The Network: A DI Sean Corrigan short story

‘You fucking set me up, Ismain,’ Sean shouted. ‘You’re finished, you dirty bastard, you’re fucking finished.’

‘No,’ Ismain protested above the din of the screaming, shouting police. ‘It wasn’t me, man. It must have been Jimmy – he set us both up. I’m gonna kill him, man.’

‘Fuck your bullshit,’ Sean spat back as the burly cop led him to an awaiting police car and tossed him in the back before jumping in next to him. The driver sped off, leaving the scene of settling anarchy behind them; Ismain’s protesting voice trailing away till there was nothing.

‘Alright, Sean?’ the burly cop asked.

‘Yeah, cheers Nathan.’

‘Didn’t hurt you, did I?’

‘No, I’m all good.’

‘Interesting last-minute change of plans.’

‘I knew Ismain would try something.’

‘How come?’

‘Because it’s what I would have done,’ Sean told him. ‘It’s exactly what I would have done.’

Chapter Two

Next morning Sean sat in the back office of the small, crowded room that was the official epicenter of all undercover operations undertaken in London, the South-East and beyond. The offices of Specialist Operations Ten, more commonly referred to as SO10, were tucked away off a long corridor in New Scotland Yard – suitably covert for an organization that existed to be exactly that. Visitors were met with a small sign on the door stating ‘Admission Strictly for SO10 Personnel Only’. Beyond the door was a chest-high wooden counter where all visitors had to wait until they were checked by whichever member of the team happened to see them standing there. Sean hadn’t been kept waiting long before he was whisked through the main office – small as it was – and into the back room, where he now sat watching DS Arif Chopra reading through the report of the previous night’s fun and games. Finally Chopra looked up, dark, sunken eyes peering out from his square face, the grey stubble that spread down from his cheekbones matching his thick, short, salt and pepper hair – all connected to his short, stocky body by a squat, muscle-bound neck. His overall look of menace and distaste had been honed through fifteen years of permanent undercover work.

‘So,’ Chopra said, ‘you changed the plan at the last minute, without telling anyone.’

‘I had to,’ Sean argued. ‘I had no choice and I did tell someone – I told DC Benton.’ Chopra stared at him darkly, his face impossible to read – like the face of a snake.

‘Fair enough,’ Chopra eventually agreed. ‘Looks to me like you did the right thing. The goods turned up and the baddies got nicked and you’re alive and well, so that’s a result.’ Sean exhaled the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. ‘You can go back to Southwark now and get on with investigating all them frauds that must be waiting for you – if that’s what you want.’

‘Meaning?’ Sean asked.

‘Meaning,’ Chopra began, ‘there’s a job come up – something a little unusual, but important – not a deployment you can do part-time. You’ll have to stay away from the CID Office at Southwark for a few weeks at least, probably longer.’

‘And you can swing that with my DCI, can you? She won’t be happy losing one of her few DSs for weeks.’

‘She won’t have any choice,’ Chopra told him, an expression as close to a smile as he ever had slightly bending his lips, ‘but don’t worry, we won’t piss her off too much. I’ll get the Commander here to give her a call and promise her that her assistance won’t be forgotten. That’ll keep her happy – always does with the ambitious types.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Sean answered, ‘although I haven’t said I’ll take the job yet.’ Chopra tossed the file he was reading to one side and lifted another that had been propped up against the side of his chair, opening it up at the first page.

‘Heard of the internet?’ Chopra asked.

‘I’ve heard of it.’

‘It’s kind of like our own internal e-mail system, only it spans the whole world, or at least the computer-boffins tell me it will soon. But as usual the criminal element is on to it quicker than us, particularly the less savoury types – paedophiles and other types of sex offenders all keen to share their experiences with each other. We have a couple of guys here who understand this information technology – that’s what they call it – better than most. We’ve attached them to the Serious and Organized Crime Group, largely because we didn’t know what else to do with them. However, a few months ago they hooked into a paedophile ring sharing around some pretty heavy-duty kiddie-porn – real nasty homemade stuff. The group calls itself The Network and apparently prides itself on the ability to share this stuff around and still avoid detection. Except they’re not as clever as they think and the boffins not only found out about them, they infiltrated them as well. Just online, though – no live contact. They’ve been pushing for a chance to meet the members who are actually making and distributing the pornography – raping and sexually abusing children.’

Chopra’s words tore at Sean like grappling hooks, ripping his own past and childhood from the places he’d tried to bury them for so long. He could see the children being abused and filmed – the face of each of the abusers turning into the face of his father – and he could see himself, a small boy again, as the monsters one-by-one … Chopra’s voice snatched him back. ‘You alright?’ he asked. ‘You look like shit!’

‘I’m fine,’ Sean lied. ‘Just knackered, that’s all. Go on.’

‘Kid stuff isn’t easy to deal with. If you’d rather not I can always look for someone else.’

‘No,’ Sean argued too quickly and loudly. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Got any kids yourself?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I’ve got three,’ Chopra told him. ‘Two girls and a boy. Sean, I’ve dealt with just about everything I could have dealt with and I’m not ashamed to tell you very little of it ever got to me – maybe I just don’t care enough. But this shit – with kids – it’s the worst, you know. If I ever got one of these fuckers on their own … well, let’s just say it’s probably best I never do. My point is there’s no shame in not wanting to get involved in something like this. If we’re going to get you next to these guys, and if you’re going to convince them they can trust you, then you’re going to have to say and do some things you’re going to be very uncomfortable with, and it’s going to leave you feeling pretty dirty for quite some time. So if it’s not for you, be honest and tell me – here and now.’

Sean wanted to leap from his chair and run from the tiny backroom, blitz through the main office, hurdle the counter and escape into the streets of Victoria below – the fear of facing his past leaking panic into his every sinew. ‘No,’ he forced himself to lie. ‘But why me?’ he asked, suspicious Chopra knew more about his childhood than he possibly could and had picked him for this job for that very reason.

‘Because you can think on your feet.’ Chopra answered.

‘Can’t all UC’s? Seems to me a UC who can’t think on his feet wouldn’t be much use to anyone.’

‘Fair point,’ Chopra almost smiled. ‘Let’s just say you seem to have a little more … criminal cunning than most. Last night’s performance confirmed that. You’re going to need it if you’re going to successfully infiltrate The Network’s hierarchy.’

‘Okay,’ Sean relented. ‘So what’s my way in?’

‘The Crime Unit managed to form an online relationship with one of The Network’s members – just a joy-stick-jockey, but it got them in.’ Chopra pulled a photograph from the file and passed it to Sean. ‘That’s one Justin Cramer. The plan was to win his trust and eventually meet him in the flesh, tease him along, promise him anything he wanted in the hope that eventually he’d lead us to the next level up.’

‘The people actually making the films?’ Sean asked.

‘If not them, at least a layer closer to them. Slow, but usually effective.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Sean agreed.

‘Or at least it did,’ Chopra told him, ‘until Cramer went and died on us.’ He saw the concern in Sean’s eyes. ‘Nothing suspicious,’ he reassured him. ‘Heart attack. The point being, his untimely demise has moved things along apace.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Let’s just say the Crime Unit have borrowed his computer and had a little look-see inside. They’ve dug out all his contacts – even the ones he thought he’d hidden – and cross-referenced them with criminal and intelligence records. It was easy enough to see which of his online buddies were also members of The Network, but that wasn’t what they were looking for – this is what they were looking for.’ He pulled another surveillance photograph from the file and handed it to Sean. ‘John Conway,’ he told him. ‘Definitely had email contact with Cramer, but nothing that obviously linked him to The Network. There was something off about his email style – too formal and polite, nothing criminal or suggestive – as if they were maybe coded. Intelligence Records show that about four years ago Conway was stopped by uniform and found with a nine-year-old boy in his car. Conway said he’d found the boy wandering the streets and was on his way to drop him at the nearest police station. The boy turned out to be a runaway from the Midlands and was safely returned to his not too interested parents – no allegations made. Two years later Conway’s not so lucky and gets caught with his hand in the cookie-jar again and gets a two year conviction for indecently assaulting a minor.’

‘A boy?’ Sean asked.

‘Yes,’ Chopra confirmed. ‘Does it matter?’

‘No,’ Sean lied. ‘I suppose not.’

‘And that’s where Conway is now, banged-up in Wandsworth coming towards the end of his sentence, due for release in a little under three weeks.’

‘And you think he could be a central figure in The Network?’

‘We do. We don’t have much on him, but he feels right as someone who could be pulling the strings and finding the kids – probably takes part in the abuse and filming too. If we can get to him, we could get to the core of The Network.’

‘So, what’s your plan?’ Sean asked.

‘Try and get to him before he leaves prison. Once he’s back on the streets we lose control of the theatre. In prison we know where he is and when he’s there.’

‘And if I should bump into anyone I’ve put inside while I’m there?’

‘You won’t,’ Chopra assured him. ‘Conway’s on Rule Forty-Three, banged-up with the other sex-offenders away from the main prison population. It’s a fairly limited number of inmates – we’ll be able to ensure there’s no one there who knows you.’

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