After what had seemed like a lifetime of waiting, the day when he was going to meet up with his latest conquest had finally arrived.

The machine seemed to take ages to boot up, and when the usual musical notes played to say it was ready he felt a new rush passing through him. Bevan didn’t want to come across as being overeager. He had fought hard to stay cool. He glanced at the clock in the bottom-right-hand corner of the screen: eleven thirty. Time to make the final arrangements for their lunch. He double-clicked on the messenger program, moistening his lips with his tongue as it loaded.

sportsfan52: hi – how are u

shygirl351: nervous

shygirl351: and excited

sportsfan52: good – neither is a bad thing

shygirl351: lol

shygirl351: that must mean we’re still on then

sportsfan52: correct – ready to go

sportsfan52: have u told anyone about our meeting

shygirl351: nope

shygirl351: not a soul

shygirl351: have you?

sportsfan52: no

shygirl351: wow

shygirl351: where shall we meet then

sportsfan52: not sure. Would normally say pub but guess that is out of the question

shygirl351: lol

shygirl351: have been in more than you think – make up works wonders

sportsfan52: shall we do a pub then

shygirl351: rather not. hate being in pubs on my own. What if you were late

sportsfan52: I’ll be early

sportsfan52: If you like – just ring my phone when you arrive and I will come outside

shygirl351: have a better idea

shygirl351: do you know Gladstone park

sportsfan52: yes, what about it

shygirl351: there’s a bench by the rotunda, opposite the pond

shygirl351: me and my mates used to hang out there. Could meet there

sportsfan52: would be private. Sounds good. Let’s do it. Four thirty?

shygirl351: great

shygirl351: can’t wait

shygirl351: bye

He had arranged it all perfectly. His wife was away for the night visiting her parents and the children were over at friends’ for a sleepover. Despite having had less than twenty-four hours’ notice, he now had the place to himself. He would be able to do whatever he liked knowing he would not be disturbed.

Shygirl had been by far the best of the bunch and his favourite from the start. There had been others that he had chatted to over the preceding months but this was to be his first actual meeting.

Another young girl had seemed interested at first but she had gone a little cold. She didn’t respond in the flirtatious way that this girl did. He struggled for a moment to think of her screen name. DreamGirl99, that had been it. If she had been a bit more forthcoming he would have arranged a meeting with her as well. Instead he had put her on the back burner a couple of days earlier to pursue Shygirl instead. If things went well, he could always return to her at a later date. He was on a roll.

The hours seemed to drag by until it was time to leave. He checked his appearance in the mirror. Teeth clean, clean shaven, hair washed and neatly styled. He looked younger than his forty-two years, which was good, though he had been open and honest about his age right from the start and the girl didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, if anything, she had been increasingly excited by the prospect of meeting up with him.

In the circles that he moved in, such girls were highly sought after and they generated a great deal of excitement. He would be able to teach her everything. She would be able to give him the ultimate pleasure. She would, for a few years at least, be everything he could ever want her to be. Better still, he would be able to use her to draw in others, perhaps to enhance his standing among his community, sharing her out and swapping her with his peers.

He tried not to get ahead of himself. He couldn’t blow it at this stage. He had put too much time and too much effort into the girl so far. He had to be so slow, so cunning. Above all he had to be careful. It’s easy to avoid giving the game away when every response can be carefully thought out. It’s a very different matter when you are in the midst of a free-flowing conversation. shygirl351 still did not know that Sally, the girl that had introduced them, had actually been him all along and he had to ensure he said nothing that would give it away.

And he had to think about the future. None of this was going to last for ever. All good things, he knew only too well, would have to come to an end. He could have his fun for now but ultimately there would come a time when he would have to replace her with a younger model.

It was a beautifully sunny afternoon, the pale blue sky dotted with thin wisps of pure white cloud and the odd snaking white jet stream left by high-flying aircraft. He sucked in a deep breath of air, then turned and headed down his front path towards his garden gate.

Somewhere at the back of his subconscious mind he registered the fact that the street seemed to be a little quieter than usual. Several of his neighbours were retired or elderly and could usually be found in their front gardens. No one was walking their dog. A few curtains twitched on the opposite side of the street.

He was still pondering this when the sound of heavy footfalls from behind snapped him out of his daydream. He turned just in time to see a large man, his mop of blond hair flying up in the wind, his tie flapping behind his neck, bearing down on him at high speed.

Before he could say a word the man had launched himself towards him in a vicious rugby tackle that knocked Bevan down to the ground and forced all the wind out of him. As he lay gasping for breath, clutching at his sore ribs and trying to rub his bruised shoulder, the rest of them appeared.

They came from all directions. Men in suits, men and women in police uniforms. So many of them that he quickly lost count. They emerged from behind cars; they vaulted over hedges; they appeared from around corners – and all of them were rushing towards him.

The blond man was now on top of him, forcing his shoulders down and squeezing at one of the pressure points close to his neck. He had yet to say a word.

‘Jason Andrew Bevan?’ asked the blond man, an unmistakable snort of satisfaction in his voice. Bevan nodded weakly, still wondering what on earth was going on.

‘I am Detective Inspector Michael Carter of the Metropolitan Police’s Child Exploitation and Online Protection Unit. I am arresting you on suspicion of using a computer to groom a child. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be given in evidence against you.’

‘But I haven’t done anything,’ blurted Bevan. ‘I haven’t even touched her.’

Other officers helped Carter drag Bevan up to his feet, where he was immediately handcuffed. Carter plunged his hands into Bevan’s pockets and extracted his house keys, then gave the signal for the prisoner to be led to a waiting van.

Using the keys to gain entry, Carter led a group of officers into his house to examine his computer. The team had spent the last three months posing as a young girl online using the name DreamGirl99 and hoping to catch Carter in the act of grooming. When he ignored their most recent communications, they suspected he had found a genuine victim and knew they had to move fast.

Unable to intercept his communications, they had put him under surveillance and watched out for the warning signs, key among them being the departure of his wife and children.

In the attic room that served as Bevan’s office it took only a few minutes for one of the tech guys to call up that day’s internet activity.

‘Guv, he’s supposed to be meeting her this afternoon. We’ve got a record of the IR chats. Supposed to be there in half an hour. Gladstone Park. The bench by the rotunda.’