Judith

By A.E. Bron

A young girl wearing a coat two sizes too large and carrying two plastic carrier bags tucks her hair into the hood and with a huge smile walks into that stormy night.
A rookie agent discovers the brutally murdered body of a prominent senior politician in a sex den flat in a slum area of Soho. When he walks into that same stormy night he carries the blood-soaked body of a paedophile, memories that will haunt him for years and guilt of being the first stage of a cover-up to save the dead man’s reputation.
That young girl and that rookie agent were tied together by that night. He needed answers and as he moved up the ladder of authority he used his position to seek those answers using justice of law. She wanted the law of justice. Justice for the victims against those who are so sure they are beyond the law.
Their paths were destined to meet, and only one of them can claim a victory – but which one?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398419582

A.E. Bron

The author was born in rural Derbyshire. During his young life, he suffered severe illness and during his many hospitalisations and allied to his remote living locations, he discovered reading and writing as a distraction. Married with one daughter, he later moved to his wife’s native Yorkshire. When struck down with long term illness in his mid-fifties, he took to writing to see out his long recovery.

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About the Author

The author was born in rural Derbyshire. During his young life, he suffered severe illness and during his many hospitalisations and allied to his remote living locations, he discovered reading and writing as a distraction.

Married with one daughter, he later moved to his wife’s native Yorkshire. When struck down with long term illness in his mid-fifties, he took to writing to see out his long recovery.

Dedication

In memory of Eric Broadbent.

For my wife Amanda, who created the spark of inspiration, and without her I would not have managed to get through my darkest hours.

Copyright Information ©

A.E. Bron 2022

The right of A.E. Bron to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398419575 (Paperback))

ISBN 9781398419582 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Acknowledgements

My thanks go to Austin Macauley Publishers for all the help and support in getting this book published.

Date: Late August 1990

Location: A small flat above a run-down, long-ago closed shop in the back streets of Soho

Time: 01:35

Stand there and remember, don’t bloody cry.

She stood ‘there’ in a small room just off a bigger room. She stood ‘there’ knowing she wouldn’t cry – she had learned quickly not to cry – and she stood ‘there’ with a hatred burning in her heart – a hatred a girl of eight years should have never known. She listened – she had also quickly learned to listen, and to remember all she heard – names, places, faces, voices – but now she listened, hoping to hear ‘his voice’ and strangely she actually felt good when she did hear ‘his voice’. Now she knew, knew it was tonight; it was him and she knew this was the time she had been waiting for. She had hoped, when they told her to put on the school uniform, but more than just him liking the uniform as ‘he’ always wanted it, the last time she had seen Millie she had been wearing it and the last time she saw her, she knew who she was dressed up to see, and one of them was ‘him’ – the monster beyond the door – the nasty sadistic monster. Instead of feeling fear, she only felt hatred, and she remained calm, after all what could go wrong? In an hour, she would be as dead as Millie, or she would be free.

Judith stood ‘there’ waiting, even actually wanting, instead of dreading the call to go in. In the meantime, she listened. It was the usual negotiations and payment and one never went in before Frank said so. Frank owned it all; the flat, the cameras, the girls, the boys. He owned Judith and he had owned Millie, but he got a lot of money for her loss and she had simply never been mentioned by anyone since.

Payment was soon forthcoming and Frank issued his final orders.

Lock her in the room, the key is in the lock, take your little home movies with you. I’ll be back to collect her in the morning and she has to be in one piece and alive, do you hear me?

I hear you, now fuck-off, the monster replied.

Close the main door when you go, Frank spoke as he left and she heard the familiar sounds of Frank slamming the main door as he left, then the whirring as little film tapes were slotted into the cameras; she noted only two and not the usual three. She then heard the monster snorting the white powder stuff up his nose, always a bad sign for those who ‘stood there’ and normally it would make her shudder, but not tonight. Tonight she knew it would help her; he always rolled his head back and closed his eyes smiling to himself after he had done the nose snorting thing, and she only needed him to do that once – just once, please, she thought.

Then the moment – the horrible stomach turning, want to scream moment – Oh little girl, you can come in now.

Judith took a huge breath, which it appeared was too big as he waited too long for his liking and he shouted, I said come in girl. She entered, looking up, even smiling, well a bit. She knew how he was, what he wanted and it paid not to smile too much. He didn’t like it if you smiled too much, he liked the look of fear this one. So Judith looked away, pretending to not know where to look, but in doing so noted where he’d placed the cameras – both pointing at the settee on which he lay naked, erection in hand – looking at her with a glazed look; half smiling, half twitching.

Come closer. his voice quivered.

Judith walked slowly towards him, stopping about a yard away. She stood between his outstretched legs, watching him pump his thing. His voice trembled – Hold it – his eyes now like slits. And she did as she was ordered, and on her touch his arms instantly stretched out above his head, he bit his bottom lip, Yes, go on, up down up… he let out a low mumble, his eyes closed tight, his mouth curled up at each end. And then! His eyes were wide open, very wide, his mouth drooped and his hands groped for his groin.

He opened his mouth to scream and nothing came out, and Judith watched him as he quickly bled to death. She sat on a buffet not three feet away from him and did nothing, she watched as he tried to stop the fast-flowing blood from his groin. She watched as his feeble hand tried to pull the blade out, saw how his blood thick hand couldn’t grip the handle and she watched as his head rolled back and his eyes began to flicker. He started a low rumble from his throat, a low moaning sound, and she sat and watched. As his eyes began to close, she leant in and spoke right into his ear, This is for me and all the others but most of all, it’s for Millie – she sat back – now die.. And with one last look at her, he did just that. She watched as his eyes flickered again, he gave a tremble and he was dead. He just stopped and Judith sat for a few seconds and then began doing what she needed to do.

Time: 02:40 am

Had anyone been about that night, they would have seen a slightly built young girl in a blue coat, carrying two plastic carrier bags, but no one did see. It was a horrible night, raining heavy, wind gusting, so even the homeless had found shelter and unseen Judith walked away into that disgusting night. She never felt the rain or wind, she was smiling under that mop of red curly hair, the further she walked, the better she felt. She knew where she wanted to go, the address was imprinted on her brain. She knew who she was looking for, but as she took shelter in a bus stop, she also realised she didn’t have a clue where she was either – time to think. She sat in the bus stop and thought, and whilst thinking, she nodded off to sleep. She was woken by a siren as a police car sped past, the first light of day made her surroundings more visible. She took a deep breath, picked up her bags and decided to go left. It was slightly downhill so easier, and with a smile, Judith disappeared into a brightening morning.

Barrington

Date: Following morning

Time: 11:28 am

Location: A house in the Chelsea area of London

Barrington was about to reach for the handle when the door opened untouched. He did not check his stride and entered, the door closed behind him – ‘second on the right’, the door overseer stated. Barrington, despite feeling pretty tired, tried to look as alert as he could – it had been a very long night and could be a very long day depending on the next few minutes and its outcome. He took a deep breath and went in.

It was a lounge room and sat in an armchair, was the only occupant. This man, greying at the temples, maybe early 60s, eyed him without speaking. Barrington stood for a moment waiting. Bottle of Scotch on the side, if you are inclined, the man spoke, and don’t bother with protocol. I’m sure after your night, a large scotch is not near enough – but keep it to a small one for now – I need you to be very clear for a while, so save the large one for later.

The man was right – a bloody scotch was not going to be enough – but hell yes, it was needed. So he poured himself one – a large one, then took the seat offered.

My name is Fotherington and I head a department you would have never heard of, so I won’t bore you with the details, the man spoke and looked directly at Barrington, however, I will ask you to not spare any details and begin at the start and end with your presence here. He waited a moment, then added, And your personal views can wait until the end, this is a very grave and dangerous situation we face, so leave no detail untold. He then sat back; eyes fixed on Barrington.

Barrington took a sip of the scotch, placed the glass down and began, "I received a call to meet with a driver, he was at a location not two miles from where I was on a stake out. I met the driver – a diplomatic driver – he had made the standard check in after his charge had not met him as pre-arranged.

The driver reported that he had dropped Sir Rodney at 12:15 am at an address in back street Soho, on questioning, the driver stated he had dropped Sir Rodney at this location on several occasions. The driver then waited and usually received a call to collect him again at the same place, some two to three hours later. On this occasion, the driver waited until 30 minutes after the agreed, expected time Sir Rodney had stated before making the call. The driver is now under agency control undergoing a debrief.

Barrington took another sip, then continued, Given Sir Rodney’s senior status, I went to the drop off point and began a search. After a short time walking the area, in disgusting weather, I came across an open door to the rear of a row of long abandoned shops. I went in and at the top of a stairway, I came to a door. The door was old but the lock was new. I forced entry with little more than a hard push. In a room inside, I found Sir Rodney.

Barrington took a breath, the man just continued to stare, so he continued. He was naked, sprawled on a couch – he had a large knife stuck through the base of his penis, this penetrated up to the handle – there was a lot of blood – it had pooled where he lay and had congealed on his legs, hands and the floor area. Sir Rodney was dead – about one to two hours I estimate – although my knowledge in this area is limited, the congealed blood meant it was not recent at least. This was around 3:35 am.

Fotherington spoke only to say, Continue, and he did so.

There were three video cameras set up in the room, two had no cassette, the third contained a film. It showed the last moments of Sir Rodney, a small gap then continued footage of the now dead man. I have that film in my pocket.

At this, Fotherington held out his hand saying nothing. Barrington reached out for the small cassette, maybe only 3 inches by 2 inches and placed it in the outstretched hand. Fotherington placed it into his own jacket pocket without as much as a glance.

You are the only person to have viewed this tape, Barrington?

Yes, quickly via the camera it was in.

Good, good – please do go on. And he sat back and continued to stare.

Barrington went on, I did a quick check of the premises, two other rooms, the first was a room kitted out with a bed, a small wardrobe which contained children’s clothes of both sexes; the second room had a number of video recording machines that appeared to be wired together as to assist multi recordings. I noted there were no windows in the premises. The only other item in that room was an open cupboard containing several stacks of tapes just like the one you have now. I must state that in my view there were tapes missing as the stacks of films were knocked over and a few were on the floor. At this point I called my boss and…

And he gave you instructions, the grey-templed man stated.

He did, Barrington confirmed.

Did you follow those instructions to the letter?

I did.

Then continue and tell me. And Barrington knew Fotherington already had full knowledge of said instructions but carried on again.

I returned to my car, which I parked close by. I then wrapped Sir Rodney in his overcoat and placed his body in the boot of my car. I returned to the flat and after a final check to ensure I had not missed anything belonging to Sir Rodney, I set several small incendiaries, poured petrol about each room and set the place alight. I then parked a few hundred yards up the road and watched as the building took flame. It went up very quickly and aided by three explosions from the portable gas heaters in the flat – a lucky coincidence I cannot say I had noted, to be honest – the fire service kept everyone away and let it burn itself out. And to confirm this, I made time to pass the place on route to this meeting and there is nothing left bar walls no more than waist high and tangled metal beams.

And Sir Rodney?

I followed my orders. I drove about ten miles to a back-road location given to me, where on arrival I was met by another agent who was driving Sir Rodney’s Range Rover. Between us, we redressed Sir Rodney, placed him behind the steering wheel in his own vehicle before pushing it over the edge of the road and down a steep bank. The vehicle rolled several times before hitting a tree hard and coming to rest. The other agent then detonated explosives placed in the car which exploded causing huge amounts of flame and heat. Sir Rodney will only be identifiable from dental records given the heat. And with this, Barrington sat back and waited.

And? Fotherington leant in. Oh, and from my enquiries to present, the building is gone, no wall higher than two feet left. No enquiry either, just an abandoned building probably occupied by vagrants and set on fire by same. Sir Rodney’s’ untimely death will be announced in the House of Commons this afternoon, a sad accident, a much-respected man etc and so on. That’s everything sir, other than a very short shower and change of clothes to the point of my being sat here. Again, Barrington sat quiet and waited.

Fotherington sat, it appeared in contemplation of what he had just heard and after a minute, he spoke. And to your own thoughts on this situation? he calmly asked.

Well sir, several questions. Who ran that place, we should make all efforts to find out as to head off any form of compromise in the future? Also, where are the children who were forced to wear those clothes? I can’t see that they would keep them too far away from the flat as it was obvious, they didn’t live there full time, and if a senior minister as prominent as Sir Rodney frequented the place, just who else did? Lastly those missing tape cassettes? Who took them and why did they take them? Could the contents be used to compromise our agents? And the missing personal items? His briefcase was open, not forced open but all the contents gone and his wallet still had bank cards but everything else including whatever money he was carrying all taken. With this, Barrington thought he was done so picked up his glass and waited for Fotherington to speak. There are no reports written, no notes you have made?

No sir, none, Barrington replied knowing it was a lie as he had sat just prior to this very meeting and made copious notes trying to recall every detail he could from the body to the room layouts even the wallpaper pattern; these notes he kept to himself. Fotherington went silent again and as the minutes passed Barrington began to feel just a little uneasy and was pleased when he broke the silence.

Barrington, he began sitting forward to speak, your country owes you gratitude. Your actions were most diligent and followed to the letter, because of this, a major diplomatic problem has been avoided. Sir Rodney’s wife and children may move on in belief he was a decent man. You and I will know the truth and that will suffice in this instance. As he had paused Barrington thought he had finished and the moment before he began to rise, Fotherington spoke again. In recognition of your actions in last night’s events and to give you a little time to regroup – I remember my first encounter with a lot of real blood, it takes a while to process personal feelings at such times. he spoke honestly, it seemed to Barrington, which felt good to hear that it wasn’t just him who felt sick then! So with our thanks and my personal approval, take a month’s leave, sleep, go out see friends and on your return, you will be moved to a position that better suits your skills and loyalty. We will be in touch. And with those words, Barrington – with a perfunctory nod and Sir on standing – he left. The door guard opened the door and closed it behind him without a word and a few minutes later, he was on his way home. He drove across London towards his flat. He arrived after an hour’s drive in busy traffic feeling his tiredness creep over him with each slow mile. He parked in his usual ‘staff only’ carpark, it had benefits living above a Chinese restaurant – free parking, good food free and available at most hours of the day. It wasn’t big but it was enough for his needs. Barrington entered, locked the door behind him, threw his keys on the table as he passed on route to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, trousers and shirt and got under the quilt. Laying back, despite being tired to the extreme, he just could not stop thinking. Who was he looking at as he died? Who was erased from that tape? And where was that person now? He had to think ‘person’ as he had no idea of age; boy or girl. After re-running the whole night again, Barrington finally drifted into sleep with the two questions who and why? He slept for 12 hours and on waking, the who and why was still on his mind. After a long shower, several cups of coffee and some food, he felt restored and decided to enjoy his break. It was not his business now, way above his paygrade, so a phone call and an overnight bag packed in haste later, he was winding his way out of London headed north to visit an old friend. A whole month of free time, the prospect of a better position. Not bad for one night’s work! he thought as he drove. Not bad at all…

Barrington

Date: 10 August 2000

Time: 07:20 am

Location: Office of Head of Terrorism (Internal), Barrington’s office

Odd one, this one, sir, John Sims, Barrington’s’ personal aid. Personal but also appointed aid or ‘scrote’ as Barrington saw him.

Odd, how? Barrington heard these updates twenty times a day but he also knew that information is currency in his world. Odd, because no one – and it honestly seems no one – has an idea who did it or how they did it, the scrote went on.

Just give me details. I’m on a tight schedule right now so spare me your views and give me the details man! Barrington had little time for Sims.

Gregor the Grunt a.k.a. The Bosnian a.k.a. the top scumbag behind half the child trafficking we know of, but it appears impossible to prove… Sims stressed the word ‘appears’ as Sims was aware, as was Barrington that some agencies let certain activities go on with their full knowledge for information gained – a risky strategy.

I take it he’s dead? Barrington didn’t look up from the papers he was reading.

He is. Why else would he be on your information list? Sims smiled and again Barrington resisted the urge to