason,’ he said.
‘Did you hear I didn’t get the job?’ she asked, conscious of the fact she was steering away from her true purpose.
‘I heard a rumour,’ he said.
‘It seems a lot of people at the university weren’t happy with me working alongside the police
, and they let their feelings be known. Were you one of them?’ she asked.
He averted his gaze and shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What does that mean? Did you, or did you not, question my commitment to the university?’
‘No, I didn’t. But I might have mentioned something to the person I was sitting next to at your presentation. I said you must have spent a great deal of time with the police, considering how involved you were in the capture of the campus killers.’
‘And the fact it was being used for my research didn’t come into it, I suppose?’
‘It was a passing comment. I didn’t realise it would be interpreted that way and go against you. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I thought you should have had the job.’
She let out a long sigh. Going over what happened wasn’t going to change anything. She needed to compartmentalise it.
‘Me too. But there’s no point dwelling on it now.’
‘Agreed. What do you want to know about this group?’
‘We’re investigating the murders of two men known to groom young girls for sex. From what you’ve observed so far, is there anyone we should be paying particular attention to? Anyone you feel might go a step too far?’
‘There are some who are quite open about their criminal records. One has been imprisoned for assault. Some of them, I believe, may have mental health issues. I’m not pointing the finger at anyone, but, as I’m sure you’re aware, many people who join groups like this do so because of something in their past.’
‘Who’s the person with the criminal record?’ she asked.
‘Jimmy O’Brien. He’s standing by the table with a sausage roll in one hand and a drink in the other. He’s wearing jeans and a checked shirt.’
George looked over at the guy Dave mentioned. ‘Is there anything else about the group you think we should know?’
‘Most of them are coming from the place where they want to prevent children from being pursued. But some of them are in it because they enjoy the hunt. They thrive on confrontation, and bringing down these people is a legitimate way for them use their pent-up aggression.’
