Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

Sean pushed the tips of his fingers between the skirting board and carpet edge, gripped the frayed ends and pulled — the carpet peeling back like the skin of an over-ripe fruit to reveal old floorboards, the shortest of which wobbled slightly when he rocked it with his hand. He pressed down on one side and the short board flipped on its side as it broke loose. ‘One of the boards isn’t nailed down,’ he called over his shoulder, tossing the board to one side and retrieving his torch. He placed it in his mouth to free the arm that now snaked under the floor, his gloved fingers coiling around the plastic bag he’d seen in the torchlight. As he pulled it free, he looked inside like an excited child with a bag of treats, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. ‘Jackpot,’ he said quietly as he emptied the suede roll-up case from the bag, untying the loose knot and unrolling the holder to reveal an array of delicate metal tools within. Even from a distance Donnelly could see they were lock-picking tools.

‘Game’s up for you, Mark,’ Donnelly told him. ‘Now, where’s the boy?’

‘You’re the police,’ McKenzie answered. ‘You’re supposed to be the detectives, the ones with all the answers — so why don’t you detect him yourself?’

Sean was up and across the room in a second, pushing past Donnelly, eyes on fire with a fury he couldn’t control as he again grabbed McKenzie by the shirt collar and half pulled him off the floor, his face so close their breath became one. ‘Tell me where the boy is,’ Sean demanded. ‘Tell me where the boy is or I swear you won’t leave this room in one piece.’

‘You can do what you like to me, but I won’t tell you where he is — no matter what.’

‘We’ll soon see about that,’ Sean told him, his wrists beginning to twist as he tightened the shirt around McKenzie’s throat.

A heavy hand landed on Sean’s shoulder, prompting him to back off.

‘Careful, guv’nor,’ Donnelly warned quietly. ‘Don’t give him a way out — know what I mean?’

Sean loosened his grip, but kept hold of McKenzie. There was more than one way to torture the truth out of him.

‘When you broke into all those houses — when you convinced everyone you were just another housebreaker looking for things to steal, you were hiding the truth from them, weren’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You weren’t there to steal, were you? Not in the beginning. You were there for the children, weren’t you?’

‘I needed the money, that’s all.’

‘You’re lying,’ Sean accused him. ‘I can smell your lies. All the houses had children in them and you knew that before picking the locks in the middle of the night and letting yourself in, didn’t you?’ McKenzie shook his head, his mouth hanging open. ‘Did you take things, Mark? Things belonging to the children — things special to them? Did taking their things allow you to relive being in their houses with them over and over and over again? Every time you felt the urges, the needs returning, you could get out the things you’d taken and look at them, couldn’t you? Touch them, breathe in their scent, just as if they were the children themselves. Did you mark maps, Mark, ring the houses you’d been inside in red, just like you have with George Bridgeman’s house? Did you need to do that to keep the connection even more alive — another reminder of your little visits in the night?’

‘You can’t prove I did any of that,’ McKenzie finally spoke. ‘You can’t prove anything.’

‘I can prove plenty,’ Sean told him. ‘I’ve got enough here to finish you, Mark, and with your previous you don’t stand a chance. Tell me where the boy is, and I can promise things won’t go as badly for you as you might think − but only if he’s still alive.’

‘And if he’s not?’ McKenzie asked, his eyes narrow and cunning.

‘Then tell me where he is anyway,’ Sean answered. ‘Give the family some peace and the courts will have more sympathy for you.’

‘Sympathy?’ McKenzie snarled. ‘That’s what you think I want — sympathy? I don’t want your fucking sympathy — I want justice. Justice for everything that’s happened to me. You owe it to me.’

‘Everything that ever happened to you, you brought on yourself,’ Sean told him. ‘As for justice — you’ll get that, Mark. That much I promise.’

Sally settled into the large comfortable armchair in the spacious office in Swiss Cottage and immediately felt herself begin to relax totally, something she’d learned to do during her previous half-dozen or so meetings. She surveyed the now familiar room as she waited for the soothing voice that she knew would soon come. ‘So, how have you been?’ asked Dr Anna Ravenni-Ceron.

‘Good,’ she answered. ‘Getting there — with your help.’

‘And I’m glad to help,’ Anna answered. ‘It’s good for me to get back to basics and help someone like you — to see the person you really are returning.’

‘You must have thought I was a nightmare when you first met me,’ Sally winced.

‘Not to me you weren’t, although you had every right to be. What happened to you could destroy most people, especially a woman in the police, but you’ve been progressing better than I could have hoped for. Perhaps that in itself owes something to the fact you are policewoman.’

‘Maybe,’ Sally answered, unconvinced.

‘Even at the height of your difficulties, you were politer than most of your colleagues.’

‘Outsiders make them nervous.’

‘I noticed. How is DI Corrigan, by the way?’

‘Sean? He’s … Sean. Why do you ask?’

‘I found him interesting,’ Anna told her.

‘Professionally or personally?’ Sally asked, slightly defensively.

‘My interest could only ever be professional. Why ask — has he said something about me?’

‘No,’ Sally replied, a little too quickly. ‘Not that I know of. Has he called you at all or tried to contact you?’

‘No,’ Anna told her. ‘Nothing.’

‘I’ll tell him you said hello,’ Sally told her.

‘Please do,’ Anna answered, sensing it was time to move forward. ‘Now — how have things been at work? Still unusually quiet?’

‘They were, but we’ve picked up a new case — a four-year-old boy’s gone missing from his home. We have a pretty decent suspect.’

‘And how have you felt, being involved in a live investigation?’

‘Fine. Glad to be busy again, although the break did me no harm — gave me a chance to move forward with my life without too many distractions getting in the way.’

‘I agree,’ Anna told her. ‘It’s easy to bury your head in work and pretend everything’s all right, but ultimately it means you’re never addressing things that need to be addressed.’

‘Well, I feel much better now.’

‘And the drinking?’

‘Better.’

‘In what way?’

‘In that I’m drinking less. I’m off the vodka completely.’

‘Excellent. Are you drinking less now than after the attack or less now than before it?’

‘Less than even before it, and I’m still off the smokes too. If I keep going, I’ll be completely vice-less.’

‘You say that as if it’s a bad thing.’ Anna smiled.

‘Not bad, just boring.’

‘No harm in the occasional glass of wine, just remember to keep track of what you’re drinking.’

‘Sounds like the office Christmas party’s off limits, then?’

‘Go, just don’t drink.’

‘Jesus!’ Sally laughed. ‘If I do that everyone’ll think I’m pregnant. I’d rather they thought I was mad.’

‘Clinically depressed is the term I think you meant to use.’

‘Yes. Sorry. Of course.’