The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER ONE

Sunday, 12th August, 2018. Evening 

Judge Trevor Neeson studied his guests with a measure of satisfaction. The evening get-together was all he had hoped for. The powerful, the glitterati, the jaded, at his home. His lips curled in a sour grin. To outward appearances, the select group of guests mingling in the grand drawing room, in the adjacent hall, on the garden patio, were enjoying an evening out with old acquaintances and making new friends. As they drank contentedly, conducting their sotto voce conversations, all was calm,dignified, conventional. Benign smiles and familiar nods were cast back and forth across the lounge, the occasional glass was raised in friendly acknowledgement. A party like any other party. 

Or so it seemed. But behind the façade of normality there lurked a deeper purpose. Dark information was changing hands, and appetites, long fatigued, were whetted in the anticipation of new experiences. Tonight,twelve new 'patrons' were to be initiated into 'The Club'. This the judge knew, and his guests knew he knew. His outside-of-work role was to act as a kind of broker for the seedier desires of the rich and famous, a role that he had fallen into almost by accident. His work in the courts had allowed him to identify and utilise many contacts, contacts multiplied by personal inclinations that had led him down many murky avenues and to many an unsavoury door. The occasional introduction of a close friend to deviant pleasures in secret rendezvous, the initiation of small,  extremely select groups to arcane delights in the netherworld of the city, gained for the judge a reputation in certain circles as '...the man to go to'. 

Soon the demand for his services made him privy to significant knowledge about his 'clients', a level of knowledge owned only by the rare few.Here was money. Here was power. Money, however, the judge no longer needed. But his appetite for power seemed to increase by what it fed on, and he found himself seduced ever more irresistibly by its lure. Hence his intimate association with 'The Club', an association which, in fact,concealed a level of proprietorship that his clients were unaware of. And after tonight these people would owe him ... and he would own them. 

The judge's eyes glittered momentarily before being darkened by the sudden frown that crossed his face. If it wasn't for that bloody bastard phoning at eight o'clock, I could truly be relishing this.The judge, trim, an inch or so off six feet, elegant in his evening dress suit, was just short of seventy. Few of the guests could have failed to recognise him, a key figure in the Appellate Court. His short, tidy hair was pure white, as was the distinctive miniscule moustache that clung precariously to the edge of his upper lip. This was a face many readers of Northern Ireland newspapers would often see staring out at them as they ate their breakfast cereal or drank their morning coffee. 

The thin moustache was almost hidden now behind compressed lips as the judge glanced at his watch and began to move purposefully towards his study, shaking a hand here, stopping for a brief conversation there, but deviating not a jot from his intended destination. He spoke quietly to one of the hired caterers who was passing, carrying a tray of drinks. "Keep the drinks coming, Thomas. Don't let the party flag. I shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes." 

"Won't be a problem, Judge. Take your time." 

The judge nodded a curt thanks and left the lounge. As he entered his study, he pulled a smartphone from his pocket. Carefully closing the door  behind him, he sat on the office chair behind his desk, eyeing the landline phone that sat there as if it was something repugnant. Prodding some numbers on his smartphone, he waited, drumming his fingers impatiently on his desk as he listened to the dialling tone's dispassionate repetitions. 

Eventually a voice said, "Good evening, Judge." 

"Weren't you expecting my call, Edgar?" the judge hissed.   

"I was, Judge," his assistant answered coolly, offering nothing further by way of amplification.

 "Well, this guy's going to phone in less than ten minutes. I need you to be ready," the judge said testily. 

"Loads of time, Judge," came the same unflustered voice. "Keep your smartphone close to the phone when he rings. I'll start tracing the call immediately." 

"All right. There was something else I wanted to ask you before he comes on." 

"Go ahead, Judge."The judge hesitated slightly and said, "The bastard always asks for five thousand. What if I offered him ten as a final payment, one that requires him to hand over all prints and negatives?" 

There was a moment's silence on the line. Then came a somewhat disbelieving voice, "What century are you living in, Judge? Prints?Negatives?" 

"Don't be impertinent, Edgar. What's so wrong with the idea?" 

"Firstly, there is absolutely no guarantee that the prints he hands over will be all of them. Secondly, negatives went out with the dodo. He'll have the pictures on his smartphone. The only way to get rid of them would be to delete them. Can't see him doing that." 

"What if I offer to buy the phone off him?" 

"Pointless, Judge. He'll almost certainly have downloaded the pictures to a laptop or maybe an iPad." 

"Well, what do you suggest?" the judge snapped. "If this bloody vampire thinks he can keep sucking money out of me indefinitely, he's got another think coming. I'm paying him nothing more." 

Edgar was silent again, obviously mulling over the judge's dilemma."Tell you what, Judge. Go with your original idea. Offer to buy the prints and the phone off him. Make sure you sound gullible. Make some sort of deal with him that he can't resist. Then get him to meet you ... uh, what time's your party over?" 

"Maybe around eleven, eleven thirty, but I have to take them somewhere first. I'll be about an hour." 

 "Oh? All right! Get him to meet you ... when? Maybe around one o'clock, on the top floor of the Victoria Square Q park ... alone." 

"Are you serious? Why would I do that?" 

"Something drastic is going to have to be done, Judge. This menace isn't going to listen to reason." 

"You want me to meet this guy alone? What if he gets violent?" 

"You won't be alone, Judge, but tell him it's essential that he comes alone. Tell him you don't want anyone to see you there. He'll believe that.Tell him if you see anyone there, you'll leave immediately with the money and he gets nothing. Don't worry. His greed won't let you do that." 

"If I'm not alone, then who else is going to be there...?" The judge paused. "No! Don't tell me. But what if we are able to trace the call this time?" 

"Doubt it, Judge. He always hangs up just before we can get him. He knows what he's doing. It'll be no different tonight. The other idea's a better one. And, now that I think about it, you won't actually have to be there." 

The judge experienced a sudden guilty surge of relief. "I won't?" 

"It's enough that he thinks you're going to be there. He'll be waiting for you. I'll take care of the rest." 

The judge breathed deeply for a second, his brain whirring. Then he said, "All right, Edgar. I want the bastard gone, but I don't want to know  any details." 

"Understood, Judge." There was a click at the other end as Edgar hung up. 

At that point the phone on the desk rang. The judge sucked in a deep  breath, took a moment to ready himself, and reached out to answer it. "Judge Neeson," he said neutrally