The Facebook Killer (18 page)

Dermott Madison lost his
daughter, wife and family home that terrible night in September. He
himself was badly injured. As soon as Hamid’s trial ended, so did
Madison. He appears to have dropped off the face of the earth,
along with the seven-figure sum he received from insurance
payments. My source has enlightened me to the fact that an
electronic paper trail has been removed from the social network
site itself, as well as police CCTV cameras in the capital. He
assures me that the cost to perform this would run into tens of
thousands of pounds. Another action Adrian Devoy could ill afford.
I have also been informed that this deletion of evidence has thrown
the investigation into turmoil.

The number of people now in
protective custody has risen from twenty-nine to one hundred and
six with this figure expecting to rise further over the next few
days.

With so many unanswered
questions, it is not my job, neither in a literary nor a legal
form, to try and answer them. Simply to initiate a “two sides to
every story” discussion.

By Investigative Journalist
Matthew Gerradine. Additional reporting by Juliette
Davies.

Chapter 24

Gary Pearson

Aged 28. No obvious source of income. Lives
with his parents. The Land Registry shows that he has his own
apartment in Brixton, purchased for £68,500 three years ago. Drives
an expensive 2010 Mercedes SLK. HPI check shows that no credit is
outstanding on it….a bit of a mystery man, or boy.

Pearson’s emails were blatant. He was a
paedophile with a penchant for little girls. His maximum age
appeared to be thirteen but “the younger the better” to quote a
sick man. We had open access to six of his seven accounts. The
other one was highly encrypted and no matter how hard we tried we
could not gain access. The assumption was that these emails were
his salary. His despicable income. Emails to “Mr. Big”. Uploading
his vile photos and videos.

In a couple of hours all would be revealed.
Pearson had been messaging a young victim by the name of Wendy
Lomax. Eleven years old. Infatuated. Fully believing that the man
she is going to meet at the fast food restaurant near King’s Cross
is the same age as her.

“Promise not to tell your parents.”

“I promise. They think I’m going to the park
with my friends.”

“Good. Let’s keep it our secret. Can’t
wait.”

“I still can’t believe that your aunt gave
you all that money for my bus fare, food and the hotel room so we
can watch movies all afternoon. She must be sooooo cool.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of cool. My folks don’t
know what’s going on though. They think I’m playing football with
my mates but they’re all so boring now. One of them even joined the
scouts last week. ”

“No way! That sucks. I think we’ll have fun
though. Most of the boys in my school are from other countries and
they kind of speak funny all the time.”

“LOL! Listen talking about school, a friend
of mine might come to the hotel. He’s making a film about friends
enjoying themselves. He might bring his video camera so don’t get
freaked if he turns up.”

“Cool. He can watch the movies too.”

Wendy Lomax. Eleven years
old. Youngest daughter of Peter Lomax. “Managing Director” of PL
Security Services, London. Running the doors of fifteen nightclubs
and fifty-eight pubs North and South of the river. A workforce of
almost six hundred employees, both ex-army and ex-mental hospital.
Now correct me if I’m wrong, but this isn’t the sort of father I
would think about pissing off. Yes? And for that exact reason
he
will
receive a
phone call in approximately one hour and fifty minutes to let him
know what’s happening to his little girl.

Pearson had booked room 513 at the Scotland
Road Hotel six days ago. Albert said it looked like a, to quote,
“right fuckin’ shithole”. Nevertheless two hundred quid had gotten
him a half hour access to the room prior to Pearson’s liaison. Time
enough to place his remote cameras. One on the windowsill in the
leaves of the dying pot plant, the other in the grimy lampshade
over the bed. The other fifty quid was spent on room 515, across
the hall, for the next day’s rental, viewing and apple picking.

Albert parked the camper three streets away.
A quick power-up of the lap top and we had a perfect view of room
513, even from this distance. Pearson would still be in the burger
restaurant, probably trying to explain why he looked seventeen
years older than he should. We were getting close now. Only this
one and the next to go before all hell broke loose.

Room 515 stank of mildew, sweat and
lubricant. It was disgusting. A minus-three star hotel. The sheets
obviously hadn’t been changed since the last occupant, only a new
one laid on top.

I couldn’t help but wonder how low I had
sunk. My God, if Anna could see me now. I was aware that my
personal hygiene levels had dropped. Christ, I used to be a
two-showers-a-day man, but when you spend your time living between
a tree-house and a camper van certain sacrifices have to be
made.

I sat on the rickety chair in front of the
dressing table and looked at Norman in the mirror. I hadn’t seen
the real me for what felt like an eternity and I can honestly say I
don’t know if I ever wanted to again. It was uncanny, Norman had my
eyes. It was that moment that a wave washed over me. A wave of
doubt. As I sat there thinking about Anna and Laura, I wondered
whether what I was doing was indeed right. Maybe I should just end
it all and go and join them in the next life so we could be
together again as a family, eating olives and feta cheese, ice
cream and chocolate cake. Would they even approve of what we were
doing down here on Earth? The revenge. Is it what they would have
wanted?

The voice. I knew the voice. It was
Laura.

“Daddy, daddy, please”, she begged, “just
another ten minutes, pleeeease. Mummy won’t be angry with us.” My
arms were already aching, I’d been pushing the swing for what
seemed like hours but the butterflies in her stomach made her
squeal with delight. How could I refuse? “Alright precious, ten
minutes but not a second more. You know what your mummy’s like
about being late for Sunday lunch.” And so I pushed her as high as
she could go. She screamed with delight kicking her little legs
back and forth to gain momentum. “OK are you ready? Over the bar”,
I told her. “No, Daddy NO!” she pleaded.

I awoke to see Norman still staring back at
me in the grubby mirror. The excited squeals ringing in my ears but
not coming from the playground this time but the corridor outside
the room. Pearson.

I rubbed Norman’s eyes, placed the laptop on
the dressing table and watched as Pearson unlocked the door to room
513. He was instantly recognisable from his online photos. The same
bleached hair, spiked like a mohawk, slightly reminiscent of the
lizard that he was. Dressed in an England football top and faded
jeans.

Wendy looked her age; in fact she reminded me
a lot of Laura when she was ten or eleven. The same red hair down
to her shoulders. Wearing a knee-length yellow and pink floral
dress. Her eyes darting excitedly around the room. The room which
would turn her father into a murderer and separate them for the
next twenty years. As a by-product making London a safer place. The
same room that had promised an afternoon of movies and fun. She
threw herself down on the bed and scrambled around to face the
television, kicking her legs up behind her, ankles crossed.

“Wow, I’ve never seen a bed so big. I’m sure
even my parents isn’t so huge”, she giggled, “what’s the first film
we’re going to watch?” she asked.

“What’s the rush?” asked Pearson, “we’ve got
all day.”

“Ooooh sorry”, she replied sarcastically,
“thanks for lunch by the way. It was yummy.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll tell Aunty Alice you
said thanks. Oh, by the way, on the subject of not mentioning
things. I’d prefer if we kept my little illness between us if you
don’t mind.”

“What? You mean the ageing thing?” she
replied naively.

“Yeh, it’s kind of embarrassing that’s all.
The other kids at my school have kind of accepted now but I don’t
want it to get out. I don‘t wanna end up some kind of freak.”

Devious little bastard. Premature ageing.
Premature lack of vital signs would be more appropriate. As we
watched Pearson I could feel the rage surfacing again. My cheek
throbbing. Who in the hell could do what he was about to do to such
an innocent young thing. That was my Laura in that room. That was
someone’s daughter. Someone big and bad that was about to receive a
call that would change his life forever. I reasoned that at least I
was giving him a chance, an option. Something that I never had. I
wasn’t telling Lomax to come to room 513 and kill these people. He
could make an informed decision and pass on the information to the
police. Let them do their job, but somehow I sincerely doubted that
would be his reaction. Only time would tell.

Pearson had put a DVD into the player on top
of the television. He flicked through with the remote control.

“What do you fancy, beautiful? The Lion King,
Avatar, Snow White?”

Obviously he had a choice for all of his
preferred age ranges.

“Let’s watch Avatar, I’ve seen it before but
I love it. I have to warn you though that I’ll probably cry at the
end.”

“I’m sure you will beautiful, I’m sure you
will. They always do”, he muttered.

And so Norman and I watched Pearson and his
prey for an hour. An hour where nothing happened, they didn’t
speak, they didn’t touch. Both of them just lying on the double bed
watching the film. It was only when the little girl left to go the
toilet that events took a turn. Pearson took out his mobile phone
and dialed a number.

“Yes. We’re ready. She’s here…how
long…half-hour. OK. …….513.” He hung up. Then he called a second
number.

“Hi, this is the sweet shop. Can you be here
in an hour? The action is on….OK, bye.”

Pearson then did something that made me
physically wretch. He took off his jeans and t-shirt, hung them
over a chair and climbed back onto the bed wearing only his boxer
shorts. I knew this was going to be hard for me from the moment I
saw and read the shit on his computer. That’s why we’d decided to
leave the hotel and retreat to the camper van after we’d called
Lomax. Firstly if he did decide to call the cops, we didn’t want to
be anywhere near and secondly, I couldn’t guarantee to keep my
emotions at bay and at this point that was a key element to the
success of our future plans.

Wendy came back into the room.

“Sean, why are you dressed like that?” she
asked, an obvious look of concern on her young face.

“Oh. Don’t worry it’s part of my condition,
the doctor says it’s an overactive body temperature or something.
Means I get hot all of a sudden.”

Wendy looked uncomfortable with the
situation. She sat on the edge of the bed furthest away from him
and pulled her dress down over her knees.

“When is your friend coming?” she asked.

“Oh soon, about another twenty five minutes,
so remember we have to be enjoying ourselves.”

With that he rolled over the bed and grabbed
her. She squealed as he tickled her but then she pulled away.

It was time to make the call and get out of
there before Norman took things into his own hands.

“Peter Lomax?” I asked.

“Who is this? Who gave you this number?” he
demanded.

“Let’s say a mutual friend. Listen. Do you
know where your daughter, Wendy, is?”

“She’s with her friends in the park. Who the
fuck is this?” he screamed down the phone.

I had decided to rile him up. Make sure that
when he got here he was ready to fight like the maniac he was.

“Well Mr. Lomax I have some news for you. I
don’t think your parenting skills are up to scratch”, I ignored his
rants and vulgar language, “try and calm down Peter, you don’t mind
if I call you Peter do you?”

Deep breathing. The faint sound of a foot
tapping.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Two things, Peter. One, I want to help you
save your daughter….”

“Where is she?” he screamed, “if you lay a
fucking finger on her I swear half of London will be after you, you
…….”

“Peter! I’m your friend here. How long will
it take you to get to Clapham.”

“Clapham, fuck about an hour from here. Is
that where she is?”

“Too long. It’ll be too late to save her. You
have to get here in half an hour.”

“Where is she? Who’s got her?”

“The Scotland Road Hotel. Room 513. I’d
suggest you bring some back up with you.”

“Don’t fucking worry about that mate.”

The line went dead. A thank-you would have
been appreciated but at the end of the day, he was doing me the
favour.

It was time to leave. To watch from afar.
Norman drove the camper van to a better vantage point. There was a
free parking space on the corner of Scotland Road and Market Street
after a slight altercation with a young man in a Porsche, Norman
finally clinched the spot. We topped the parking meter up to give
us two hours and retired to the darkened privacy of the galley
kitchen. Through the windscreen we could see the front entrance to
the hotel.

The signal from Pearson’s room was crystal
clear. Wendy was lying on the bed again, drinking something this
time. A worrying addition to the scene. It was barely five minutes
when we heard the knock on the door. I had a mixture of emotions.
Fear for the little one, my little Laura, disgust for the two men
who Pearson was letting in to the room and excitement for what
would shortly happen when Lomax turned up and found his daughter
alone with three strange men.