Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘Your man’s in here,’ the gaoler told them, unclipping a huge bunch of keys from his belt. ‘Been as quiet as a mouse. Wouldn’t even know he was here if it wasn’t for the need to feed him.’

‘He’d hardly want to attract attention to himself,’ Sally pointed out, ‘given his alleged crime.’

‘Oh, they already know he’s here and why,’ the gaoler said. ‘The jungle drums have been in full swing. Which interview room d’you want to use?’

‘Maybe none,’ Sean answered. ‘I just need a quick word with him in his cell — if that’s all right?’

The gaoler looked him up and down, trying to judge if he had any malevolent intent before making his decision. ‘Fair enough,’ he finally conceded, ‘but the custody sergeant has already made a note in McKenzie’s custody record that you’re here to interview him, just like you said you were. So if I was you I’d be quick and no funny business, you understand? No unexplained marks, please. I’ll tell the custody sergeant it’s just an intelligence interview you’re after. Should keep him happy so long as you’re not too long.’

‘We won’t be,’ Sean promised, ‘and thanks.’

‘No need,’ he answered, peering through the spyhole before pushing the large, grey key into the main lock. ‘Fucking child molester. Should hang the fucking lot of them,’ he declared and turned the lock that opened with a smooth, heavy clunk. ‘Mr McKenzie,’ he told the dozing prisoner, ‘some detectives here to see you, so get your arse up and pay attention.’ McKenzie stirred and sat up on the wooden bed. ‘Remember what I said,’ the gaoler reminded Sean and Sally. ‘Just a few minutes. That’s all you’ll get away with for a cell visit.’ With that he spun on his heels and marched from the cell, closing the door on his way out without locking it.

‘What d’you want now?’ McKenzie immediately asked, trying to straighten his scruffy hair with his fingers as he smiled, self-satisfied.

‘What else?’ Sean told him, sitting next to him, trying to be as menacing as he possibly could without saying or doing anything threatening. ‘To talk.’

‘I’ve said everything I’m going to say.’

‘Ah, but that was before last night.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he responded truthfully. ‘Last night I was banged up in here.’

‘You were.’ Sean admitted. ‘And while you were locked up nice and tight another child was taken.’ Sean noticed that instantly, but only fleetingly, McKenzie looked disappointed.

‘What did they look like?’ McKenzie asked.

‘Who?’ Sean replied. ‘The child?’

‘Yes,’ McKenzie answered. ‘What did they look like?’

‘Why do you want to know?’ Sally asked, but Sean already knew the answer — McKenzie was trying to share the experience of taking the child, feel the thrill of entering the family’s home in the dead of night to snatch their most precious thing away while they slept. McKenzie no doubt imagined things were being done to her as they spoke — things that made his groin tighten and his lips dry with excitement. Sean could see him becoming agitated at the thought of being privy to the details he craved. McKenzie’s vile longings made him want to reach out and strangle him, but he needed to keep him talking — he needed to know.

‘She’s five years old,’ he began.

‘She,’ McKenzie repeated, his eyes growing wide with anticipation. ‘It’s a girl.’

‘She,’ Sally interrupted spitefully. ‘She’s not an it .’

‘Yes,’ Sean silenced her, needing to keep McKenzie on the hook. ‘I’ve seen her photograph — she’s very pretty.’

‘Her hair?’ McKenzie asked, too excited to form a full question.

‘Blonde,’ Sean answered, ‘with pale blue eyes.’

McKenzie eyed him with suspicion, unsure whether they were even telling him the truth about another child being taken. ‘Do you have a photograph of her? Can I see it?’

‘No fucking way,’ Sally swore before Sean raised a hand to slow her down. ‘You can’t show him, Sean. You know what he’s doing.’

‘It’s all right,’ he told her, slipping his hand inside his jacket pocket where he had a small photograph of Bailey, knowing he was feeding McKenzie’s fantasy, allowing him to put a face to the poisonous images forming in his mind, vicariously sharing in the abuse he imagined she was suffering. He took hold of McKenzie’s hand and placed the photograph in its palm, feeling McKenzie’s body relaxing into ecstasy as he stared down at the small picture, releasing an involuntary and lengthy sigh as he did so, his left leg beginning to tap uncontrollably.

‘This is wrong,’ Sally protested. Sean and McKenzie ignored her.

‘Can you help us find her?’ Sean asked.

‘What?’ McKenzie replied, so lost in his new world that he hadn’t heard Sean properly.

‘Can you help us find her?’ Sean repeated. ‘Do you know where she is?’

McKenzie’s eyes narrowed as he considered Sean’s questions, sensing a new opportunity. ‘Can I see more photographs?’ he asked. ‘If I can see more photographs perhaps I can help you.’

‘What do you need to see photographs of?’ Sean asked, a little confused, but ready to assume McKenzie was just seeking more ways to flesh out his fantasy about the missing five-year-old.

‘Her bedroom,’ McKenzie told him, ‘and her house.’

‘That could be difficult,’ Sean responded. ‘Difficult to justify why we had to show you those things.’

‘Then I won’t be able to help you.’

‘Surely you either know where she is or you don’t.’ Tiring of his own game, Sean couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. ‘Same goes for George Bridgeman — you either know where he is or you don’t.’

‘Let me have the pictures and I’ll help you.’

‘No,’ Sean insisted. ‘You have to give me something first.’

‘Such as?’

‘Who are you working with?’ Sean asked bluntly. ‘Tell me who you’re working with.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What was your role in this? Did they just use you to get the front doors open? Who’s controlling things?’ Sean demanded.

‘Don’t you know?’ McKenzie asked with an ugly smile. ‘Do you really still not understand?’

Sean sat back, rocked by what he believed he was being told by his still prime suspect. He snatched the photograph of Bailey from McKenzie’s hand and grabbed him by the hood of his forensic paper suit, twisting it in his hands to make an instant tourniquet around McKenzie’s swelling neck. ‘No more fucking games. Where are they?’ He loosened his grip enough to let McKenzie speak through his still grinning teeth.

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he spat.

‘What do you mean? What do you mean?’ Sean demanded, resisting the temptation to once more tighten his grip.

‘Like you said,’ McKenzie sneered: ‘games, games, games games. That’s all this was: a game. I don’t know anything about these missing children — I never did.’

‘You’re lying,’ Sean insisted.

‘No — no, I’m not and you know it. You needed a suspect and you picked on me — an easy target — hated by everyone. I knew you were going to try and make the evidence fit me no matter what, at least until the evidence itself proved it couldn’t be me, no matter how much you wanted it to be.’

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

‘So I decided to play my own game — never denying it nor admitting to anything, leading your surveillance to the hardware shop and buying the lock-picking tools. I knew you’d have me followed — you made it so easy for me. I knew it could only last until he took another child, but that was long enough.’