‘It’s good,’ replied Johnson, shuffling in his seat. ‘Very good.’

The two officers looked at him expectantly but he said nothing.

‘An actual figure would be good,’ said Collins drily.

Johnson nodded. ‘Just over ninety-seven per cent.’

‘You what?’ gasped Collins.

Johnson swallowed hard. ‘Ninety-seven per cent.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ spat Collins. ‘This is a fucking waste of time.’

‘It’s … it’s really quite good,’ stuttered Johnson.

‘For you maybe,’ replied Collins. ‘It’s a great statistic to be able to quote to people but the reality is a bit different. You’ve got forty thousand nonces on the books and three per cent of them are missing. That equates to what? More than a thousand people.’

‘Nine hundred and twenty-two at the moment, to be precise. We prefer the term sex offender,’ mumbled Johnson. ‘We know that some people deliberately pursue an itinerant lifestyle in order to avoid registration, but it’s a relatively small proportion.’

Collins and Woods exchanged glances. Going to ViSOR had always been something of a stab in the dark. Now it was as though they were having their hands tied behind their backs. The list they would come away with would be almost endless.

‘Are you planning to track down the people on the list who’ve gone missing so you can eliminate them from your inquiries?’

‘That was part of the idea.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Collins.

‘I just don’t really see how that’s going to be possible. I mean, these cases are considered a high priority. Every police force in the country is on the lookout for these missing offenders. They are already deep underground. The chances of finding them yourselves are almost zero.’

‘You let us worry about that.’

‘Okay.’ Johnson paused for a moment. ‘There’s probably something else you should know too,’ he said, his voice now so low it was only barely audible. ‘Something else you may not be aware of.’

‘Go on, pour salt on my wounds.’

‘Well, there’s a sliding scale that dictates just how long people’s names stay on the register. Those given a jail sentence of more than thirty months stay there indefinitely. Those imprisoned for between six and thirty months remain on the register for ten years. Those sentenced for six months or less are placed on the register for seven years. If they only get a caution, they only stay on the register for two years. And all those times are halved if the person is under eighteen.’

Woods rocked forward in his chair and placed his head in his hands. ‘So what you’re saying is that hundreds of names come off the register every year and that if any of those people had subsequently gone missing, you’d have no way of knowing.’

‘That’s correct, I’m afraid.’

‘Is there any way of getting access to those deleted records?’

‘They’re all removed from the computer, but the hard copies are kept in storage. You’d be welcome to look through them.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. We have to do it all by hand?’

‘I’m afraid so. The rest of the records I can run through the computer. I can try different permutations but there are dozens so it’s going to take a good few days.’

Collins was quietly shaking her head while listening but finally spoke up. ‘I have another question. Say we’re looking for a vigilante; who, apart from the police, has access to the information on this database?’

‘More people than you’d think,’ replied Johnson, ‘though they receive the information on a highly confidential basis. The main list includes’ – he counted them off on his fingers – ‘head teachers, doctors, youth leaders, sports club managers and pub landlords. There might be a few other categories but it’s quite a wide spread.’

Collins turned to Woods. ‘Some of the pub landlords I know, they wouldn’t think twice about passing on details of local paedophiles to their bouncers or some of their more unsavoury customers.’

‘There is another possibility, of course,’ said Johnson.

All eyes turned to him.

‘And what might that be?’ asked Collins.

‘Well, I remember a case of a paedophile ring from a few years ago that ended with a murder. It was a bog-standard ring of blokes who were getting together to abuse children and share pics and videos. One member of the ring, the only one on our list, was murdered in his home. At first the investigating team suspected a local vigilante but it turned out it was actually another member of the ring that had killed him. I guess he wanted to make sure there was no way he was going to be able to point the finger at him.’

‘So what you’re saying,’ said Woods, ‘is that the possibilities are endless.’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘Great,’ said Collins, standing up. Her face easily betrayed the fact that she didn’t think it was great at all but rather far, far from it. ‘Where do we start?’

10

Sophie Collins and Jack Stanley walked side by side along the narrow garden path towards the gleaming red front door.

‘What do you mean you don’t like surprises?’ gasped Jack. ‘Everyone likes surprises.’

‘Not necessarily. There are good surprises and bad surprises. You haven’t told me which type this is yet.’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘If it was I wouldn’t be so nervous.’

‘Trust me. There are no bad surprises.’

‘Of course there are. The good ones include surprise birthday parties and finding money in the street. The bad ones are being told you’ve got six months to live or finding out your house has been burgled.’

‘They’re not surprises, they’re disasters. It’s totally different. But let’s not argue. This is a good surprise. Trust me.’

He took her hand and squeezed it gently as they continued along the path. ‘Okay, Dad.’ She snorted. ‘Still sounds weird to hear myself saying that.’

They were only a few steps from the door when it swung open and a short, slightly plump woman with a mass of dark curls piled high on her head appeared. She smiled, showing rows of crooked, nicotine-stained teeth, but projected so much warmth and gentleness that Sophie couldn’t help but smile back. The family resemblance between all three of them was obvious and Sophie knew immediately who she was about to meet.

She looked up at Jack, the smile on her face having grown into a huge grin. ‘Of course,’ she gasped. ‘I never thought about it. That’s your mum. My gran! I’ve got another gran!’ Sophie beamed with excitement as Ella Stanley held out her arms and gave her long-lost granddaughter a huge hug.

‘I’ve heard so much about you, my dear,’ she said with a voice that could have been straight out of an East End market stall. ‘Jack’s told me everything, of course, but it’s so wonderful to meet you in the flesh at last.’

Ella stepped to one side and led Sophie into the house, making her way towards the living room.

‘Cool. Is there a grandpa too?’

Ella’s face flickered with emotion. ‘Sorry, dear, no. Mr Stanley passed away some years ago.’

‘I’m sorry, I really am.’

‘Thanks, dear. You really are a sweetie. Now what can I get you to drink? A nice cup of tea?’

‘Erm. I don’t really like tea. It’s too bitter.’

Ella paused for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose you’re still a bit young. I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable, won’t you?’ She looked up at Jack. ‘You’re right, she is a little angel, isn’t she?’

Sophie blushed and Jack smiled as he sat down beside her on the floral-print sofa that filled one side of the room.

‘It’s a bit weird thinking of you having a mum.’

‘What, you think I was dropped off by a stork or something? I think I might have to have a word with the teachers at your school, you’re obviously not learning anything.’

Sophie gave Jack a playful dig in the ribs. ‘I just mean that you don’t talk about her much, and she’s so different to mum’s mum. She’s so … well, she’s just very different.’