Stories of revenge are not as common in Crime Fiction as many would think. The bog-standard fare of Criminal commits a crime and the cops solve it (aka a 'WhoDunnit') and bring the bag guys to court are where it is at be it Sherlock, Rumpole, Taggart or {insert TV/Film name here}

This story is told from the point of view of one of the victims.

For many readers, this will not be an easy read. The crimes that were committed before this tale starts are not for the faint-hearted as it involves Child Trafficking, Paedophilia, rape, sodomy and sexual exploitation of children and corruption in society at the highest level. None of these crimes are described any great detail in the text other than one assault. Most of them happened before the story began.

It you suffer from PTSD then it might be advisable to stop reading now.

The tale is split into five ‘books’ and has a total of 46 chapters. It is not a short novel so please take your time, and I am sure that it will grow on you.

---

The late May Bank Holiday had been a good day for John Proudfoot. He’d won 3rd prize at a rally for classic Ford Vehicles that had been held at the Old Warden Collection in Bedfordshire. His newly restored Cortina Mk2 1600E in black and gold had gone down well with other 'old guys' as he put it, who were there with their cars. He didn't know of a better way to spend the day than with a group of other old fogeys talking cars and watching even older aircraft take to the cloudless blue sky.

On his way home, he stopped at a supermarket to buy a few groceries, including a bottle of his favourite wine for his meal that night to celebrate his success at the rally. He wasn’t sad that he’d only been placed 3rd because professional restorers entered the two cars that beat him. John was just an amateur tinkering in his retirement. It beat playing golf like most of his former colleagues did, hands down.

John’s good mood disappeared in a flash when he saw someone trying to break into his car as he emerged from the supermarket with his shopping.

His first instinct was to rush over and try to put a stop to it, but for some reason, he didn't. Instead, he watched for almost a minute as a young person struggled to open the passenger door. She seemed oblivious to other shoppers glaring at her. After the third admonishment from a fellow shopper, he decided that it was time to act.

“Just what do you think you are doing, young lady!” said John as he arrived at his car.

The young lady in question was trying to break into a car using a 'slim-jim' device.
His words temporarily startled her. Her first impulse was to flee, but the device that she was using to open the passenger door was stuck in place. After a second or so of hesitation, it became clear that she wasn't going to leave without it and a large rucksack that was stuffed into a shopping cart. From her appearance and the shopping cart, it was more than likely that she was homeless.

“What’s it to you what I am trying or not trying to do?”

John smiled at the retort. At least she had not replied with a string of expletives.

“Well… for starters, that is my car that you are trying to break into. There is nothing worth stealing inside, and because you are not trying the driver’s door, I guess that you were not intending to steal it. As I fitted it with an immobiliser, you would have trouble doing that… So, what is it that you are after?”

“Who the ‘F’ are you? Some sort of pig?”

He smiled.
“I was, as you so eloquently say, a ‘pig’. I’m retired now. Former Detective Chief Superintendent John Proudfoot at your service.”

“Are you going to nick me? You’d have to catch me first.”

John laughed.
"No, I'm not going to nick you. As I said, I am retired."

“So? What the hell do you want?”

This young woman intrigued John, so he tried a different approach.
"Why don't I show you how to open the door?"

“Why the hell would you want to do that? I don’t give head, you know.”

"That is the last thing I would ever want from you. As to why, isn't it better to know how to use the tools you have at your disposal more effectively?"

“Isn’t that committing a crime?”

“That is where you are wrong, young lady. As this is my car, then, I can’t be committing a crime, can I? I don't have any intent to steal the vehicle. Once you know how to do it quickly and efficiently, then there is less chance of you being caught in the future. Then you will avoid getting nicked, as you so crudely put it."

“Man… you are mental, but as it is your car… please go ahead?”

John put down the two shopping bags and stepped forward. The young woman moved away. Her body language told him that she was very suspicious of him.

With a simple, deft motion, John moved the device and the lock clicked open.

He removed the tool and handed it to the woman.

“Want to try for yourself?”

It was her turn to smile.
John locked the door and moved away.

This time, she unlocked the door in seconds.

“It pays to know how the internal mechanism is constructed.”

“Ummm, thanks.”

There was a period of silence between them before she said,
“Are you really not going to nick me?”

“I’m not going to nick you. But, if you don’t mind me saying, you whiff to high heaven. Could I offer you a place to get clean?”

“I don’t give head…”

"You said that already, and I don't want any 'head' as you put it. I have an annexe at my home. There is a shower and a place to wash your clothes. If I am not mistaken, you are a lady of the road, but even the queens of the highway need to have the occasional wash and brush up. How about it? I could even fire up the BBQ and cook the steaks that I just bought?"

To reinforce his words, he held up the shopping bag that contained the wine and the steaks.

As if by some magic, her stomach let out a loud belch.
"When was the last time you had a good meal?" he asked with a smile.

“I ain’t getting in that car with you?”

“I would not think of asking you in your current state of cleanliness. I live about a mile from here. Straight down the main road for half of that,” he said, pointing to his right.
“Then turn right into Elm Lane. My house is at the top of the hill. It is called ‘Suncrest’. If you want a chance to get clean and have a good meal with no strings attached and a night in a bed, then you are more than welcome.”

She didn’t answer.

With a shrug of his shoulders, John put his shopping into his car and drove off. As he exited the car park, he could see her standing there. She hadn’t moved. He shook his head and concentrated on driving home.

For some reason, this young woman had piqued his interest. There was something about her that didn't quite make sense. In his years on the force, he'd encountered a good number of people on the street who were homeless, often for no fault of their own. He could identify those who were permanently homeless from those who had hit rock bottom and were trying to fight back. She didn't exactly fit neatly into either category. The long-dormant investigative juices in him began to rise to the surface once more. He wanted to know more if only to satisfy his curiosity. If that meant feeding her and giving her a bed for the night, then it would be well worth the investment.

John, as he had promised the girl, had gotten the BBQ out and was in the final stages of getting it going when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. At first, he ignored it. If it was her, then he didn't want to scare her off as soon as she arrived.

With the charcoal well alight, he turned towards where he had seen a movement.

“Hello. You made it then?”

She didn’t respond. Her body language told him that she was still very uneasy.

“There is a small apartment above the garage. The door is open, and there is a bolt on the inside of the door. There should be plenty of hot water, and I have put some shampoo and towels out just in case you would come. I have also left some old clothes on the bed. If you don’t know how to use the washer, just ask, and I’ll put it on for you, but I did leave some instructions.”

She didn’t react but stood still, her eyes fixed on the containers of food that were on the table next to the BBQ.

John thought that she was about to leg it. If she did, then he'd cook just one of the pieces of rump steak that he'd bought earlier.

When he looked up again, she had gone. Her now empty shopping trolley was outside the garage, and the door to the upstairs apartment was closed.

More than half an hour passed before she emerged from the apartment. She was wearing his old clothes, which hung loosely on her small frame. Everything was a good number of sizes too big for her, but it would do for now. Her now clean hair glistened in the late afternoon sun.

As she came closer, he suddenly knew what it was that had intrigued him about her. That in itself presented a problem for John, but it could wait. Food should come first.

“Feeling better?” he asked as she gingerly approached the BBQ area.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Did you get your clothes into the washer?”

“I did. Thanks for leaving some instructions.”

“What do I call you?”

She thought for a second before saying.
“Dido.”

“Like the singer then?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, Dido, welcome to my home. How do you like your steak?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had any before.”

Her response momentarily threw John. The mystery deepened.

“There is a first time for everything. There is a salad in the bowl. Help yourself to that and some juice, and take a seat.”

"Thanks… John," she said with a lot of hesitation in her voice.

As John attended to the grill, he said,
“I meant what I said before. I don’t want sex from you. You aren’t my type. I am just a former cop trying to lend a hand to someone who I think needs at least a bit of help, if only for one day.”

Dido didn’t answer. She was too busy enjoying the freshly baked and still warm French bread that he’d put in the oven as soon as he’d arrived home. She’d spread some butter on it. The sight of her licking her lips pleased him. There was a lot of mystery about her, and it was up to him to try to pry it from Dido without spooking her.

“Everyone I have ever met who was like you, living on the streets, has a story to tell. If you feel like telling me yours, then I’ll listen and try my hardest not to pass any judgement unless you want it, but as with many problems, just talking about them can help.”

“If I told you the truth, you would not believe me, so I should say nothing.”

John smiled. He knew a canned answer when he heard one.

“Here you are. This should just fall apart,” said John as he handed Dido a plate with her steak and a baked potato wrapped in foil with a helping of baked beans on the side.

“Thanks. It looks good.”

John sat down with his plate and put some tomato relish on the side. Dido looked on as if she did not know what to do next.

“Please, help yourself.”

Dido watched John carefully carve his steak into slices. She tried to copy him but failed. She pushed the plate away more out of frustration than anything. The way she held the fork suggested that she had the mental age of an eight-year-old, but she wasn't backwards by any means. Another clue to the deepening mystery of who she was and why she was homeless.

John smiled and cut up her steak.
“Why don’t you put some of the meat in what is left of that French stick and add a bit of relish?”

The sight of Dido munching away at her meal made him happy. It had given him another clue about her past. The picture that was forming in his mind was not a good one.

When she’d finished, Dido looked over at the grill.
“Would you like some more?”

“Please, but I don’t want to impose.”

“You are not imposing on me it is nice to have some company. I’ll get some sausages from the fridge.

While the sausages were cooking, John took his chance.

“Dido, I want to say something that might offend you, but ever since we met in the car park, there has been something about you that troubled me. I think I know what it is. Would you like me to tell you why I think that you are on the street?”

“Do I have any choice?”

“You do. Say no, and I’ll shut up.”

“Go ahead. I want to see just how wrong this former pig will be.”

“Dido, please. I am not a pig. I was a Police Officer for thirty-two years.”

“Ok, cop it is then.”

John smiled progress was being made.

“Here goes. I think that you are about sixteen years old. You have not had a chance to grow up like a normal child. The way you held the knife and fork is much like a child aged about 7 or 8 would do. Then,”
John swallowed before adding,
“While you give the appearance of being a female, you were born male.”

Dido sat motionless. She began to cry. It was as if the wall that she had carefully built around herself had just been blown sky-high.

“How? How did you know?”

“That is for later, Dido. Your reaction tells me that I was right.”

“So? What is it to you… cop!”

“Dido, if you would like someone to listen and not be judgmental, then I might be able to help. If not now, but in the future…when you are ready to talk, then I’m ready to listen.”

“What’s in it for you? Apart from laughing about me when you talk to your pals at the golf club?”

John smiled. She must have found the set of clubs that he kept in a cupboard in the apartment.

“I used to have the odd round, but I don’t any more. I found restoring the car that you tried to break into earlier far more satisfying mentally. Most of my former colleagues could win gold medals for boring people to death when talking about golf. That’s why I rarely play these days.”

She looked at him with one eyebrow cocked. It was as if she was saying… ‘pull the other one…’

“I mean it, Dido. There is a reason you are on the streets and not with your family.”

The merest mention of ‘family’ had caused her to visibly shrink. It was as if someone had sucked her dry of what little confidence she had managed to build up.

“I won’t mention the ‘F’ word again. Some bad things have happened to you in the past. That much is clear. I can’t offer you much in the way of help if I don’t know what wrongs have been done to you, but I can offer you a safe place to stay if you want it?”

John dished up a plate of sausages with some more tomato relish on the side. Dido hesitated.

“No strings, Dido. You don’t have to talk now or in the future if you don’t want to. Please eat.”

Again, she raised one eyebrow.

John moved away and went into the house. He hoped that his next move would start the process of getting her to trust him.

When he returned carrying a framed photo, the plate of sausages was empty. John smiled.

“This might interest you,” he said as he put the photo down on the table in front of Dido.

“That is of me and my partner of just over twenty-five years.”

Dido picked up the photo. Her sticky fingers marked the frame. He knew that they’d wash off.

“She is very beautiful, but why are you showing me this?”

“Because Dido, she was like you. She was born male, and because of cancer, she had to have her male parts removed before puberty.”

Dido's grip on the frame tightened.

“Was?”

“Dorothy died two and a half years ago. She went into hospital with a prostrate problem… well, she never recovered. I miss her every day.”

“And you want me to be her?”

“No, Dido. You are very much your own person. One who is trying their best to fight society. Something happened to you that stopped you from experiencing your teenage years. If, at some point in the future, you want to talk about it, then I am here, ready and able to listen.”

Dido sat there for nearly ten minutes looking at the photo. It was clear to John that she was fighting to hold back the tears.

John took out a handkerchief from his pocket.
“If you want to cry, please wipe your eyes on this. You can keep it.”

“Thank you.”

“No, Dido. Thank you.”

“Me? What have I done to need to have your thanks?”

“You have trusted me enough to come to a stranger’s home and eat my food. For that, I want to thank you. It is but the first step in a long road. One day, I have to hope that you will trust me enough for you to tell me what happened to you. Until then, you can come here and use the apartment over the garage. For that, you will need this.”

John put down a key on the table in front of Dido.

“That is the key to the apartment. I’m trusting you with it.”

“You don’t know me from anyone else who lives on the street,” blurted out Dido.

“True. So, prove me right and begin to trust me. Perhaps one day I can help you begin to help you start to sort out your problems?”

John immediately felt foolish for restating the point about trust.

Dido was nowhere to be seen the next morning. Her shopping trolley was gone when John looked out of the window just before 07:00.

It was with some trepidation that he went into the apartment after breakfast. To his huge surprise, he found the place immaculate. Not a thing was out of place. Even the bed had been remade with ‘hospital corners’. That both impressed and worried John. Impressed in that she should have spent the time, but worried because the way it was done indicated that Dido had probably been institutionalised, but he guessed that the only institution that she'd seen the inside of was not of her choosing and certainly not an official one.

John sat on the bed and thought back to a case that he'd investigated almost twenty years before. A young girl of South Asian heritage had been imprisoned by her parents because she had attacked the man to whom she had been promised to in marriage a day after she was born. He was already thirty years old at the time. It was their first meeting, and only a week before, she was due to go to Pakistan to get married. She stabbed him twice with a pair of scissors. The potential snub to the reputation of their family made them hide the girl from the age of ten until she managed to sound the alarm almost six years later. Dido was exhibiting many of the same behaviours as that girl. The worst part of that case was that the girl took her own life before her parents were brought to trial. He did not want that to happen to Dido.

******

Dido did not return to John’s home for nearly two weeks. For a while, John thought about looking for her but decided against it. Nevertheless, he regretted leaving things so open with Dido despite knowing how fragile she was emotionally.

When she did return, Dido had a black eye. John didn't pass judgment or ask how she had come by the injury. He knew that Dido would tell him in her own time.

That time came the next morning.
“I was panhandling outside Mansion House tube when another homeless guy accused me of stealing his jacket. I bought it at East Ham Market a few days before, but he would not budge. Then he hit me right in the eye and angrily tore it off my back. The last I saw of him, he was heading towards Blackfriars Bridge Road.”

John thought for a moment.
“Perhaps you should go back to the market and buy another jacket? This time, mess it up so that it does not appear new.”

“Yeah. You are right. It looked too clean. I wasn’t getting any ‘donations’ anyway.”

“A lesson learned, I guess?”

Dido said nothing for a bit. Then she said,

“Thanks for not tearing me off a strip for failing like that.”

This time, John smiled.
“No need to admonish you, Dido. It was clear to me that you had learned a valuable lesson about fitting in. But why are you panhandling, as you put it?”

“I’m looking for the man who kept me prisoner for more than five years. By appearing to be a homeless person, most people don’t even give you a second glance.”

John’s opinion of Dido had just gone up considerably. He tried desperately not to nod his head. There was no way he could even begin to visualise what sort of hell that had been, so he reverted to some general advice.

“That is a great idea, but just be extra careful. If this man sees you and realises who you are, then your life could be in danger. No one is going to miss another homeless person turning up dead in the river. I am assuming that you have some information that leads you to the city. I don’t want to know unless you want to tell me.”

John’s words startled Dido.

“You make it like you care what happens to me? I’m nothing to you…”

John shook his head.

“I care about you as a person. You deserve to not only get even with the man who abused you but about your future beyond that.”

“Bollocks.”

“Not bollocks, as you put it. Why else did I give you the key to the apartment? I care about you as a person.”

“You just said that.”

“I did, and it is true.”

“Why? Why do you care about me? I’m not worth the trouble.”

“Dido… That is where you are wrong. You have just told me about a terrible wrong that was done to you. It is clear to me that someone robbed you of literally years of your life. Your inability to use a knife and fork and never had any steak before gave me some clues. Then you say that someone kept you prisoner, added to the bits of information you had given me since your first visit. Those clues, when combined, made it easy to say that I care about you. When you trust me enough to tell me all about it, then I’ll be in your corner if you want to get justice for those wrongs. Bringing people who commit crimes to justice is what being a copper for all those years was all about.”

“You would not believe me if I told you what happened to me,” retorted Dido.

“Why not tell me and find out? Remember, I spent a lifetime in the Met Police. A lot of that was clearing up after scumbag criminals left a disaster scene in their wake. People, places and especially families were destroyed by a criminal act or acts and without a second thought to the consequences.”

Dido remained silent.

“If you are not ready, then don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. When you are ready, I’ll be here.”

Dido just answered with a small nod of her head.

“As for your future, I was involved in a case many years ago where the parents of a young girl kept her locked up because she refused to take part in an arranged marriage. She escaped and raised the alarm, but her mental state was so bad that she could not see a future for her, so he committed suicide. I don’t see that in you… yet. At some point, it is highly likely that you will suffer from a period of depression because your search has not gone anywhere. Please come and talk to me. As I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

*****

Dido came to John in late August and said,
“I’m ready to speak.”

John just nodded his head and directed Dido to go into the garage, where he had set up a video recorder and some lights. Dido sat in a single chair and waited. She nervously fiddled with the cuff on her sweatshirt.

“Just let me introduce the recording with the date, time and place,” said John.
“After that, it is over to you. Speak until you have nothing more to say today. I will not interrupt you. When you are done, just say, ‘I’m done for now’. Do you understand?”

Dido looked scared but nodded her head. John started the recorder and made sure that it was focused on her.

“This is the first video statement of Dido. No surname was given. It is taking place at the home of retired Chief Superintendent John Proudfoot, on the twenty-sixth of August, 2012 at 13:45.”

“Hello…” said Dido.

“Dido is not my given name. I was born Thomas Charles Day. We lived in Southend on Sea. When I was eight, something happened, and suddenly, I found myself a prisoner of a man called Martin Schneider. He kept me locked up in a cupboard for what seemed like days. I knew that it was Schneider because he came to my house a few times and spent hours deep in conversation with my father. I went to sleep one night only to wake up in terrible pain and found that my hands were handcuffed to a bed. A medic told me that the pain was down to my male parts being surgically removed. I remember being told that from now on, I was a girl and like all girls, I had to sit down to pee. They’d done something to my throat. It was so sore, and I could not speak. I cried for days. I did not know why my parents left me or who could have been so cruel to… to do that to me.”

Dido started to cry. John felt rotten. Rotten because he had encouraged Dido to speak. He had no idea that her secret was anything remotely like this.
John kept the recording going while Dido wiped her eyes with the now grubby handkerchief that he’d given her and recovered her composure.

“Every day, someone would feed me what was like baby food, and I would get injected with something. I was only released from the cuffs after what seemed an eternity, but at least I was not in pain any more. This woman with a foreign accent gave me a dress. She said, ‘This is how you will dress from now on’. Then she gave me boots with small heels that were locked on my feet. I wore them all day and night for what seemed like weeks. I was told to walk up and down in my room. It was very small. Just three steps up and three steps back. Every day, this woman would come into my room and give me an injection in my bum. I counted the days, and every ten days, she would change the boots to ones with higher heels. She would show me how to apply makeup, which made me look a lot older. If I failed, I would get no food and double injections. They made me very sick, so I didn’t refuse her instructions after that.”

Dido buried her head in her hands. After a few minutes, she continued.

“I have no idea how long I was held there, but one day, a strange man came into my room and took out his thing. Suck me off, he said. I had no idea what he meant. Then he forced me to allow him to put his thing into my mouth. He told me what to do. Eventually, something came out of his thing, and I was made to swallow it. It tasted salty, and I almost choked that first time.”

John desperately wanted to give Dido a big hug.

“The man came back every day until I obeyed him and sucked him off. If I resisted, he would just stick his huge thing down my throat and pee. I nearly choked more than once.”

Dido fought back the tears.

“Then another man came and put some slimy liquid up my bum. I had to go to the toilet right away. When I was done, he made me sit on his thing until he went inside me. It hurt.”

This time, she cried. When she had recovered, she continued. All the time, the video recorder was going.

“I went to sleep one night, and when I woke up, I was somewhere else. The room I was in had all these bars on the door, and on the other side were two men. They told me that this was my home and, that I was to look beautiful every day, and that I was to entertain them and their guests. If I failed to satisfy them, I would not get anything to eat for three days and double injections.”

“The older man would let me out of what I now know as a cell every three or four days so that I could have a shower. I was told to grow my hair long and always wear makeup. Failure to dress prettily or be made up would result in a punishment. That was at least three days without food. He… the older man, made it clear that if I repeatedly failed to perform, then I would be replaced. When he said that, he drew his hand across his throat. There are hundreds more like you just waiting to fill your lovely high-heeled boots.”

After those words, Dido moved out of the camera shot and cowered in the corner of the garage. John switched off the recorder before going and putting his arms around Dido. At first, she froze at his touch, but slowly, she relaxed. He sat with her for more than an hour while Dido slowly recovered from her ordeal. Dido was showing all the classic symptoms of PTSD and probably worse.

John said nothing but held her tight. Words had failed him. He had known that something had robbed Dido of her adolescence, but even in his wildest dreams, could he have ever imagined that it was as bad as what he’d just heard?

Daylight was fading fast before either of them spoke. It was Dido who broke the silence.

“Thank you, John.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“Holding me was all that I wanted. You make me feel safe. Thank you.”

John could not answer that. Even trying to imagine what mental and physical torture she had brought to the surface in her statement was an impossible task.

What made it worse was that her words to the camera made it clear that today was just the tip of the iceberg. John knew that there would be many more days like this before either of them could begin to move on with their lives.

John watched the video that evening and made a transcript of Dido’s exact words. He had to grit his teeth several times just to get the job done. He did not sleep at all well that night. All he could think about was giving the people responsible for hurting Dido a good kicking in their male parts before cutting them off without the benefit of anaesthetic and then making them eat their penis… raw. After a few hours, he calmed down.

The idea of helping Dido get justice began to form in his mind. His problem was that he’d never worked on a case even remotely like Dido’s in all his years in the Met Police. Getting to a point where Dido was even in some small way able to get some closure for all the hurt that had been piled on her over the years would not be an easy job. The people responsible for mutilating her and then sexually abusing her for years deserved redress for what they had done. If he could help that happen in some small way, then he’d do it.