Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘What does that mean?’ DC Jesson asked. ‘This is his third victim, but the first we’ve found. Is he getting sloppy about how he disposes of the bodies?’

Sean looked around the room before answering. His team looked tired and demoralized. So far they’d only been confronted with photographs of the victims smiling, happy and alive, but now they knew they’d soon be seeing cold, livid pictures of the body at the recovery location and, worse still, from the post-mortem. It was always so much worse when the victim was a child, especially for the detectives who had children of their own. It dragged everyone into melancholy and darkness, while at the same time stiffening their resolve to keep going, to leave nothing undone until they could finally stop the human monster, march him into the custody area handcuffed and defeated — not a thing to be feared any more — not even a man — just a broken wretch, promising to tell them anything they wanted to know in exchange for protection from the baying mob and some hope of clemency.

‘No,’ Sean finally answered Jesson’s question. ‘I don’t think he’s getting sloppy. The body was very deliberately left there for us to find. He wasn’t trying to conceal it. He wanted us to find it.’

‘Why?’ Carlisle asked in her Geordie accent. ‘Why would he want us to find this victim, but not the others?’

‘Because the other victims are still alive,’ Sean told her with a trace of confusion in his voice, a little surprised she hadn’t worked it out herself yet.’

‘So why did he kill this victim, but not the others?’ Carlisle continued, the expressions of the faces of the rest of the team telling Sean he was running ahead of them.

‘Because it was an accident,’ he told them. ‘Because he didn’t mean to.’

‘Then manslaughter, not murder,’ Jesson added.

‘We treat it as murder until we know any different,’ Sean reminded them. ‘Assume nothing. Murder or manslaughter — that’s the CPS’s decision.’

‘More’s the pity,’ Donnelly mumbled.

‘We still have two missing children out there who I believe are still alive, so what do we know? What have we found out?’ Sean asked the room.

‘We’ve checked out the estate agents for both families, the removal companies, alarm companies, all workmen who’ve been through both houses and any other possible link they could have, but we’re not finding anything,’ Sally updated them.

‘Then we’re missing something,’ Sean insisted. ‘Go back and have all the people we’ve spoken to spoken to again. Somebody, somewhere missed something.’

‘We’ve already done that,’ Sally argued.

‘Then do it again, and let’s speed up the new inquiries, checking with their GPs, after-school clubs, holiday clubs, anything that could link them.’

‘But-’ Sally began before Sean cut her down.

‘Have you got a better idea?’

Sally looked at the floor and swallowed her rising anger, Sean’s rebuttal stinging her. ‘No,’ she admitted.

‘That’s what I thought,’ Sean added cruelly. ‘And now we have another family to cross-reference with the other two Maybe now the link between all the families will show up.’

‘What if we’re wrong?’ Carlisle asked. ‘What if there is no link? What if the suspect’s victim selection is totally random and we’re wasting our time looking for a link that isn’t there?’

Sean felt the colour draining from his face, his empty stomach tightening and twisting, his usual certainty weakening in the face of Carlisle’s questions. Why was he so sure? Was he wasting their time, looking for things that didn’t exist? No , he told himself. The evidence was there to be seen . ‘We’re not wrong,’ he assured the room. ‘Don’t forget what we already know: whoever’s taken the children knew too much about them for it to be random: Where they lived. That their alarms weren’t working. That there were no dogs in the houses, and God knows what else. These weren’t random — they were planned, and he had insider knowledge of all three families and their homes. He couldn’t have done it if he didn’t.’ He looked at the faces of the detectives who stared back at him, relieved to see them largely nodding in agreement, seemingly convinced by hard, cold facts. ‘So let’s find out everything we can about the latest family and see if we can’t hunt down this link. The link is the key.’

‘What about the press conference?’ Sally asked.

‘It goes ahead as planned, but we make no mention of the third victim.’

‘We won’t be able to keep it a secret for long,’ Donnelly told him.

‘Long enough to get the conference out the way. Any more questions?’

‘Why’s he taking them?’ Sally asked, her voice slightly raised, silencing the growing murmur in the room, her eyes fixed on Sean.

He hesitated a moment, his eyes flicking to Donnelly, remembering the reaction of the other detectives in the cemetery when he revealed his theory. ‘I don’t know yet,’ he lied, relieved to see that Donnelly didn’t react.

‘What about the victim’s body?’ Sally continued. ‘Were there any signs of injury or anything else?’

‘The body was wrapped in a blanket. It was impossible to tell. I’m guessing the cause of death was asphyxiation, but we’ll know more after the post-mortem.’

‘You didn’t examine the body at the scene?’

‘No. Best to do it under lab conditions.’

Sally flicked her eyebrows, surprised that Sean had been able to resist at least an initial examination.

‘I took some photographs at the scene, on my phone. I’ll email them to everybody, with a brief report of what we know so far. Chase down everything — all leads, witnesses, information reports, door-to-door, anything you can, no matter how seemingly unimportant. We need to stop this one, because he will take more. Why he’s doing it I don’t know, but I’m certain he’ll take more. Whatever’s driving him won’t just stop, and neither will he.’

It was late morning when Featherstone entered the office of Assistant Commissioner Addis, who was already standing behind his desk stuffing a selection of coloured files into his black briefcase. Featherstone knocked on the doorframe to attract his attention, not willing to step further across the threshold without permission. Addis looked up with an expression of distaste on his face. ‘Ah. It’s you,’ he said.

‘You wanted to see me, sir.’

‘Yes, but I haven’t got time to sit and chat. You’ll have to walk with me.’ Addis quickly closed and locked his briefcase before unceremoniously striding past Featherstone and into the corridors of power, walking at a pace Featherstone struggled to keep up with, talking as he went, fluently and without any signs of breathing hard despite the relentless pace, occasionally glancing at his watch. ‘Clearly you know that a third victim has been found?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Featherstone answered. ‘Corrigan sent me an email with some photos and a covering brief.’

‘You mean he didn’t bother to contact you in person?’

Featherstone reminded himself that talking to Addis was like walking through a minefield. ‘I imagine he’s been too busy with this new one.’

‘Yes,’ Addis sneered. ‘The new one — only this one’s not like the others, is it?’

‘How so?’

‘Because this one’s dead, Superintendent.’

‘Yes, sir. I know.’ A degree of insolence leaked into Featherstone’s tone. Addis stopped in his tracks and turned to face the older, junior man.

‘Do you know where I’m on my way to now, Superintendent? I’m on my way to do the press conference with the parents of the other two missing children, and after that I’m going to have to tell them that a third child has been taken, and then I’m going to have to tell them that that child was murdered. That’s not going to be a very pleasant thing to have to do, is it?’