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Karla was angry at the uniformed police officer who was leaning across her desk with his two hands on it. His jaw jutted out as he fixed her with an icy gaze.
She held his eyes without blinking. "You will not come into my school and try to order me around Chief Inspector James Wilson. I am not one of your subordinates trembling at your very words and, indeed if you try any more of your autocratic ways I shall have you removed from the school grounds. Take your hands off my desk and sit down!"
The man's eyebrows were creased in his own anger but perhaps he realised he had overstepped his mark for he lifted his hands off Karla's desk and moved across to the armchair he had jumped up from mere seconds before. He sat down and crossed his legs, obviously not used to having his words queried.
Karla glanced across at the detective sergeant who stood at the back behind the chief inspector and noticed a slight grin across his face. It told her a lot about the man before her who had apparently risen through the ranks in almost exactly the opposite way to her own promotion. Sure, the police force was by necessity, a more military type organisation than the teaching profession but the days of intimidation and using the power of a position should have long gone in modern New Zealand.
Wilson almost choked over his words but muttered an apology before adding. "All I asked for was the names of the girls in contact with this enoon paedophile."
"You did not ask chief inspector, you demanded. As I told your detective inspector yesterday, I am not going to have any of my students interviewed by yourself or any other police officer for one extremely important reason." She stopped talking and waited for her words to sink in before continuing. "One of my students involved is in a vulnerable position. She belongs to an autocratic family and because of her culture, is terrified of the consequences if her father even guesses that she has been using a computer on a social site, let alone communicating with a male on a one-to-one basis. I regard any information given to myself by her or any of the other girls as entirely confidential in the same way as a doctor or lawyer's privileged information."
"And what culture is that?"
Karla raised her eyes. "That is also confidential. The other girls involved are also worried and scared and I have promised not to contact their parents. They are all fourteen, not children and have the right to be protected by this school. All I will say is that they have all agreed to discontinue using their sites to contact this man."
"So you'd rather that this paedophile goes free to continue his foul deeds?"
"Did I say that, Chief Inspector Wilson? As you know, my husband has a contract to help the police in this case. However, he does not discuss confidential information with me and also knows my position in regard to my students. He can though, offer you an alternative method of finding evidence that does not involve them." She stood up. "I regret that I cannot help you any further but do not apologise for my stance. I am responsible to my board of trustees for over a thousand students, their parents and caregivers, as well a staff of over a hundred. I do not take that responsibility lightly."
Wilson also stood, muttered an apology almost under his breath and accepted her hand in a shake. Without even glancing at the sergeant he strutted out of the office.
After the other man left, Karla sat down, allowed herself a couple of moments to cool down and chastised herself for allowing her emotions to control her actions. She rang Ryan and told him everything that had happened.
He laughed. "So Iron-fist Wilson met his match, did he?"
"It's not a contest Ryan," she retorted. "You know I hate arrogant people who thrive on their power of position."
"Like Peter Niles over at Westview Intermediate?"
Karla sighed. "I guess so. All professions have them."
"So you never told him that he should use female police officers to set up sites to contact enoon?"
"He never gave me a chance. Anyway, I told him we never talk about our work with each other."
*
Though Stella and her friends had closed their Petal Life pages, Ryan had found dozens of other pages from students at Auckland high schools still functioning with many having the exclusive pages. He could probably get into them all and actually did enter a dozen or more sites. The chances of finding the paedophile through them though, was remote. He changed tactics and searched images with enoon imbedded on them. There were some but it appeared that all New Zealand ones had been deleted.
Matt Latimer, the detective sergeant assigned to work with him, said that the guy intercepted at the airport when the abduction of Jasmine Trustcot was foiled was a man named Terrance Hortmyre. He was being closely monitored but had just continued his life as a middle-class businessman who owned a small lifestyle and sports store. He enjoyed sports and occasionally frequented bars at night. He had once been married but was divorced about four years ago and had a couple of partners since then. His two adult children had both left the city. Police investigations didn't find him associated with any known criminals or gangs and he could have been one of thousands of similar men living in the city.
"So have you had any success?" The detective asked Ryan.
"A couple of things," Ryan replied. "I have a feeling that even though you think it could be gang involved, I think these web pages are the work of only a small group of guys, possibly young. This Terrance Hortmyre could be running the show but I suspect there is somebody else in charge."
"And your reason for these conclusions?"
"The made up photos are quite sophisticated but the idea of placing enoon on them is what a teenager would do, not some small businessman. Why would he bother to be so arrogant?"
"A good point so with the photos all being withdrawn, what do you intend to do next?"
Ryan glanced up from his computer. "I've kept the ones from the girls' sites and have compared them. All the facial photos appear to come from a European site that uploads viewers photos from amateurs rather than professional male or female models though some of the Indian or Chinese photos come from Asian sites. They are all free sites with little or no restrictions on where the photos come from or who uses them. The faces sent to the girls are composites of three or four photographs that are patched together by someone with knowledge of facial tones, shadows and so forth. Very few viewers would realise they aren't real people.
These sites usually show the same people in various poses such as standing up, walking, playing a game or driving a car. This helps when multiple pictures are sent to the girls. Clothes and background scenes are just picked up off Google or other images sites." Ryan grimaced. "Look at this picture."
He brought up a view of a youth of about twenty who was dressed in just a bathing suit with what looked like an Auckland beach in the background. He changed the image to an identical view except that the guy was nude.
"Depending on the girl being contacted, he could send either picture," Ryan muttered. "But his arrogance is going to be his downfall."
"They're good constructions," Matt said. "What do you see that I can't?"
"This!"
Ryan zoomed into the first photograph and moved the viewed section across to a strand of hair across the forehead and enlarged it still further. There in small letters was the word enoemos."
"Someone, written in reverse," gasped Matt. "The bastard is almost mocking us."
"No just an ignorant pride in his work. He might not even be one of the gang but just someone employed to make the photographs. Could be a teenager who doesn't even tell his employer about the signature."
"So why did he change it?"
Ryan shrugged. "He was probably annoyed when he guessed that the original enoon signature had been discovered. This latest one is even more sophisticated and is almost invisible even when zoomed into."
"So how did you find the writing?"
"I changed the colour filters. When I switched off red, it appeared. I cut it, reverted back and pasted it in the original picture so it can be seen."
"So you think it is just pride that makes him add the word?"
"Probably. The first photo was the one sent to Savannah." Savannah Dawson was one of the detectives pretending to be a teenager from Karla's school.
"I did a trace and found the other. This guy in contact with Savannah calls himself Phillip and says he's from Wellington. The story he's spinning is similar to the ones used with Isabelle Kensington two years back. Savannah sent him a five year old photo of herself that I had altered to show a background of modern cars and so forth."
"So it could be the same guy?"
Ryan nodded. "The next part is your department. At the moment I'm following up the pictures sent to the other three constables helping us."
"Any luck?"
Ryan smiled. "They all have the enoemos signature."
"Good work," Matt said. "The big boss is getting impatient."
"Iron-fist Wilson?"
Matt grinned. "Yes. The whole station heard about how your wife refused to be intimidated by him. She's one tough girl. Heard she runs a tight ship but is popular over at Joseph Ward Junior High." He raised his eyebrows. "How do you manage her?"
Ryan laughed. "We're a good team and have been through quite a lot together."
"Yeah, I'd heard that too," Matt replied. "Don't forget to put in that overtime claim."
"I won't. Is there anything else you like me to follow up?"
"Can you trace where this Phillip's site is being sent from?"
"Getting there. I asked Savannah to see if she can get him to use a mobile phone to communicate. They're easier to trace by triangulating the signals when he moves between different cell towers. We do know that he is local and not in Wellington at all. She doesn't want to push it though."
"I speak to her," Matt thanked him, walked out of Spider's Revenge and drove away in a very ordinary looking Honda car.
*
It was Friday morning when Jasmine Trustcot sat in the Joseph Ward Junior High cafeteria chatting with Stella Kensington and her sister Isabelle. Stella and herself had a lot in common and had become good friends over the previous few weeks.
Jasmine glanced up and noticed Mrs Spicer walk into the cafeteria. She frowned for it was well known that their principal always had breakfast in the cafeteria on a Thursday. "Stella," she hissed. "Karla's here."
Stella looked up from the breakfast she was eating. "So? She has breakfast here a couple of times a week."
"Never on a Friday. Isn't that when the senior teachers meet in the Conference Room?"
Stella shrugged. "Does it matter?"
Isabelle appeared slightly nervous but said nothing.
"What if she knows you hacked into her husband's site and found out this creep's name?" Even though the cafeteria was almost full and they were across the room from the counter where her principal was ordering breakfast, Jasmine still whispered.
"How can she?" Isabelle spoke for the first time.
"Her husband is a computer whizz and could easily trace back anyone trying to get into his site" Jasmine said. She caught Isabelle's eyes and noticed her nod sideways. Karla was walking around the tables and directly towards them.
There was no time to say any more for she had arrived.
"Hello Isabelle, Stella and Jasmine," she said. "I'd heard you had become friends."
Jasmine flushed. She liked their principal but it was creepy that she seemed to know everything about everybody. "Hello Mrs Spicer," she said. "I guess we are friends. We found we only live a block away from each other so ..." She laughed nervously. "You know how it is?"
"Of course. Nice to see you still enjoy our cafeteria, Isabelle."
Isabelle grinned. "I enjoy the food and have to keep an eye on my little sister."
"You don't..." Stella cut in and pouted when the others all smiled at her.
"Is there anything you want, Mrs Spicer?" Jasmine asked.
"Not at all. I just saw you all here and thought I'd say hello. Hope everything's going well for you over at Senior High, Isabelle. I'll leave you all in peace."
After she walked away Jasmine stared at the sisters. "Karla never does anything without a reason. There must be forty people having breakfast here. Why did she seek us out?"
"Because she's a nice person," Isabelle replied. "You're lucky you don't have that snobby lot over at my school. Some of my class teachers still need to look up my name in the register before they ask me a question about something." She turned serious. "Anyway, I'm going to check out this guy tonight. Still want to come?"
Jasmine felt nervous but nodded. "Don't know if I'll recognise the guy. I hardly saw him at the airport before the fuzz took him away.
"Well I did," Isabelle retorted. "I had nightmares about the bastard for months. We'll pick you up at four thirty at your corner. Okay?"
"Sure."
"Great," Isabelle replied. She stood and gulped down her coffee. "But I must go. Got a first period test. Bye now!"
"You don't need to come, Jasmine. Isabelle will understand," Stella said after her sister left.
"No. I want to be there," Jasmine replied. "Like Isabelle, I'm sick of just doing nothing."
*
Isabelle's pale blue Suzuki Swift, a present from her grandparents for her seventeenth birthday and for getting her licence, was brand new and a far cry from old cars that teenagers drove a generation before. She was a confident driver as she zipped through the traffic across the harbour bridge, took an off lane from the motorway, and drove another kilometre where she turned into a modern suburban shopping centre. Friday evening wasn't a busy time with the shops due to close in an hour. She drove around and parked in an almost empty area where box-like retailers encircled a cloverleaf type parking and lawn area. One of the smaller shops tucked in a corner between a two dollar shop and a restaurant had a green exterior and a digital LED sign above the veranda that showed changing views of fishermen, a woman playing tennis and a canoeist in rapids before finally the name Hortmyre's Sports and Outdoor Life in changing colours appeared.
"That's the guy," Isabelle said. "Terrance Hortmyre. He's the one the cops intercepted at the airport when he was about to meet you, Jasmine." Even though she put on a brave faced in front of the two younger girls she felt ill inside.
Stella glanced at her. "Well, whoever he is he won't do anything here in his shop. These types always have a seemly normal life. He's probably got a flash home, a couple of kids and a wife who has no idea he leads a double life."
"You've been watching too many crime shows on television," Isabelle muttered. "Anyway, he mightn't even be here,"
"So why did we bother coming?" Jasmine asked.
"I wanted to take a few photos of the shop. Come on, let's go in."
After taking several photos of the building with her phone, Isabelle and the other two went inside. The interior was spacious and well set out with a counter to the left and plenty of room to wander around with signs indicating where different items were with smaller things at the front and a row of fibre glass kayaks along the back wall in front of a painted mountain stream picture. Various items such as lifejackets, paddles and camping gear filled up the display between polystyrene rocks and artificial ferns.
Pretending to be average shoppers, the three strolled around and ended up inspecting one of the kayaks.
"Now wouldn't you young ladies love to be shooting down a rapid in one of those once school or university classes are over and summer has arrived?" said a male voice from behind them.
Isabelle froze. My God, she'd remember that voice anywhere! She turned and looked into the eyes of a middle-aged guy dressed in casual but upmarket sports clothes. This was him, the bastard who had attacked and raped her as a fourteen-year-old! She could smell his sweaty body in her mind.
She glanced sideways, noticed Stella looking intently at her and Jasmine frowning.
"Can I help you with anything?" The man gave no appearance of having recognised her. Actually, he was studying Jasmine more than herself and his manner suddenly changed before he muttered. "Feel free to look around," and walked away.
"Is he the guy?" Stella asked.
Isabelle nodded. Her stomach felt worse and she found herself shaking. "Let's get out of here," she muttered and headed for the door.
"He's watching us," Jasmine whispered as they made their way out.
When they walked out Isabelle purposely turned in the opposite direction from where the car was parked. She never stopped but when they were around a corner Jasmine grabbed her arm.
Jasmine looked pale. "I recognised him too, Isabelle. He was the guy the cops stopped at the airport. I was mildly curious but at that moment saw Karla and forgot about him."
*
Ryan glanced out of the window at Spider's Revenge when he heard the screech of brakes. A police car almost screamed to a halt outside his store. A senior officer stepped out of the passenger door and headed towards the door.
"Oh no!" Ryan muttered to himself for he guessed the reason for the man's visit.
"Chief Inspector James Wilson," the man said and nodded to the second officer there. "Sergeant Davidsworth, my driver. Can we speak privately?"
Ryan almost grinned at the abrupt man's manner and thought back to Karla's account of him. "There's nobody else in the shop. However, if you'd both like to step through to my office where my computer is..." He waved his open hand out to the door behind him.
"Are you responsible for the latest Facebook and Petal Life sites connected to your contract, Mr Purdon?" Wilson's tone bordered on anger but he sat down beside Ryan. The sergeant stood at the doorway with his arms folded and appeared equally grim.
Ryan shook his head. "No but I was actually doing a trace on them when you arrived. Would you like to see the progress I've made?"
"Yes."
Ryan had three screens across his computer bench and two keyboards. He brought up a Facebook page on the first screen and a Petal Life one on the second. His third screen was filled with complicated computer data.
Both pages were similar with a headline in red against a yellow background that blazed out, 'Has this man raped your daughter?' Below was a photograph of Terrance Hortmyre followed by; 'This paedophile pretends he is a teenager and lures innocent intermediate aged girls into meeting him at Auckland Airport....' Without mentioning her name a hallowing account of Isabelle's rape followed. It was written in somewhat crude language used by teenagers to describe everything that had happened to her.
'If you were also raped by this man or know a friend or perhaps even your daughter who was, please send a personal message to Sisterhood Anonymous or visit our Petal Life Crimson Page. Comments can also be sent to our Twitter page or by email.' Three links were published beneath the text.
Below was a photograph of Hortmyre's store, its address and the heading. 'It is believed this low life also runs summer kayak trips for unsuspecting teenagers. Be aware! This man is dangerous and gets away with his evil deeds by intimidating his victims.'
Ryan looked across at the chief inspector. "These sites were put up by Isabelle and Stella Kensington and Jasmine Trustcot. Isabelle was the teenager raped two years ago and Jasmine was the girl rescued at the airport a few weeks ago. They are all good friends now and are working together to produce these sites."
"How did they get Hortmyre's name and find out where his shop is?" Wilson asked.
"I have no idea but my guess is that they hacked into the police site."
"What! That's impossible!"
"Oh it isn't." Ryan said. "The protocols and security at the local stations is outdated and I believe Stella Kensington has a computer knowledge at least as sophisticated as my own and I have an graduate's degree in electronics."
Wilson glowered. "So you can get into our sites?"
"I can but haven't bothered."
"That's something," the man muttered. "What else can you tell me about these pages?"
"The computers, tablets and phones used to publish them originate from Joseph Ward Senior High but in the evenings they come from the area where the Kensington family live."
"Not the junior high?"
"No. Isabelle, the elder sister who attends the senior high is the computer whizz."
"And breaking the law!"
"True but she's getting replies that we haven't been able to get."
"Like what?"
Ryan grinned. "Two can play at this game. I have hacked into Stella's phone and her exclusive Petal Life site. There are the usual made up stories but I believe five women or girls ranging in age from twelve to twenty had similar experiences to Stella and were raped by Hortmyre. Other replies identify two middle-aged European men who use the same methods to attract young teenage girls at the airport. I have yet to ascertain whether they are copy-cat attacks or the criminals are associated with Hortmyre." Ryan raised his eyebrows. "But that's for the police to follow up."
"And it will be done!" Wilson ran a hand over his chin. "We cannot have this girl continuing, though. She is in dangerous territory."
"So give her a week."
"A week!" barked Wilson "Why?"
"It's working, Chief Inspector Wilson. The police and myself have had little success in gathering enough evidence to charge Hortmyre, let alone finding his associates. Perhaps if my wife has a wee whisper in their ears and they know that we know what they're doing, they won't do anything rash."
Chief Inspector Wilson stared at him. "I never heard a word you said, Mr Purdon but within ten days I expect those sites to be down and a report made of your progress in this matter."
"It shall be done," Ryan replied. "I already have a lead on one of those other men involved but they are clever at covering their tracks."
"Good!" Wilson shook hands and left, perhaps in a better mood than he had when he arrived.
*