Rough Justice (Knight & Culverhouse Book 4) Page 3

  As he made his way to the front of the room to address the team, a ball of scrunched-up paper bounced off the corner of a desk and hit his leg.

  ‘Who the fuck was that?’ he barked.

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ came the voice of DS Steve Wing. ‘I was aiming for the bin. I should’ve got up and put it in properly. Sorry.’

  ’No, you should’ve aimed better and not thrown like a girl,’ Culverhouse replied, picking up the paper and walking over to where Steve was sitting. ‘Get up.’

  Steve did as he was told. Culverhouse sat down in Steve’s chair, which was a good twenty feet away from the waste paper basket, lifted his hand and propelled the scrunched-up ball of paper through a perfect trajectory and into the bin without even hitting the edge.

  ‘Like that,’ he said, standing up and returning to his spot at the front of the room.

  ‘Bloody hell, guv. You should get on the force’s cricket team. They could do with a couple of decent bowlers.’

  ‘No chance,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘I’d be too tempted to launch every ball at Malcolm Pope’s head. Right. Murder case. We now know that the victim is Jeff Brelsford, a forty-eight-year-old local man who lived alone in a rented house. Turns out he’s known to us. He’s listed on ViSOR.’

  The Violent and Sex Offenders Register listed the details of all people convicted of a crime or receiving a caution under the 2003 Sexual Offences Act in England and Wales and those thought to be at risk of offending.

  ‘That would probably go some way towards explaining the way he was killed,’ Culverhouse added.

  ‘What was he on the register for, guv?’ Debbie Weston asked.

  ‘He was cautioned for sexual harassment at work last year. He used to work for a company doing car body repairs and a school-leaver reported him for sexual harassment a fortnight into her working there.’

  ‘Christ. How old was she?’ Debbie asked.

  ‘Sixteen. Now, Tasering someone in the bollocks and chopping their cock off seems to have a pretty clear message, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘What, you think it was someone connected with the girl he molested?’ Steve Wing asked.

  ‘I’d say it’s more than possible. Either that or he’s been up to his old tricks again and someone took a dislike to it.’

  ‘Could even be some sort of vigilante thing,’ Debbie added. ‘Especially if he’s on ViSOR.’

  ‘Only problem with that is that it’s only the police, NPS and HMPS who have access to ViSOR, which would narrow the field a bit. From what we can tell there’s no immediate family in the area. Never married, no kids. Probably for the best, if you ask me.’

  ‘I’ll get in touch with the family of the girl he assaulted,’ Wendy said. ‘Probably best that we get a statement from them and find out where they were last night.’

  Culverhouse snorted and crossed his arms. ‘If you find out one of them did it, shake their hand for me.’

  8

  It was all about trust. Once you’d gained that, you could pretty much do what you liked with them. The rest was pure psychology.

  Building trust was difficult. The increasingly volatile attitudes towards people like the ones he was targeting meant that they were naturally suspicious of everyone. The police’s increasing resources and computer forensics teams made their lives more difficult and increased suspicions enormously.

  This meant that a number of them had fragmented and were left to satisfy their perversions alone, safe from the potential of misplaced trust. These were the low-hanging fruit, the marginals who were easy to pick off but far less fun. Some parts of the community, on the other hand, had come together more closely, forming small groups of people who could trust each other implicitly. That sort of faith took a long time to build up, but it was worth all the effort. These were the group he’d effectively formed, ensuring a tight circle around their rotten cores.

  He had to play the long game. Finding a paedophile wasn’t particularly difficult in the modern age of the internet, but any criminal of any sort who drew that much attention to himself wasn’t one worth bothering with. As with anything, it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. It was the ones who had driven themselves underground, going to great lengths to mask their activities. It’s the same principle that says the door with the biggest lock has the most treasure behind it.

  Getting on side was difficult, but the primary tactic was to display suspicion himself. He knew that you couldn’t simply make another person trust you, but you could make them want you to trust them. That would have much the same effect with the added advantage that effectively they’d be the ones grovelling and coming to him. That put him in an additional position of power.

  It had taken months, years in some cases, but every second was worth it. He’d had to use a variety of tactics. Simple faith-building hadn’t always worked, and every person had a limit to the amount of certitude they could have in another human being. Sure enough, some had been daft enough to eventually reveal their locations or real names in one way or another, but for some that task was far more difficult and had to be done in different ways.

  There were some who were really hot on their security. Those who only used VPNs, connected through the TOR network and used anonymous email accounts on the Dark Web with PGP encryption. They were the very core of the nut he wanted to crack, but getting past that level of security would be next to impossible.

  The next level down was where the fun was really had: those who weren’t going to voluntarily give up any information, but who were slightly less security conscious and made the occasional technological slip-up. Those, for example, who used a Gmail or Hotmail email account, thinking it anonymous and throwaway. To an extent, it was, but he had his ways and means.

  One of the most successful tactics was to send links to the sort of depraved material they got their kicks out of — something he hated doing, but which was entirely necessary in pursuit of the greater good — which would build up their trust. The occasional link would be to a web server he owned or of which he had access to the logs. As soon as the link was clicked, he’d be able to see the person’s IP address. More often than not, they’d be behind a VPN or using TOR, but everyone would slip up sooner or later. When they did, their cover had essentially been blown.

  Having their IP address would, in some cases, give him a fairly specific geographic location which would narrow the field enormously. In other cases, he could use that to his advantage in other ways. If the IP address only told him the person was in Nottingham, for example, he’d send them an email purporting to be from Nottingham City Council announcing big council tax rises or changes to their bin collection dates. The email would contain a link to a website mocked up to look like Nottingham City Council’s website, asking the user to enter their postcode and house number to find out their new council tax payment or bin collection date. Bingo. He had their address.

  With their address, it was only one step to finding out their name. Often, a Google search would tell him. If they’d signed an online petition, their name would often accompany their address in a search result. If a business was registered to the address, he could find out the directors’ names. If they owned the property, he could look up the title deeds. If all else failed, rocking up at the house pretending to be from the gas board or water company would often do the trick.

  Once he had a name and address, he was home and dry. More information was always handy, but he could go a long way with this. If he found out the person’s place of work, date of birth or more, he could get to know their lives, their daily routines. If not, simple personal surveillance would often do the trick.

  The fact was that most of them were spread out across the country. As the group grew, though, the number of targets living within a reasonable distance grew too. By now, he had a solid core of targets who didn’t live far away at all, and who would all be feeling the full force of his own special brand of justice very soon indeed.

  9

  Jack Culverhou
se always had mixed feelings when he was asked to go to the Chief Constable’s office. It would almost always be bad news, but Culverhouse was eternally grateful that it was Charles Hawes who was Chief Constable and not anyone else.

  Hawes knew what it was like to police on the front line and had been through Mildenheath CID himself, working in Jack’s position before him. Hawes let him get away with a lot more than anyone else would, and that wasn’t lost on him. The pair were united by a distrust — verging on hatred — of the elected Police and Crime Commissioner, Martin Cummings, who’d brought politics into policing far more than it had any right to be. They were also both inherently suspicious of Malcolm Pope, the man who headed up the CID department at the county’s policing headquarters at Milton House.

  Milton House was a good twenty or so miles away from Mildenheath, which was just far enough for Charles Hawes to justify having an office at both locations, preferring to spend as much time at Mildenheath as possible. The real reason was that it put him twenty miles further away from Martin Cummings and the needless bureaucracy at county hall, but the official reasoning was that Mildenheath had good media facilities, was more accessible to local press and was right on the doorstep of the majority of the county’s crime. Handily, Hawes could sell this as getting his hands dirty and putting himself right in the thick of it, although that was actually far from the truth.

  Culverhouse saw Hawes as a good blend of old school policing and modern advancements. He was firm but fair: something Culverhouse always aspired to, although he never quite managed to strike the right balance. To Charles Hawes, what mattered was the result and keeping a clean image. He was willing to allow a few rules to be bent if it meant them getting their man and stopping more people from being harmed. After all, that was everyone’s ultimate goal.

  Although Culverhouse knew he wasn’t being summoned for a pay rise or a pat on the back, Hawes’s office felt like a sanctuary to him as he closed the door behind him and sat down on the other side of the ornate mahogany desk from the Chief Constable.

  ‘You and I go back a long way, Jack,’ Hawes said, reassuring Culverhouse that this was certainly not going to result in a pay rise. ‘I know what things are like in your position. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it all. And I know that sometimes personal feelings and reflections can take over, especially since... Well, you know.’

  Culverhouse flared his nostrils. Could the man not even bring himself to say Luke’s name?

  ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir,’ Culverhouse said, more politely than he felt like saying it.

  ‘Well, recent events. Things have been tough on everyone here. I understand that. But it’s vital that everyone keeps a level head. Even things said in the incident room can sway the way people think. The last thing we need is for personal feelings and disagreements to get in the way of operations.’

  Culverhouse shook his head. ‘Sorry. I must be missing something. What are you talking about?’

  The Chief Constable sighed. ‘It was reported to me that you may or may not have made a remark about the death of Jeff Brelsford. Something to do with congratulating his killer. Ring any bells?’

  Culverhouse loosened his jaw, trying to stop his teeth from clenching so tightly. ‘May I ask who?’

  ‘No, Jack, because it’s important that officers can express their feelings in confidence.’

  ‘Right. But I’m not allowed to express mine?’

  ‘Yes, of course you are. Privately. To me. Like we are right now, and like that other officer did. Not in a team briefing and not in the way you did. If you did, that is.’

  ‘And what if I did?’ he asked. ‘What does that have to do with catching whoever killed him?’

  Charles Hawes sighed again. ‘Listen, Jack. I’m going to put this bluntly. You know I’m good for overlooking one or two smaller issues which others might pick up on. I like to see a CID department flowing as a unit under its own steam rather than trampling all over it. But the fact of the matter is I’m not going to be here forever. I’m getting older, Jack, and I’m going to have to think about retirement pretty soon before they think of it for me. I don’t know who’ll they’ll get in to replace me, but one thing I know for sure is there’s no way whoever it is will have the same outlook as me. We’re the last of the old school, you and me. I hate it break it to you, but you wouldn’t last five minutes under another Chief Constable. You’d be fired for gross misconduct within a week.’

  He knew the Chief Constable was right, but ignored the point. ‘Sir, if you’ve got concerns then I don’t think I should be the senior investigating officer on this case. A lot has happened recently. I wouldn’t want my personal feelings to get in the way of operations,’ he added through gritted teeth.

  Hawes steepled his hands and rested his mouth against his fingers. ‘I see. Well, that’s a very brave move to make, I must say.’

  ‘I’m happy to work on the case if you want me to, or not. Whatever. We’ve got plenty of people who can run the team. Put Knight on it.’

  ‘She’s only a DS, Jack. We can’t have her as SIO.’

  ‘Promote her then.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, Jack. You know it doesn’t. It’s no good being flippant. If you step down as senior investigating officer, another DCI will have to take charge. And you and I both know who that’d be.’

  Culverhouse nodded. Neither of the men wanted to sully the air with Malcolm Pope’s name.

  ‘The question is, Jack, are you strong enough, up here,’ he said, tapping his temple with a forefinger, ‘to handle things as they are right now?’

  Culverhouse moved his tongue around his teeth before answering. ‘I don’t do giving up.’

  10

  Katie McCourt’s parents hadn’t been hugely keen on the idea of speaking to the police about Jeff Brelsford again, but she had agreed to meet with Wendy to help in any way she could with the investigation into his death.

  From what Wendy had read about on the police national computer, Jeff Brelsford’s caution came after two prior warnings about his behaviour. Katie McCourt was apparently not the sort of girl to take prisoners and had reported Brelsford after the first instance of harassment. It seemed the warnings hadn’t quite got through to him, though, and he had to be spoken to twice more before he finally got the message.

  The first and second times, he had been making advances and lewd comments. The third time, though, he’d attempted to grope her and kiss her. Considering that he was a man who was more than twice her age at the time, Katie had been extremely distressed and had insisted that the police do something.

  With a lack of witnesses on hand, the Crown Prosecution Service weren’t particularly interested, but Brelsford had agreed to accept a police caution for his behaviour, having seemed genuinely remorseful. Katie had been happy, too, knowing that Brelsford would lose his job and have to sign on to the sex offender’s register. According to the notes, she considered that fair justice.

  Although Wendy had requested the company of Debbie Weston as the trained family liaison officer in order to ensure that everything was dealt with as sensitively as possible, Culverhouse had decided that Debbie’s efforts would be better spent elsewhere and that Wendy should speak to Katie and her family members on her own. With the atmosphere in the incident room the way it was at that moment, she was secretly quite glad to be able to get out for a bit.

  Wendy was also quite pleased that Katie was at work when she went to visit her parents, as she liked to try and speak to people separately where she could. People tended to be more open and honest one-to-one, whereas they often seemed to clam up a bit in front of others, particularly parents and particularly when talking about a sensitive subject such as sexual assault.

  Katie McCourt’s parents lived in a smart detached property on Yardley Crescent, not a million miles from Wendy’s relatively humble abode in Archer’s Close. John and Teresa welcome Wendy in, offered her a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table. It was a well-l
ooked-after house and they were clearly proud people. Up until last year, she supposed, they probably wouldn’t have had very many dealings with the police at all. After what had happened to their, daughter, though, welcoming a CID detective into the kitchen didn’t seem quite so odd.

  On the phone earlier, Wendy had decided not to hedge around the point and got straight to telling John and Teresa that the man who’d sexually harassed their daughter had been found murdered in his home the previous evening. Teresa seemed shocked; John emotionless.

  ‘There’s no easy way of me saying this,’ Wendy said, ‘but whenever someone is murdered the first thing we have to do is look at anyone who might’ve wanted them dead. I know that might—’

  ‘No, no, we quite understand,’ John said, looking at his wife for reassurance. ‘I can see why you’re here.’

  Wendy smiled, pleased that they seemed so understanding. It could have been a lot more awkward to turn up on the doorstep of the parents of a sexual harassment victim and tell them they were the prime suspects in the murder of their daughter’s harasser.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to want alibis,’ Katie’s father said. ‘We were both at home all night. Katie finished work around six-thirty — she’s on a daytime shift at the moment — and she was back here about twenty minutes later.’

  ‘Did she stay in all night?’ Wendy asked.

  John McCourt told her she did.

  ‘And where does she work at the moment?’