Allyn Allyn - Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. Vol. 135, No. 1. Whole No. 821, January 2010

He stood up and rounded his desk, determined not to be put at a disadvantage. “DCI Jordan,” he said with a formal little nod. He waited; let her come to him.

Carol returned the nod. “DI Cassidy. I hear you’re dealing with the abduction in Market Street?”

Cassidy’s lips twisted in an awkward cross between a smile and a sneer. “The case of the stolen Santa? Isn’t that what they’re calling it in the canteen?”

“I don’t care what they’re calling it in the canteen. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing funny about a man being kidnapped in broad daylight on a Bradfield street.”

Cassidy took the rebuke on the chin. “As it happens, I’m with you on that one, ma’am. It’s no joke for Tommy Garrity or his family. And apart from anything else, it makes us look like monkeys.”

“So where are you up to?”

“Tommy Garrity was dressed in a Santa suit, collecting money for Christmas for Children when two men in balaclavas and blue overalls drove up the pedestrian precinct in a white Transit. They stopped in front of Tommy, bundled him into the Transit, and took off. We got the van on CCTV, turns out it was stolen off a building site this morning.” Cassidy turned to his desk and excavated a map from the stack of paper by the keyboard. He handed it to Carol. “The red line’s the route they took out of the city centre. We lost them round the back of Temple Fields. Once you come off Campion Way, the coverage is patchy.”

Carol sighed. “Typical. What about the number-plate-recognition cameras?”

“Nothing. At least we know they’ve not left the city on any of the main drags.”

“So, Tommy Garrity. Is he known?”

Cassidy shook his head. “Nothing on file. He works behind the bar at the Irish Club in Harriestown, does a lot of charity work in his spare time. He’s fifty-five, three kids, two grandkids. Wife’s a school-dinner lady. I’ve got a team out on the knocker, but so far Garrity’s white as the driven.”

Carol traced the line on the map. “That’s what worries me.”

Cassidy couldn’t keep his curiosity at bay any longer. “If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, what’s your interest? I mean, not to play down the importance of daylight abduction, but it’s not major in the sense of being up your street.”

Carol dropped the map on Cassidy’s desk. “Just something somebody said to me a couple of weeks ago. Can you keep me posted, please?”

Cassidy watched her walk out. She was more than easy on the eye, and normally that would have been all that registered with him. But Carol Jordan’s interest had left him perturbed and anxious. What the hell was he missing here?

News generally passed Tony by. He had enough variety in his life to occupy his interest without having to seek out further examples of human shortcomings. But because he’d floated the suggestion of Santa as potential victim, he was more susceptible than normal to the scream of newspaper billboards that announced: SANTA SNATCH IN CITY CENTRE.

The story in the paper was short on fact and long on frenzy, queasily uncertain whether it should be outraged or amused. Tony, already on his way to Carol’s office, quickened his step.

He found her at her desk, reading witness statements from the Santa kidnap. She looked up and squeezed out a tired smile. “Looks like you were right.”

“No, I wasn’t. I mean, I think I was, but this isn’t him.” Tony threw his hands in the air, exasperated at his inability to express himself clearly. “This isn’t the next victim in a series,” he said.

“What do you mean? Why not? You were the one who told me I should be looking out for Santa. And not in the sense of hanging up my stocking.”

“There were two of them. I never said anything about two of them.”

“I know you didn’t. But it would have made the first two murders a lot easier if they’d been two-handed. And we both know that racially motivated fanatics tend to work in cells or teams. After what you said, I’ve had my crew looking at all our intel and we’re not getting many hits on lone activists.” She shrugged. “It may not have been in the profile, but two makes sense.”

Tony threw himself in the chair. “That’s because I was ignoring my own cardinal rule. First you look at the victim. That’s what it’s all about, and I got distracted because of the eccentricity of the crimes. But I’ve looked at the victims now and I know why they were killed.” He fished some printouts from his carrier bag. “Tina Chapman used to be known by her married name. She was Christina Wallace.” He passed the top sheet to Carol. “She taught French at a school in Devon. She took a bunch of kids on a school trip and two of them drowned in a canoeing accident. The inquest cleared her, but the bereaved parents spoke to the press, blaming her for what happened. And it does look like they had pretty strong reasons for that. So, she moved away. Reverted to her maiden name and started afresh.”

“You think one of the parents did this?”

“No, no, that’s not it. But once I knew that about Tina, I knew what I was looking for with Jonathan.” He handed over the second sheet. “Seven years ago, a five-year-old girl was killed by a hit-and-run driver. The car was a Porsche that had allegedly been stolen from a garage where it was in for a service. The garage where Jonathan Meadows worked. I went over there and spoke to the local traffic officers. They told me that there was a strong feeling at the time that the Porsche hadn’t been stolen at all, that Jonathan had taken it for a ride and had lost control. His DNA was all over the car, but his excuse was that he’d been working on it. His girlfriend gave him an alibi, and nothing ever came of it.”

Carol stared at the two sheets of paper. “You’re saying this is some kind of vigilante justice?”

Tony dipped his head. “Kind of. Both victims were implicated in the death of a child but went unpunished because of loopholes in law or lack of evidence. The killer feels they stole children away from their families. I think we should be looking for someone who has lost a child and believes nobody paid the price. Probably in the past year. He’s choosing these victims because he believes they’re culpable, and he’s choosing these murder methods because they mark the points in the year where parents celebrate with children.”

Within the hour, Tony and Carol were studying a list of seven children who had died in circumstances where blame might possibly be assigned. “How can we narrow it down?” she demanded, frustration in her voice. “We can’t put surveillance on all these parents and their immediate families.”

“There’s no obvious way,” Tony said slowly.

“Santa Garrity could still be a potential victim,” Carol said. “We don’t know enough about his history, and there’s nothing in your theory to say it couldn’t be two killers working together.”

Tony shook his head. “It’s emotionally wrong. This is about punishment and pain, not justice. It’s too personal to be a team effort.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Couldn’t we at least go and talk to the parents? Shake the tree?”

“It’s a waste of time. Even you can’t pick out a killer just by looking at them.”

They sat in glum silence for a few minutes, then Carol spoke again. “Victims. You’re right. It all comes back to victims. How’s he choosing his victims? You had to do some digging to come up with what you found. There was nothing in the public domain to identify Jonathan, and Tina had changed her name. That’s why the motive didn’t jump out at my team.”

Tony nodded. “You’re right. So who knows this kind of information? It’s not the police, there’s at least two forces involved here. Not the Crown Prosecution Service either, neither of them ever got that far.”