Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘No,’ she answered faintly. ‘I don’t feel very well.’ She staggered a little into the room, Sean catching her by the elbow and forearm as he led her to the bed to sit, cringing at the possible forensic evidence he may be complicit in destroying. He watched her trying to catch her breath, breathing in and out a little erratically, but it was enough to put a little colour back into her lips and face. He gave her some time and space. ‘It’s like a dream,’ she told him, ‘or I should say a nightmare — like it’s not really happening. It can’t be happening, can it? He must be here somewhere,’ she continued, panic sweeping over her again as she tried to get to her feet.

Sean placed a hand on her shoulder, preventing her from standing. ‘I need to look for him,’ she pleaded, her red eyes swelling with fear and tears. ‘I have to keep looking.’

‘We’ll all look for him,’ Sean promised, ‘but you need to help me help you.’

‘I feel sick,’ she told him, jumping to her feet and rushing from the room. A few seconds later he heard the sound of her retching in a nearby bathroom, retching that seemed to go on for a long time, before he heard the sound of a toilet lid closing and the flushing of water. She returned to the bedroom looking like a ghost, walking past him and sitting on the bed without speaking, lifting a floppy-eared rabbit from the floor and holding it tight to her chest while she stared at the wall opposite.

‘Feel a little better?’ Sean asked, keen to get her talking before she went catatonic on him.

‘Not really,’ she responded.

‘I have some difficult questions that need answers,’ he warned her. ‘They’re best asked when your husband’s not here.’

‘Stuart?’ she asked in a conciliatory tone. ‘Don’t worry about Stuart — he’s just scared and angry. He always reacts like that when he feels something is beyond his control.’

‘I understand,’ Sean assured her.

‘You said you had questions.’

‘Keys,’ he began. ‘Is there anyone no one’s mentioned who could have keys to the house?’

‘Not that I know of,’ she answered.

‘Anyone who shouldn’t have keys to the house but does?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I need to know if both your children are yours and your husband’s — genetically?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, confusion etched into her face. ‘Why?’

‘Most children who are abducted are abducted by their estranged fathers,’ he told her. ‘If there was one and he had keys to the house, then …’

‘There isn’t,’ she stopped him. ‘How could you even think that? I’m his mother and Stuart’s his father,’ she insisted, but Sean sensed some doubt in her voice — and her eyes.

‘Any problems with your marriage?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she muttered, her eyes avoiding his.

‘Could Stuart be seeing anyone else?’

‘God no.’

‘And you?’ Sean ambushed her.

‘No,’ she swore, ‘nothing like that. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that to my children.’

‘My children?’ Sean questioned. ‘Not our children, but my children?’

‘Stuart’s not around much,’ she explained. ‘He works hard for us — that’s all I meant.’

Sean watched her silently for a moment as she continued to hug the toy rabbit — watching her eyes and hands, her feet that stayed flat and still on the carpeted floor — judging her. He believed most of what she was saying, but there were doubts and untruths hiding in her grief.

The longer he stood in the boy’s room, the more sure he was that George had been taken. But why and by whom? His mind searched back for memories — going back more than ten years to when he was still a detective sergeant, deployed by SO10 on an undercover operation to infiltrate the Network, a paedophile gang who’d been grooming children during the early days of the Internet and then sexually abusing them, filming their exploits and circulating them to other paedophiles. He forced the face of the gang’s leader, John Conway, into his mind, remembering the way he talked and moved, recalling his mindset — what excited him and motivated him. But Conway and his cronies groomed older children and always met the children a safe distance from their houses and schools, whereas whoever had taken George had risked coming into the house in the dead of night. And George was only four, too young to be groomed from a distance. From a distance, but what about by someone close? Conway’s face melted into that of Sean’s own father. But there had never been anything subtle about the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father. The face faded away, replaced by the things that continued to plague his mind: There’s an alarm, but you knew it wasn’t working. A man lives in the house, but you knew he wasn’t there. The floorboard creaks, but you didn’t step on it. You knew all this because you know this house. You have to know this house — but how? Who are you and what do you want? John Conway’s face flashed back into his mind. Slow down , he warned himself. You’re making assumptions. You don’t know he knew about the alarm, the husband being away, the damn floorboard. All you know for sure is that the boy is gone. Someone came to the house, entered without breaking in, took the boy and left, locking the house after them. Was Addis right? Could it have been a paedophile, acting alone or with others, going to the next level that the Network never reached — taking children from their own homes, the danger of the game making the moment of triumph all the sweeter .

‘You will find him, won’t you?’ Celia Bridgeman asked, making his attempt to build a mental picture of what could have happened tumble like a house of cards. He gave his mind a few seconds to recall and understand what she had asked before answering.

‘Of course,’ he answered, telling her the only thing he could. ‘Cases like this can come together pretty quickly,’ he added truthfully, although he already had his doubts this one would. ‘You should all move out, just while we have the house searched by a dog team. And our forensic people always appreciate an empty scene. We need to do everything possible to give us the best chance of finding your son quickly.’

‘Where should we go?’ she asked, her voice forlorn and sad, as if moving out was giving up on the boy.

‘Family, friends,’ Sean suggested. ‘Just for a couple of days while we do what we need to do with the house. In the meantime, try not to touch anything. We’ll need a set of fingerprints from everyone who’s been in the house since you moved in. Are you OK with that?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘if it’ll help.’

‘Good,’ Sean told her, taking a last look around the room. ‘I have to go now. Do you need some help getting downstairs?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘I’d like to stay here for a while — if that’s all right?’

‘Of course.’ Sean slowly headed to the door, almost unable to take his eyes off the mother, her sadness and longing dragging at him like a magnet as he managed to pull himself from the room and into the hallway where he rested with his back to the wall for a few seconds before walking quietly to the staircase.

‘All right?’ Sally asked as he joined the others in the kitchen. Sean nodded.

‘Mr Bridgeman,’ he turned to the father, ‘I was just telling your wife you’ll need to move out for a couple of days’ — Bridgeman tried to interrupt, but Sean talked over him — ‘and I’ll need those names: the estate agent, the removal firm, anyone who’s been in the house since you’ve been here.’ He took something from his warrant-card wallet and dropped it on the kitchen island. ‘That’s my card — ignore the landline number, it’s old, but the mobile and email address are good. Call me if you think of anything.’ He quickly turned to Robinson. ‘I need you to wait here until my own Family Liaison Officer gets here. They won’t be long.’ Robinson just shrugged. He understood her keenness to escape. ‘I have to go back and brief my team, Mr Bridgeman. You may not see me for a while, but rest assured I’ll be working full-time to find your son.’