27 - Would you like a little more tea?
Kidderminster – 11:30 am Wednesday
Welcome to my online cyber thriller, The Phisherman. To learn more about the story and meet the three main characters, click HERE. If you'd prefer to start at Chapter 1, click HERE. To select another chapter, click HERE.
It didn’t take long to locate the Watsons’ house. As Alison’s black Aston Martin slid to a stop out the front of a small yellow cottage with a white picket fence, Nick decided it was time to assume control again.
Turning to face Alison, he told her, ‘Hey, Ali, I think I’ll run the interview. Of course, it will be great to have you there, in case I forget something important.’
‘Right, Nick,’ Alison retorted with a tinge of anger, though her face could have still been flushed from the exhilaration of the high-octane drive. ‘And that’s because you know all about hacking, hey? Of course, you know the right questions to ask. So, go ahead, Nick. Make my day. Show me how it’s done.’
Nick sat back in shock at her reaction. He hadn’t meant to tread on her toes.
But she didn’t need to bite my head off either!
‘Hey, Ali, before we go in and chat with the Watsons, is there something you need to tell me? Coz you’ve been quite angry today, and I feel like it’s directed specifically at me.’
He watched her closely to see if her face would betray her thoughts.
When she faced him, her eyes were emotionless as she spoke in a flat voice.
‘I don’t think this is the time and place right now, Nick. So, let’s go and chat with your hacker’s parents like the professionals we are. But on the way back to London, maybe you have something you need to tell me.’
And with that, she opened her door and climbed out of the car.
Nick froze as his mind processed the words Alison had thrown at him. He’d told her he was the dupe who got hacked. He thought he’d played the sad and sorry fool well. However, her accusation told him she suspected there was more to it. She had not bought his vulnerable routine.
Nick realized Alison was heading through the white picket gate at her usual pace of knots, disregarding his request to let him handle the interview.
Hurriedly, Nick escaped the car’s confines and sped up the pathway. Despite his pace, Alison had impatiently pressed the buzzer three times by the time he reached the white door with a small square of colorful stained glass.
As Alison faced the door, Nick turned to her. He watched her for a few seconds, but she refused to look at him. Taking a deep breath, Nick was about to try and thaw the ice when the door opened, and a slight, dark-haired lady who looked like she was in her seventies welcomed them with a genuine smile and a warm, soft voice that floated just above the gentle classical music emanating from within.
‘Hello, officers. My name’s Margaret. I’m glad you could make it. Please, come in. I’ve just brewed a fresh pot of tea.’
And with that, she turned and disappeared inside.
Alison turned to Nick, but it was merely to shrug her shoulders and step inside.
Nick swiftly caught up to her, and they made their way shoulder to shoulder through the dark narrow passage into a small, dimly lit lounge room severely overcrowded with teddy bears. He caught a glimpse of an overfed tabby cat as it darted through another doorway.
‘Please, sit down,’ Margaret Watson beamed as she pointed them to an old floral-patterned couch. She was already seated in one of two well-worn matching armchairs.
Alison swiftly dropped into the lounge corner and made herself comfortable. When she stared at Nick, he realized she was allowing him to run the interview as he’d requested.
Despite the steaming porcelain kettle and matching biscuit plate covered with home-baked scones on the wooden coffee table, the atmosphere was filled with an overpowering potpourri scent that suffocated everything.
Nick tried not to gag on the thick aroma as he politely said, ‘Thank you for replying to the news report, Margaret. And we appreciate you making yourself available at such short notice to talk with us about your son.’
‘That’s my pleasure, officers. I hope I can help. And to be honest, it’s nice to have visitors. You’re the first guests I’ve had for morning tea since my husband, Charles, died three years ago. But before we chat about that, would you like some tea?’
She carefully pushed herself out of her comfortable armchair and picked up the kettle, holding it over the dainty Royal Worcester cup nearest Nick.
‘Thank you, Margaret. It smells wonderful.’
Her pale, bony hand shook as she poured Nick a steaming cup of tea with a strong Earl Grey aroma. He wondered if she had a health issue until she resumed chattering as the black fluid flowed.
‘Charles was mortified that he never had the opportunity to rectify things with Alan before succumbing to lung cancer. We hadn’t seen Alan since he left twenty years ago. Charles and I drove off for work one day, and when we returned, Alan was gone, along with the few belongings he cared about.’
She stopped pouring and slowly straightened. Nick saw several teardrops slide down her cheek as she whispered, ‘He didn’t even leave a note. And he never tried to contact us. I think he disappeared from our lives, never intending to return.’
Alison jumped in before Nick could say a word.
‘So, Margaret, can you tell us what Alan was like as a child?’
And then Margaret was back on the chatter train.
As far as Margaret was concerned, Alan’s upbringing during the nineteen eighties and nineties was typical for a respectable, middle-class family. The unspoken truth only leaked as Alison asked a series of probing questions. Charles had been a cruel master within the confines of his castle. Margaret never said as much. It was the things left unspoken, the dark gaps, that made it easy to fill in the dots. Like many homes, theirs hid a dark secret only those within the walls knew.
When Alison pressed Margaret on a couple of incidents, Alan’s mum slowed down and became selective with her words. Her caution was insufficient to hide the sad fact that Alan became a chief target of his dad’s explosive outbursts as he got older.
Nick was surprised when Alison gently asked, ‘Does that have anything to do with why Alan doesn’t wear socks?’
Margaret sat up and stared at Alison before mumbling about brewing another pot of tea as she rose and left the room.
As they awaited their host’s return, Nick pressed Alison, ‘What’s with the no socks business, Ali? And how come I didn’t know about that?’
Alison momentarily stared at him with a cold glare before replying, ‘I guess there are things neither of us has disclosed that are pertinent to the case, hey Nick? And you know about the socks now. So that means you know everything I do.’
Nick was still considering his response when Margaret returned with a fresh pot of tea. She went to pour a new cup for Alison, who promptly put her hand over the top of her cup as she softly said, ‘Margaret, Alan’s in a lot of trouble. I know you care about your son and want the best for him. So, you need to help us understand him. That will make it easier to find him and prevent something bad from happening to him. So, please tell us why he won’t wear socks.’
Margaret stammered over her next words.
‘All this talk about not wearing socks is absolute nonsense. Alan had to wear socks when he went to school, like every child.’
And that was enough to distract her again as she detailed Alan’s time in school. Thankfully, that helped Nick understand why young Alan had been drawn into the cyber universe. He had no friends in the real world. From what Nick gleaned, it was because Alan learned not to let his guard down. He couldn’t get caught up in everyday fun with others for fear of slipping up and saying something he shouldn’t. For a young boy wondering when the next beating would come his way, the best way to minimize the likelihood of Charles erupting was to do nothing and shut up.
The one thing Margaret did assure them of concerned Alan’s constant bullying during his school years.
‘Because he was a loner, Alan was the relentless target of every schoolyard bully until he convinced us to send him to Chantry. That was when Alan changed.’
Alison gently asked, ‘How did he change, Margaret? What happened at Chantry?’
After a brief pause, Margaret continued with a distinctly colder voice.
‘Chantry was where Alan found his first real friends, though he never brought any home. Instead, they chatted all the time on that awful computer Charles bought him. And if he wasn’t on the computer, he was listening to a dreadful noise he called heavy metal, though I don’t know how anyone could call that nonsense music.’
Alison brought the focus back to the task at hand.
‘Can you tell us what Alan did on his computer?’
Margaret paused briefly before stating with evident distaste, ‘I never understood what he did or why he wanted to waste his life on those computer things. I didn’t like them then. And I don’t like them now. As far as I’m concerned, they took my son away from me. The only good thing about all those gadgets Alan had up in his room was when Charles put a thing called the Internet into Alan’s computer for his birthday. Alan even smiled and talked with me for the next few days. Of course, that didn’t last long.’
She hesitated before uncertainly asking, ‘Did you want to see Alan’s room? It’s still the way it was on the day he left. I only go inside to dust everything now and then.’
‘That would be great, thanks, Margaret,’ Alison responded enthusiastically.
With a subdued sigh, Margaret carefully rose from her chair and led the way out of the doorway, shuffling deeper into the dark, narrow passage.
Slowly climbing a flight of old wooden stairs, she continued.
‘Charles wanted to burn everything once he realized Alan wasn’t coming home.’
She paused before adding, ‘It was one of the few times I stood up to him.’
She stopped outside the first wooden door upstairs and gently rubbed her jaw. Nick wondered if Margaret was remembering the price she’d paid to satisfy Charles’ rage.
As tears filled her eyes, she murmured, ‘He chased my baby away. I couldn’t let him destroy the only things I had left to remember Alan, no matter how much I hated them. And I always hoped my boy would return one day.’
Slowly, she opened the door and allowed Alison and Nick to enter Alan’s adolescent haven. Nick took one step inside and gasped. The collection of old hardware and the few sci-fi toys displayed in a familiar manner made it clear – Alan Watson was their man.
Alison noiselessly took several photos of the room with her phone, then turned to Margaret. The doting mother stood motionless in the doorway, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to release.
Alison softly said, ‘Thank you so much for your time, Margaret. And thank you for allowing us in here.’
Margaret started at Alison’s voice, then swiftly wiped her eyes.
‘Sorry, officers. I still get upset every time I see his room. I just can’t bring myself to pack it up – it’s all I have left.’
Alison walked over and gave the grieving mother a gentle hug, holding her as she sobbed.
‘It’s okay to cry, Margaret. We understand. Sadly, we have to deal with situations like this too often.’
Alison gently released her hold.
She waited until Margaret gave a wry smile before asking, ‘Before we go, Margaret, is there any way we can borrow or copy the last photograph you have of Alan?’
Slightly hesitating, the older lady quietly replied, ‘That would be the school photo from his last year at Chantry. It’s downstairs.’
Alison and Nick quietly followed Margaret downstairs to a small side room. It didn’t take long for Nick to realize the musty room with that familiar potpourri smell was a shrine.
The opposing wall was covered with photos in large wooden frames, including some black and white prints. In front, an antique, dark wood chiffonier proudly displayed an array of silver framed pictures. The sole subject of every image was a boy of various ages. The leftmost portrait was of a newborn, carefully held in the arms of a young, doting Margaret. The last photo on the right revealed a scowling teenager wearing a formal school uniform.
As Nick stared at the last photo, it was impossible to miss the sadness in the young man’s eyes despite his brazen scowl. It was a look Nick had only seen when he’d been hunting the rogue Soviet agent who called himself koshmar – Russian for ‘nightmare.’
For some reason, the crazy Russian was not only killing secret service agents from all nationalities across the globe. He was also linked to the obliteration of several underground ratholes used for all forms of child exploitation. When Nick saw the trail of destruction koshmar left behind at one such place in Bulgaria, it wasn’t the battered bodies of those who’d vainly protected their now-broken stronghold that impacted Nick the most. What he could never unsee was the haunted look and broken smile in the eyes of the children his team rescued.
It was the same gaze as that reflected in teenage Alan Watson’s eyes.
For a moment, Nick felt sorry as he gazed into the teenager’s brown eyes.
The spell broke when Nick remembered who the young man had turned into – and, more importantly, the information the kid-turned-adult had stolen.
Alan Watson’s childhood affords him no excuse and no leniency. The hacker is going to get what’s coming.
And Nick and Alison had a picture and a name now. The trail had heated up.
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