Like This, for Ever

Except the usual load of nonsense. Uh-oh!’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Peter Sweep has just posted.’
    Everyone in the room made their way over to Mizon’s terminal. Dana arrived last, determined not to be seen panicking.
    Oliver Kennedy will not be going home tonight. Oliver Kennedy is going on an awfully big adventure.
    For a moment, no one spoke.
    ‘Could be a wind-up,’ said Anderson.
    Silence, all eyes fixed on the screen.
    ‘He’s never given us a heads up before,’ said Stenning.
    They waited for the comment thread to build. It was slow. The rest of the world seemed as stunned as they were.
    ‘OK, we need a list of Kennedy families in South London,’ said Anderson. ‘Pete, you up to that?’
    Stenning nodded and sat back down at his desk.
    ‘When you have the list, we’re looking for sons aged eight to eleven,’ Anderson went on.
    ‘If he really has taken someone, they’ll be in touch with us before we can track them down,’ said Mizon. ‘People won’t delay reporting a missing ten-year-old at the moment.’
    ‘Not necessarily,’ said Anderson. ‘Kids can be missing for some time before they’re missed, if you get my drift. Quick as you can, Pete. Tom, give him a hand.’
    ‘Sarge, do you want me to get on to Facebook?’ asked Mizon. ‘See if we pin him down?’
    Anderson nodded. ‘Has to be worth a try. Tell ’em it’s urgent this time.’
    ‘How difficult is it to keep an eye on your kids?’ said Dana. ‘What is this Oliver Kennedy doing out on his own? Do his parents not love him?’
    The door opened. ‘Is it true?’ Weaver was in the doorway.
    ‘It’s true our Peter Sweep friend is claiming he has another victim,’ said Richmond. ‘Could still be a sick hoax. To be honest, I’ve been half expecting something like this.’
    ‘No reports of missing children?’ asked Weaver.
    ‘None yet,’ Anderson told him. ‘We’ve started looking for kids called Oliver Kennedy, but there’s going to be a few.’
    A phone rang. Barrett answered it. After a few seconds, he hung up and crossed to the TV in the corner.
    ‘There’s about to be a news bulletin,’ he said. ‘They’re going to interrupt the programming.’
    A collective groan murmured around the room. Weaver walked over to the TV screen. Dana stayed where she was.
    ‘Keep going, Pete,’ said Anderson. ‘We need to find that kid.’
    ‘We interrupt this programme with a news bulletin,’ said the presenter, a dark-haired, blandly handsome man in his forties. ‘A contributor to the social-media site Facebook, who has, in recent days, claimed to be the Twilight Killer, is believed to have abducted his sixth victim. Scotland Yard press office tell us they have received no reports of missing children yet, so we are appealing to the parents of Oliver Kennedy, believed to be between eight and eleven years old, to get in touch with us by contacting the number below.’
    ‘Good God above,’ said Weaver, running a hand over his face.
    ‘They’re interfering directly with the investigation,’ said Richmond. ‘Can they do this?’
    ‘No law to stop them,’ said Dana.
    ‘Joining me in the studio is forensic psychologist Dr Bartholomew Hunt,’ the presenter continued, as the camera angle widened to show the man sitting further along the desk. ‘Dr Hunt, you believe this latest abduction was predictable?’
    ‘Entirely so,’ said Hunt. ‘Twenty-four hours ago, the killer himself warned that he would take another victim. In my opinion, the Metropolitan Police have to explain why the families of London weren’t warned.’
    ‘Switch that crap off,’ said Dana.
    ‘Boss, we need to keep a handle on what’s being said,’ said Anderson.
    ‘I am not having this investigation hijacked by a bunch of moral delinquents who would probably prefer Oliver Kennedy to be found dead by morning because it would increase their viewing figures.
We
are running this investigation and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Unless you have a problem with that, Sir?’
    Weaver looked troubled but he shook his head. Reluctantly, Mizon switched off the TV and returned to her desk.
    ‘Any luck yet, Pete?’ asked Dana.
    Stenning was still hunched over his computer. ‘Working our waythrough the list of Kennedys,’ he said. ‘Found one possibility. Family in Blackheath.’
    ‘Ring them,’ said Dana. ‘Make sure they know where Oliver is. If they can’t see and touch him right this minute, we get local uniform out to them.’
    ‘I’ll