Free Spider's Web by Ben Cheetham

satisfied that I am what I say I am?’
    Jim nodded. He’d already made up his mind that Lance was for real; the phone call just confirmed it. He motioned for him to continue his story.
    ‘Now, where was I?’ Lance took a swallow of his alcohol-laced tea. ‘Ah yes, Dave Ward. We arrested him for soliciting sex in a men’s toilet. Whilst in custody Ward started on about how he was the way he was because he’d been sexually abused. So I was called in to assist from the Sexual Crimes Unit. Ward came from a bad background. He’d spent most of his life in care. From the age of thirteen to sixteen he’d lived at the Hopeland children’s home in Manchester. It was there he claimed the abuse had taken place. I’ll bet you can guess who ran the place?’
    ‘Thomas Villiers.’
    ‘Got it in one. According to Ward, the abuse began with small acts that might have simply been interpreted as friendliness. And it wasn’t initiated by Villiers. There was a live-in caretaker at the home. A man who by all accounts was only a year or three older than the eldest children there.’
    Lance withdrew a sheet of paper from the cardboard file and passed it to Jim. On it was a composite police picture of a man’s face. The man was white with short brown hair, brown eyes and black-rimmed glasses. He had a broad blunt nose and thick lips. His face too was broad, the cheeks smooth and round with puppy fat. He looked little more than a boy himself. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Older paedophiles often used younger accomplices – who many times had been victims of abuse themselves – to entice and ensnare children.
    ‘Supposedly his name was William Keyes,’ said Lance.
    ‘What do you mean “supposedly”?’
    ‘I’ll get to that in a bit. And besides, the children at Hopeland didn’t call Keyes by his name. They called him Spider because he had a spider’s web tattoo on his chest. So that’s what I call him too. Spider started working at Hopeland in October ’87. He had a mixed relationship with the children. Some couldn’t stand him. Others got on well with him. Ward fell into the latter group. He used to go to Spider with his problems. And when they were talking, Spider would put a hand on Ward’s knee or an arm around his shoulder. The touching gradually became more inappropriate, until one day Spider groped Ward’s genitals through his trousers. When Ward pushed him away, Spider claimed it was an accident. Ward didn’t want to get him in trouble, so he didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Spider bought him some clothes as a thank you. A few weeks went by. Then there was another incident. And this wasn’t an accident by any definition of the word. One evening Spider invited Ward to his room to smoke cannabis and watch what turned out to be a pornographic movie. During the movie, he began to fondle Ward. When Ward asked him to stop, Spider pinned him down and forcibly masturbated him. Once again, Ward told no one what had happened. Do you know why?’
    ‘Because Spider threatened him.’
    Lance shook his head. ‘He didn’t need to. Ward was ashamed because he’d ejaculated. He thought the other kids would call him a puff if they found out. Can you believe that?’
    Jim could believe it only too well. He’d encountered similar stories across the whole spectrum of abuse – victims who kept silent through fear of ridicule or not being believed; victims who’d been manipulated into blaming themselves; victims whose shame irrationally led them to believe silence was their best defence against a world that had betrayed them.
    ‘So anyway,’ continued Lance, ‘the next day Spider bought Ward some trainers he wanted. And that was the pattern from then on. The incidents continued and grew more serious, and after each one Spider would buy Ward a present. After a couple of months it must’ve been deemed that Ward was ready for the next step in the…’ His broken-veined nose wrinkled as he sought a