Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

Kentish Town Police Station sat on the corner of Kentish Town Road and Holmes Road, blending in perfectly with its bleak surroundings, its Victorian architecture oppressive and forbidding, a relic from the past that seemed to hold the entire area back, despite its proximity to some of the wealthiest and most sought-after areas of London. From outside the building almost no signs of life could be seen within, just as the Victorians had wanted: small windows with thick, dimpled glass kept the secrets of its business from the public outside. That suited Sean just fine as he and Sally sat in the small office they’d borrowed from the resident DI, preparing to interview Mark McKenzie — who was currently languishing in the dingy, threatening cells that lay in the bowels of the building.

‘So, how much d’you like McKenzie for our yet-to-be-established abduction?’ Sally asked, breaking minutes of silence. Sean looked up from McKenzie’s intelligence file, his expression telling her he hadn’t heard her question.

‘What?’

‘McKenzie? D’you think he could be our man — if it’s confirmed the boy has actually been taken?’

‘The boy’s been taken,’ he assured her, ‘and yes, he could be our man. His previous is perfect — especially his record of night-time residential burglaries while the families were at home, sleeping. He’s a creeper, and that makes him a dangerous individual. You and I both know that. People don’t do night-time burglaries while the residents are at home for profit alone — it gives them something else — a buzz, some perverted satisfaction. It makes them feel powerful and in control, even if half of them do end up fouling themselves with fear.’

‘But not McKenzie,’ Sally added. ‘There’s nothing in his records to say he ever defecated at the scenes of his burglaries.’

‘Which means either he wasn’t afraid or he’s learned to control his fear, both of which make him all the more dangerous. Add to that the fact he has previous for sexual assaults on children, and has used lock-picking as a way of gaining entry … yes, I like him for this — a lot. But I could do with something a bit more concrete before we interview him. Which reminds me …’ He grabbed his mobile from the desk and searched its memory for one of the newest members of his team, then hit speed-dial and waited.

‘Guv’nor,’ Goodwin answered.

‘How you getting on with that search team and dog unit?’

‘I’m gonna meet them at the house in a couple of hours, guv.’

‘What’s the hold-up?’ Sean asked impatiently.

‘Anti-Terrorist, guv. They’ve had them all tied up for days now. I had to be a little economical with the truth to pull them away for a few hours, so if you get an irate call from any brass, I’m afraid that’ll be down to me.’

‘If I do, I’ll deal with it,’ Sean assured him. ‘You got a team and that’s all that matters. Anyone gives you a hard time, you tell them I made the call on that one — understand?’

‘Thanks, guv.’

‘As soon as you get a result, let me know,’ Sean told him and hung up.

‘Problem?’ Sally asked.

‘The house hasn’t been searched yet,’ Sean told her, ‘and won’t be for a few hours.’

‘Shall we delay the interview?’

‘No. We’ll do it anyway. We’ve got a missing four-year-old, we can’t afford to wait around.’

‘So,’ Sally began, her eyebrows raised in exaggerated concern, ‘we’ll be interviewing a possible suspect who we have no evidence against about a crime we can’t even prove has happened. This’ll be interesting.’

‘The crime’s happened,’ Sean almost snapped at her, ‘and McKenzie’s a good suspect. We go with what we’ve got. If the search teams or Forensics come up with anything else, we can always re-interview him.’

‘If you think he fits the bill, that’s good enough for me,’ Sally told him.

Sean closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, allowing the images of McKenzie crouched by the front door of the Bridgemans’ house to flow into his mind, the dark figure quickly and smoothly working the locks as his breath condensed in the cold night air, before slipping inside the house and moving silently towards the stairs that would lead him to the boy he knew was sleeping upstairs. ‘ How did you know? ’ He spoke aloud without knowing it.

‘Know what?’ Sally asked, making him open his eyes.

‘It’s nothing,’ he assured her, ‘or at least nothing that’s going to take us forward. Christ, my head’s so full of crap at the moment I can barely think.’

‘Then use your experience instead,’ Sally encouraged him. ‘You’ve dealt with paedophiles before. What about that undercover case you were on?’

‘That was years ago.’

‘These particular leopards never change their spots.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘No, they don’t.’

‘So what was the job?’

‘To infiltrate a paedophile ring calling itself the Network.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ Sally sniffed sarcastically.

‘The Internet was just beginning to spread and typically the baddies were on to it before we were — grooming kids online before getting them to … to perform — sometimes with each other, sometimes with the men who’d groomed then. They’d film the abuse and post it on the Internet.’

‘Why?’ Sally asked.

‘Because they were proud of what they did.’

‘Sick,’ Sally judged.

‘Maybe, or maybe that was just the way nature intended them. Anyway, I infiltrated their top man in prison first, then on the outside we continued our relationship until eventually he let me into the heart of their organization, something they called the Sanctum, made up of the members who actually did the abusing and oversaw distribution of the pictures.’

‘And you took them out?’ Sally asked.

‘We did. But the whole time I was with them, the head of the snake knew I was a cop — from the very first time he met me.’

‘He was bullshitting you.’

‘No,’ Sean said without hesitation. ‘He knew. John Conway knew.’

‘Then why did he take you in?’

‘Because he thought he could turn me,’ Sean admitted.

‘Thought he could turn you into a paedophile?’ Sally asked, confused.

‘What else?’ he answered, the question lingering unanswered between them. He steered the conversation back to the present. ‘But the Network groomed their victims, luring them to places where they could safely meet them. And the victims were older — all between nine and thirteen. Not like this one. Our guy goes into the house and takes them — and he takes them when they’re still very young.’

‘ Them? ’ Sally asked. ‘He’s only taken one, if that.’

‘Slip of the tongue,’ Sean lied. ‘Anyway, there’s a damn good chance we have our man banged up downstairs. So, if you’re ready …’ He stood, gathering up the piles of reports he’d been reading in preparation for the interview.

‘Ready when you are, Mr McKenzie,’ Sally said. ‘Ready when you are.’

DC Maggie O’Neil looked out of the fifteenth-floor hotel-room window at the view of Swiss Cottage and Maida Vale, the streets below twinkling and sparkling in the headlights, the crowded pavements bathed in the yellow light that leaked from the shop-fronts. The traffic was in gridlock, the sounds of which drifted up to the fifteenth floor and through the double-glazing. She’d offered the Bridgemans the use of a police safe house but they had unceremoniously turned her offer down, instead opting to find and pay for their own temporary accommodation, hence the three-bedroom apartment in the hotel in Swiss Cottage. Mr and Mrs Bridgeman took the largest room, while the nanny and Sophia shared the twin room. Maggie could use the small single room if she felt it was necessary for her to spend the night with the family, and so far she did.