Adrian Magson - No Help For The Dying

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The Church of Flowing Light,’ he replied, taking a deep breath which made him tremble, ‘is a scam. They operate as a charity, dishing out soup to the homeless, shelter for the needy and tracking down missing children. You’ve been to their headquarters; you’ll know the man who runs it is a self-styled pastor called Paul de Haan. He’s clever, articulate, charming and dedicated to helping the homeless.’ The expression on Friedman’s face belied the true meaning of the words.

‘I’ve met him.’

‘His real name is Paulie James Deane and he was born in Fort Worth, Texas, one of six children. His father was a convicted rapist and petty burglar and his mother was a prostitute whenever she could crawl out of her trailer and find herself a fix of smack so she could stand upright. Amazingly, given that background, Deane aspired to a different lifestyle.’

Riley didn’t say anything; she was too stunned — not least by the strength of passion in Friedman’s voice.

‘Deane started out as a petty con-artist, duping old people out of cash in return for worthless medicines and faith treatments. Then he got more ambitious. He’s now wanted in the States on several charges of embezzlement and using criminal means to take money from gullible and desperate people. Three of his so-called churches have been closed down because of tax fraud and alleged money-laundering, and attempts at getting him extradited from the UK have failed because of poor paperwork by the FBI and the skill of de Haan’s lawyers.’ Friedman took a deep draught of his beer and Riley guessed he had been waiting a long time to get this off his chest. It must have been as stressful as it was cathartic.

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Because I’ve spent a long time looking into Deane and his enterprises. Too much time, as it happens. That’s what I was doing when you saw me outside the gates. Over the years, it cost me my job and my marriage.’

‘I’m sorry. What put you on to him?’

He looked down at the table and twisted his hands together. ‘When de Haan told me Nicholas didn’t want to… to come home, I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t, I suppose — it was too much to take in. I told you we were close… and in spite of him running away, it was true. But to suddenly cut us off like that… ‘ He shook his head again.

‘Go on.’

‘We decided to be patient and wait. It seemed the sensible thing at the time, because the Church was talking to him. But every time we rang them they said pretty much the same thing: that it was delicate, that Nicholas was fine but needed some time to come round. He was fairly happy, they said, but it was best to wait.’ He shrugged. ‘They seemed to know what they were doing, so we did as they suggested.’

‘How do you know they actually had him?’

‘I thought of that. I demanded proof that he was in their care or I’d get the police involved. Every now and then they let us have something… a comment or something that could have only come from Nicholas. Something about himself or school or a friend, things like that.’ He toyed with a beer mat, the ghosts of the memories in his face. ‘It was when they told me he’d talked about being gay that I knew for sure. It wasn’t something we’d made public, you see. How else could they have known? It was quite wicked, what they did. It was as if they’d kidnapped him. I think they worked on him, his insecurities and his… fears, until he couldn’t distinguish between what was real or false.’

‘Brainwashing?’

‘No. They’re too clever for that. They don’t want acolytes, or groups of disciples going around preaching their philosophies — they don’t need them. They’re far more interested in money.’

‘And the parents’ undying gratitude,’ Riley added. It confirmed what she’d thought. It was a neat scheme. What parents wouldn’t be grateful to the group responsible for returning a lost son or daughter — and with no hint of a threat or a demand. She wondered if Katie Pyle had always worn her crucifix, or if it had been put in place in the final few minutes. ‘But how do they get them to come in? Most kids these days are too streetwise.’

‘They use Sirens.’

Riley stared at him. ‘Come again?’

‘Sirens. It’s a term taken from Greek mythology. They find a connection to the target — a friend, someone they can work on to draw them in. If they can’t find a close contact they make one — usually a person of the opposite sex. Once the target is drawn in, the Siren’s work is done.’

Nikki’s words about Delphine Wishman being introduced to the Church by a boy she knew came floating back. ‘What happens to the Siren afterwards?’

‘Unless they can use them again, they push them away. It’s not hard; these kids are accustomed to rejection — what’s another along the way? As I said, it’s all about money. Profit. Don’t confuse that with compassion.’

‘What else?’

He shrugged. ‘People in the States said Deane had a reputation for fast living and grandiose schemes. That’s how he ran into trouble; investors in his church schemes discovered there was no payback other than the gratitude of The Lord. They didn’t want to wait that long. When the complaints became public, he shut up shop and moved over here. Since then his priorities have changed. He still likes money but now he’s developed a taste for power and influence, mixing with so-called society. Same game, different style.’

‘And they fall for it.’

‘Evidently. And in the meantime he keeps gathering more new targets and grateful parents.’ It was a frightening thought that if cultivated carefully, de Haan/Deane’s scheme could continue indefinitely, boosted every year by a new intake of relieved and beholden families.

‘But surely there must be some who tell him to get lost?’

‘Of course. If he can, he applies more pressure — especially if there’s anything unsavoury in the background. Don’t forget he has these kids for weeks, talking them round, prying into every deep, dark corner of their minds. Some are bound to come complete with secrets the parents would rather remained hidden.’

‘Child abuse?’

‘Yes. If they can be coerced, he applies subtle pressure. A word here, a hint there. But never anything direct. He’s too smart for that. If they still don’t pay, he cuts his losses. No fee means no return — in the financial sense. Deane is a very practical businessman. He doesn’t need to make enemies.’

‘It makes sense.’ Riley chewed her lip for a while. She’d been putting off the obvious question, but decided it couldn’t wait any longer. ‘But you didn’t get Nicholas back.’

From the expression on Friedman’s face, she almost wished she hadn’t asked. Yet she needed to know the answer, because what had affected him through his son had also struck at the heart of Katie’s family. And others.

‘About six months before Nicholas left,’ Friedman said softly, ‘I and a couple of friends had set up a small company offering legal advice on the Internet. In the beginning, we restricted ourselves to things like family law, contracts, property and dealing with the police, courts and so on. The first signs were good. Better than good. We were a discount shop for people wanting cheap, reliable advice before they ran up big fees with their own solicitors.’ He paused and Riley could feel the awful dread of what was coming. ‘We became victims of our own success. We took on a couple of tax experts, and to justify the extra costs, encouraged them to broaden the field into the corporate market. It seemed a sure-fire winner. We began to advertise, setting up the company headquarters here in London. We had to borrow heavily, but the potential was enormous. Then one of the tax people was asked to advise a small group of offshore companies operating out of Gibraltar. It was simple stuff to begin with; setting up shell corporations, tax planning, building investment funds and so on. Plenty of others were doing it, but we were cheaper. Gradually we all became involved, to share the load.’