Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

Finally he was able to stand, pulling himself up and hauling himself into the chair, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, his hands still trembling as he tugged open another drawer and took out an innocuous-looking blue notebook. He flicked through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A name — Victoria Varndell, age about five years old. Address: 2 Bayham Place, Mornington Crescent. ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ It was his duty to save the child, but not tonight — he couldn’t save her tonight, not until he’d learned all he needed to know. But tomorrow he could save her. Tomorrow he would be able to save five-year-old Victoria Varndell.

Sean hadn’t been able to bear the thought of returning to the Yard after visiting the house in Primrose Hill — returning to the piles of reports and emails that undoubtedly waited for him. The increasing list of missed calls on his mobile was evidence enough that he was much in demand, but he had nothing to say to anybody, nothing he wanted to share — not yet. Instead he’d driven to the other two scenes, parking as close as he could to the houses the children were taken from without being noticed, just sitting in the dark, his window down as he listened to and smelled the streets. It was the first time he had travelled from scene to scene and he was struck by their proximity to each other. But the area between them still meant there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of streets to cover. No matter how many dozens of extra cops they put on the streets, it would still be an incredible stroke of luck if they were to stop the right man and bring to a halt what the media were increasingly referring to as his reign of terror . He tried to remember anyone getting that lucky before, but couldn’t.

Eventually he had to face the fact that the scenes wouldn’t speak to him and he headed home to East Dulwich. He needed at least a few hours’ sleep, a shower and change of clothes — maybe even some food that wasn’t processed or out of a vending machine. By the time he arrived it was late enough that most of the other occupants of the street were either already tucked up in bed or heading that way.

He enjoyed the short walk in the solitude of the empty road, his footsteps loud enough to create a slight echo, his warm breath forming great plumes of steam that died as quickly as they were born. During his time as a uniform constable he, like most cops, had learned to make the night his — its sounds and sights, smells and tones. He was familiar with and comfortable in night in a way most people would never understand. If he hadn’t been so tired he would have walked further, and there was still a chance Kate would be awake. Usually, when he arrived home late, he preferred to be alone, his mind too crowded for small talk or even talk of his family, but tonight was different — he needed to see Kate, needed to speak to her. Anna was right — Kate and his family were his anchor. Without them he could easily begin to lose himself. Anna was a temptation, one he still hadn’t dealt with, one that still inhabited his consciousness − but he had no doubt who he loved, who he couldn’t live without, and he needed to see her tonight.

As he slid the key into the only lock securing the front door he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take the man he hunted to open and enter his own house, gliding up the stairs to where his daughters slept, his wife not hearing a thing as he slipped into their bedroom and chose one to take — but which one would he choose? Sean found himself asking, before shaking the ugly thought away and letting himself in, closing and locking the door behind him, kicking off his shoes and walking to the rear of the house where Kate and the kitchen waited. She looked up from her laptop and greeted him as if he was a normal man, returning from a normal job at a normal hour.

‘Wasn’t expecting to see you for a while.’

‘Thought I’d grab a few hours at home while I can — not that the world and his wife aren’t looking for me.’

‘Trouble?’

‘When is it ever anything else?’

‘That’s not what I meant. I mean are you in trouble — you specifically?’

‘Not especially,’ he half-lied. ‘Powers that be want this one sorted as soon as possible. They’re putting the pressure on a bit, like they do. You would think I didn’t want to find whoever’s taking these children. Fools.’

‘Do you still think they’re alive?’

‘Not all of them,’ he told her.

‘You find something then?’

‘Yeah. A body,’ he answered coldly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and meant it.

‘So am I.’

‘One of the children you were looking for?’

‘No. Another one — only taken last night. Something went wrong and the boy ended up dead.’

‘Jesus. How are you coping?’

‘With what?’

‘With the fact children are involved. It can’t be easy.’

‘No — it’s not, but I’m fine.’

‘Really?’

‘If everyone would just leave me alone I’d be fine, but I’ve got Featherstone and Addis breathing down my neck, admin from floor to ceiling, multiple scenes to coordinate, forensic teams I don’t know to deal with — deadlines, media spin — it’s choking me. I can’t think. It’s killing my instincts. I’m looking — I’m looking and looking and looking, but I’m just not seeing it. Every time I think I’m getting close, someone draws the curtains. I’ve picked up a few bits and pieces, but nothing that’s going to lead me to him, nothing anyone else couldn’t have seen.’

‘You sure about that?’ Kate asked. ‘Don’t take anything you’ve seen for granted. Chances are, you’re the only one who’s seen it or even could see it.’

‘Yeah — I’m not so sure. I feel like my instincts are being strangled. If I can’t think the way I need to, then maybe I don’t want this any more. The frustration would drive me insane.’

‘What are you talking about, Sean?’

‘I’m saying maybe I need to do something different. Another job in the Met, or quit altogether, look into New Zealand again.’

‘Oh no,’ Kate insisted. ‘No one wants you off that murder squad more than me, but not like this — not frustrated and defeated. It would burn you up, Sean. It would kill you. At least finish this case before you make any final decisions.’

‘Maybe.’

‘No, Sean, not maybe — definitely.’

‘I know, you’re right. But why can’t I get inside this one’s head? Why can’t I think like him? I don’t have any instinct any more. I don’t know what happened to it — I really don’t.’

‘Yes you do,’ Kate reminded him. ‘It just got buried under an avalanche of interference and administration. You’ve got so much crap on your mind you can’t think freely. You need to dig yourself out from under all the rubbish.’

‘Oh yeah, and how do I do that?’

‘Christ, Sean, I don’t know. Use your imagination — be creative. Do something you haven’t done in a long time, or something you’ve never done, anything to set your mind free again. Go back down the boxing gym, ride a bike, climb a mountain or see a bloody priest — just do something.’

‘OK. OK,’ Sean surrendered. ‘I’ll do something. I haven’t got a damn clue what, but I’ll think of something.’ He stood as if to leave.

‘You off to bed?’ Kate asked.

He shook his head slowly. ‘No. I just thought I’d pop in and see the kids.’

‘They’re asleep,’ she reminded him.

‘I know. I’ll be careful. I won’t wake them. Promise.’

Kate saw the need in his eyes. ‘I know you will.’

He smiled before turning away and heading for the stairs, tiptoeing into the semi-darkness, trying to think of nothing but looking upon his beautiful daughters, but finding it impossible not to draw comparisons between his movements and those of the man he sought, no matter how hard he tried not to. He silently cursed his own mind as he reached the landing and the soft blue light that leaked through a half-closed door. He slipped inside the room, moving almost silently to the beds where the tiny figures slept, just their heads visible from under the duvets. He walked between the two beds and dropped slowly to his knees as if he was about to pray, looking from Mandy to Louise and back again, stretching out his arms and gently resting a hand on each of the sleeping children, their warmth, the rising and falling of their chests triggering emotions he struggled to control as his head fell forward on to his chest. He pushed the tears back before they could flow from his eyes, swallowing hard to stop himself from sobbing and waking his children. He kept his eyes tightly closed until he had composed himself, his head eventually lifting as he blinked them open, once more looking from child to child.