Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

‘I’m sure.’

‘Where does that leave us then?’ Donnelly asked as he and Sean both slumped into their chairs. ‘We have no viable suspects; his motivation is a mystery; we’ve nothing from Forensics that could help identify him, and the media appeal’s drawn a complete blank, except for the odd crank and lunatic. Where do we go from here? We still have two missing kids out there, boss.’

‘We keep looking for a link — we go over everything again until we find something, only …’

‘Only what?’

‘Only, we may have to consider the possibility there is no link between the victims and their families.’

‘What do you mean? We’ve put in a lot of hours looking for this link and now you’re saying there might not be one?’ Donnelly looked at him in disbelief. ‘There must be a link, because whoever’s taking these kids knew everything he needed to know, including the layout and security systems of the houses. He could only do that if he’d been allowed into the houses and had a good look around.’

‘New information’s come to light,’ Sean told him.

‘What information?’ Donnelly asked, his arms spread wide.

‘He was in the houses at night.’

‘We know that. How’s that supp-’

‘He went in beforehand, at night.’

‘How?’

‘It’s simple, if you think about it. The same way he went in when he took them: he picked the locks.’

‘Hold on,’ Donnelly said, his arms folded, his tone challenging, ‘let me get this straight. You’re saying sometime before he abducts the child, he goes to the house, lets himself in by picking the locks, has a good look around and then just leaves?’

‘That’s about it, yes.’

‘But why wouldn’t he take the child? Why risk a second visit? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Not to you or me or any sane person, but he’s not like any sane person. I don’t know why he does it, I wish I did. My best guess would be it helps elongate his fantasy. He sees the child sleeping; sees the parents sleeping; sees the brothers and sisters sleeping, and leaves, locking up behind him so no one ever realizes he was there. And then he goes away — he goes away and he thinks about nothing else for days, until he feels the time is right to return and claim his prize.’

‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ Donnelly decreed.

‘It’s our job to deal with nightmares,’ Sean reminded him. ‘But this could also help us, give us some new angles to look at.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as, if this is how he finds out whether their alarms are working or even whether they set them at night, then he may have tried to enter other houses as well as the ones we know about. Get the door-to-door teams to revisit the areas near the scenes — ask the occupants if anyone has had an unexplained alarm activation in the middle of the night. Maybe they even found their front door ajar because he had to leave in a hurry. If we’re lucky, someone might have looked out of a window and seen a man run off or a car pulling away. Who knows — maybe they can give us a description or, even better, a number plate.’

‘You mean if we’re very lucky?’ Donnelly pointed out.

‘Most cases like this are solved by a lucky break. We’ve just got to keep looking.’

‘Fair enough,’ Donnelly agreed half-heartedly, lifting his heavy frame from the chair with the ease of a much lighter, younger man. ‘I’ll get straight on it.’

‘Good,’ Sean thanked him. ‘Oh, and one more thing: the boy — Samuel Hargrave — when we unwrapped the blanket we found he was holding a soft toy in his arms and a crucifix in his right hand.’

‘Interesting combination.’

‘The crucifix is probably old and no doubt all but untraceable, but the toy — we might be able to find out where it came from. Maybe a shopkeeper will remember selling it to someone who left an impression on them?’

‘You mean a weirdo?’

‘If you like.’

‘And you think he gave the toy to the boy?’

‘Makes sense: he takes toys with him when he goes to abduct the children.’

‘To pacify them. To show them he’s a friend.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But the toy could be the boy’s? He could have just grabbed it when he was leaving?’

‘It could be, but I doubt it. He wouldn’t want the child to think he was trying to steal their favourite toy. Safer to take a new one. But check it out anyway.’

‘I’ll get Paulo to look into it,’ Donnelly assured him.

‘Good. Dr Canning has the details and photographs.

‘I’ll let Paulo know. And by the way, you look like shit.’

‘Thanks,’ Sean winced.

He watched the grinning Donnelly head into the main office in search of DC Zukov, then removed a small mirror from one of his desk drawers. Donnelly was right: he did look like shit — exhausted hollow eyes and unhealthy pale skin. He tossed the mirror back into the drawer and slammed it shut, looking across his desk at the piles of memos and reports that were rapidly accumulating. Could the one tiny piece of information that would turn the entire case be hiding in that mountain of paper, or in amongst the seemingly endless sea of information now stored on the inquiry’s computer databases? He knew it was entirely possible, even probable, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of sifting through any of it right now — the image of Samuel’s tiny body embracing the little plush dinosaur haunted his consciousness and stopped him thinking straight or concentrating. He needed to get out — get out and do something, anything that could give him the insight he needed to find the man he hunted and find him quickly. Find him before he took another child, or took another life. He jumped to his feet, stuffed his coat pocket full of the things he needed and headed for the exit.

Less than an hour later Sean pulled up outside number 7 Courthope Road — the scene of the first abduction. He checked the area for any sign of the media and was relieved to see so far they were sticking to their promise to leave the victims’ families alone, so long as the police gave them regular updates. But he was still pretty sure that as soon as he stepped from the car he’d fall into the frame of a long lens hiding behind a window or on a rooftop not too far away.

He dragged himself from the car and to the front door, remembering the first time he’d been here — the poisonous atmosphere of desperation and mistrust. After ringing the doorbell he stepped back, listening to the sounds coming from inside the house — normal sounds that masked the truth of what had happened here. A minute or so later he was relieved to see the door opened by one of his own — DC Maggie O’Neil, who was still acting as the Family Liaison Officer for the Bridgemans.

‘Sir,’ she said with surprise. ‘I wasn’t expecting a visit.’

‘I wasn’t expecting to make one,’ he answered, stepping inside without waiting to be invited. ‘How’ve they been doing?’ he whispered.

‘OK,’ Maggie told him. ‘Closer, since the DNA results showed the dad was also the biological father.’

‘Wonderful,’ Sean said sarcastically. ‘He finally has proof the boy is his, only now he’s gone. Where are they?’

‘Kitchen — having dinner, or at least trying to.’

Sean waited for Maggie to lead the way, gritting his teeth at the thought of having to speak to the family again.

As they entered, Maggie told the Bridgemans, ‘Sorry to disturb your dinner, but DI Corrigan’s here to see you.’

The parents looked up at him with abject fear in their eyes while their daughter merely glanced at him and kept eating.

Celia Bridgeman began to rise from her chair, swallowing hard before speaking, convinced they would be her last words before finding out her son was dead — before her world stopped for ever. ‘Has something happened? Have you found George?’