Chapter - Parent meeting (part two of two)

	Chapter - Parent meeting (part two of two)
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"If there are no questions, I will go on with what happened after John got home from his overnight stay at the hospital." Constable Robertson continued crisply and professionally. "First, Fred and John were followed as they went to Fred's after John's shift at the store. A poorly concealed microphone was found outside Fred's bedroom window the next morning.

"Then a second microphone was planted on John's bedroom windows a few days later. We think these microphones were used to check whether John knew what had happened to him that night. It's clear he didn't, and the boys remember saying so in hearing of the microphones, so the listeners got the information they wanted. They can relax. The boys are no danger to them.

"The reason the boys called me last night was to let me know about the microphones. They also gave me a computer file and printout that indicate John's boss may be involved in bugging someone. Mr. Rideway, you'll be interested to know that the files are transcripts of IRC sessions.

"Did the kids record the sessions themselves?"

"No."

"Hmmf. You need to tap his phone and put specialized sniffer software on to separate out IRC connections and e-mail connections and such."

"Well, if you like, we could talk later about that specialized software."

"Probably doesn't exist, unless Scotland yard has it?"

"I will ask. Anyway, the police will proceed to use this information in the ongoing investigation of John's mugging and whatever illegal activities it may have been intended to cover up."

"Any questions?"

Mr. Ellsley frowned, glanced around at all the other parents not asking questions and asked, "Excuse me, didn't you already know about the microphones?"

"Yes," Constable Robertson replied without hesitation. "I have highlighted the boy's role in this investigation, rather than mine or the police's. All the information they provided is useful, but we did know some of it before they called, including knowing about the microphone at John's house.

"OK," said Mr. Rideway, expectantly.

"Are there any more questions about the investigation and the boy's role?"

"You mean that's it?", asked Mr. Rideway.

"That's all I have to say, unless you have questions." Constable Robertson responded.

"Well, what else have you found out? Fred said there were skinheads involved, didn't he?" Mr. Rideway looked at his wife, who nodded worriedly.

"Well, have you caught the skinheads yet?"

"Well, we've been following up on the leads we have so far, and we are making progress."

"Well, how many skinhead punks can there be around here? Why don't you round them all up and question them until the guilty ones confess?"

"Mr. Rideway, thank you for your suggestion. There are times when a small group of suspects can be arrested as a group and questioned. That's a decision the sergeant will make, though."

Fred stared at Constable Robertson. He'd delivered that outrageously diplomatic statement without looking either guilty or condescending.

Fred's mom nodded and slipped her hand around her husband's arm. Then she asked, "If all those skinheads are still loose, how are you going to protect my son?"

"Yeah, and my son, too." Mrs. Simpson chimed in and clutched her son's arm.

"Yeah, and my grandson." Mrs. Sternson seemed to be following Mrs. Simpson's lead, or maybe her daughter's, but she kept knitting as she looked around the room. Fred wondered how she could knit without looking. She must have a lot of practice.

Mrs. Ellsley firmly put down her tea cup on her saucer and said, "Mrs. Rideway has brought up an excellent point. Despite your protestations, I am not reassured that the people who did this are satisfied. How do we prevent a repeat of John's mugging? What can you, and we, do about it?"

All four women were looking at Constable Robertson expectantly. It was like being in the glare of searchlights. Then Mrs. Sternson winked. Constable Robertson cleared his throat and began to speak as they had planned. "OK. Let's talk about the boy's safety. What dangers do you expect? Let's list them and then I can respond to them once we have a list."

"Well," said Mrs. Sternson, "You scanned the house inside before the meeting. What if someone followed one of us here and is adding a bug right now?"

Mrs. Ellsley and Mr. and Mrs. Rideway looked alarmed at this. Mrs. Simpson also managed to look alarmed, but she was a bit slow.

"Right." said Constable Robertson, writing in his book. "Good point. I'll write that down. Next?"

"But, but, shouldn't you do something about that possibility? Scan again or something?" asked Mrs. Ellsley anxiously.

"It's already taken care of. And I said I will address each point after we have a complete list. What other dangers can you think of?"

"Skinheads." Fred's dad chipped in.

"Skinheads." responded Constable Robertson. "What about skinheads? What is the danger that you see from skinheads?"

"Well," said Fred's mom. "There are thousands of skinheads. Any of them could do anything to our boys. You know. It's obvious. Skinheads."

"Would it be fair to say that there are specific things you're afraid that the skinheads might do?"

"They could catch Fred and beat him up or kill him."

Fred's mom pressed her lips into a line and she held tightly to her husband, but her lower lip still trembled a little.

"OK," Constable Robertson scribbled in his book and looked up expectantly.

"And they could come to our home again. That would scare my wife."

Fred's mom opened her eyes wide at the thought.

"OK, anything else?" Constable Robertson looked briefly at each parent, and each one shook their head.

"OK. Here's the list of dangers:"

"First: Someone could have brought a bug here tonight and be listening right this minute."

Constable Robertson looked up. Mr. and Mrs. Rideway and Mrs. Ellsley looked around the room and shifted uneasily. The others just waited.

"Second: Skinheads could catch the boys and beat them up or kill them."

"Third: Skinheads could come and watch your homes. Have I got that right?"

Mr. Rideway nodded.

"OK. Let's clear up the first one." Constable Robertson reached into his bag and pulled out a walkie-talkie.

"Hello. Robertson here. Over."

"Johnson here. Over."

"What have you seen. Over."

"No news. Your guests arrived. I just talked to Smith. No one else approached the house, front or rear. The radio frequencies in question are empty. Over."

"Thanks. That's all. Over and out." Constable Robertson put away the walkie-talkie.

"OK. Does that take care of the first question?"

"Yeah." Fred's dad sounded irritated. "You could have told us, though."

"Yes, but I wanted to focus on creating a list, not on one issue."

"OK, what about the skinheads?"

"First, in this city there are only about 800 people who:
a) shave their heads, and
b) use the skinhead clothing style and life style.

"Second, most of them are using this style as a protest against the establishment - just like blue jeans and long hair in the 60's. Some people in the 60's thought all kids with blue jeans and long hair were a threat to society, right? And they were wrong about most of them, right? Well, take my word for it, most of the skinheads are harmless. They aren't violent, they don't hate everybody, they aren't racist neo-Nazi thugs. They don't deal in drugs. They have jobs or they go to school.

"There are about 30 that are violent - and we have contacts in the community to help us keep track of who they are. There are only 5 of those in Paul's gang, plus a couple that are friends with one of them. We know who they are. We know where they live. We have wiretaps on phones, and we will ask for another one on the computer line at the store where Paul works. The people monitoring those lines understand the slang, the shorthand words they use. We are listening for talk of any kind of violence.

"Now, I don't want you to talk to anyone else about this. And I don't want you to talk about it on the phone between you. We don't want word of this to getting back to Paul."

"OK, that's fair." Fred's dad seemed to be dazzled by police efficiency. Fred's mom nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Rideway. Are there any other comments?"

"Oh, drat."

"What's the matter, Mrs. Sternson?"

Mrs. Sternson was frowning at her knitting. "I just knitted 138 rows, and I only needed 84. I'll have to take out all those extra rows. Double drat!"

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