she
decided, Edward Stewart could get fucked.
Chapter
13
Bill Wilson had
had a sleepless night. Twice he’d gone downstairs and sat watching
a late night movie until he’d started to drop off. But as soon as
he got back into bed, he was wide awake again. Once light began to
peek through the slit in the curtains, he gave up and got up for
good. On automatic he made himself coffee and sat down at the
kitchen table.
Halfway through
his second cup he heard someone walk along the upstairs landing to
the toilet. It wasn’t Margaret’s step. He’d left her sound asleep.
Twenty years living with a policeman had trained her to ignore his
nocturnal habits.
A bedroom door
clicked shut and then there was a series of taps and a long thin
cackling whine and he realised that one of the kids was logging on
to the Internet.
If all the kids
were doing that, he thought, playing with the Internet while their
parents were asleep, it would be hellish easy to access whatever
they liked. He stood up and then sat down again. He’d already
talked to them both about it.
Jamie Fenton
had by all accounts been a good student up until two weeks before
his death. He’d been staying in a new hall of residence, Dalrymple
Hall, built with a little help from the generous Sir James
Dalrymple. Paedophiles could get at vulnerable kids through the
Internet, but the Computing Department at Glasgow assured him that
the labs were supervised to ensure no dodgy surfing, as they called
it.
Mrs Fenton had
told him Jamie couldn’t afford to buy a computer. He was on a grant
and a student loan and she couldn’t give him anything herself.
Since they divorced, her husband hadn’t given their son
anything.
When Bill
brought up the subject of sex, Mrs Fenton became agitated. Her son
was normal, she protested. He had a girlfriend in Manchester, a
nice girl that he went out with when he was home.
They’d got no
leads from his fellow students either. Jamie was a loner and spent
most of his spare time in the computer lab. He was constantly
broke. He’d been trying to borrow money to see himself through to
the end of the session. It was tough being a student now, tougher
than in his day, Bill realised.
He stood up and
rinsed his cup at the sink. The early morning sun reminded him of
his promise to Margaret to cut the grass. The paper boy skidded to
a halt on his bicycle and came whistling up the path. Bill picked
up the paper from the hall floor and spread it out on the kitchen
table. The last thing he expected was to see his investigation
blown wide open.
Helen Connelly
answered the phone.
‘Helen? It’s
Bill Wilson. Sorry to phone you this early. Is Jim about?’
‘He’s still in
bed Bill. He wasn’t in till late. Something special came in last
night. They held this morning’s edition for it.’
Bill tried not
to swear. It wasn’t Helen’s fault she had an idiot for a
husband.
‘I could waken
him if it’s important?’
‘It is.’
‘Right.’
He heard the
phone being carried up the stairs and then the sound of Jim being
shaken. His own name was mentioned then there was an ‘oh,
fuck!’
‘Morning Bill.’
A bright and cheery voice. ‘You’re up early.’
‘What the hell
do you think you’re doing running that story?’
A moment’s
silence then a throat being cleared.
‘The story’s
true.’ Connelly was standing his ground. ‘We got it from a good
source...’
‘I know it’s
true.’
‘So... what’s
the problem?’
‘The problem
is,’ Bill took a breath, ‘thanks to you these people now know we’re
on to them. And what do you think they’re doing?’ Without waiting
for an answer, he spat it out. ‘They’re covering their tracks
deleting every pornographic file from here to eternity.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is that all
you can say? Oh!’
‘I got a call
last night. The source was good so I put it in. It filled a
slot.’
‘It filled a
slot! There are weans out there getting their slots filled right
this
decided, Edward Stewart could get fucked.
Chapter
13
Bill Wilson had
had a sleepless night. Twice he’d gone downstairs and sat watching
a late night movie until he’d started to drop off. But as soon as
he got back into bed, he was wide awake again. Once light began to
peek through the slit in the curtains, he gave up and got up for
good. On automatic he made himself coffee and sat down at the
kitchen table.
Halfway through
his second cup he heard someone walk along the upstairs landing to
the toilet. It wasn’t Margaret’s step. He’d left her sound asleep.
Twenty years living with a policeman had trained her to ignore his
nocturnal habits.
A bedroom door
clicked shut and then there was a series of taps and a long thin
cackling whine and he realised that one of the kids was logging on
to the Internet.
If all the kids
were doing that, he thought, playing with the Internet while their
parents were asleep, it would be hellish easy to access whatever
they liked. He stood up and then sat down again. He’d already
talked to them both about it.
Jamie Fenton
had by all accounts been a good student up until two weeks before
his death. He’d been staying in a new hall of residence, Dalrymple
Hall, built with a little help from the generous Sir James
Dalrymple. Paedophiles could get at vulnerable kids through the
Internet, but the Computing Department at Glasgow assured him that
the labs were supervised to ensure no dodgy surfing, as they called
it.
Mrs Fenton had
told him Jamie couldn’t afford to buy a computer. He was on a grant
and a student loan and she couldn’t give him anything herself.
Since they divorced, her husband hadn’t given their son
anything.
When Bill
brought up the subject of sex, Mrs Fenton became agitated. Her son
was normal, she protested. He had a girlfriend in Manchester, a
nice girl that he went out with when he was home.
They’d got no
leads from his fellow students either. Jamie was a loner and spent
most of his spare time in the computer lab. He was constantly
broke. He’d been trying to borrow money to see himself through to
the end of the session. It was tough being a student now, tougher
than in his day, Bill realised.
He stood up and
rinsed his cup at the sink. The early morning sun reminded him of
his promise to Margaret to cut the grass. The paper boy skidded to
a halt on his bicycle and came whistling up the path. Bill picked
up the paper from the hall floor and spread it out on the kitchen
table. The last thing he expected was to see his investigation
blown wide open.
Helen Connelly
answered the phone.
‘Helen? It’s
Bill Wilson. Sorry to phone you this early. Is Jim about?’
‘He’s still in
bed Bill. He wasn’t in till late. Something special came in last
night. They held this morning’s edition for it.’
Bill tried not
to swear. It wasn’t Helen’s fault she had an idiot for a
husband.
‘I could waken
him if it’s important?’
‘It is.’
‘Right.’
He heard the
phone being carried up the stairs and then the sound of Jim being
shaken. His own name was mentioned then there was an ‘oh,
fuck!’
‘Morning Bill.’
A bright and cheery voice. ‘You’re up early.’
‘What the hell
do you think you’re doing running that story?’
A moment’s
silence then a throat being cleared.
‘The story’s
true.’ Connelly was standing his ground. ‘We got it from a good
source...’
‘I know it’s
true.’
‘So... what’s
the problem?’
‘The problem
is,’ Bill took a breath, ‘thanks to you these people now know we’re
on to them. And what do you think they’re doing?’ Without waiting
for an answer, he spat it out. ‘They’re covering their tracks
deleting every pornographic file from here to eternity.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is that all
you can say? Oh!’
‘I got a call
last night. The source was good so I put it in. It filled a
slot.’
‘It filled a
slot! There are weans out there getting their slots filled right
this
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