Chapter 101

Chapter 101

‘I want names. And I want them now.'

Graham Armstrong stared at Helen, startled and scared. He'd been knocked off his stride by her unheralded arrival in the interview suite, seating herself alongside his persecutor, DC McAndrew, but even more taken aback by her attitude. She'd clearly jumped straight from one interrogation into another and was not in a mood to take prisoners. She was brooding, hostile and aggressive, leaning over the table and glowering at him with visible distaste.

‘I've already told your colleague …' Armstrong responded as politely as he could, his crisp Edinburgh accent punching through. ‘I don't know their actual names. They used false identities to deter—'

‘Enough!' Helen barked, slamming her hand on the table. ‘Enough of the lies and the obfuscation. You've already admitted to my colleague that you set up and organized these Zoom meetings, that you basically recruited every single one of these perverts.'

‘Not his exact words, but yes,' DC McAndrew confirmed darkly.

‘And I don't believe for a minute that you would have let anyone into your little circle unless you knew exactly who they were. Where they lived and worked, that they were good for the "fees", that they wouldn't go soft and rat on you. So cut the crap and give us names. It is your only, your last, hope of any mitigation against what will otherwise be a seriously long sentence …'

The accused turned away, looking agonized, but kept his counsel.

‘The rest of it's done and dusted, Graham,' DC McAndrew added, taking up the baton. ‘Everybody knows what you've been up to. Your mother, your ex-wife, all of your former colleagues in the Fire Service. If they didn't want rid of you first time around, they certainly will now. There will be no bail, no parole and after you've been convinced and sentenced, no hope of early release. You're done, Graham, a busted flush.'

‘So you can either sit there and stew in your disgrace,' Helen continued pointedly, ‘or you can do yourself a favour and co-operate with us.'

Armstrong sat back heavily in his chair, running his hand over his face. A quick angled glance to his lawyer, then he eventually replied:

‘OK, fine, have it your way. There was Alexander Coulter, also ex-Fire Service. James Peters, he works for Hampshire County Council; Eric Bateman, he's a small businessman and part-time magistrate …'

Helen stared at the disgraced firefighter in dismay as he reeled off a long list of offenders, co-conspirators in his vile enterprise, all of whom had status, power and responsibility. It was a rogues' gallery of degenerates who'd asked for the public's trust, then betrayed it in the most egregious, most repellent fashion. Teachers, charity workers, bank managers … the names tumbled out, each one sharpening Helen's anger.

‘… and Simon Reeves, he's a retired journalist, lives near Calshot, I think. I swear that's it, that's the lot.'

Armstrong pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, mopping his brow. He looked exhausted, washed out, as if the act of betraying his associates had cost him physically.

‘See, you can do it when you try,' DC McAndrew offered, receiving only a scowl in response.

‘Next question, where's Reynolds?' Helen added, keen to keep the pressure on.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘You heard me, where's he gone? Where is PC Reynolds?'

‘You haven't pulled him in yet?' Armstrong questioned. ‘I assumed he was already in the building.'

He appeared genuinely surprised, but Helen wasn't prepared to let him off the hook that easily.

‘He must have a bolthole. A flat, a lock-up, a static caravan he hides out in. Where is it?'

‘I've no idea,' the firefighter protested. ‘Honestly. I've never even met the guy. Everything was done either online or by post. That was the whole point .'

For once, Helen was inclined to believe him, changing tack sharply.

‘What about Naomi then? And Mia? Where are they?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Graham, I'm going to ask you again,' Helen growled, ‘and this time you better tell me the truth or so help me God …'

‘I am telling you the truth. That was Reynolds' business, not mine. My job was to recruit people, to set up the meets. His job was to secure the … well, you know what his job was.'

‘Don't we just,' McAndrew replied bitterly.

‘I don't know where he found the girls or where he kept them. Do you think he'd tell me? Or the others? Reynolds insisted on total secrecy in case anyone else was ever pulled in. I only know his name because one of the other guys had been picked up by Reynolds for kerb-crawling, recognized him during one of the sessions. It was a total information lockdown.'

Helen dearly wanted to squeeze the information out of him, but again the suspect seemed convincing.

‘What about the others? Would they know?'

‘Unlikely, but I suppose anything's possible,' Armstrong replied, clearly keen to shift the focus away from himself.

‘All right, get this one charged and into custody,' Helen tasked McAndrew, as she rose purposefully to her feet. ‘And as for the others, bring them in. Bring them all in.'

Turning, Helen departed, wrenching the door open and hurrying away. They had cracked Armstrong, unravelling a major paedophile network in the process, but it wasn't enough. PC Reynolds, the vilest member of this hideous fraternity, was still at large and Naomi Watson was missing, her whereabouts still unknown. Helen knew only too well that Reynolds' flight from justice spelled real danger for the missing teen. The longer he remained free, the longer she remained concealed, the greater the jeopardy became.

Every second counted now.