Just an average guy

Do you really know WHO you are speaking to, when you ring a call centre?...........

He sits at his desk, ready. Headset on, adjusted for comfort. Pens on his right side, pad in front of him ready to take notes, his file of hints and tips on the left. He looks at the clock in the corner of the monitor. One minute before he needs to log in. He looks to the screen on the telephone turret. Over 30 calls waiting. He gives the mouse a quick shake to make sure the roller ball is loose inside. The only problem with hot-desking is you can never be sure of the state of the equipment left by the previous user.


Its 6am, time to log in and find out what the weirdo’s of the world want today…

“Good morning, you’re speaking to (someone who doesn’t honestly give a toss) Cameron, how can I help you today?”


And so it begins. Working for a bank in its telephony centre makes you realise that the majority of people out in the world are fairly decent folk, but then you get the idiots, the arrogant ones who think that because you answer a telephone for a living, you are lower than them on the ‘deserving of respect’ ladder. Shame that they cannot be reminded that if they are so clever, then they wouldn’t have needed to phone the bank in the first place…..

By first break, he has answered calls relating to lost bank cards, helped people pick new savings accounts, given advice on everything from loans to credit cards to opening hours of branches.

He has been called stupid, incompetent, a worthless piece of trash. One woman who didn’t understand that if you withdraw money from a cash point that charges you £1.50 for its use, you are actually spending £11.50 not £10 when you pull money out, called him and the bank money grabbing scum after her account went overdrawn….despite patiently explaining what had happened and why she cannot be eligible for a refund of her considerable overdraft charges, and offering further advice on how to help herself, she ended the call by calling him a dick and hoping he would die.

Most people would get upset and angry, or at the very least a little annoyed at those sort of calls.

Instead, he sits there, safe in the knowledge of the power his position affords him. Do these people forget that he has their address details? He has instant access to all their banking?

At lunch, he logs off, destroys all the notes that he had taken during the morning to ensure customer confidentiality, and stands with the rest of the team listening to the team briefing that his manager issues each day. He tries to hide his disinterest in the meeting, by nodding every now and then.

To all outward appearances, he is just another average bloke. Early 30’s, going a little grey, bit overweight, wears smart yet casual clothes. Keeps himself to himself but joins in conversations easily. Friendly, and polite. Someone that is instantly likeable in that ‘will soon forget you’ kind of way. Years of working in customer service had allowed him to become a social chameleon.

Sitting in the break room, he checks his phone. No messages. Nothing unusual there. He access the internet application, and logs onto a web forum for pet owners. Nothing unusual there either, as he does own a cat. The unusual thing, if anyone had been privy to the private message that he read, then deleted, was that it was a mobile telephone number and a time, nothing else. Satisfied, he knew that whatever lunatics he spoke to for the rest of his shift, then he had something to look forward to later that day. A brief cup of coffee, and he returns to his desk.

He finishes for the day. Working part time allows him the time to do other things. Some of his work colleagues had once asked how does he cope on a part-timers wage. He runs a car, a home, and had all the bills that that entails. He doesn’t tell them the truth, but then, because he is known as a joker to some extent, he doubted they would have believed he was serious, even if he had been honest with them Instead, he hinted at a substantial inheritance. Satisfied, his colleagues conversations returned to sport/television/randomness.

If they knew the truth, then what would they think of him? He often wondered that, but only fleetingly.

He pulls out of the car park. Nondescript car for a nondescript person, doing a nondescript job. On the way home, he stops at a public rest stop just off the motorway. Inside one of the cubicles, he removes the panel just behind the toilet U-bend. He checks to see if its still there. Satisfied that everything is as he had left it since last time, he replaces the panel, takes a pee, then flushes. A truck driver nods hello to him as he walks out of the cubicle, and quickly washing his hands, he shakes them dry on the way back to the car.

When he gets home, the cat had played havoc with some discarded newspaper, which is now confetti in the living room. He spends the afternoon doing chores. Dishes. Clothes. Vacuuming. Cat litter tray is cleaned and refilled. The home is not sterile clean, and when friends come around, they never feel uncomfortable.

The text message had stated a time. It was approaching. He picks up his laptop, and drives to a nearby car-park close to a supermarket. The free Wi-Fi access that the restaurant gives its customers extends far enough to allow him free access too.

He rings the number at the given time. As expected, its an automated message. The name of a web forum. A user name and password. A specific phrase and counter phrase.

Logging on as instructed, it’s a few seconds before someone calling themselves ‘Daffy1’ sends a request to chat privately. He recognises the correct phrase in the greeting, and uses the counter phrase in the reply, accepting the chat.

“I was given your details by a friend, someone you worked for before. Are you still free?”

“Depends on the request to be honest, and the recompense. I take it that your friend told you of my criteria?”

“Yes. I think you will accept, the problem meets your criteria, and you can negotiate your own fee. Would you like me to send you the details?”

A few seconds to make the other person think that he is thinking things over. Always good to keep them unsure.

“Send them, I will reply with a decision in one hour on here. Do you accept?”

“I do. I will send you everything now.”

The file arrives. He knows within a few seconds that he will be accepting the job. Picture after picture of bloodied faces, arms and legs in casts, hospital reports of fractures and breaks. Police reports of attending disturbances to find a drunken husband and father, children crying, a wife claiming to have fallen. At some point, someone had decided that enough was enough. The following pages of text give times and locations of where the subject would be at any given point. Bullies are nothing if not habitual.

One hour exactly. In that time, he had popped into the supermarket to buy his tea for later that evening.

“I’ve read the details. I accept the job. When do you need it to happen?”

“As soon as possible, if you are able. I found out today that he is starting on the daughter too now.”

“I do not need to know any details. Did your friend tell you of my payment method?”

“They did, and it will not be a problem. What is the fee?”

“It will be £5000. This is non negotiable. If you accept this, then I will want the funds transferred immediately. This will be the last contact we have. It will happen at a time and location of my choosing. It will look like a mugging or matter of revenge. Do you accept this?”

“I do. The funds are being transferred now. And thank you.”

He checks, and Daffy1 had spoken the truth. £5000 had just been transferred to an account that if it was investigated, would be traced back to a celebrity. From there, it would, over the course of the next few minutes, be broken down to smaller random amounts, deposited and transferred from accounts that ranged from Corporate Business to charity deposit accounts. It would finally be paid into an account that had been specially created by him, in a false name of course. The knowledge he had acquired over the years he had worked for the bank, had shown him how to adapt the allowances of a cash point card, to enable him to withdraw unlimited funds without the card becoming blocked, or raising a red flag in the system for any ‘unusual activity’ on it.

Three hours later, he returned home, after withdrawing the £5000 from cash points dotted all over the area. If anyone ever thought to look into the withdrawals, then the virus he had left in the system would crash and then delete the account. Now all he needed to do, was prepare everything.

He checked his work rota. He had 2 days off due the end of the week. It would be done then. A quick phone call to one of the only people he completely trusted. Transport would be needed that couldn’t be traced to him. An owner of a scrap yard / mechanic workshop is a very helpful person to know. And it had been a mutually beneficial friendship when a blackmailer had tried to close the business down. The blackmailer had ‘disappeared‘, his friends business was saved, and an understanding was forged on a ‘no questions’ basis.

A car that would be suitable for his needs was available. His friend would personally ensure that there would be nothing that the police could find at fault with it.

The next issue would be clothes. He would take care of that after work the next day. A visit to a charity shop, or a jumble sale, or car-boot sale, and you have instantly disposable clothing.

Cameron Walters was nothing special. He hadn’t been in the army. He hadn’t seen horrific sights that had melted his brain. He hadn’t killed squirrels as a child. To everyone that knew him, he was a “good guy”, the kind that would offer to help you out if you needed it. He could be forgetful, but his family forgave him that. He had grown up doing the same things as teenagers do. Getting pissed in house parties. He had smoked drugs, but hadn’t felt the need to experiment further. He had tried smoking, but again, saw no attraction in it. He had been raised to be polite and respectful, and well mannered. Everyone thought so. If he had one personality quirk, it was that he could be insular and introverted. Cameron Walters was both at home in a crowd, laughing and joking, not quite the centre of attention, but part of it, as well as being more than happy to just wander off into his own mind. He could spend hours, or days, not speaking to anyone, lost in his own thoughts, or reading.

He couldn’t remember the exact moment he realised that he was different from the rest though. He had always know right from wrong, he had been brought up to be able to tell the difference. But, at about 17, when he had been drinking in town, he had seen a local ‘face’ drunkenly assault his girlfriend, in the middle of town in the midst of a crowd. He had punched her to the floor, and kicked her in the stomach. The police came, he was taken away, and Cameron expected to read about how he would be put away for assault. Instead, he was shocked to find out that the next day, the guy was back on the streets without a care in the world. When he asked around, he found out that the police had been unable to detain him for anything aside from causing a drunken disturbance as no-one would come forward, and because his girlfriend was scared of him, she wouldn’t say anything against him to the police.

Cameron didn’t know why, but he decided that enough was enough. He was a big guy, had played rugby for the school. He had learnt martial arts to an extent, dabbling in different styles, which would one day come to be called Mixed Martial Arts, but at the time he was just looking to learn the best bits of everything. He learnt about self defence tactics from books and the TV.

One weekend, a few months after he watched the guy assault his girlfriend, he saw him do it again, but this time it was in a quieter part of town. The girl’s friends came to her aid. The guy walked off, laughing as she cowered and cried. Something inside him snapped. He followed the guy at a distance, and saw him wander into a lane that he knew everyone used as a public urinal. He gave it a few seconds, then wandered into the lane himself, acting like he was falling down drunk. The guy looked at him as he walked towards him, and when Cameron asked him in a drunken mumble if he had a cigarette he could buy off him, the guy hadn’t seen him as a threat. With his attention focused on getting his cigarettes out of his pocket, he didn’t see the brick being swung towards his head. The one hit was all it took. Taking his wallet to make it look like a mugging gone wrong, Cameron walked away after double checking to make sure he hadn’t left anything that could incriminate him on the guys body. Making sure to scuff his footprints, he walked to a different part of the lane, and peed into a corner.

He was interviewed by police, as they taken witness statements and cross checked everything. They confirmed using D.N.A. that he had been in the lane, and pissed against a wall, but it was agreed that due to the lane being dark, and Cameron being drunk, he hadn’t seen anything.

Over the next couple of months, rumours spread as to the identity of who had been the mugger. It became well known that his now ex-girlfriend was relieved he was gone, as he had been physically abusing her in worse ways than anyone knew. Other people revealed that he had been violent with them, and that he had been a thug who wouldn’t be missed.

It was when he overheard a couple in a pub a year later saying that whoever had killed the guy, had actually done the town a favour, the turning point for him came.

He sat there, letting that statement settle. He decided that if he put a little more thought into the preparation, and used a little more care, then he could quite literally get away with murder.

Over the next few years, he watched the shows on television that were based on criminal forensics a little more closely than most others did. He read books on criminal profilers, picking up hints and tips from cases that they had solved.

By the time he was in his late 20’s, he had trained harder in martial arts, practised unarmed combat, learnt how to use a wide variety of weapons, he had learnt about tactics, and how to read a situation and use it to his advantage.

None of his friends, or family, knew that Cameron Walters was possibly the biggest serial killer in the United Kingdom. To date, he had killed 37 people. He was able to sleep at night, as the people that he killed were the kind of people that communities wished would disappear….drug dealers, paedophiles, rapists, abusive husbands/fathers who had apologised one too many times and then smashed their partners face into a table yet again.

The police were unaware of any connection between any of the murders, as they were located all across the U.K. and he made sure to cover his tracks well.

He didn’t like the phrases ‘serial killer’ or ‘hit man’, but they were the ones that applied to him. He would accept payment to kill someone, but only if that someone fell into the bracket that would allow him to be able to do the act with a clear conscience. He wouldn’t kill a person if they didn’t meet the criteria……

6am. Time to log on. See what the headset gives him today.

“Good morning, you’re speaking to Cameron, how can I help you?………..”

The End

0 comments about this story Feed