Harry didn’t endear himself to Theo when he refused to turn his back on his clients and when he eventually arrived at the MIR in Bristol later in the day, the DI didn’t make an issue of it. Simply took him into a side room where the same techie who’d been at Mrs Farmer’s house – the beanpole – was working on a laptop.
‘Adam.’ Theo introduced them. ‘Talk Harry through what you’ve found.’
Adam pushed back from the desk a fraction before turning the laptop so Harry could see.
The image was an animated illustration in semi-realistic style. It showed a judge in full court dress with a robe of black damask embellished with gold. He wore a traditional white wig and a pair of gold half-moon glasses. He appeared to be in his sixties. He looked like the quintessential judge you’d see in cartoons. A plaque sat before him: CHIEF LORD JUSTICE.
Harry looked at the website address: ExecutorOfJustice.
‘It doesn’t have that much traffic yet,’ Adam said, ‘because I think it’s pretty new. But it’s gaining traction.’ He tapped on the keyboard. Another page came up.
THE BATTLE WITH BOREDOM ENDS HERE!
BECOME A QUALIFIED EXECUTOR OF JUSTICE!
Adam clicked through several more pages. The site appeared to be directed towards late teens or students. Harry knew that curious youngsters had Google at their fingertips and could search for anything they could think of. He also knew that not much – not even the most extreme content from porn or IS beheadings – shocked them. The website promised to give them real excitement and euphoria as they faced real danger, culminating in a real sense of fulfilment that they would never forget.
UNFORGETTABLE! the site screamed over and over.
The words real and reality were used prolifically. Further text was cleverly written, leading the viewer to believe they’d been hoodwinked by other entertainments online, and that other sites were conning them when there was so much on offer if you were interested in truth, honour and righteousness.
THE HALLS OF JUSTICE NEED YOU!
Adam clicked to another page where an array of videos became available to play. Harry’s skin tightened. One of them was of Lorraine drowning. Another of Kevin Owen being attacked outside his judo school. Phil Petty’s attack was also there, albeit in shaky form, but Harry’s wasn’t. Had Ethan been acting alone? Or had Harry’s punching Ethan made it too ignominious to have been posted?
‘You pay a nominal fee to join.’ Adam took Harry through the site, quoting verbatim. ‘You become a Qualified Executor of Justice, meting out harsh punishments to people whose grave crimes have gone unpunished.’
Another couple of clicks and over a dozen portrait photographs filled the screen. Phil Petty was there, along with Kevin Owen, Lorraine and Harry, and another man he didn’t recognise.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Richard Johnston. He died six months ago. We thought it was an accident, but it’s not. Show him, Adam.’
The video showed a man up a three-section extension ladder, trimming some wisteria around the top storey of a handsome red-brick house. He was on the fifth rung from the top, concentrating on the job in hand, when a figure strode into view and without pausing, kicked the ladder from beneath him.
‘Christ.’ Harry felt his breathing stop as the man was flung twenty-odd feet onto the stone driveway below.
The man who kicked the ladder vanished. The video ended.
‘His daughter found him an hour later,’ Theo told him. ‘He’d broken both arms and a leg. He might have survived if he hadn’t had an open fracture. He died of sepsis two weeks later.’
Another click.
RAPIST RICHARD JOHNSTON GOT HIS COMEUPPANCE AND THE POLICE DIDN’T HAVE A CLUE!
YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH IT TOO!
Adam clicked the page back to the portraits. Harry felt dizzy and unbalanced as he stared at his own picture. It had been taken outside, at least five years ago, because he hadn’t worn that particular fleece since he’d accidently spilled creosote over it.
‘Do you know anyone else pictured here?’ Theo asked.
They were all strangers to Harry, except one. He pointed at a photograph of a man in his early eighties. ‘That’s Catherine King’s father. Doug’s father-in-law. He’s a widower. He lives in a cottage, in Monkton Farleigh.’
‘I’ll send Libby to talk to him. Talk him through security.’
‘What’s Vince been accused of? Do we know?’
‘When you click on a portrait,’ Adam explained, ‘the supposed crime is shown.’
‘Do mine,’ Harry ordered.
Adam clicked.
The photographs that Mrs Farmer had shown Harry appeared below a headline: ONE OF BRITAIN’S MOST PROLIFIC PAEDOPHILES. HE AVOIDED JAIL BECAUSE HE KNOWS THE RIGHT PEOPLE, IN THE RIGHT PLACES. DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY WITH IT.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Harry.
‘Show him Lorraine’s,’ Theo bade Adam.
A page of heart-rending pictures of a little girl nursing raw and weeping burns on her arms and legs appeared. She looked very like Esme, but it definitely wasn’t Lorraine’s daughter. MOTHER BURNED FIVE-YEAR OLD FOR NOT DOING HOMEWORK. SHE THINKS SHE’S SO CLEVER BEING A UNIVERISTY LECTURER BUT WE KNOW WHAT SHE DOES BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. DON’T LET HER GET AWAY WITH IT.
‘What’s Phil supposed to have done?’ Harry asked.
His old neighbour was accused of stealing from charities. HE’S NOT A SELF-MADE MAN. HE’S A THIEF. HE STEALS FROM THE DISADVANTAGED, THE POOR.
Kevin Owen was accused of raping a toddler. Doug’s father-in-law of committing years of torture on his grandchildren.
‘People bid for a “job”,’ Adam explained to Harry. ‘The highest wins, which is maybe why we get three people attacking one person, because they’ve pooled resources.’
‘How much?’
‘Lorraine’s reached six hundred and fifty pounds. Yours, on the other hand, has only had one bid of a hundred pounds.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Harry was frowning. ‘If it’s one bid, then how come I was attacked twice? First by Ethan, then by Clive Farmer?’
‘We don’t know,’ Theo answered. ‘But we’re concerned there might be another site out there.’
‘God, I hope not,’ Harry said feelingly. ‘I don’t want another brace of vigilantes on my doorstep.’
Theo leaned past Adam and tapped on the keyboard. ‘Our main concern is that it’s inciting murder.’
Another page appeared.
DO THESE PEOPLE DESERVE TO LIVE?
Below the headline was a picture of an ancient Roman gladiatorial fight, and an emoji of an emperor inviting the viewer to vote thumbs up, the accused lived, or thumbs down – they died.
Nobody had clicked on the thumbs-up emoji. Over fifty people had voted for him and Lorraine, Phil and the other four supposed defendants, to die.
Harry’s mouth turned dry. ‘Can you find out who’s running the site?’ Harry asked. ‘Who’s taking the money?’
‘Not yet. But one thing I will say is that whoever it is, wants to raise the stakes. They started by suggesting five thousand pounds per attack but the attackers so far – aside from Clive Farmer, of course – have been students. They can’t afford that much.’
‘Then they’re given our addresses?’
‘That’s how it seems to work.’ Theo cleared his throat. ‘We’ve taken the site down, but I still want you to be vigilant. We’re trying to find the members through their IP addresses but it’s bloody difficult. Computers can be routed through ISPs, proxy servers and the like. It’s an uphill battle at the moment.’
Harry stared at the computer screen. He’d never been on anyone’s hit list before. It scared the hell out of him.