The Child Predators Read online

  THE CHILD

  PREDATORS.

  A. Echevarria

  Copyright © 2015 Aitor Echevarria

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Names, locations and the events described are for the use of the story and there is no intention to describe actual places or people.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador®

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  Tel: 0116 279 2299

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  ISBN 978 1784626 457

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  All the characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to people or events past or present are purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 1

  Mark was well away from the lamp post and its flood of white light. He was in the alley, leaning against the outside wall of the off-licence. Against its side wall, he folded himself into the shadows of the wall; away from the yellow pools of light given off by the off-licence windows and the sheer white light given off by the lamp post. He found sanctuary in the deep dark shadows of the alley. The darkness was his friend and it was like a warm blanket on a cold night. It enveloped him and gave him comfort. Around his feet were a number of cigarette stubs, which had been crushed into the ground with the soles of his boots. He had been there for over an hour, waiting nervously for the call. In his hand, he held the mobile tightly. Fear and excitement were coursing through his veins in equal measure. It was a sensation that he craved for; even in the knowledge that it would do him no good in the end. Everything in life had its payback, he reflected. Pleasure was often followed by grief and pain. And yet it was like crack, the buzz was irresistible. Both of which he could neither fight nor keep away from.

  He lit another fag. Pulled hard on it and took the smoke deep into his lungs. Held it and then exhaled slowly, through clutched teeth. He was getting irritable now and he knew it. This made the tension worse. He hated the waiting, but then he had already waited more than sixteen months. What was an hour more or less? he asked himself. A calmness settled upon him with that thought. After all, he had done fourteen years in Wakefield Prison. What was another hour to him? These thoughts alleviated his sombre mood and irritation somewhat, but only a little. The night air had become noticeably colder and he felt the chill of the air enter his body.

  After his release from prison on licence, he had led a simple life. He had deliberately kept a low profile so as to not draw attention. He had gone to London and there reported to the police every week as he was obliged to do under the terms of his release, for the last sixteen months. He had not qualified for the usual remission in prison, because he had steadfastly refused to admit his guilt. In fact he had not admitted anything to anyone. Not even to his court appointed defence lawyer. He had maintained his silence from the beginning; he had not entered a plea. A plea of not guilty had been entered on his behalf; much to the frustration of the police and the anger of the CPS. His silence caused untold distress to the victims’ families, much to his amusement.

  Back in London, he had led a simple life; while he slowly and carefully made his contacts. Life remained uneventful. He had left prison as he had entered it, with no friends and plenty of enemies. In prison he had showed no interest in or tried to make friends with any of the other inmates. There was one exception. Frank Dobson was serving a double life sentence for murder. He had worked as an enforcer for a top Manchester gang leader. He had important contacts on the outside; was gay and HIV positive. Frank was vicious and unbalanced. He had killed without thought when he was young. Later, he killed for money and he had a fearsome reputation from the savage way in which he had carried out some of his murders. Many that knew him regarded him as little less than an animal. He was always escorted by four guards around the prison. Most of the inmates kept well away from him, either through fear or because they detested him. Mark was the only prisoner that could talk to Frank. Mark had an unspoken affinity with Frank. He was the only friend Frank had in his life. Mark and Frank had become an item and could often be seen walking hand-in-hand alone around the exercise yard. The friendship was not one-sided. Frank fulfilled a need that Mark had. He needed to remain removed and an outsider from the rest of the prisoners, mainly for his own protection. Child molesters were given a very hard time by the other prisoners. But child killers were hated. They were attacked and, sometimes even killed by the other prisoners. This was because many inmates had young children of their own and they detested men like Mark. The extermination of child abusers appealed to prisoners. They saw their elimination as a protective act, not only for their children but all children.

  His relationship with Frank provided the protection he needed to survive in prison. When he was about to leave prison, Frank had given him a number and said,

  “You want to go anywhere, ring this number and give my name. They will be aware that I have sent you. Give your name and a mobile phone number, then hang-up. They will contact you and safely take you anywhere you want to go with no questions.”

  The conditions of his released on licence were that he had to report to the police every week. The police had put him immediately under surveillance from the moment he had left prison. After sometime, he noticed that the officers that had him under surveillance had fallen into a pattern. They were there, first thing in the morning and last thing at night. At other times, but not often, they would appear at odd times to break-up their pattern of surveillance. He had been provided with a job in warehouse on his release. He worked patiently and slowly until he had everything in place. The surveillance team had become bored with his everyday routine and had become sloppy in their tracking of him. He had carefully and deliberately bored them to death. After a while he been able, several times, to given them the slip without their noticing it. He was very cautious and would only disappear for an hour, before reappearing. His absences remained unnoticed. He waited for the moment when he could act and after a while he noticed that there were some days when his �
�shadows’ were missing. Unfortunately, there was no pattern to these absences and this meant he could not judge when or not his escort would be there. He decided to take a risk the next time they were missing. Some days later he woke to find that the police were not there again. It was a Friday. He made the phone call.

  “Yes?” answered a voice.

  “I need a lift and it’s urgent!”

  “I’m not a bloody taxi service mate,” said the voice harshly.

  “Look pal, I’ve got no bloody time. Frank gave me your number and you know how upset Frank can get. Now tell me how soon you can come?”

  There was a long pause. He waited anxiously.

  “Can you move at a moment’s notice?” the voice asked quietly.

  “Course I can,” said Mark.

  “Got five hundred cash?”

  “No problem,” said Mark.

  “Give me a number,” said the voice.

  “07289 257 *****”

  The phone went dead. Four hours later his mobile rang. He met a man in a white van. He gave him five hundred pounds and was transported to Leeds. The police did not notice he had gone until Monday, three days later, when he did not turn up for work. He knew he couldn’t stop the police looking for him. The moment that he stopped reporting to the police, he had been in breach of the conditions of his release. The police had issued a nationwide alert for his arrest and they would keep after him because of what he had done and the risk he posed. Still, for now, he had bought himself a three-day start and some time. He was counting on others to draw the attention of the police away from him. An abduction or high-profile murder would divert their attention nicely. He had not long to wait before London became the centre of numerous teenage stabbings and the Met became embroiled in bad press and questions from the public and the Home Office. The police became stretched and as more and more police resources were drawn into this problem, his departure faded into one more of the ‘low priority’ cases.

  They had the boy. What were they waiting for? Why was it taking so long? The phone vibrated in his hand. He jumped inwardly and almost dropped it. He flipped it open.

  “Yes?”

  “How would you like to go fishing?”

  He could hardly breathe in his excitement, chest tightening.

  “Where?”

  “Oh, you are a naughty boy aren’t you?”

  “Stop pissing about. Have you got the maggot? Tell me or I’m gone.”

  The phone went dead. Mark waited nervously. The phone vibrated with a text message.

  ‘Ph47SDFxpg81FH’

  He memorised the text, then turned down the side of the off-licence and made his way further down the alley. Halfway down the alley he took the back of the mobile off, removed the battery and SIM card. He placed the battery in his pocket and burnt the SIM card with his lighter. He dumped the rest of phone in a wheelie bin. At the end of the alley he turned into a side road which led to a car park. His route meant that at each corner he could see if he was being followed. He had parked his car in a space by the far wall. It was away from any lights and in a place that he could approach without being seen by any CCTV. He knew the area well. There was the special school across the car park with its playground. The sports centre on the other side; into whose car park he had slipped when he had parked the car. He had chosen carefully. It was a place that allowed access without causing suspicion, but more importantly allowed him to see if he was under surveillance. It was always his greatest fear.

  The police would arrest him as soon as he was sighted. They detested him and he hated them. As he entered the sports centre he took the stairs to the first floor café. He ordered a coffee and took it to a table by a window. He gave the car park another expert look and then quietly looked around the café. At 8:45 pm, the place was almost empty. It was near closing time for the sports centre. A mother sat with her two young children at one table. Their hair was still wet after their swim. Another table held a small group of six kids. Two of them were furiously texting and talking at the same time. He wondered how they could do that. Things had certainly moved on since he had been in prison. He sipped his coffee slowly and stretched out the time.

  While he killed time, Mark decoded the text in his mind. Ph47, that told him that the first part of the address was flat 47, now ignore the capital letters and the x that was just a message break. P is the sixteenth letter of the alphabet. So it was Leeds 16 that he had to go to. G is the seventh letter, so the last part of the address was 7FH. All he had to do now was go to his car and look-up the post code LS16 7FH in his Leeds street guide. His mind jolted again with a thought. He had no intention of doing another fourteen-year stretch or more in prison. He would die first. In his mind he went carefully over his plans. Mark finished his coffee in two large gulps and made his way to the back of the café and the rear exit of the building. He skirted round the car park, and unlocked his car. He got into the car. He took the street guide out of the glove compartment and looked up the address. Then he drove out through the car park exit and turned onto the main road slowly and carefully. It would take him thirty minutes to reach the address and the child.

  Chapter 2

  DI Andy Rawlings had just completed eleven years’ service with the police. He was a Psychology graduate from Leeds University, and with postgraduate qualifications in Criminal Psychology. He was very bright and his potential had been recognised early on in his career, so he had been fast tracked through the ranks of the police service; much to the annoyance and envy of other officers. He had not considered the police as a career at first and had done various other jobs before he joined. He was of average height and had average looks. He had dark brown hair and eyes. But, there was something about those soft liquid brown eyes which made women melt and attracted them like magnets. He was never short of female company when work allowed. Nevertheless, at thirty-five he was still unattached and he enjoyed his freedom to the full, but lately thoughts of ‘settling down’ and ‘children’ had entered his mind. There had been two serious relationships in the past, but one had ended badly. Something always held him back and he was still reluctant to take that final step and marry. This was because the world in which he lived and worked was evil and this made him cautious, reluctant to make any permanent commitment to a woman, that and the fact that a woman that he had loved had betrayed him.

  He stood looking at the red brick building of the Police station. Some time ago, the Home Office civil servants had analysed several academic papers from universities around the country and done some research of their own. The conclusion of these ‘great minds’ was that the country would, in the next ten years, suffer major civil unrest; created by a combination of drastic economic down turn, climate change and immigration. These factors alone, would lead to massive unemployment, food riots and water shortages. In turn, this would cause much more public unrest and like a domino effect, this was likely to spread. Hence, a directive went out from the Home Office that all new police stations had to be built to withstand this new threat. The result was Stations with no ground floor windows and reinforced doors, walls, and bullet proof windows. Leeds Central Police Station looked like a modern fortress from the outside. To enter, you had to climb a set of stairs on the outside of the building to the first floor. It reminded him of the Norman Medieval Castle Keep he had copied for his primary school history project.

  As he entered Leeds Central Police Station he made for the front desk through the bullet proof double doors and rang the bell. A large, chubby-faced police sergeant appeared after several minutes.

  “How can I help you sir?”

  Andy took out his I.D. from his dark blue Armani suit jacket inside pocket and passed it to the sergeant.

  “We have been expecting you sir. You will find this patch very different from the Met. If you move to the door I’ll let you in.” He handed back the I.D.

  “Thank you sergeant,” said Andy.

  The door opened and there stood the tubby sergeant again.
<
br />   “The Chief Superintendent has asked that you are taken up to him as soon as you arrive. If you will follow me sir, I’ll show you the way.”

  The sergeant walked straight down the corridor to the stairs and up to the first floor; through some double doors and into an office on the right.

  A receptionist sat behind a desk.

  “Cathy, this is DI Rawlings to see the boss,” said the sergeant.

  “Thanks Mike. Would you come this way, sir?”

  She got up and went to a door at the side of the office. She was wearing very tight blue jeans and she had the longest and best legs he had ever seen. Her legs, covered in blue denim, as they were, were simply delicious. The rest of her wasn’t bad either, he observed. He had, after all, a trained eye for a good body. She opened the door and announced.

  “DI Rawlings, sir.”

  She left the door open and went back to her desk. Andy entered the room, closing the door behind him. It was much larger than he had anticipated. At the far, end with his back to a large window and behind an imposing desk sat Chief Superintendent Clive Padwick. He was third-generation police and a man who had fought his way up through the ranks. Before him were piles of files and an opened laptop. He was reading a file opened before him and he was studying it intently. Andy moved into the room and stood before the desk.

  “Know anything about me Rawlings?” he said without looking up.

  “No sir,” Andy lied.

  “Well, then you are at a disadvantage ‘cos I know a great deal about you.”

  “From my file, sir?” said Andy. Andy could not help the smirk on his face. The Chief Superintendent paused and looked up from the file. He had noticed the change in tone in Andy’s voice. Andy re- adjusted his face as the Chief looked at him coldly.

  “No, from the rather unpleasant telephone conversation I’ve had with a senior officer at the Met. We will deal with that later. You have been posted here because you requested it after that ‘incident’ you had down south. You will work under Detective Chief Inspector Bill Green. He runs the Serious Crime Squad, but you will run the Vice Squad Section for him. At the same time you will conduct a small investigation for me. Is that clear?”