Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘You’ll be popular with the brass.’

‘Fuck ’em. We don’t have enough to charge him so we have to let him go, and if we have to let him go I want him followed. Who knows — he may panic and lead us straight to George Bridgeman.’

‘Or he may go to ground and stay there?’ Sally suggested.

‘He could.’

‘Then perhaps we should keep him in custody a while longer and see what Forensics and Fingerprints come up with? The magistrates will give us an extension — what choice do they have?’

‘No,’ Sean insisted. ‘He’s too confident he’s left nothing. Besides, if we get a match we’ll just re-arrest him. With a surveillance team up his arse at least we’ll know where he is if we need to bring him back in. I’ll call Featherstone and as soon as we have the surveillance scrambled we’ll bail him straight into their hands.’

‘He’s going to suspect he’s being followed,’ Sally pointed out.

‘No matter,’ Sean argued. ‘It might make him nervous, then he’ll be all the more likely to make a mistake. We’ll brief the surveillance team to make it look like he’s lost them if he starts giving them the run-around and then we’ll find out what he doesn’t want us to see.’

‘If you say so,’ Sally reluctantly agreed.

‘Good,’ Sean told her.

‘So long as you still think he’s our man.’

‘He has to be.’

‘Then why was he so desperate for us to charge him?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted. ‘Maybe he wants the notoriety?’

‘So why not admit it?’

‘Because he’s not ready to burn all his bridges yet … who knows with his type? Ian Brady still won’t tell anyone where some of his victims are buried. Maybe McKenzie needs to feel he has sole possession of George.’

‘Weird and disturbing,’ Sally told him.

‘A troubled soul,’ Sean said, more to himself than Sally.

‘Another one?’ He didn’t answer the question.

‘Do me a favour and hang around here until I get the surveillance sorted out. When it’s done, we’ll get back to the Yard.’

‘No problem.’

‘Don’t worry about McKenzie. He can play his fucked-up games as long as he wants, but he’ll screw up soon enough. Like I say: they always do.’

Mrs Bridgeman led Donnelly along the corridor and into the kitchen of her house in Hampstead. He hadn’t told her he was coming. ‘I was expecting DC O’Neil,’ she told him. ‘No one else — not unless …’

‘DC O’Neil will be along very shortly,’ he explained, ‘but I thought I should call round and make sure you’re settling back in OK after your night away.’

Celia Bridgeman looked exhausted and soulless. ‘You haven’t found him though, have you?’

‘No,’ Donnelly answered, ‘but we will.’ An awkward silence filled the room.

‘Would you like a drink or anything?’ Mrs Bridgeman managed to ask.

‘Aye,’ Donnelly replied cheerfully, ‘cuppa tea would be grand.’

She looked at the nanny and lifted her chin. The nanny filled the kettle and started preparing the mugs.

‘How do you like it?’ Caroline asked.

‘Builders’ tea for me, please — plenty milk and two sugars.’ Caroline returned his smile while Mrs Bridgeman remained lost in her own painful thoughts, almost oblivious to their presence. ‘Actually,’ Donnelly continued, ‘I need to check something for the forensic boys in George’s bedroom — perhaps, Caroline, you could show me the way?’

She looked a little cautious for a second before realizing she’d been given a gilt-edged chance to escape from Mrs Bridgeman’s despair, even if it was just for a few minutes. ‘Will that be all right, Mrs Bridgeman?’ she asked.

‘What?’ Mrs Bridgeman replied. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.’

‘Will it be all right if I show the detective George’s room?’

Donnelly saw her shrink at the mere mention of her son’s name, the horror and terror of what she must have been going through not lost on him, despite his outward appearance.

‘Yes. Yes. Of course,’ she answered, before returning to staring at the floor.

‘This way,’ Caroline told Donnelly, leading the way out of the kitchen and to the staircase.

Donnelly followed close behind her as he observed the interior structure of the house, which mirrored those on either side. He waited till they’d cleared the first flight of stairs before speaking again.

‘Sophia not at home today?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Caroline answered. ‘I was happy to look after her, but Mr Bridgeman thought it best if she returned to school and got back into her normal routine as soon as possible. “Normalize things,” he said. I don’t know — he might be right, I suppose.’

‘And Mr Bridgeman?’

‘Went back to work, although he said he won’t be late.’

‘To normalize things?’

Caroline stopped for a second and looked over her shoulder at Donnelly, who was two stairs lower. ‘You’d have to ask Mr Bridgeman about that.’

They carried on walking until they reached George’s room, Caroline standing aside to allow him to enter, seemingly reluctant to go inside herself. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she told him and made to leave.

‘Actually …’ he raised a hand to stop her. ‘I did have a couple of questions I thought you could help me with. I’d ask Mrs Bridgeman, but frankly she doesn’t look capable of answering them just yet.’

‘Questions about what?’

‘Questions that could help us find George. That’s what we all want — isn’t it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. How long have you worked as the Bridgemans’ nanny?’

‘A couple of years now. What’s this got to do with George? I thought your questions were going to be meant for Mrs Bridgeman?’

‘They would have been,’ he told her.

‘Then you’re checking on me?’

‘Caroline,’ Donnelly admitted, ‘we’re going to check on everyone. Don’t take it personally.’

‘Hard not to.’

‘Do your best. Now, did the Bridgemans find you through an agency?’

‘Yes, the Help 4 Mums Agency. They cover Hampstead, Highgate, Primrose Hill — a few more areas.’

‘All the rough areas, eh?’ Donnelly joked, trying to get her to relax her guard. Caroline said and did nothing. ‘But Sophia is six and George is four. Did Mrs Bridgeman cope on her own before you, or was there another nanny?’

‘Mrs Bridgeman?’ Caroline laughed sarcastically. ‘Cope on her own with two kids? I don’t think so — cramp her style a little too much, don’t you think? The likes of Mrs Bridgeman weren’t brought up to look after children.’

‘So she had help before you started here?’

‘Yes, another nanny from the same agency — a friend of mine, actually.’

‘And who would that be?’

‘Tessa — Tessa Daniels.’

‘How long did she work for the Bridgemans?’

‘She started a few weeks before Sophia was born and stayed on until George was about two.’

‘Which is when you started?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were there problems between Mrs Bridgeman and Tessa?’

‘No. None that I know of.’

‘Then why change her?’

‘That’s what these people do.’

‘Why?’ Donnelly asked, genuinely confused.

‘To stop you getting over-familiar with the children, or sometimes the husband. The likes of Mrs Bridgeman won’t tolerate competition — real or imagined. Anyway, like I said, they all do it.’

‘And was she?’ Donnelly asked, sniffing a route in.

‘Was who what?’ Caroline frowned, impatient.

‘Was Tessa getting over-familiar with the children — with Mr Bridgeman?’

‘No,’ she told him. ‘Tessa knew better than to get mixed up in anything like that, and Mr Bridgeman’s hardly the sleeping-with-the-nanny type.’