The Jackdaw

‘The people have heard enough. It’s time for them to judge. Time for them to decide whether they find you guilty or not guilty.’ The man’s face grew larger on the screen. ‘I know what they’re thinking – that they can stop me talking to the people. Think they can stop the people having their justice by shutting down this website. But if they do her fate will be more terrible than they can possibly imagine. The people will not be silenced. I will not be silenced.’

Father Jones dropped to his knees in front of the altar, pressed his hands together, closed his eyes and began to pray. ‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come …’

‘Get me someone from Your View on the line,’ Sean told anyone who was listening. ‘The more senior the better.’

‘D’you think they might be trying to pull the plug?’ Donnelly asked.

‘We can’t take the chance they are,’ Sean warned him.

‘I’m on it,’ Donnelly told him and grabbed the nearest phone as the others continued to watch the pictures coming from the small screen.

‘The people are beginning to vote. Soon we’ll know if this whore of wealth has been found guilty by you, the people. I have nothing else to say while we wait for the judgement.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Sally exclaimed. ‘What must she be thinking – tied to that chair by this psychopath, waiting for a bunch of voyeurs to pass judgement?’

‘She’ll be thinking a lot of things,’ Sean told her. ‘None of them good. But wasting time worrying about that’s not going to bring us any closer to finding him, and stopping him. How you doing, Bob?’

‘Getting closer and closer. The longer he stays online the closer I’ll get.’

‘How close are you now?’ Sean asked impatiently.

‘He’s definitely transmitting from the southeast,’ Bishop told him. ‘If he keeps this up it’s only a matter of time before we have him.’

‘The southeast?’ Sean didn’t hide his disappointment. ‘Can’t you do better than that?’

‘Yes, but it’ll take time,’ Bishop explained. ‘We’re not just trying to track a mobile phone signal. This is far more complicated. But we’re linked into the Internet Crime Unit’s tracking software. We’ll get him soon enough.’

‘So long as he doesn’t ditch the computer he’s using, or move to another location,’ Sean reminded him. Bishop just shrugged, concentrating on the computer in front of him. Donnelly grabbed Sean’s attention, holding the corded phone out as far as he could for Sean to take.

‘Nick Poole on the phone, boss. CEO of Your View.’

Sean stepped towards him and took the phone. ‘DI Corrigan speaking. I assume you’re watching this.’

‘I am,’ Poole answered.

‘I’m just calling to make sure you have no intention of pulling the plug.’

‘Listen,’ Poole told him nervously, ‘I know I gave Assistant Commissioner Addis assurances that we wouldn’t take this whole terrible business offline, but this is getting too much. We can’t be dictated to by this lunatic. I don’t want to be a part of this any more.’

‘You heard what he said,’ Sean snapped down the phone. ‘You pull the plug – you seal her fate. Let it play out.’

‘And I can tell people you made us keep the site live?’ Poole asked. ‘We can tell the media it was the police’s idea?’

‘If you want to use my name to cover your arse then use it. Just don’t shut this down.’

There was a slight pause before Poole spoke again. ‘OK, but it’s your call. Your responsibility,’ Poole insisted.

‘Fine,’ Sean told him with barely disguised contempt and hung up.

‘Problem?’ Donnelly asked.

‘Not now,’ Sean answered and moved to better see the screen, the hooded man still standing silently next to his victim. ‘You any closer?’ he asked Bishop.

‘A little, but not much,’ he answered.

‘Quiet a second,’ Sally interrupted. ‘I think he’s about to say something.’ The group watched as the man moved out of camera shot.

‘Look at the voting count,’ Sally told them. ‘People are voting not guilty.’

‘Looks fifty–fifty to me,’ Donnelly disagreed.

‘Yeah, but with the first victim it was an overwhelming majority finding him guilty,’ Sally explained. ‘This is a split jury – so what does he do now?’

‘I think we’re about to find out,’ Sean silenced them as the hooded man came back into view.

‘The people have voted. It appears you cannot decide whether her guilt is clear. I am disappointed. Too many of you have allowed yourselves to be seduced by her femininity and false tears. But it’s not your fault. The rich and powerful have used their media empires and influence to brainwash many of you over decades and decades – pumping you full of the news they want you to hear as well as mind-destroying soap operas and reality shows to ensure your misplaced sentimentality.

‘However, your decision is your decision …’

‘He’s gonna let her go,’ Sally said, sounding desperate for it to be true.

‘but I cannot ignore the thousands who have seen through her disguise and recognized her guilt.’

‘No. No. I haven’t done anything. They see that.’

‘Brothers and sisters – this is no time for mercy. This is a war: a war we must win or forever be trodden under the foot of oppression, growing weaker and weaker as they grow ever more powerful and wealthy. We must be strong, must be prepared to act against our gentle nature and strike back when we are wronged.’

They watched as he again disappeared from camera shot before quickly returning and moving behind his victim, holding a set of hair clippers up for the cameras to see.

‘My God,’ Sally said through clenched teeth, ‘what’s he going to do to her?’ No one answered as they held their collective breath.

‘She has humiliated us – the people. Laughing at us as she climbs the corporate ladder to unimaginable riches – fucking us at every turn, her vanity her shield. Now let her feel the bitter sting of humiliation.’

The clippers buzzed as he grabbed her by her long ponytail and scythed it off in one motion, allowing her head to fall forward as it came away. Sean closed his eyes for a second at the sound of her sobbing, saddened by her humiliation but relieved she was suffering no worse. His relief turned rapidly to extreme anxiety as the hooded man grabbed what remained of her hair and yanked her head backwards, exposing her throat.

‘Shit,’ he muttered involuntarily, imagining the clippers being replaced with a razor-sharp knife sliding across her taut skin. Instead the man gripped her in a headlock and began to saw great chunks of hair from her scalp, leaving multiple cuts and grazes. Finally he stood aside, leaving the victim bowed in her chair, looking down at her own hair gathered at her feet.

‘Bastard,’ Sally said loudly, her eyes glassy and reddening. No one disagreed.

‘Humiliation enough? Perhaps. But hair will grow and her vanity will return.’

Once again he stepped out of view. ‘Christ, not more,’ Sally pleaded as the man returned holding a relatively small knife. He stood facing the victim, the knife disappearing from view, shielded by his own body as her pleas screamed from the computer’s tinny speakers.

‘Please, no. Please don’t kill me. Please.’

The screaming seemed to last for an age as his elbows and shoulders jerked side to side and up and down, until at last he stepped aside so the world could see Georgina Vaughan slumped in the chair, dead or unconscious, her running top and sports bra split up the middle revealing her small breasts. In the centre of her chest blood seeped from the eight-inch-tall dollar sign he’d carved into her skin. The camera focused in on the wound before pulling back to show a wider shot. The man faced the camera, breathing hard after his exertions, struggling to regain his breath.

‘Is she dead?’ Sally asked, her voice still shaking.