Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘No,’ Sean told him. ‘But he hasn’t denied it either, and you have to ask yourself why he wouldn’t deny it if he wasn’t involved.’

‘Because he’s insane?’ Donnelly offered.

‘Not this one,’ Sean explained. ‘He’s wired wrong, but he’s not insane. Seems to want to play games too.’

‘With us?’

‘Apparently. Finish up where you are and try and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be an early start and a late finish, as is every day until we find George — one way or the other.’ Donnelly heard the connection go dead.

‘Sorry about that. Where were we?’ Donnelly asked Mrs Howells.

‘The Bridgeman children,’ she reminded him.

‘Aye, indeed. From what you could see, how did the parents behave towards their children?’

‘OK,’ she answered. ‘Although …’

‘Although what?’ Donnelly seized on it.

‘From the bits and pieces I’ve seen, they were fine towards Sophia, but …’

‘But …?’ he pushed her.

‘Not Celia, but Mr Bridgeman always seemed a little … well, a little cold towards George.’

‘Any idea why?’

‘As I said, I barely know them. I’m just telling you what struck me from the little I’ve observed.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ Donnelly told her. ‘But he’s fine towards Sophia?’

‘Kisses and cuddles on the doorstep when he comes home — plays with her in the garden at the weekends.’

‘Nothing unusual about a daddy’s girl. I have a few kids of my own and my ten-year-old only has eyes for her old dad — much to the annoyance of her mother.’

‘It’s getting very late now,’ Mrs Howells said with a polite smile Donnelly had seen a thousand times before. ‘I really ought to check on the children.’

‘Have you ever seen him, maybe, hit the boy?’ Donnelly ignored her hints.

‘No. No. Of course not.’

‘Ever see him touch George in an inappropriate way?’

‘I really don’t think I should say any more.’

‘Anything you tell me will be treated as confidential, Mrs Howells.’

‘I’ve told you all I know. I never saw him abuse George in any way. It’s just … he was …’

‘Cold towards him,’ Donnelly reminded her.

‘Yes,’ she admitted.

‘And your mother’s instinct told you something was wrong?’ Donnelly tried to seduce her with praise.

‘Yes — I mean no. I’m not sure, really I’m not. It’s late, detective. I must …’

Donnelly tapped the top of the breakfast bar before standing and fastening his overcoat against the cold that waited for him outside. ‘Of course,’ he told her. ‘You’ve been a great help.’

‘I just hope I haven’t misled you,’ she told him.

‘Oh, I don’t think you’ve done that, Mrs Howells. I don’t think you’ve done that at all.’

Sean cursed his nine-to-five neighbours as he searched and failed to find a parking spot anywhere close to the front door of his modest three-bedroom terraced house in East Dulwich, bought just before the wealth spread into the area from Dulwich Village and Blackheath. Maybe Kate was right — they should cash in while it was worth as much as it was and flee to New Zealand; perhaps then he would be able to afford somewhere with off-street parking instead of going through this nightly ritual of imagining his neighbours smugly tucked up in their beds while they thought of him having to park a couple of streets away. At least it wasn’t raining. Finally he parked up and trudged back towards his house, passing cars that he knew would still be parked in the same places as he headed back to his own the next morning. Last home and first to leave — same as usual.

His head was still buzzing with the day’s events: the office move, the new case, meeting the missing boy’s parents, and most of all the interview with McKenzie and all the questions he’d thought of on the way home that he’d forgotten to ask during the interview. He had only a few hours before it would be time to head back to work and pick up where he left off, and experience told him that if he was to get any rest at all he needed to unwind; sit alone and watch something on the TV unrelated to any type of policework while he consumed as much bourbon as he dared to slow his racing mind without leaving him groggy in the morning. To his disappointment, as he entered the house he sensed Kate was still up, a sinking feeling in his belly making him feel guilty for seeking solitude. He eased the door shut behind him and headed for the kitchen where he knew she would be waiting.

‘You’re late,’ she said, unconfrontationally. ‘Or at least, later than you’ve been for a while.’

‘They finally gave us a new case,’ he told her, trying not to show his excitement and relief at once again being gainfully employed, once again leading the hunt.

‘Oh,’ she responded, not hiding her disappointment.

‘They weren’t going to leave me alone for ever.’ He gave an apologetic shrug.

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I realize that. It’s just, I was getting used to having you around a bit more than usual, and so were the girls.’

‘We’ve had a good run, perhaps we should just be grateful for that.’

‘Grateful!’ Kate snapped, then immediately softened her tone: ‘You were shot, Sean. I think you earned some time off.’

‘Maybe,’ he answered, desperately wishing he could just be alone as he pulled a glass and a bottle of bourbon from a cupboard the kids couldn’t reach and poured two fingers before emptying his pockets on the kitchen table and slumping into a chair on the other side to his wife.

‘Haven’t seen you do that in a while,’ she told him, her eyes accusing the drink in his hand.

‘I need to sleep tonight and this’ll help.’

‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look pretty pleased with yourself,’ she told him.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Sitting there, drink in hand, hardly speaking, holier-than-thou look on your face.’ He couldn’t help but grin a little. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was enjoying being back in the same old shit. ‘Yeah, that smile says it all.’

‘Don’t be so pissed off,’ he told her. ‘I’m a detective. They pay me to solve cases, catch the bad guys, save the day, remember?’

‘I’m pissed off because I was worried, Sean. I called you, several times, and left messages, but you didn’t call back — not even a text.’

He lifted his mobile from the table and checked for missed calls. Sure enough she’d called him several times. ‘Sorry,’ he told her. ‘I must have been in the middle of an interview.’

‘I don’t know, Sean — it feels like we’re heading back to the bad old days: me here alone with the kids while you run around trying to get yourself … We can do better than this, can’t we?’

‘It’s only been one night,’ he reminded her.

‘You said it’s a new case, so we all know what that means.’ Sean didn’t respond as a silence fell between them that only increased his yearning to be alone. ‘So what is it?’

‘What’s what?’ he asked unnecessarily.

‘The new case.’

‘A four-year-old boy gone missing from his home in Hampstead,’ he answered, immediately regretting mentioning Hampstead.

‘Hampstead?’ Kate seized on it. ‘Why are you investigating something that happened in Hampstead?’

He took a gulp of the bourbon before answering. ‘They’ve moved us to the Yard.’

‘Why would they do that?’ she asked, her voice heavy with suspicion.

He swallowed the liquid he’d been holding in his mouth and waited for the burning in his throat to cease before answering. ‘They’ve changed my brief,’ he told her. ‘We’re to investigate murders and crimes of special interest across the whole of London, not just the south-east.’