The Facebook Killer by M. L. Stewart Page B

had to be out of sight to
avoid any reflection being spotted yet also able to catch the sun’s
rays. After some time foraging in the forest I came up with three
pretty straight branches, each one about eight feet in length. I
lashed them together end to end; the last branch had a
configuration of three thick twigs at the end. Enough for me to
lash the panel to it with the fishing wire. With much effort,
resulting in aching neck and shoulders, I managed to feed the
concoction through the branches and ivy until it poked through the
topmost leaves of the tree. I lashed it in place and connected it
up to the battery. Success! In thirty six hours I would have enough
power for the solitary lightbulb, the small caravan fridge and my
laptop. The fridge served a secondary purpose; its rear element
gave enough heat to keep the room warm during the night.
    I don’t know why I painted the inside of
Laputa. I just did. White. Furnished with a deck chair, folding
table and a rug on the floor, my sleeping accommodation comprised
of a camp bed and sleeping bag. It wasn’t quite the hotel suites,
which I had grown accustomed to but it felt safe. No one would ever
find it. I had just joined the long line of Epping Forest
criminals, Dick Turpin, Harry Roberts the cop killer not to the
mention the countless murder victims buried amongst it’s roots.
     
     
    I decided that old Albert looked the most
like a rambler so I sent him off early next morning to find a
better spot for our van. He returned almost five hours later. I
could tell he had been drinking. He was smiling. It turns out there
was a campsite only fifteen minutes away from Laputa. It couldn’t
be seen due to the dense forest and we separated from it by a steep
ravine, so there was no chance of receiving any unwanted company.
Albert had left the van there, explaining that he was conducting an
ornithological census on bird life in that area of the forest. He
had paid three months fees up front explaining that his work went
on night and day so not to be worried if they didn’t see him around
for a while.
    And so we were done, time to get back to
work. The apples weren’t going to pick themselves!
     

Chapter 15
    Michael Collins
Jr.
     
    I was dumbfounded when I realised that they
had Internet access in prison. Whatever happened to punishment?
    Michael Collins Junior or
MCJ as he liked to be called. Aged: 29. Status: Locked up.
Likes: Gangsta Rap & fast women.
Dislikes: His fourteen-year sentence for kidnapping, grievous
bodily harm and aggravated rape. Current
Location: Whitemoor Maximum Security Prison,
Cambridgeshire.
    Now I will be the first to admit it. This one
was going to be tricky. My father used to have a saying, “When the
going gets tough, get out your cheque book.”
    After a little more research I learned that
the only way he could update his page was either with a mobile
phone that someone had smuggled in or he was getting a friend or
relative to update it on the outside. I checked his site and looked
like the latter as it only seemed to be updated once a fortnight,
probably after visiting time, actually it was always on a Thursday
evening.
    I found an old news article about MCJ’s
crime. He had been inside for two years now. It turns out he had
gatecrashed a party in Notting Hill pretending to be a friend of
the family. The problem was that the father was at home and it was
his daughter’s sixteenth birthday party. When the old man tried to
eject him from the house he apparently went crazy hitting him
around the head with a chair before grabbing the birthday girl and
fleeing in a waiting car. The girl was repeatedly raped at
knifepoint. The other assailant was never traced. So, reading
between the lines, Mr. Hamid had probably done this before?
    Now this is when my dangerous solar- powered
Internet really reared its ugly head and proved to me that nobody
is safe. Not even in a maximum-security prison.
    Within half an hour I had read an article in
the Daily Mail,