Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘Are you a friend of my mummy?’ Bailey asked, imitating his whispering.

‘No,’ he answered, his face becoming instantly more serious, ‘not a friend of your mummy. I’m someone who loves you. Someone who loves you more than your mummy ever will.’

Sean entered the office a little after seven a.m. feeling even more tired than he had the night before. The coldness between him and Kate and his feelings for Anna only added to the confusion of his cluttered mind as he tried to prepare mentally for the interview with McKenzie later that morning. He decided to wait until at least eight before he hassled the forensic team for some information he could use. His usual lab liaison sergeant, DS Roddis, might be a bit of a cold fish, but he was one of the best in the business and he tolerated Sean’s constant meddling and harassment for updates. On this case, however, he’d be dealing with the team covering north-west London; so far as Sean was concerned they were an unknown quantity, which meant he’d have to be more restrained in his dealings with them. He made a note to speak to Addis about having Roddis and his crew attached to the Special Investigations Unit on a permanent basis. The Assistant Commissioner was bound to refuse, but he might then offer a compromise and hand Roddis over, perhaps even allow him to put together a small team for Sean’s exclusive use.

No sooner had Sean hung up his coat and jacket than he saw Sally entering the office looking a lot more sprightly than he felt, carrying a tray of coffees and a brown paper bag that was beginning to show grease marks. He watched her drop off a couple of takeaway cups to some of the other early arrivers before heading his way. She entered his office just as he sat down.

‘Morning, guv’nor,’ she announced cheerfully, holding up the greasy bag. ‘Breakfast.’

‘No,’ he answered, ‘but if that’s coffee you can pass one over here.’

‘Naturally,’ she told him, placing a cardboard cup in front of him. ‘Black, no sugar.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, tossing the plastic lid into the metal bin that lived by the side of his new desk.

‘Pain-au-chocolat?’ she asked, waving the greasy bag in the air.

‘Christ, no.’ He grimaced, leaning away from the offending article. ‘God save me from pain-au-chocolat. Anyway, what you so happy about?’

‘Better than being miserable,’ she told him. He didn’t answer. ‘I hear you’re interviewing McKenzie this morning — again.’

‘I am.’

‘Need someone to sit in on it with you?’

‘I think Dave has that honour, although if he doesn’t show up soon you’re more than welcome to join me.’

‘Any idea what you’re going to ask him?’

‘Not really.’

‘And the boy — do you think he could still be alive?’

Before he could answer, Addis burst into the main office and marched across to them, a manilla file clutched in his hand. He took one step into Sean’s office and came to a halt as they stared at him, waiting for him to speak, years of dealing with senior officers telling them he had something he very much wanted to say.

‘So,’ he began, ‘this suspect of yours, Mark McKenzie, tell me again how sure you are he’s responsible for the abduction of George Bridgeman.’

Sean and Sally looked at each other, sensing a trap, before Sean answered: ‘As sure as I can be at this time, but I haven’t ruled out other possibilities.’

‘As sure as you can be?’ Addis repeated. ‘Then perhaps you can explain this?’ He stepped forward and dropped the folder on to Sean’s desk. Again Sean and Sally exchanged glances before Sean leaned forward and picked up the folder, slowly opening it as if it could be booby-trapped. As soon as the cover fell open he saw the Missing Person Report inside and felt his spirits sink and his gut tighten.

Addis spoke again. ‘Bailey Fellowes — IC1, five years old, disappeared in the middle of the night from her home in Highgate — which, if you’re not already aware, is not exactly a million miles away from bloody Hampstead.’

‘A coincidence,’ Sean faintly offered.

‘A coincidence?’ Addis echoed, stifling his rising voice at the expense of going bright red in the face. ‘Read the bloody report, Inspector: no signs of a break-in. A wealthy family living in an exclusive area of North London. Child seemingly vanishes in the night. Christ, what an embarrassment! Just yesterday I was on the bloody television telling the world we were close to solving this damn case. You even had me name McKenzie. You’ve made me look a fool, Inspector.’

‘How did you get the report before me?’ Sean changed the direction of the argument. ‘Any suspicious missing persons cases involving children are supposed to come to me first.’

‘I countermanded that order,’ Addis told him. ‘We have a chain of command here at the Yard. You would be wise to remember that. Now get the hell over to Highgate. The local CID are waiting for you to take over. And get McKenzie out of custody, for God’s sake — this whole fiasco is embarrassing enough without us wrongfully imprisoning somebody. I want this matter solved as soon as possible before it drags the whole Service down with it. I don’t care how you do it — just get it done. We need a result.’

‘What d’you want us to do?’ Sean fought back. ‘Pick someone at random and make them fit the crime? Make the crime fit them?’

Addis rounded on him in an instant. ‘Don’t take that tone with me, Inspector. I don’t employ people without knowing a lot about them first. I’m fully aware of the types of undercover work you’ve done in the past, and how you got results then. And I know a lot more about the Sebastian Gibran investigation and how you made sure he’d never walk free than you imagine.’

Sean considered him in silence for a while, trying to decide whether Addis was just guessing or whether he really did know something, and if he did — how? ‘I wasn’t aware you were in any way involved in the Gibran case.’

‘There’s a great many things you’re not aware of,’ Addis reminded him. ‘I make it my business to know what’s going on everywhere within the Metropolitan Police. It’s my job to protect the force’s reputation and the reputation of the people who belong to it. I won’t let anyone drag it down — you need to remember that. Now, get over to Highgate and get this matter resolved. A full report — on my desk — by lunchtime.’ Addis scowled at them one last time before spinning on his heels and marching from the room.

Sally broke the silence. ‘For a second there he reminded me of him,’ she told Sean.

‘Of who?’

‘Gibran. He said the same things about his job — about how it was up to him to protect his company. Protect its reputation and people. I wonder if he knows what he sounds like?’

‘I don’t suppose so,’ Sean answered. ‘He doesn’t know anything about Gibran or that case. He’s just trying to make us think he does.’

‘Why?’ Sally asked. ‘And what did he mean about he knows more about how you put him away for good? Did you do something you shouldn’t have?’

Sean had never told her how he’d taken her bloodstained warrant card from her bedside cabinet in the Intensive Care Unit. How he’d given it to Donnelly, telling him to make sure it was found during the search of Gibran’s house. But he didn’t believe he’d done anything that he shouldn’t have; rather, he’d done what absolutely needed to be done. Gibran hadn’t played by the rules and the only way they were going to take him down was to put the rule book to one side — temporarily.

‘No,’ he told Sally. ‘I did exactly what I had to do. Don’t worry about Addis — he knows nothing.’

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?’ Sally replied.