Текст книги "Scent of a Killer"

Автор книги: Kevin Lewis

Соавторы: Kevin Lewis
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Curtains had begun to twitch the moment the first police car arrived, and as the band of officers made their way through the debris and up the short path leading to Moorwood’s front door a small crowd gathered to observe them.

‘So much for the element of surprise,’ said Collins as they reached the door.

None of the officers had thought to bring an enforcer – the hand-held piston used to smash through hinges – so instead two bigger uniformed men jointly kicked just below the position of the lock. On their second attempt there was a splintering of wood and the door flew open.

With the uniformed team leading the way, Collins stepped into the hallway. ‘Police. Come out and show yourself,’ she shouted. There was no reply. She turned left into a small lounge, which held only a few items of scruffy furniture. Woods moved past her. ‘Kitchen’s clear,’ he shouted back.

Collins moved back into the main hallway. The two officers who had led the raid reached the door at the end and discovered it was locked, or more likely blocked from the inside. Collins stepped forward and slapped the flat of her hand against the wood several times. She heard movement.

‘Billy Moorwood? My name is Detective Inspector Stacey Collins. I need you to come out of there right now. If you don’t we’re going to break the door down. You have only a few seconds.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I’m warning you. Either open the door yourself or we’re coming in. There’s no reason to make this any more difficult than it already is.’

‘Just fuck off and leave me alone. Just leave me alone.’

Collins turned to Woods. They had worked together long enough for him to know what she was thinking without her having to utter a single word. He headed back out through the front door and, with two more uniformed officers as back-up, moved around to cover the rear entrance.

‘This is your last chance, Billy,’ said Collins. This time there was no reply and she nodded at the two burly men, who once more kicked the door open.

Billy Moorwood was standing flat against the back wall of the room. A small, single bed was pushed up against the corner to the right. On the left was a narrow metal desk with a cumbersome-looking computer sitting on top of it. A small door glazed with semi-frosted glass led out to the small garden area.

In between the door and the bed was Moorwood. His skin was pallid and shiny as if he had become sweaty from running all the way there. His hair had fallen out of place and was totally unkempt. His face was the very picture of panic. He was still wearing his hospital porter’s uniform but the sleeve on the right-hand side had been rolled up. Moorwood held a Stanley knife, the blade fully extended, against the side of his wrist.

‘I’ll fucking do it,’ he gasped. ‘I’ll fucking do it, I will. You come one step closer and I’ll fucking do it.’

Collins’s eyes were drawn to the blade as it glinted in the light. She held up a hand to prevent any more officers from coming into the room.

‘Billy, you’ve got to listen to me. Don’t do this. Put the knife down and let’s talk about this.’ She took a step towards him.

‘One more fucking step.’ His voice was louder, more panic-stricken. ‘I’ll kill myself. I’ll fucking end it all right here, right now.’

Moorwood had his back right up against the wall. He was so far back that he couldn’t see the distinctive form of Tony Woods looming large in the frosted glass of the back door. Collins knew that if Woods tried the handle or if Moorwood spotted him, it might be enough to push the desperate man over the edge.

She looked down again. Moorwood was holding the blade at a right angle to his wrist, which was the way they always show it happening on television. Collins knew only too well that slit wrists are rarely fatal – to make it effective you have to cut lengthways to expose the artery and then cut across it – but she didn’t want to give Moorwood the chance to hurt himself at all.

She held out both her arms so that her hands were just level with the bottom of her hips and took another step forward. Her palms were facing towards Moorwood, a classic non-threatening pose. She was going to have to call his bluff. And she was going to have to do it fast.

‘No one wants to see you get hurt, Billy,’ she said softly.

‘Back off. Stop right there. Back off.’ Moorwood raised the wrist with the blade next to it, an attempt to show just how serious he was. ‘I’m gonna do it, I’ll fucking do it.’

Collins kept moving forward. She was now over an arm’s length away – just out of reach, just far enough away for Moorwood to believe he was still in control.

‘Please, Billy, I only want to talk to you. I only want to –’

Her right foot flicked out with all the grace and style of a ballerina’s, her toes connecting perfectly with Moorwood’s scrotum, and the young man groaned and sank to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

At that moment Woods burst in through the back door and the two officers with him rushed forward, kicked the knife out of the way and began to clip Moorwood into a pair of handcuffs.

His hands safely clipped behind him, Moorwood was laid back down on the floor and curled up into the foetal position, still moaning softly. She looked down at him and all her mixed feelings about the case came flooding back to her. She hadn’t wanted any of this. She still didn’t.

‘Hey,’ said Woods. ‘Have you seen this?’

Collins turned and saw that Woods was examining the rear wall of the bedroom. Every square inch of space was taken up with newspaper clippings and magazine articles about the abuse that had taken place at the Penvsey School.

To the right of the clippings were three laser-copy photographs. Each had been savagely mutilated – sliced with razors, covered in an illegible scrawl, repeatedly stabbed with the point of a knife. Yet each one was still recognizable to all the members of the inquiry team. Woods recited their names out loud as he pointed to each one: ‘James Gilbert, Roger Wincup, Albert Davidson.’

Below each photograph a scrap of lined paper had been used to record possible sightings, addresses, telephone numbers and places of work. It was, to all intents and purposes, a hit list. The sheets of paper below the pictures of Gilbert and Wincup were almost full, while it appeared that Moorwood’s hunt for Davidson had only just begun.

Her eyes glanced over some of the newspaper clippings. Although Moorwood was never actually named, it was clear that the boy seen in some of the photographs and videos that formed the heart of the court case was him.

Collins looked back from the wall and down at Moorwood, who seemed to be recovering well from the low blow. He looked up at her, his eyes red with a mixture of pain and anger. A wave of guilt washed over her, and she had to turn and walk away.

A few hours later a more thorough search of Moorwood’s home had generated a wealth of material. There was no smoking gun – no blood stains, no body parts, no DNA material and no property belonging to any of the victims, at least not in plain sight. But there was ample evidence that Moorwood had been doing his best to track down some of those responsible for abusing him.

He had befriended several pub landlords and social workers and managed to trick them into giving him details of sex offenders registered in their area. In the case of Davidson he had recently sent a series of anonymous threatening letters promising that the man would suffer a long and painful death.

Anderson arrived soon after the search started, and he and Collins stood in the kitchen discussing their findings. ‘We know there’s a connection to at least one of the victims and there is also strong evidence of both motive and intent,’ he said. ‘I think our next move is an obvious one.’

Collins nodded solemnly. With Anderson following close behind, she made her way back into the bedroom, where Moorwood was now sitting up on the edge of the bed, flanked on either side by uniformed officers.

He looked up and met her gaze. ‘William Moorwood. I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

Moorwood’s face remained impassive as he replied, ‘Do you know what they did to me?’ He nodded towards the photographs on the wall. ‘Do you have any idea what those men put me through? You can’t treat people like that. You can’t do the things they did. They were all so smug. They all thought they were going to get away with it. But I was going to make them pay. I wanted to make them pay. That’s the only way to make it right. Don’t you see? For fuck’s sake, lady, just whose side are you on anyway?’

Collins could see the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes and hear the heartbreak in his voice. She pushed a lump rising in her throat back into her stomach so that she could speak again.

‘Take him away.’

12

They had arranged to meet at 4 p.m. and it was now well past five. He had been there the whole time, anxiously watching and waiting for her to turn up. He would, he decided, wait just fifteen more minutes before giving up. Fifteen minutes and no more. He had already wasted so much time. He really didn’t want to look like an idiot.

Half an hour later he was still there, drumming his fingers on the table and biting his lip to relieve the tension. He was rooted to the spot, too scared even to go to the toilet just in case he missed her. To pass the time he began playing solitaire and, during his third game, his patience was at long last rewarded when a high-pitched chiming sound from his computer’s speakers told him she was finally online.

He reached for the mouse and cleared the cards from the screen to reveal the dialogue box for the chatroom. He felt a ball of excitement rising in his stomach as he read her words. His fingers flashed across the keyboard as he typed his reply.

shygirl351: hello

shygirl351: um … hello

shygirl351: anybody there?

sportsfan52: hi – sorry, didn’t have the right screen up

shygirl351: ahh, thought you were ignoring me

shygirl351: lol

sportsfan52: no – I thought you weren’t coming

shygirl351: I got held up, couldn’t get away early

shygirl351: you been waiting long?

sportsfan52: yeah, but not a problem, I had plenty of stuff to do

shygirl351: maybe I can find a way to make it up to you?

He paused and allowed a smile to creep across his lips. He had been worrying about nothing. It was all going according to plan.

Jason Bevan had first struck up a conversation with shygirl351 four months earlier, pretending he was a fourteen-year-old from Morden named Sally. During that first chat, the pair had bonded over their mutual love of Justin Timberlake, swimming and Girls Aloud. Sally wrote that she felt particularly drawn to shygirl351 because, like her, she was obviously far more mature than most girls of their age.

The conversation soon turned to more personal matters. Sally confessed that she had a boyfriend who was much older than her whom she had met online. Sally explained that she had now had sex more than fifteen times and enjoyed it enormously. shygirl351 coyly admitted that she herself was a virgin, but it was clear from her subsequent responses that she had been intrigued and hugely impressed by Sally’s sex life.

A few chats later, after the pair had swapped pictures of one another (Bevan had simply downloaded a slightly blurred headshot from someone else’s internet profile), Sally emailed shygirl351 a picture titled ‘Youth and Experience’.

‘He’s like soooooo, soooooooo old,’ Sally wrote in a note accompanying the image, ‘but she’s about your age, isn’t she? I’ll tell you what, I get really hot and bothered looking at them together. It must be how I look with my boyfriend. I think it’s so amazing when it’s someone like that with girls our age, don’t you? The thing is, you don’t want someone from school, they’re still kids. You need someone more experienced, someone who knows what they are doing. That way, you know the first time is going to be incredible. And every time after that too. And they have money so they can buy you anything you want.’

The following week Sally said she had met an older man online who seemed really nice. She wasn’t interested herself because she already had a boyfriend, but she had told him all about shygirl351 and he was extremely keen to chat to her.

That same afternoon, Bevan created a new character for himself – that of sportsfan52 – and knew that his pursuit of shygirl351 could finally begin in earnest.

Bevan knew exactly what he was doing. The techniques he utilized to ‘groom’ shygirl351 had been tried and tested by thousands of other online predators like himself and were almost guaranteed to lead to success. Like others of his kind, he felt a certain kind of pride in understanding the intricacies of the grooming process, and believed his particular skills raised it up a good few levels to the point where it was almost an art form.

Since that first day as sportsfan52, Bevan had been steadily working his way through the five stages of grooming. The first, friendship, had been easy. Sally had done all the groundwork and it took no time at all for shygirl351 to agree to meet in a private chatroom and email over a picture of herself in her school uniform.

From there Bevan moved on to developing the relationship, urging shygirl351 to talk to him about whatever problems she was having in life in order to create greater trust between them.

sportsfan52: how are you today?

shygirl351: bit down. Anniversary of gran’s death

sportsfan52: Oh I’m so sorry. My wife died a couple of years ago so I know how much it hurts

shygirl351: how awful for you

sportsfan52: It was very sudden. No pain. Sadly these things happen to us all at some time or other but we must not dwell on it

shygirl351: why not?

sportsfan52: You have to let them live on in your heart. Remember the good times, not the pain of the loss

shygirl351: k

shygirl351: did you have kids?

sportsfan52: no. glad because it would have been hard on them

shygirl351: let’s change the subject. Too depressing

sportsfan52: No problem. But if you ever need to talk, I’m always here

With trust established, Bevan then set about finding subtle ways to assess the level of risk involved in pursuing his latest target. shygirl351 didn’t have a webcam, so he was unable to confirm what she said (making the issue of trust all the more important), but she explained that her computer was in her bedroom and that her parents rarely came in. She had an older brother but he had a computer of his own. The chances of anyone else using the machine apart from her were virtually nil.

It was all good. For any online predator the worst-case scenario is a computer in a living room or family room where anyone can walk by at any time and witness the conversation. With an element of privacy in place, Bevan knew he was able to talk to shygirl351 about whatever topic he wanted to with total freedom. And if his target ever showed signs of nervousness or hesitation, good old Sally was always on hand to provide encouragement and reassurance.

As the days went by, Bevan endeavoured to bury himself deeper and deeper into her psyche. Whenever she spoke of a minor insecurity, he would trade one of his own in order to bring them closer. When shygirl351 said she might have to wear glasses, Bevan lied and said he already did. When she worried about her acne, he wrote back that he had been known as pepperoni pizza face at school but that it had soon cleared up. When she admitted – unprompted – that she was worried her breasts were not growing as quickly as those of her classmates, he felt a frisson of excitement wash over him as he replied that he preferred them on the small side.

It was a landmark moment. Bevan knew that he was the only person in the world shygirl351 felt comfortable discussing such things with. Whatever happened between them, he felt certain she would not tell anyone else about it.

From there Bevan gently began to challenge her, seeing how far he could push things. He would make occasional assertive statements to show that he was firmly in charge of the relationship.

shygirl351: so what made you choose me to talk to?

sportsfan52: Sally said you sounded nice

sportsfan52: and you sounded a bit more mature than most girls of your age

sportsfan52: But you must have lots of friends online. Why did you want to talk to me?

shygirl351: I have my mates, but there are a lot of time-wasters though

sportsfan52: there are plenty of them about

shygirl351: yeah

shygirl351: the way you say that makes it sound like you’re not one of them?

shygirl351: I mean, I don’t want to waste your time

sportsfan52: I have for many years now, I have come across timewasters from people just getting kicks to those who chicken out at the first sign of any action

shygirl351: tell me about it

sportsfan52: It sounds like you are not one of them

shygirl351: by the way, I like the sound of ‘many years’

sportsfan52: I take it you know my age

shygirl351: not exactly no

shygirl351: I guess you’re a little older than me lol

shygirl351: but that’s why I’m interested

sportsfan52: you’re 13, right?

shygirl351: yup

sportsfan52: that’s a lovely age to be

sportsfan52: I’m 42 in 4 weeks

shygirl351: ok

shygirl351: thinking about that

shygirl351: yeh I’ve thought

shygirl351: it’s cool with me

sportsfan52: good

shygirl351: wanna know why?

sportsfan52: yes, if you would like to tell me

shygirl351: because you’ve got lots of experience

shygirl351: and you’re funny too

shygirl351: are you smiling right now?

sportsfan52: yes pmsl

shygirl351: me too

shygirl351: lmao

sportsfan52: sounds like we are on the same wavelength …

shygirl351: could be

He hadn’t always been like this. Far from it. He wasn’t some man in a dirty mac that hung around school playgrounds. He was a successful businessman, a man with the world at his feet. The web, he told himself, had led him astray. It was just too easy. There was no way he would ever try talking to girls of this age in real life, but in cyberspace, behind the anonymity of a made-up username or a false identity, he feared no one and nothing. The numerous social networking sites were a veritable hunting ground for curious young girls. There were hundreds of shygirl351s out there. All you had to do was log on.

It was time to move on to the next stage.

sportsfan52: The thing is, I don’t like cyber, in fact I hate it. I’m asking you real questions about your experiences, cyber is when you make it up and pretend to have sex and stupid crap like that. It’s childish and doesn’t make you feel good cos it’s all fake

shygirl351: so what do you want?

sportsfan52: I’m interested in the real thing. One on one

shygirl351: wow

sportsfan52: I have been thinking about you a lot. What it would be like to be with you in person.

shygirl351: really

shygirl351: I worried in case I was being too forward

sportsfan52: not at all. Well it depends …

sportsfan52: how far do you wanna go?

shygirl351: dunno, what do you think?

sportsfan52: well, how much do you wanna learn about SEX and everything?

shygirl351: I don’t want to get into trouble.

sportsfan52: You won’t. It’s me that gets into trouble and goes to jail if anyone finds out … it’s your body and you can do whatever you want, when you want. You don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll be gentle and considerate.

sportsfan52: I’d like to give you some homework

shygirl351: what kind of homework?

sportsfan52: sexual homework

shygirl351: lmao you’ll have to explain.

shygirl351: hello?

shygirl351: are you still there.

sportsfan52: sorry, phone ringing. brb

shygirl351: k

The phone wasn’t ringing, of course. Instead Jason Bevan had heard the sound of footsteps heading up the stairs towards the attic room where he had set up his office.

His hands swiftly moved the mouse to the task bar at the bottom of the page, replacing the open page of the chatroom with that of iTunes.

‘How’s it going, darling?’

Cynthia Bevan was wearing well for her age by most people’s standards but all her husband of fourteen years could see were the lines on her forehead, the crow’s feet beside her eyes and rolls of sagging flesh around her belly. He forced a smile.

‘Just sorting out our music collection. I found a few more old CDs that I’m loading into the computer. Once that’s done we may as well take them down the charity shop.’

‘But I might want to listen to them again.’

Bevan’s smile grew wider. His wife had never got to grips with modern technology and probably never would. ‘You’ll still be able to, Cyn. They will be right here on the computer.’

‘But that means if I want to hear an album, I’ll have to come up and sit in front of the computer. But supposing you’re working? Why can’t I just stick with the CDs?’

‘They’re old-fashioned. And besides CDs take up loads of room. The great thing about a computer is that it stays the same size no matter how many albums you load into it.’

‘I’d still rather have my CDs.’

‘Well, if you really want some songs to play downstairs, I can burn off a few tracks for you.’

‘You what?’

‘I can make another CD for you, using the music that I’ve stored on the computer.’

‘Then why don’t I just keep the original CD in the first place?’

Bevan sighed. He was getting impatient and this conversation was going nowhere. ‘Did you want something?’

‘The girls want to show you their homework. The pictures are lovely, really adorable.’

‘Okay, I’ll just finish off here and I’ll be down in a minute or two.’

‘Okay. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

Bevan watched as his wife’s head disappeared down the trapdoor in the attic floor and vanished out of view. When he was absolutely sure that she had gone, he flicked the cursor over the task bar again until the chatroom returned. He saw with enormous relief that shygirl351 was still there.

He had to work fast. He had been interrupted at a crucial point and now needed to regain the momentum. He typed as fast as his fingers allowed.

sportsfan52: back

shygirl351: hi

shygirl351: I need the loo

shygirl351: you ok for a minute?

sportsfan52: yes

shygirl351: brb

Bevan watched the minutes ticking by on the clock in the bottom-right-hand corner of his computer screen. Any minute now his wife would begin calling him, wondering why he had not yet seen to his children. ‘Come on, come on,’ he hissed under his breath. ‘Hurry it up for fuck’s sake.’

shygirl351: back. All peed out.

sportsfan52: lol

shygirl351: so who were you talking to just now?

An ice-cold shiver raced down Bevan’s spine. His fingers were trembling above the keyboard. His head was filled with thoughts about his whole world crashing down. He could manage only a single character.

sportsfan52: ?

shygirl351: on the phone, dummy

Bevan’s relief was palpable.

sportsfan52: just the office, checking on the schedules for tomorrow’s meetings.

shygirl351: sounds dull

sportsfan52: like you would not believe

sportsfan52: listen, I have to go soon. have you given any more thought to us meeting – where & when

shygirl351: um

shygirl351: dunno

shygirl351: if it’s day, it’s hard during the week

shygirl351: Saturdays any good?

sportsfan52: sometimes – not this weekend – going away

shygirl351: um

shygirl351: so, when?

sportsfan52: I am reasonably free later this week and next week at the mo

shygirl351: wow

shygirl351: u want me to get my diary?

sportsfan52: how about Monday for Lunch

shygirl351: can’t

shygirl351: Friday maybe

shygirl351: or Thursday maybe

sportsfan52: Yes that could be good

shygirl351: which?

sportsfan52: thurs

shygirl351: ok

sportsfan52: next Thursday

shygirl351: tomorrow silly

sportsfan52: ok

shygirl351: wow, I’ve got butterflies in my stomach now

shygirl351: say we meet, yeh

shygirl351: tomorrow

sportsfan52: yes

shygirl351: what happens then?

sportsfan52: let’s wait and see – you may not like me!

shygirl351: but supposing I do?

sportsfan52: well let’s just take it as it comes …

shygirl351: fine by me

sportsfan52: tomorrow it is then

sportsfan52: hello?

sportsfan52: you still there?

A neatly manicured hand reached out and lifted the chilled glass of Pinot Grigio Blush that sat on the side of the computer monitor. There followed a long, slow sip, savouring the flavours and cooling sensation against the tongue, before the glass was lowered and placed down directly on top of the ring of condensation it had already left behind.

Finally he’s on the hook. I love it when a plan comes together. Sportsfan52 has been well and truly fooled and is now ripe for the picking. The sick perverted bastard doesn’t suspect a thing. How delicious is that?

Fingers flexed before they began to type a reply to sportsfan52’s last message.

shygirl351: still here.

shygirl351: I can’t wait to meet you.

shygirl351: We really do have so much in common.

shygirl351: I know I’m going to like you

shygirl351: I feel you could be my soulmate.