[The following February]

The steady stream of punters leaving the club signified that closing time was near. The flow soon dwindled to a few stragglers. The two doormen looked at their watches anxiously. It was well past 02:00 when the last customer left the club and climbed into a waiting taxi. For the doormen, their work for the night was done and dusted. They went inside and locked the door behind them.

Inside the club, the bar staff had nearly completed clearing away and washing up the glasses. Even the manager pitched in to help and was sweeping the floor. So far, it had just been a normal Thursday night in Camden, North London.

The manager finished sweeping up the bar area and headed towards the toilets. This was the one part of his job that he hated. There was no telling what he'd find in them. It would be a normal night if he found at least a few syringes and some used drug wrappers. No matter what the club tried, it was almost impossible to keep hard drugs out of the club.

The manager, a naturalised immigrant from Greece named Georgios Papandreou, took a deep breath before entering the men's toilet. He knew from past experiences that it could smell too high heaven and have urine, condoms, needles and sometimes much worse scattered all over the floor or even, on the odd occasion, up the walls.

On this particular night, the smell wasn’t that bad. What was bad, though, was the sight of a woman lying on the sodden floor with her dress up around her neck. He looked closer, and it was clear that this wasn’t a genetic woman but someone who had been born a man. This meant trouble for him and the club, but he did the right thing and checked for a pulse. There was one, so he left the toilet and called the emergency services.

Then he went in search of the two doormen. He was in luck. They were about to leave for their homes.

“Sorry, guys, you had better stay put. There is a tranny in the Men’s Loo. She’s been sodomised with a beer bottle. I’ve called the cops and ambulance.”
He used words they’d understand rather than the correct description of the victim.

The two men's faces went white.

“Sorry, Boss, we had no idea.”

“I’m not blaming you. From what I saw, she was more than passable unless you want to start doing DNA tests on the door, which we are not. As I said, I’ve called the Police and Ambulance, and because this place will become a crime scene, they will need a statement from all of us.”

No one said anything.
“Dave, can you retrieve the CCTV disk and make at least three copies of it? We’ll need to give the original to the law, but we’ll need one for our solicitors in case we get sued by the victim.”

“Sure, thing, Boss.”

“Oh, Dave, I don’t want any images deleted, especially those of people arriving and leaving. She’s quite a looker and would not have made me stop her if I were on the door; besides, you were not the scumbags that raped and sodomised her. Those are the people the cops will be after.”

“Gotcha, Boss.”

Then George addressed the other man.
“Terry, I think a strong cuppa for all of us might be a good idea. I get the feeling that it is going to be a long night. It might be good to keep it coming; once the law arrives, okay? We do not want to be in their bad books as our license is up for renewal next month.”

He smiled.
“You must have read my mind, George. I’ll keep them supplied.”

“Send the paramedics to the gents. Please try to keep the cops away until they have done their thing. If there is a photographer with them, let them through, but her medical treatment comes first, understand?”

Both the doormen smiled and nodded at their boss. He was doing everything he could to make this incident as routine as possible, even if it was anything but.

George went back to the toilet and covered her nether regions with a towel. The fewer people who knew what she’d been hiding, the better. Then he sat holding the woman’s hand until the paramedics arrived and shooed him away.

---

George’s prediction about a long night proved to be correct. The sun had risen at least an hour before the Police finally let the three men leave the club. George had drafted in his assistant to look after the place while the Police finished their investigations. The SOCO team would be there for another few hours.

George didn't go home; instead, he headed for University College Hospital. That was where the victim had been taken almost five hours earlier. He hoped that he could be back at the club before the SOCO team left, so he could clean the toilets and lock up.

The people at the hospital were very reluctant to provide any information other than to say that the victim had been admitted. At least he got them to tell him which ward the young woman was about to be admitted to.

On his way back to the club, he called a friend of his. He hoped that they’d know what to do.

“Long time no speak, girl,” he said when the phone was answered.

“Sorry, girl, this is not a social call. Someone like you was sodomised in my club last night and…?”

“Yes, Dido, I do mean just like you down below. It was a bit of a shock, I can tell you. For a moment, I thought that it was you. If it had been, I think I might have keeled over on the spot.”

“She is in UCH, but I don’t have a name or anything.”

"Passable? You bet. She'd outdo 99% of the real females we get in on a weekday night.
We might get some hotter chicks on a Friday or Saturday, but not every week, she’s that good. Her legs are long and thin, if you know what I mean. Her face was messed up with the beating that they gave her, but I’d say that… and sorry girl, she would be more passable than the old you.”

Thankfully, Dido took that on the chin. George was describing the victim and using Dido as a common reference.

“I’ll get the name of the detective leading the investigation and text it to you as well as the ward if I can. They don’t like giving that sort of stuff to strangers.”

“Thanks, Dido. I owe you one.”

He hung up and sighed. When his parents had sent him to England to ‘get educated in the ways of the world’, almost the first person he’d met at his primary school was Thomas Day. They'd bonded almost immediately because they were the school outcasts. He was a boy, but one who was very effeminate and a loner, and he, the son of a Greek shipping magnate who could barely speak English, was staying with an aunt after his parents' messy divorce. They had made an odd couple, but together their friendship blossomed even if they were only seven years old.

For eighteen months, they were best friends, but more than that, they’d become a team. It was them against the world.

Then one day, George's friend just wasn't there. His parents had done a flit from their home, but to a nine-year-old, it was all his fault even if it wasn't.

George didn’t find his friend until many years later, when on a visit to the London Dungeon with his uncle and aunt, a dirty, smelly homeless girl had called him by name. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin. They’d dragged him away in disgust. The wretch bore no resemblance to the boy he’d been friends with. The fact that she’d used the nickname that he’d given him when they became friends all those years ago had made him bunk off school the next day and take the train from Southend to Fenchurch St and go in search of her.

He'd found her panhandling outside Tower Hill Tube Station. They’d crossed over Tower Bridge and walked along the river path to Bermondsey while they talked. George had been sick in the river when she had told him what had been done to her after her parents had more or less sold her to a child trafficking ring and then to a paedophile. Despite her frankly appalling smell, he'd hugged her. They'd shared a fish and chip meal before George had to return home. After that, he'd helped her in any way he could. It wasn't a lot or that often, but for Dido, it was good to know that she was not alone.

Two months later, she met John Proudfoot. John didn’t know much about George until now. It might be difficult to keep John from knowing about George after this. Dido had tried to keep parts of her life compartmented, but as time passed, this was proving to be more and more difficult.

Their friendship was as strong now as it had ever been; despite moving in different circles, they would find time to meet at least once a month since she’d returned to education. George was proud of how Dido was growing up before his eyes. When she passed her A-levels, George treated her to a meal at a top London restaurant. Dido had to get dolled up to the nines for the occasion. His heart went all fluttery when she walked into the dining area. Men all over ogled her and more than likely paid for it later. George was so proud of Dido. Then this had happened.

Seeing the victim lying on the floor with nothing to hide had made him call Dido. The poor sod who was in the hospital needed her help more than anything. She needed to know that she was not alone, as did Dido when she told him about what had been done to her when she was taken from him.

George had known even from their time together in Southend that Thomas had fancied women, and Dido was just the same. That was what had made their friendship last across the years that they were apart.

George went to bed satisfied that he’d done all he could for the time being, but he made a mental note to speak to Dido on a more regular basis. Now, with this new victim, things had gotten more complicated.

---

Dido had taken George's call while she was on her way to the University. For a moment, she debated cutting classes and heading to UCH. After thinking about it for three stops on her bus, she decided to go to the hospital after her last tutorial of the day, which finished at 14:30.

Before she went into her first lecture, she called her friend John Proudfoot. She needed his help just in case the men came back to finish the job.

“John, can you call in a few favours and find out the name of a young woman who was taken to UCH early this morning?”

“My friend from Southend, George, you don’t know about him, but that’s for later, found her on the floor of the men’s loo at the club that he manages. She’d been bum fucked with a bottle and generally beaten up. His words were ‘someone like me’. You know what that means…”

“I know. We always knew that I was not the first nor the last, but… She needs some help… if she will accept it, that is.”

“Yes, I know I rejected your help at first, but that was then. Things are different now, aren’t they?”

“Thanks, John. Send me a text with the details as I’m in lectures all morning and tutorials until half-two.”

---

Dido’s mind was very much ‘somewhere else entirely’ that whole day. Her friend Trish noticed it after the first lecture. Dido would normally ask several questions at the end of the presentation on forensic techniques that had been discredited by new advances in science.

“Ok, girl, what is on your mind?” asked Trish as they walked to their next lecture.

It took Dido a few moments to get her mind into the right gear to answer.

“Sorry, Trish. I got some bad news on my way here. A friend of a friend was rushed to UCH early this morning. She was raped and badly beaten up, last night.”

“Then you should go to her…!”

“I will after lunch. I know that doctors and the like work on their patients in the morning.”

Trish reached and took hold of Dido’s hand. For an instant, Dido wanted to pull away, but decided that this was a gesture of friendship rather than anything else.

“You have a good heart for a ‘tea leaf’!”

“How many times do I need to say that I’m not a ‘tea leaf’ as you so bluntly put it? At least not now.”

“I know that. I can see that I was wrong about you, but there is so much that you are keeping to yourself that it is eating you up from the inside out.”

Dido didn’t answer but smiled at her friend.

The first time she'd called Trish, a 'friend' had stuck in her throat for well over a week. Being friends with someone who was not only a student but a serving Police officer was a new experience for her. After a few sleepless nights, she gave in and called Trish her friend. But there was a lot of her life that was off-limits to her friend. Apart from the man she hated and was certain to bring to justice, only John Proudfoot and George knew what she'd gone through as a child. John had been the one person to take the time to work with her after her rescue from the streets and ensure that she was able to function as a human being. His patience was slowly rewarded, and the person Dido was now, a student, was largely down to him.

---

After lunch, Dido left the University campus and walked to the top of Grey’s Inn Road. From there, she could catch a bus to Euston Road and University College Hospital. During her journey, she went over what she was going to say to this new victim of ‘him’ and his evil cabal. She’d never had to tell anyone other than John Proudfoot and George about those years before. John had listened and not passed judgment until she’d told him everything. George had just hugged her and told her that she was a good person. The one thing that John had never done was to lay any of the blame for what had happened to her. Dido hoped that she could now return the favour.

Dido used the information provided by John Proudfoot and found the ward where the victim, Joanne Young, was located. She went into the ward just as afternoon visiting hours started.

“Hello?” she said as she poked her head around the corner of the cubicle where Joanne’s bed was located.

“Go away. I’m done answering questions,” came a distinctly grumpy reply.

“I’m not here to ask questions. I’m here to help.”

“Bollocks.”
Joanne turned over in bed so that she was facing away from where Dido was standing.

“Joanne, I know what you have gone through. It happened to me as well.”

“So? Plenty of women get raped.”

“No, not last night, but before. You are not alone.”

Dido didn't wait for a reply. Instead, she went and sat down right beside Joanne. She fished a photo out of her bag and shoved it in front of her eyes.

“Look at this. Tell me if you know this man?”

Reluctantly, Joanne opened her eyes. She let out a little scream when she saw the image.

“It is all right. This bastard is not here. I was abused by him just like you.”

“How…. How did you find me?”

“The manager of the club that you went to last night is an old friend of mine. He gave me the heads up about you and where you were taken when he saw what had been done to you by the people who sold you to him. He and I go back to before I was… was taken.”

Joanne sank back into the bed.

Dido took the chance and gently placed her hand on hers.

“How long are you going to be in here?”

“They said until tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Then I can bring you some clothes for when you get discharged.”

“I have my own…”

Dido shook her head.
“If I know anything about the cops, then your outfit from last night will have been seized as evidence.”

“Thank you.”

“Joanne, I know that you have had it tough in the past, but now that you have found me, I hope that you can see that there is light at the end of the tunnel. It won’t be easy, especially after last night, but you are not alone now.”

“You have no idea what I went through!” said Joanne with a few words of defiance in her voice.

Dido leaned over and whispered into her ear for nearly a minute. In the end, Joanne was not only crying but gripping Dido's hand like a vice would grip a piece of metal.

Dido hugged her and sat down to wait for Joanne to stop sobbing.

“I know that it is hard. It was for me until I came to understand that what I did with my life was now in my own hands. Since then, I have taken control and I have dedicated my life to getting even.”

“I never knew…”

“Neither did I until this morning, but my friend George recognised what had been done to you when he found you. George was my best friend from before I was taken.”

Joanne noticeably stiffened up. This time, she understood what Dido had said.

“Don’t worry, Joanne, George is not going to post photos on social media. He is one of the good guys. I know that you probably hate all men right now, but there are some good men out there. I trust two. George, the manager of the club, is one. The other is John Proudfoot. He is a former Chief Superintendent of the Met Police. Without his gentle guidance, I would have topped myself years ago. Instead, I have a purpose in my life. If you want some help, then John and I are here for you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t rush. You need to heal first. Physically, I mean. Mentally will take a lot of time, and you have plenty of that. John can arrange counselling with a woman. She has helped me no end.”

Dido decided to change tack.
“Do you have a phone?”

She shook her head.
“The cops said that there was nothing of mine left behind after they’d… they’d done with me. The scumbags stole it plus my phone, purse and even the keys to my flat, or at least I seem to remember leaving home to get a takeaway with them.”

“Bastards. Ok, can you write down your address on this?” asked Dido as she pulled out her college notepad and gave it to Joanne.

“I think so.”

Joanne's hands were pretty unsteady, but they wrote down an address.

“Thanks. I’ll see if I can get you some of your clothes for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, but how will you get in? My keys were in my purse?”

Dido smiled and tapped the side of her nose.
“I’ll manage.”

Dido stood up and picked up her bag.

“Wait!” said Joanne.

“Who are you? You never said?”

Dido smiled.
“Sorry. My name is Dido. Dido Pleasance.”

“Thank you, Dido.”
She gave Dido a small smile and a slight nod of the head.

Dido left her to rest, feeling pleased with her visit.

---

Dido's happy feeling didn't last. When she arrived at Joanne's flat, she found the door was open. With some trepidation, she stood outside and eased the door open with the back of her hand.

The flat was empty. Empty as in stripped bare. No furniture, no nothing. For an instant, she wondered if she had come to the right place. Then she remembered the mailbox out in the hall. There was one letter addressed to Joanne. That confirmed that she was in the right place.

Now that it was clear, Dido walked slowly inside. She found that even the kitchen cupboards had been stripped bare and … Her heart sank. Someone had decided to erase Joanne from society. The smell of some bleach-based cleaner was everywhere. She bent down and used her breath to fog up the surface of the kitchen table. There were no fingerprints. There were none in the bathroom. Nor were there any hairs in the bath plughole. The smell of bleach and what she would come to find out later was a chemical used to clean up crime scenes, was almost overpowering.

She checked the Bedroom and it was just as spotless. Someone who knew how to sanitise a crime scene had been hard at work.

Then she panicked. What if?

Dido pulled out her phone and called John Proudfoot.

“Hi, John.”

“I did visit her. She identified ‘him’. George was right.”

“No. She’s getting out tomorrow. That’s not why I called.”

“I’m at her flat in Dalston. It has been cleaned.”

“No, I mean emptied of everything and every trace of her has gone. The smell of Bleach and some other cleaners is everywhere. Nothing is left in the flat. No furniture, no carpet, nothing. This is a crime scene level of clean if you know what I mean.”

“I agree. I think that someone who has influence got panicky. I think she might be in danger if they find out that she survived.”

“That’s what I thought. Can you do it discreetly? It is pretty obvious that these thugs have money and an organisation behind them if they could get this place cleared in such a short time.”

“No. Not right away. I’m going to do a bit of digging. Someone must have seen the crew who worked to clear the place in record time.”

Dido chuckled.
“No, I have not gone over to the dark side. It is just some of what I’ve learned on my course rubbing off on me, combined with your excellent tuition naturally... What are the words… Oh yes, ‘follow the evidence’…”

“Please let me know what you can arrange.”

“Thanks, John. I’ll call you later.”

Dido hung up the call and took a lot of photos before leaving Joanna’s now former flat.

---

It didn’t take her long to find a neighbour who was busy putting out a rubbish bin.

They told Dido that they had seen some workmen plus a skip arrive just before 08:00 that morning. The neighbour didn’t think much about it. A bunch of workmen clearing houses was not that unusual for the area. Dido could see why. At least three houses in the street had workmen present with the inevitable yellow or orange builders’ skip outside the house that was being worked on.

The neighbour also stated that they'd left just before 3:00 pm and that the skip was collected less than half an hour before Dido arrived. He knew that because his wife was able to park his car in the very place that had been occupied by the skip when she returned from collecting their children from school. The neighbour said that there was a company name on the skip that had been used to remove her belongings, but could not tell her what it was.

Dido walked back to Dalston Junction Overground Station with just one thing on her mind. Had ‘he’ done this? If it wasn’t him, then whoever had done this had money and influence. Either way, this did not bode well for Joanna and her future.

---

Dido was very subdued when she got to her flat near the Surrey Keys shopping centre. If someone with enough power to have organised the flat clearance at such short notice could do that, what else could they do? Did she still have a bank account? Did she still have an identity? How good was her current identity? Those and a few dozen more questions were on her mind.

Those thoughts and concerns had distracted her so much that she forgot to go to Tesco’s and do her weekly shop. She was almost home before she realised what she’d not done. There was nothing for it but to go back, get something to eat for that evening and do some clothes shopping for Joanna.

---

John Proudfoot called her just before 7:00 pm.
He had good news and bad. He’d twisted the arms of two of his old colleagues from ‘Special Branch’. They were going to stand guard on Joanna until she could be released from the Hospital. While that was good news, John was very worried by the speed at which Joanne’s home had been cleared.

He told her that there had been a rash of similar attacks back in the 1990s in West London. Anyone who crossed the drug gangs had their life erased. He meant totally erased. Banks, HMRC, everything. John's team eventually tracked it down to a bunch of geeks in Stanmore who delighted in declaring people deceased, including fake wills and powers of attorney. Their cohorts went in and cleared their homes and armed with apparently valid death certificates, pocketed their money, pensions and the whole shebang. It had taken them almost a year to pin the crimes back on one particular drug gang. John's opinion was that this crew was a lot more organised and professional. The sheer speed at which they cleared their victim’s home was evidence of that.

That news didn’t help Dido’s mood one bit.

---

Dido was more hopeful than anything when she arrived at the Hospital the next morning. She carried some clothes and some makeup for Joanna, but had mentally prepared herself to find her gone.

To her eternal relief, Joanna was not only still there but was ready to leave once she had some clothes for the street.

While Joanna was getting ready, Dido was getting up the courage to tell her about her home.

Despite all the things that had happened to her during her life, preparing to tell someone that their entire existence had more than likely been erased from society was way outside her comfort zone.

For someone who had been abused like they had, to lose what little she had managed to get together and build a new life was a gut punch and more.

John Proudfoot was waiting for them when they emerged from the Hospital.

“Joanna, this is John. He is, as I said, one of the good guys. He looked after me, and now he’s going to help you move forward.”

“John,” said Joanna in a very uncertain voice.

“Please get in, ladies. Being a former cop can only keep the traffic Gestapo at bay for so long.”

The two women got in the back of his BMW.

“Where are we going?” asked Joanne as John drove through Camden Town.

“To John’s home near Epping,” said Dido.

“Why not my place? I have my things, such as they are, there.”

John looked at Dido via the rear-view mirror. He nodded his head.

“That’s going to be a bit of a problem. I went there yesterday and there was nothing there apart from a council tax demand.”

“What do you mean… nothing there?”

“Your home had been cleared out and surgically cleaned.”

Joanne went white in the face. Dido saw her grip the door handle very tightly.

“Think of this this way,” said Dido.
“My shrink told me that even just seeing things from your old life can trigger PTSD events. When I went to visit the London Zoo, I had one when I saw the steel bars on the door to the male gorilla’s cage. Since then, I have been back, and it is ok. That first time, I didn’t know what happened to me.”

Joanne managed to return a small smile, which didn’t fool Dido for a second. She knew that there was a long and very difficult road ahead for her.

"This is your personal space," said Dido as she showed Joanne the annexe.
“John won’t come in unless you ask him apart from delivering clean bed linen and towels. There is a place to wash and dry your clothes, and even a small kitchen, but beware, John is a brilliant cook. You will be expected to pitch in and help with the washing up, but believe me, it is a small price to pay for some really top-quality meals.”

“But… I only have the clothes I have on me now?”

Dido shook her head.
“I went shopping for you last night. There are several changes of clothes in the drawers and wardrobe. Don’t be afraid to use John’s credit card to help you build up a wardrobe. I regret not doing that when I lived here.”

“How did you get the money?”

“Joanne, I am sorry to say that before I met John, I survived by lifting a few wallets. My bastard father trained me to do it starting when I was five or six years old. It is what I was doing before I met John, and old habits die hard.”

“What do you do now?”

Dido grinned.
“I’ve gone straight if that is what you are asking? Otherwise, I’m a first-year criminology student.”

Joanne shook her head.
“But… you missed so much schooling?”

“We have both missed so much schooling because of him and his pals, but it is not the end of the world. Thanks to John, I went back to school and managed to get some O-levels and three A-levels. Without his gentle persuasion, I know that I’d probably have topped myself a long time ago.”

Dido took hold of Joanne’s hand.
“You are not alone. There are probably more of us out there, and one day, he will be brought to justice. It is my life’s work to make that happen.”

A few tears rolled down Joanne’s cheeks.
“Thank you, Dido.”

“As John said, take your time. Make your future your own. We are here to help in any way we can.”

Dido left Joanne to look around the annexe. She gave John a brief update on what had gone on.

“Thanks, Dido. She is going to take a lot more work on my part, but I’ll take it slowly.”

“Those guys who defiled her in the club need sorting out, but they seem to be so well organised, it hurts.”

“Agreed. I have arranged a meeting with the SIO on her case for the day after tomorrow, which coincides with the first visit from one of Dr. Sue’s colleagues.”

Dr Sue was the counsellor who had helped Dido face up to what had been done to her. That was chicken feed when compared to Joanne. She was off work having a baby, so one of her colleagues was going to be Joanne’s counsellor.

“That was quick work?”

“This is between you and me, but Joanne was not the first victim of a gang rape who had her whole life erased within hours after the rape. The new National Crime Agency are running the show, and the investigation into them has been called Operation Chesil.”

Dido swore under her breath.

“Exactly, my thoughts when I heard about it. It sucks. My first impression was that Joanne was the victim of a gang of Hooray-Henries, but the emptying of her home was premeditated. These guys are organised to the nth degree. We will need a big slice of luck to crack the case,” said John.

His years of experience, although not current, were coming to the fore. Dido had never seen him as worried as he was at that moment.

“Then we need to concentrate on her and not the bastards who deserved to be castrated and made to eat them in public,” said Dido.

John smiled.
“Nice idea.”

“Yeah, I know, it ain’t gonna happen.”

“Dido, you have your studies to think about. Joanne is a long-term project, and the last thing we want to do at the moment is impede the NCA investigations. I’ll make sure that she is shielded as much as possible from their questioning. I may have to pull a few strings, but I will keep her safe. When the time is right, we can go after the bastards. That time is not now, ok? Unless they fall into our laps, Fox is the number one target.”

Dido listened to his statement. She knew him well enough to know that he’d said it from the heart.

Dido, because of her time being held captive, was not a person to physically show affection, especially towards a man, but for once, she put those fears behind her and gave him a big hug.

Dido left John's house after lunch the next day and returned to her home in SE London. Her mood wasn't good, and to make matters worse, she missed getting off the train at Stratford. It was only when the tube train went underground that she noticed what had happened. She cursed to herself that she'd missed her stop. That added half an hour to her journey home. The bad news didn't end there because of the restricted hours allowed for supermarkets to open on Sundays, her store of choice was closed by the time she got there.

One of the local and overpriced convenience stores provided her with a microwavable evening meal, but it wasn't the same as cooking it herself.

That evening, Dido tried to work on an assignment for her forensics class, but her mind was just unable to concentrate on anything but Joanne and the evil people who had defiled her so badly.

Life for her, John and especially Joanne, had gotten a lot more complicated. Her next problem was how she was going to explain the situation to Trish, who would be asking about ‘her friend’.

Dido’s last task of the weekend was to call George and give him an update, but Dido, being Dido, didn’t tell him where Joanna was staying. John had made it clear that the fewer people who knew where she was, the better.