Paedophile Hunters

By Richard W Hardwick

Imagine: a paedophile grooming a twelve-year old girl, then going to have sex with her.

But it's a trap, and instead, he's confronted by Billy, a twenty-five year old cage-fighter who's been to prison three times and was abused in childhood.

Join Billy, his pregnant girlfriend and their fellow hunters, as they come to terms with their own abuse by posing online as children. Discover a community taking matters into their own hands, snaring paedophiles from all walks of life, from so-called family men and loners, to procurers working for rich and powerful paedophile rings.

Richard W Hardwick, acclaimed writer of The Truth About Prison, spent a year with the most notorious and successful paedophile hunting gang in Britain. This is what he found ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781456634650

Book preview

PAEDOPHILE HUNTERS

Richard W Hardwick



Published 2020 by Lapwing Books

Copyright © Richard W Hardwick 2020

The right of Richard W Hardwick to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior permission of the publisher.

All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781456634650

What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt

T Reznor

Ten …

She picked the phone up and something inside him fluttered, then reared.

‘Hey darling. How’s things?’

‘Alright,’ she said, in her sweet voice. ‘How are you?’

‘I feel great, now you’ve answered Melissa.’ And proof was available; his hand was right on it. ‘Do me a favour. Tell me what you’re wearing, so I can picture you.’

‘I’ve got my school uniform on.’

‘Trousers or skirt?’

‘Trousers.’

‘Ah, that’s a shame.’

‘Why?’

It was obvious, wasn’t it? ‘I just think beautiful girls like you should wear skirts,’ Kevin said.

‘It’s cold. Mam said I had to put trousers on.’

‘Yeah. But I bet you don’t always do what your Mam tells you, do you?’

‘No,’ Melissa said. ‘Not always.’

‘And you know what Mam’s are like. Really over-protective.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Send me a picture,’ Kevin said, ‘in your school uniform.’

‘My Mam would kill me. I’m not allowed on Facebook or Instagram until I’m fourteen. I’m only twelve, she’ll go mad.’

‘See. Over-protective. Send me a photograph and delete it from your phone. Then I can see what my beautiful princess looks like, and your nosey Mam won’t find it.’

‘I look a mess. I’ve spilt beans on my jumper.’

Kevin laughed. ‘Put your pyjamas on,’ he said.

‘I’ll have to soon, it’s ten o clock.’

And she was there, in front of him, nervous but curious. ‘Put your pyjamas on and get under your duvet. I bet its nice and warm in there, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s great to have a nice comfy bed. That’s what mine’s like. I love stretching out in it, especially naked.’

She laughed; he loved it. ‘I hope you’re not blushing,’ he said. But she would be, if she could see what he was doing.

‘No.’

‘Doesn’t everybody like being in bed with no clothes on?’

‘I guess so. It’s just weird thinking of other people.’

‘It’s natural though, isn’t it? We weren’t born with clothes on.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Take your phone into bed. I’m already in mine.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yeah, and I’m naked.’

‘Really?’

Really, but on top of his duvet, his hand moving slowly. ‘Get into bed. We can have a secret little chat under the covers.’

‘I can’t. My Mam takes my phone off me when it’s bedtime. She says I’ll be on my phone all night if she doesn’t.’

‘Is she right?’

‘She’s coming up now, I can hear her, I’ve got to go.’

She was climbing onto his bed, wearing a skirt, a very short skirt. ‘I’ll miss you,’ Kevin said. ‘I might be older than you, but it’s boring when you’re not here. And I think about you lots. All good things of course.’

‘What do you mean, good things?’

‘Well, you know.’ Her soft skin leading his fingers upwards. ‘I just like you. I feel comfortable with you. Know what I mean?’

‘I think so.’

Lying on top of him. ‘Sorry, I hope you don’t think that’s weird?’

‘It is a bit.’

Manoeuvring herself into position. ‘I’m not like everyone else,’ Kevin said. ‘Telling kids they can’t do this, they can’t do that. You can do whatever you like with me darling, I promise you.’ Rubbing herself all over him.

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘I’ll phone you tomorrow sweetheart. What time’s good?’

‘After tea, when Mam’s washing up and I’m doing homework.’

‘Right darling. Enjoy your bed. And remember, it’s always better with no clothes on, especially …’

The little bitch hung up on him.



Thirty miles an hour faster than the law advised, past ancient churches and startled pheasants. Billy took corners without slowing down, his knees centimetres from tarmac that would have stripped his legs to the bone. The land in front a few seconds, dipping to his left, in front, dipping to his right, the NorthPennines wind buffeting his face because visors made him feel claustrophobic.

Stanhope; another childhood disaster. Tow Law and Langley Park; the less said the better. Past that man with an owl on his shoulder. Revving impatiently behind horse and cart, then pulling out onto the other side of the road and throttling it to Witton Gilbert, with a middle finger salute to his boss in the Travelers Rest. And then home to Sacriston.

Billy rode slower now, one-handed, through a County Durham mining village like all others. High unemployment and mines long since closed. Red brick and pebble-dash, fighters and grassers. Drugs and alcohol, do-gooders and nosy cunts. Some lads at a bus stop stared as he rode past. Car break-ins and burglaries were on the rise again. That little kid with black hair, Darren someone; aged fifteen and arrested for aggravated burglary. Past the turn-off for Stanley, scouting the place far better than the police could, not that you ever saw them anymore. One-handed; he’d have smoked a cigarette, but he wasn’t an idiot and he couldn’t afford them anyway. It wasn’t easy going straight, surviving on shit wages for long hours, even if it was cash in hand. Down a narrow street of small terraced houses. Billy parked outside his front door and looked five doors down on the other side of the road. No shivering junkie. No smack dealer. Things would change anyway; he’d make sure of it.



Stacey dropped her phone on the couch, looked to her stomach and heard the front door. In came Billy, pushing his motorbike, helmet on and visor up, dead flies shattered around eyes. She rubbed hands over her stomach and felt violated. It wasn’t the messages; it was the phone calls.

Billy leant his motorbike on their living room wall, shut the door and the light faded once more. The curtains were closed, as always. He moved his bike backwards, where it would block entry and exit until he went back out again.

‘How’s your day been?’ he asked.

Stacey nodded, then smiled, combed fingers through purple hair.

‘You’ve been speaking to that nonce again, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what we do.’

‘You’re pregnant.’

She sighed. ‘I’ll stop when this one’s been stung, I promise.’

‘Is it recorded?’

‘Yeah, but we haven’t got enough yet.’

He pulled his helmet off to light brown hair, tennis ball short, threw the helmet on the couch, took his leather gloves off and threw those too. ‘I need a beer,’ he said, then walked towards the kitchen.

‘I need a kiss,’ Stacey said.

Billy stopped, came back and looked into Stacey’s green eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He placed tattooed hands each side of her face and kissed her on the lips, the taste of wind and moorland on his breath. Then his hands moved to her stomach and pressed gently. ‘How’s my little princess?’

‘Getting bigger,’ Stacey said. ‘Seven months next week.’

Billy grinned, but fear showed through his eyes, it always did. He’d saved his life-story until it was too late for Stacey to back out. She didn’t blame him, but she knew much of it anyway; she’d been warned by plenty of people.

‘How’s my big princess?’

‘Tired,’ Stacey said.

He went to the kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge and emptied half of it down his throat. ‘I’ll cook. What do you want?’

‘Beef Wellington with red wine jus.’

Billy laughed. ‘You might have to wait until tomorrow for that.’

‘I’ll run you a bath,’ Stacey said.

A nightly routine since he’d started work two months ago; Billy in the bath, Stacey sat on the toilet.

‘What have you been doing?’ Billy asked her.

‘Pottering. Cleaning. I spoke to my Mam a few times. She reckons I might need crutches.’

Billy scooped bathwater and rubbed his face. ‘What does she know?’ he said. ‘She didn’t even know she was pregnant until she was seven months gone.’

‘So what!’ Having a dig at her Mam because of their closeness; something he’d never had and never would have.’

‘What else have you done?’

‘Struggled with walking and putting socks on. Been to the toilet a thousand times. Messaged twenty paedophiles and spoke to one on the phone.’

‘Just a normal day then?’

Stacey smiled. Billy put his arm on the side of the bath and she wiped soap off him. Such a change from when they’d first met, two years before. Twenty-two and never had a girlfriend. Instinctively recoiling whenever she touched him. Her eyes drifted over his tattoos. The all-seeing eye covering one hand. An owl with flaring eyes on the other. Various symbols on fingers and knuckles; original tattoos from juvenile prison, done with a tattoo gun made with the motor of an electric toothbrush. Mam and Dad and NUFC on his chest. Billy across his shoulders in large letters. Celtic daggers on a honed stomach.

‘You’ve not had a tattoo in the two years we’ve been together,’ Stacey said.

‘They don’t mean anything, except for one. I just liked the needle stabbing me, the idea of covering up my body.’

The Rottweiler on his ribcage, the name Kaiser underneath. He was hard to love, Billy. He wanted her; Stacey knew he did. But he didn’t really know what to do, and every time they seemed to be getting somewhere, he pulled away again. She got her man eventually though, and six months later they moved in together, because Stacey needed to get out of her Mam’s house too. She looked down on him, remembered asking questions. What’s your favourite colour? What’s your favourite film? What did you watch when you were little? She hardly knew anything about him; he never talked about himself. But eventually, he did, when she became pregnant. And people were wrong. He wasn’t the person he used to be; he’d changed. His horns were holding up his halo.

She walked into the kitchen.

‘Bring me a beer,’ Billy shouted.

She took one through, then searched the kitchen for salt and vinegar crisps. There weren’t any, she’d eaten the last three packets that afternoon. She looked for pickled onions, but there weren’t any of those either. And so she filled a glass with ice cubes, tipped one into her mouth, crunched on it and checked her messages.

Melissa, are you still there?

Are you in bed?

Have you got any clothes on? I hope you haven’t. I’m completely naked and I can’t stop thinking about you 😊 xxx

She didn’t click on the messages because Kevin would see she’d read them. She’d wait until the morning or after school. She found her vaporiser in the living room and walked back to the kitchen holding her side. People said she’d be fine, she was skinny. But she didn’t feel fine. Her hips were aching. Her stretch marks were itchy. Her back was painful. A few puffs of strawberry. The woman at the stop-smoking clinic said she couldn’t tell her to use a vaporiser and couldn’t tell her not to, they hadn’t been out long enough. But she’d stopped smoking for four years using one, so it had to be better.

I wish you’d send me a photograph of you, in bed and naked. I would love that so much 😍

And then it came through, after two weeks of messaging. It took five minutes for some, but with others it could be months. Kevin’s erect penis flashed onto Stacey’s phone. Skinny and disgusting. Bulbous at the end. Pointing at the camera. At her.

She sent a message to the group. Nearly there, Kevin has sent me his dick pic. Gary was first to respond, as always. Send it through with your screenshots and any voice recordings. I will in the morning, Stacey wrote. I’ve not opened them yet, I’m supposed to be asleep. We’ll have him in the next few days, I’m sure of it.

That’s my 10 inch cock sweetheart. I hope you love it ❤



Fifteen miles from Stacey and Billy; a council estate in Sunderland. Gary poured his second coffee of the morning, took it through to the living room, turned his computer on and waited. His computer wasn’t the fastest, but it was donated so cost nothing. Short and wiry, with thinning dark brown hair underneath a cheap baseball cap he’d worn since he was fifteen, Gary rolled a cigarette and allowed himself a brief smile, for he knew he had a point to his life. It might have taken until his late-forties, but all those lost years made him more determined, and he was not only saving children, but saving himself in the process, and his marriage.

He filed letters from the Court Liaison Officer and wrote sentencing dates in his diary. He called Newcastle Crown Court, pretending to be from the local newspaper and asking about two paedophiles they’d caught, because he didn’t have time to attend plea hearings. Eventually, his computer turned on. The folder of current cases showed twenty-seven men speaking to six decoys. The tip of an iceberg, for each decoy had hundreds of men following them, the others just hadn’t turned the conversation sexual yet. One folder was dragged into the closed cases: another bittersweet success. Seventeen paedophiles sentenced in nine months, but none of them sentenced to jail, the most recent just yesterday, a lad from South Shields given an eighteen-month community sentence and placed on the Sex Offenders Register for ten years. Now the lad was sentenced, Gary could share his photograph and the information. A message from someone else wanting to join his group. We haven’t the time to take anybody else on, he replied, but we’ll keep you in mind. They could do with somebody else; new apps, new social media and dating sites were appearing weekly. He only started on Facebook because it was easier to catch paedophiles on there; they often had their location listed and you could check photographs and friends, follow links to groups they were in. Gary was stretched to the max, organising evidence and stings, attending sentencing and trials and updating social media. He was in the police station every week, giving memory sticks with evidence and doing statements. He was supporting his team, because all those working with him had been abused themselves, and though the work was therapy, he always helped and advised, and insisted on honesty with their own mental health. Kelly was becoming a liability; Gary could see where that was heading. Michele had two kids and was going through a divorce. Stacey was about to give birth and Billy was only taken on as security. Gary could handle himself, but anything could happen, not just with paedophiles, but members of the public too. Billy had drifted into decoy work and Gary still wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to cope with it. A slug of coffee and a message for his group.

Send your screenshots and telephone calls to me ASAP. Whatever you got. Let’s not lose anything

Kelly had sent a link to a newspaper article. ‘Leave the job to us, police chiefs warn paedophile hunters.’ The usual arguments: vigilante groups would put child abuse investigations at risk; criminal investigations should be conducted carefully, meticulously, by those trained and qualified to do so; cases would be thrown out because of entrapment; decoys were not real children; paedophiles would be forced underground, onto different sites and into the dark web, be harder to monitor and so their risk would increase.

A presence behind. Gary turned to his thirteen-year old son Ryan, just out of bed and with sleep in his eyes. Ryan leaned into his Dad for a half-cuddle. Not bad for a teenager, Gary thought. Definitely better than his relationship with his Dad.

‘What are you doing?’ Ryan asked.

‘You know what I’m doing,’ Gary said.

‘Can I help?’

He cupped his palm on his boy’s warm cheek. ‘We’ve been through this loads of times,’ he said. ‘You have to wait until you’re sixteen.’

A shout from upstairs about brushing teeth. Ryan turned away and Gary turned back to his computer. Seventeen paedophiles sentenced and more lining up for court. Hundreds around the country, caught by other groups. All of Gary’s were talking to real children as well as decoys; he had proof from further police investigations, revealed by the court after his group had stung them. Many had direct access to children in their jobs, their communities and families. The fact they weren’t imprisoned was a constant source of anger. Gary typed information about the lad from South Shields and added the video of their sting. He put them on Facebook and YouTube. Family, friends and colleagues would know he wanted sex with children; that was safeguarding, whatever the media said. As for those ‘trained professionals’, how many of them were they? The increasing threat of terrorism. More paperwork than real work. Twenty thousand less police officers in the past ten years. Those left didn’t tell them to stop. Off-duty officers shook their hands and said thanks. Yes, there were vigilante groups that could fuck things up for everyone, but his group, and plenty others, worked with the law, not instead of it.

Stacey’s dick picture came through with her recorded telephone conversation and messages. She was right, they were almost there. He checked Kevin’s profile, found no mention of his hometown, then messaged Stacey.

We need his intention to have sex. Find out if real children are at risk, if he lives with children or babysits for relatives. Push for his town and street name

It wouldn’t take long, not now he’d sent that picture.

Tell him you’ve got a dentist appointment, you’re going into school late

He saved Stacey’s new evidence in three different places, just in case. The Crown Prosecution Service needed everything, every approach and response, to show the paedophile hadn’t been encouraged and they’d had several reminders of the age of the person they were grooming. He wrote the towns and areas their current paedophiles were from, those actively seeking sex. Travel was time and money and he didn’t have much of either. The local ones weren’t a problem; they could wrap them up anytime. It was those who lived further away. But if he could plan things properly and everyone get their timings right, they could sting four or five, one after the other. The first replies to their latest sting came through. Replies would stretch into their hundreds; there were more than sixty thousand people following them.

As a parent, thank you 👍 you do an amazing job - this is only round the corner from where me and my nine-year old daughter live, we are blind to what is going on so close to our kids 😡

You’d put an animal down if it hurt someone so why not a human? Bring back the death penalty. Scum like that should be put to sleep

Rob a bank and the chances are you will get life in prison. This guy has been let free. What does that tell you?

Gary nodded. Fuck the newspapers and the so-called professionals. If the courts gave out proper sentences, there wouldn’t be as much anger and there wouldn’t be as much offending. The people were on their side and it was time to step up.



Another night of broken sleep. Everything was upside down; when Stacey laid down, her baby woke up, and when she moved, her baby went to sleep. She hobbled downstairs, her back aching, her breasts sore, tiny feet pushing against her ribcage. Billy was on the couch, his phone in front of his face. He’d been up since 3am, watching Mixed Martial Arts from America. He was considering fighting again.

‘The nonces are up bright and early,’ he said.

Stacey made herself a cup of tea and made Billy promise to buy salt and vinegar crisps and pickled onions before he left for work.

‘Wow, you’re a stunner,’ Billy said, reading aloud from his phone.

Stacey looked at him, in t-shirt and shorts as usual. ‘It must be your lovely legs,’ she said. Billy put some stupid voice on. ‘Hey gorgeous. Why don’t you put some more pics up. You haven’t posted any for ages.’ Then another. ‘How’s the prettiest girl on Facebook?’

Stacey laughed. Billy tapped a reply into his phone.

‘Let’s see what I’ve got,’ Stacey said, before reading some of her messages out.

‘What’s happening beauty?’

‘You’ve not been replying to me. Have I done something wrong?’

‘Course you have,’ Billy said. ‘You disgusting nonce.’

‘This one’s Kevin,’ Stacey said. ‘Speak to me, I miss you. I hope you didn’t mind me sending that picture. It’s what happens when I think of you. You make me so horny.’

‘I’ll make him feel pain,’ Billy said. ‘More pain than he’s felt in his entire life.’

Stacey kept the next messages to herself.

I’d love to show you it in real life. I’d love you to suck it x

There was no point winding Billy up. When he got himself into a train of thought, it was difficult for him to get back out of it again, and he was riding to work soon.

I’m going to do things to myself and think about you 😍

And then Kevin rang. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Stacey said. ‘Surely there’s some app that stops people knowing you’re online.’ She checked Kevin’s account instead of answering. He wasn’t a member of any groups, although private groups didn’t show. He had 211 friends, five of them mutual; decoy accounts ran by Billy, Michele and Kelly. He wasn’t approaching them sexually though; he’d focussed on Melissa instead. She found a sister, maybe a sister-in-law, the same surname and living in Cumbria. On her profile was a picture of a young pouting girl, aged around fourteen. It was this woman’s daughter; Stacey was sure of it. She scrolled down the girl’s timeline and found a photograph of her with Kevin. His receding hairline and smug face, his arm around her, pulling her in tight; just another uncle, unless you knew his dirty secret. He probably babysat for her, engineered things so they had time alone. He’d be grooming her, if he wasn’t abusing her already.

She held her phone out and Billy craned his neck.

‘Is that Kevin?’

‘Yeah, with his niece.’

‘Check the way she’s dressed. Fucking hot pants and that top?’

‘She wants to be glamorous.’

‘My little girl won’t be dressing like that,’ Billy said, going back to his phone. ‘That lad from South Shields has been sentenced. No prison as usual.’

Stacey shook her head. ‘There’s never any real deterrent,’ she said.

Billy read some of the comments out.

‘I'm sure he comes in our shop. He's not getting served again if it is.’

‘He does, and if he comes in, he’ll get a hot tandoori stick up his bum, the dirty wrongun.’

Stacey laughed.

‘It won’t happen though, will it?’ Billy said. ‘Everyone’s full of shit.’

‘He’d probably enjoy it,’ Stacey said. She finished her tea, took a few puffs of strawberry, then looked at the profile picture of Kevin’s niece and prayed nothing had happened to her.

Billy stood up and stretched. ‘I’ll go to the shop,’ he said. He put trainers on without socks, pushed his helmet over his head, was manoeuvring his motorbike out the front door when Stacey’s phone rang again.

‘Answer it,’ Billy said. ‘We need to catch the horrible fucker.’



Still in bed, with the stirrings of a morning glory. When Melissa answered, after he’d sent that picture the previous night, Kevin knew he’d chosen the right girl.

‘Hey sexy.’

‘Hi.’

‘Are you getting ready for school?’

‘I’m ready,’ Melissa said. ‘But I’m going in late because I have to go to the dentist.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Kevin said. ‘You’ve got perfect teeth.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Perfect teeth and a perfect mouth.’

‘What? Me?’

‘Yeah.’

Her pictures saved to his laptop, full screen. ‘How long have you got to talk?’

‘I don’t know. My Mam’s getting ready. She takes longer than me.’

‘That’s because you’re gorgeous.’

‘Aw, thank you.’

‘I’d love to kiss you,’ Kevin said. Lifting her skirt and kissing her there. ‘Did you like my picture?’

‘No, I’m only twelve. I’ve never seen one before.’

‘Well I’m sure you’ll see lots more when you get older.’ And she would, a girl of her beauty; but he would be her first, the one to break her in, the one she would always remember.

‘Why don’t you send me a picture of your face,’ Melissa said, ‘so I can see what you look like.’

‘There’s one on my profile picture.’

‘I know, but the quality’s bad, and you’re not looking at the camera.’

‘I’d rather send you another picture of my cock.’

‘But I don’t even know what you look like.’

‘My cock is my friend,’ Kevin said. ‘We play together every day. Boys are like that. We love playing with ourselves. Girls like doing it too, they just don’t talk about it.’

Quiet, while she considered it.

‘I bet there’s a female teacher you like,’ Kevin said.

‘Miss Rawlinson. Art’s the only subject I like.’

‘I bet Miss Rawlinson plays with her pussy every night.’

‘Stop it,’ Melissa said.

‘Do you fancy her?’

‘No.’ Pretending she was horrified but she did, she had a crush on her.

‘Is she married?’

‘She’s engaged.’

‘I bet she loves having sex with her boyfriend.’

‘Why are you telling me this? I’m twelve years old.’

‘Wait until you try it Melissa, you’ll love it. Everyone does it. I bet she sucks his cock every night too.’

‘My Mam would go mad if she knew what you were talking about.’

‘I want you to suck my cock Melissa. Look at that picture I sent you.’

‘I can’t talk and look at pictures at the same time, my phone’s rubbish.’

He persuaded her to go on speaker phone, then took another picture of his cock and sent it to her.

Now she was in the room with him, and her mouth had dropped open. ‘I want you to suck me,’ Kevin said, ‘like Miss Rawlinson does to her boyfriend.’

‘Stop talking like that.’

‘What have you got on under your school uniform?’

‘Underwear. What else would I have on?’

‘Bra and panties?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What colour?’

‘White.’

‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘Pure and innocent, just like you.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ Melissa said. ‘I’m always getting into trouble at school.’

‘I meant innocent when it comes to sex.’

‘Aw right, well yeah.’

‘Will you meet me?’

‘Why?’

‘So we can play sexy games and have fun. You can be Miss Rawlinson and I’ll be her boyfriend. We’ll call it homework.’

‘I’m twelve. Miss Rawlinson