Rough Justice (Knight & Culverhouse Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

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  Acknowledgements

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  1

  Jeff Brelsford poured the last dregs of the coffee from the jug and switched off the hot-plate. The dark liquid steamed from his mug as the bitter aroma assaulted his nostrils.

  It was late for coffee, but Jeff wasn’t on Greenwich Mean Time with the rest of Mildenheath; he was running on Pacific Time. His contacts on the California coast would just be finishing their late breakfast or lunch and logging on to the forum.

  The adrenaline surged in Jeff’s chest every time he sat down at his laptop, opened TorBrowser and waited for the status bar to tell him the connection to the Tor network had been made and that he was completely protected and cloaked in anonymity.

  The Dark Web was where Jeff had been spending most of his time recently. It was a safe haven where he was able to find like-minded people who truly understood how it felt to be like him. He didn’t think he was a bad man. He hadn’t harmed anyone. Not directly, anyway.

  It was a confusing place to be, inside a mind conflicted between a burning desire and a sense of injustice at what he saw to be a lack of understanding, stacked up against the knowledge that the rest of the world saw his predilections as vile and despicable. Deep down, he knew they were right. Underneath it all he knew his desires, although under control for now, could easily become dangerous.

  He also knew he couldn’t let that happen. He’d already been satisfying his desires to a degree that worried him, even though he was under the relative anonymity of the Dark Web.

  By its very nature, the Dark Web was almost completely anonymous. An area of the internet based on hidden protocols, invisible to search engines and general users, the Dark Web was accessible only using the TorBrowser software. It had become home to enormous online drug markets, with websites such as Silk Road openly and brazenly offering illicit narcotics for sale, safe in the knowledge that the very structure of the Dark Web made it very difficult for anyone to find out who ran the sites or who their customers were.

  The common currency of the Dark Web, Bitcoin, allowed users to exchange money under the radar without linking it to their bank account or personal identity. In short, anything could be bought on the Dark Web, whether it be guns, fraudulently obtained credit card details or even hired assassins. Compared to that, Jeff had managed to convince himself that looking at photographs of young girls was relatively innocuous.

  The forum had been set up a few months previously, unlisted on any Dark Web directories in order to ensure that only those who knew about it and had been personally invited would be able to access it. Jeff had been invited by a member of another forum, Deepest Desires, of which he’d been a member for a couple of years. Being invited to be part of the new, unnamed, forum had left Jeff feeling like the privileged new member of a secret club, heightening the surge of adrenaline he got every time he accessed it.

  As Jeff saw it, it was far better that he and the other members of the forum got their kicks sharing pictures and titillating comments than actually going out and acting on their desires. That had got him into trouble before, and he couldn’t go making that mistake again.

  He gulped down two mouthfuls of the bitter coffee and licked his lips, catching the rogue droplets before they splashed onto the desk in front of him.

  The laptop lid was barely open when the doorbell rang, the harsh, shrill ringing catching him unawares and giving him a sudden start. He wasn’t expecting visitors. He reasoned it was probably someone collecting for charity or trying to sell double-glazing, knocking on doors in the evening assuming that they’d be able to catch people at home.

  He unlatched the door and pulled it open. The man who stood on the other side of the door was certainly not who he’d expected.

  ‘Jeff Brelsford?’ the man said, his hands pushed into the trouser pockets of his dark suit as he cocked his head sideways.

  ‘Yeah, why?’ Jeff replied, sensing that something wasn’t quite right.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Richard Thomson. Can I come in?’

  Jeff faltered for a moment. Had he somehow dropped a bollock on the Dark Web and managed to allow the police to track him down? No, it wasn’t possible.

  Then again, it could be to do with the double-yellows he’d parked on a couple of weeks back. It had only been for a couple of minutes and he hadn’t been given a ticket. Or had he? Had it blown off the windscreen and been logged on a system somewhere that he’d ignored it? No, they wouldn’t get CID involved with something like that.

  ‘Uh, have you got any ID?’ Jeff asked, stalling for time.

  ‘Certainly,’ the man replied, taking his hands out of his trouser pockets and going to his inside jacket pocket.

  Before Jeff could realise what the black and yellow unit in the man’s hand was, his entire body went rigid and he lost all motor skills as twelve-hundred volts seared through his testicles.

  2

  Jeff knew a Taser wouldn’t directly cause you to lose consciousness and assumed he must have hit his head when he fell. It was a strangely lucid thought to have on regaining consciousness, and he assumed it was his brain’s way of trying to avoid coming to terms with the fact that there was a man stood over him with a huge pair of gardening shears.

  It was the same man who’d Tasered him at his front door — he knew it was — although he couldn’t make out the man’s face behind the plastic body suit he was wearing.

  He must’ve been out for some time, as not only had the man managed to put on a full plastic body suit, he’d also stripped Jeff naked and bound his hands and feet.

  The man’s voice came muffled and deep.

  ‘I know who you are, Jeff Brelsford. Scum. Paedo scum. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘No,’ Jeff replied, shocked at how groggy his own voice sounded. ‘But I’m presuming you’re not a policeman.’

  ‘Bright lad. Although not quite bright enough to have kept off my radar.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Jeff asked, now beginning to panic.

  The man ignored him and pointed his shears at Jeff’s crotch. ‘How’s it feeling down there now?’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘Shame. Never mind. I’m sure the pain won’t last long. In fact, I’m sure it won’t. You should think yourself very lucky. Not as lucky as the rest of the world, though, being rid of paedo scum like you,’ the man sneered in his face.

  ‘What do you want?’ Jeff croaked, growing increasingly desperate.

  ‘Justice. Simple as that. Pure justice.’

  ‘For what? I haven’t done anything. Who are you?’

  The man laughed confidently. ‘You haven’t done anything? Really? I th
ink we both know what you’ve done. What you are.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Jeff replied.

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ the man said, leaning in close to Jeff’s face. ‘The Dark Web. The forum.’

  Jeff hoped to God that the man hadn’t seen the glint of recognition in his eyes, but he knew the involuntary reaction must have shown. Before he could respond, a globule of saliva landed on his right eyeball.

  ‘You’re scum. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand that?’ the man said as Jeff tried in vain to lift his tied arm to wipe his eye. Instead, all he could do was to wipe it with his shoulder the best he could.

  ‘I’m sorry. Please. Please just let me go.’

  ‘You’re sorry?’ the man said, walking around behind Jeff so he could no longer see him. ‘Do you think that makes it all okay?’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  ‘Do you think any amount of apologising or repenting is going to make what you did — what you are — okay?’

  Jeff gulped. ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  The man was silent for a moment. ‘Then there’s only one thing for it, isn’t there?’

  He heard the rhythmic snip, snip, snip of the gardening shears before he saw the man walk back alongside him, lean down and begin to move the shears towards his naked penis.

  ‘No! Please, no!’ Jeff pleaded.

  ‘Shh, we’ll have no more of that,’ the man said, pushing a stale rag into Jeff’s mouth. ‘We can’t have you waking the neighbours, now, can we?’

  The rhythmic sound of the shears started again.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  It was almost mesmerising, bewitching, and a deep part of Jeff’s brain was actually quite enchanted by the sound up until the moment the steel blades crossed over his penis and the sound became a blistering sensation of searing pain.

  Jeff could swear he felt at least one of his teeth crack as he bit down harder on the rag than he’d ever bitten on anything before.

  ‘Oh, Jeff,’ the man said. ‘I think I understand your perversions now. You have no idea how much pleasure that just gave me. Sharp blades, aren’t they?’

  Jeff stared wide-eyed at the man as he opened up the jaws of the shears, now smeared with blood and brought one open blade down towards his throat.

  ‘Good fucking riddance, Jeff,’ the man said, his teeth bared, before bringing the blade ripping across Jeff’s throat with the movement and determination of a man trying to start a petrol lawnmower.

  For Jeff Brelsford, the world suddenly got much darker.

  3

  Wendy Knight lay sprawled on the sofa, her head resting on her arm as the other stroked the purring cat which was similarly sprawled across her stomach.

  The rehoming centre had told her the cat was called Cookie Monster, and said they tended to advise people to stick with the same name. Wendy was still unsure, though, and was sorely tempted to rename him. For now, though, she simply called him Cookie.

  She felt daft saying it, but the cat had quickly become her closest friend and confidant. She’d gone to the rehoming centre shortly after the closure of the last murder case she’d worked on: the killing of four women in Mildenheath by a man who’d been trying to emulate the notorious crimes of Jack the Ripper.

  The case had also resulted in the death of DS Luke Baxter, a young officer with the world at his feet. Wendy’s relationship with Luke had been strained, to say the least, from the moment they’d met. Shortly before his death, though, they’d managed to clear the air and Wendy had finally felt that she understood him and had come to sympathise with and, dare she say it, quite like him.

  Luke’s death had dealt a hammer blow to Wendy and the entire CID department at Mildenheath. An officer dying in the line of duty was thankfully a rare occurrence in the UK at the best of times, and a largely desk-bound CID officer was even less likely to have to worry about being killed. For Luke Baxter, though, odds and probabilities meant nothing.

  The funeral had been taken care of, with the local and national media attention on the event having been unprecedented. The force had tried to keep things as low-key as possible whilst giving Luke the send-off he deserved, but the attention that it had attracted from the media had made that difficult. A policeman dying in the line of duty was always bound to make headline news, but a CID officer being killed in the crossfire whilst apprehending one of the most brazen and daring serial killers of the modern age was something else altogether.

  The death of a colleague wasn’t something Wendy had experienced before, nor had most of the officers at Mildenheath, and she was surprised at the feelings it unlocked; feelings that took her back to the day she found out her own father had died.

  Bill Knight had been a shining light at Mildenheath CID when Wendy was a young child, and had been off-duty when he’d tried to intervene and stop a bank robbery. She had never been told exactly what had happened next — she was too young at the time and hadn’t wanted to ask since — but her father died of a gunshot wound later that day. ‘Gone to join the angels,’ her mother had said.

  So many of the feelings and emotions she’d felt at the time had been kept under wraps — something she hadn’t realised until now, when those feelings came flooding back. Oddly, she felt the same sense of the world having lost something. The conversation she’d had with Luke on the night of his death had changed the way she’d thought about him in a way which she was only realising now. She was sure that had Luke lived, they would’ve become good friends.

  The whole of Mildenheath CID had been affected by Luke’s death — some more than others — and Wendy had her concerns about one or two people who seemed to be taking it rather badly.

  She moved her arm from behind her head and lifted the peaceful, purring Cookie from her lap and placed him on a cushion, stretching as she stood to go and fetch a bottle of wine from the wine rack. She’d perhaps been drinking a little too much lately, she’d be the first to admit, but she also knew she wasn’t the only one. That was what the job did to you at the best of times, but at the worst of times it only became more of a necessity.

  She looked back over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen and could see Cookie stretching out and yawning before nodding back off into his peaceful slumber. She smiled as she thought what it would be like to be a cat, sleeping and eating without a care in the world. No worries about office politics, violent criminals or death. Just eat, sleep, rinse and repeat.

  As the deep purple liquid sloshed into the wine glass, Wendy felt her mobile phone vibrating in her jeans pocket. She pulled it out and swiped across the screen to answer it, having seen the name of her superior, Detective Chief Inspector Jack Culverhouse, on the screen.

  ‘Sir,’ she said, keeping the greeting to a minimum as she knew Culverhouse would start speaking the second the line had connected.

  ‘I hope you’ve not been on the sauce, Knight,’ Culverhouse said immediately. ‘We’ve got an incident to attend to.’

  ‘What sort of incident?’ she asked, knowing full-well that it would be nothing short of a dead body if a call had come through to her at this time of night.

  ‘A fucking messy one,’ he replied. ‘Certainly not an accident, anyway. Not unless you can Taser yourself in the bollocks, chop your dick off and slit your throat by accident.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Got an address?’

  ‘Yeah, Brunel Road.’

  ‘Number?’

  ‘Can’t remember. It’ll be the one with all the police cars outside. Want picking up on the way?’

  Wendy laughed inwardly. Did she really sound drunk? ‘Yeah, go on then. I’ve not even taken a mouthful yet, but seeing as you offered.’

  4

  He’d dreamt of the moment for years, but nothing could have prepared him for what it actually felt like to kill, to end a man’s life. No, not a man. An animal. A monster.

  That moment when he finally saw life being extinguished, the flicker die from behind Jeff Brelsford’s eyes, had bee
n a moment of purity and clarity for him. Suddenly, the world seemed a better place already.

  He didn’t feel bad, guilty or dirty about what he’d done; far from it. He knew he’d done a public service and, if he had to be completely honest with himself, he’d actually enjoyed it. He didn’t think he would beforehand, and that had worried him. He had wondered whether he might feel a ceaseless sense of remorse and guilt afterwards, but he knew he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Fortunately for him, he didn’t look like he’d ever have to.

  As far as he was concerned, the world was better off without Jeff Brelsford in it. Who knew how many young girls he would’ve gone on to groom, harass or abuse? The guilt he would’ve had to have lived with if he’d let Jeff Brelsford carry on breathing would have far outweighed any morsel of guilt he had over ending his life.

  People like Jeff Brelsford could never change, he told himself. No-one ever heard of a paedophile coming out of prison, realising he was wrong and no longer being attracted to children. It just didn’t happen. It was a disease; a disease of the mind, and one which had no cure. As far as he was concerned, that meant there was only one solution and that was the solution he’d brought the world in ending Jeff Brelsford’s life.

  Unfortunately, there were more men like Jeff Brelsford. Many more. The Dark Web forum he’d managed to infiltrate had taught him that. He’d thought Deepest Desires had been home to some pretty fucked up shit, but the new, un-named forum was on another level entirely.

  What sickened him most was how the scumbags on the forum didn’t even have the good grace to leer and slobber like he’d expected them to. Instead they used words such as ‘gracious’, ‘petite’ and ‘elegant’, as if they were talking about a particularly classy level of fashion model. It was like they didn’t even know that it was a sick perversion, but some sort of sophisticated fetish or hobby instead.

  The best thing about it is that no-one on the forum would know what had happened. For a start, he was the only one who knew that Celt_45 and Jeff Brelsford were one and the same person. Jeff Brelsford would be found — and probably mourned by at least one deluded idiot — but no-one would ever know Celt_45 was anything but alive and kicking. He knew this perfectly well as he would continue to post as Celt_45 himself, keeping the illusion alive until he could snare his second target.