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chapter 50
alex
‘You’re basing all of this on what, Quinn?’ I demand. ‘A hunch, or do you have hard evidence?’
‘My investigator, Danny, he’s pretty good at the tech stuff,’ Quinn says. ‘He knows his way around the dark web. He used to work for the National Crime Agency’s online task force, infiltrating paedophile and human trafficking rings. He’s got the kind of contacts money can’t buy.’
I’ve become all too familiar with the sort of websites she means. I wish I didn’t know there are dark places where you can browse a catalogue for obscene images of children, as if shopping for shoes. You can even filter by age or hair colour. Only two percent of dark websites are paedophile sites, but they account for more than eighty percent of dark web traffic.
How many men are out there, online right now, right this second, searching for a little girl with red plaits, or a four-year-old boy with blue eyes? How can we live in a world where we let this happen?
If four-fifths of dark web traffic was terrorists, not paedophiles, we’d be throwing billions of pounds at the problem. We’d be collaborating globally in the way we do when national security is at stake. Instead, all we have are a few tech geeks trying to reel them in, one at a time, from their back bedrooms.
‘This IT guy you use,’ I say. ‘Danny. He’s in contact with these people?’
‘Yes. He’s been doing this for years.’ She grimaces. ‘I don’t know how he has the stomach for it. He has to build a relationship with them and gain their trust. It’s the only way to get access to their websites.’
‘How?’
She rolls the whisky around her glass. ‘He has to provide images of children nobody’s ever seen before.’
My stomach churns. ‘Where does he get them?’
‘He keeps back some of the material he finds in other investigations, to use as currency in new ones,’ Quinn says. ‘Fuck. The stuff he’s seen, I don’t know how he sleeps at night.’
My mouth is dry. I’m terrified of the answer, but I have to ask the question.
‘Has he … has he seen—?’
‘For the last nine months, he’s been asking about Lottie,’ Quinn says. ‘Have they got pictures, have they heard of any videos. So far, the answer has always been no.’
‘No?’
‘I don’t think she’s out there,’ Quinn says. ‘Not in that world.’
The band around my chest eases, just a little. Ever since I saw Lottie on the Tube, and realised she was still alive, I’ve been tormented by the idea she’s being passed around one of these horrific sex rings, trafficked between monsters like so much human cargo.
‘If she was with these people, Danny would have heard something by now,’ Quinn says, with surprising kindness. ‘Lottie is a high-profile prize. I don’t know what’s happened to your daughter, Alex. I’m not saying she’s alive. But I don’t think she’s being trafficked.’
‘So you think Paul has her?’
‘I don’t know if he took Lottie. But heispart of a paedophilering Danny infiltrated.’ She puts her glass down, untouched. ‘Harding’s good at covering his digital tracks, but not good enough. Danny’s given the police enough evidence on him, and twenty-two more of these bastards, for them to make arrests. They may even be able to find some of these kids and rescue them.’
‘What about Lottie?’
‘I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t know. I wish I could tell you. The Hardings are the only ones who might know that.’
The whisky curdles in my gut. I trusted that man. I welcomed him into my house. I shared meals with him, I let him hug me and literally cried on his shoulder. How could I not haveknown?
And what about Catherine? If she knew – if she evensuspected– he’d taken Lottie, how could she say nothing? How could sheprotecthim?
If she’d spoken up, maybe we’d have found my little girl in time. Maybe the nightmare would’ve ended before it’d even begun.
I make it upstairs to the bathroom just in time. When I have vomited until I’m bringing up nothing but bile, I rock back on my heels and wipe the snot and tears from my face.
Until now, I haven’t wasted time hating the monster who took my child, not wanting to give him space in my head. I had to concentrate on finding Lottie. Revenge could come later, once my girl was safe in my arms.
But the bastard didn’t have a face before.
