Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

With every ounce of strength he could summon he managed to force his eyes shut, but he couldn’t shut out his father’s threats and the boy’s painful, tearful pleas, sounds that stirred the deep rage that lurked in his very being, the rage that always sought to escape, the rage gave him strength — strength to open his eyes and scream No . But the man had already turned back into a faceless phantom and the boy was now sitting up in the bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist, his face impossible to recognize.

He watched as the phantom offered his hand to the boy — a hand the boy accepted, slipping from the bed and walking slowly and silently towards the bedroom door. Don’t go with him , Sean begged the boy, but he didn’t seem to hear him. Please don’t go with him , he called out louder, but still the figures ignored him. Please, stay here with me. I can protect you. I promise you’ll be safe. Don’t go . The boy and the man suddenly stopped, the boy turning slowly towards him, making Sean gasp with relief and start to smile, until the boy’s face began to clear and become recognizable. It was the face of Samuel Hargrave, but not as he’d been when he was alive — it was his face from the mortuary — pale white skin and blue lips, eyes almost completely closed — the dead, unmoving face looking straight at him, ripping away all hope. I’m sorry , Sean told him. I’m sorry . The boy turned away and was led from the bedroom by the man.

With a jolt Sean woke from the nightmare in the same position he’d fallen asleep, with his head resting on his folded arms across his desk. He straightened carefully, worried his compromised sleeping position would cause a muscle to pull or a joint to lock. Once he was sure nothing was about to rupture in his body, he stretched away as much stiffness as he could and stood gingerly, waiting for the dizziness to subside before deciding on his next move. It dawned on him that he probably smelled and looked as rough as he felt, so he grabbed a clean shirt he kept hanging on the back of his door and an emergency wash kit he kept in his drawer, then headed for the gym where he knew he’d find a shower.

Sean’s tiredness kept him in a dream-like state as he walked the almost deserted corridors of the Yard, passing only the occasional bleary-eyed detective who’d also been trapped overnight by some investigation and looked as exhausted and haunted as he felt. After he’d showered and dressed, Sean headed into the streets outside in search of decent coffee and fresh air. This early in the morning he found both, even in Victoria, but the build up of traffic, cars, taxis and double-decker buses would soon turn the air foul.

He sat in the window of Starbucks, staring at the road outside and trying to clear his mind while he waited for it to be a respectable enough hour to call Kate. As he wondered whether he could stomach anything to eat yet his phone began to chirp and vibrate. He snatched it up before any of the other early morning customers were disturbed, the caller ID telling him who it was.

‘Sally,’ he answered.

‘Guv’nor,’ she acknowledged. ‘You close by?’

‘Close enough: Starbucks, over the road. Trouble?’

‘ACC Addis is in your office with a face like a volcano. Won’t say what he wants, just that he’s waiting for you.’

‘Why doesn’t he just call me?’

‘I don’t know. Says he’d rather wait to see you in person.’

‘Fuck,’ he told her. ‘All right. Get down to SO10 on the fifth floor — tell them I sent you and you need to borrow a phone. They’ll look after you and they’ll keep it quiet too. Start making phone calls and try and find out what the fuck’s happened. Forewarned is forearmed. Don’t let him see you leave. Call me when you find something.’

‘And you?’

‘I’m already on my way back,’ he answered, ‘but call me the minute you have news.’

He took his time gathering his things and thoughts, strolling from the café and across the now treacherous road, along the street and through the revolving security doors at the Yard, flashing his warrant card as he passed the security scanners. A few minutes later he entered the main office and walked as casually as he could to where Addis stood like a heron waiting to strike at a fish. Sean tried to act as surprised as he could to find him in his office.

‘Morning, sir,’ he greeted him, pausing to empty his pockets and hang up his coat before sitting behind his desk, further firing the fury in the Assistant Commissioner’s eyes. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

‘I saw DS Jones leaving the room a few minutes ago,’ Addis began. ‘I assume she’s gone to do your bidding?’

Sean shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do,’ Addis told him, tapping the file he held across his chest with his thumb. ‘But let me save her the bother. This … this, Inspector, is why I’m here.’ He tossed the pink file marked Confidential on to Sean’s desk.

Sean tentatively opened it, holding his breath. The first thing he saw was a MISPER report with the photograph of a smiling little girl attached to it with a paperclip.

‘Fuck,’ Sean barely whispered, but Addis heard him clearly enough.

‘Fuck indeed, Inspector. More precisely, what the fuck is happening with this investigation? Another child taken — Victoria Varndell, five years old, snatched from her home in Mornington Crescent …’

Sean ignored the vitriolic tone, tuning out Addis’s presence as he speed-read the file. He didn’t know the area, but was pretty sure it was reasonably close to the other sites.

‘… Four children taken — one killed, for Christ’s sake — and the media all over it, all over us …’

Taken in the middle of the night — no sign of forced entry and nobody heard anything, except for the mother, who now thinks she may have heard whispering voices, but she thought she’d just been dreaming.

‘… made any progress at all? Do we have anything for those media bastards, or are you still flying blind, blundering …’

The family, seemingly wealthy, live in a converted mews. Father a merchant banker, mother a fashion designer with her own label.

‘… brought you here to solve high-profile cases quickly, not to make us look like incompetent, bungling idiots. I was told, wrongly as it turns out, that you were one of the best in the business. That you could make the connections …’

There was another child in the house at the time — the missing girl’s three-year-old sister, Katherine, who doesn’t appear to have been touched.

‘… state of you, and your office: a bloody mess, like this investigation. And look at the state of your team: they look like shit. They’re a disgrace. You’re a …’

The house was alarmed, but the alarm wasn’t activated at night for fear of the children setting it off if they went wandering.

‘… sorry, Inspector Corrigan, but I’m going to have to remove you from the investigation, effective immediately. The people of London want to see the police taking action. Replacing you with someone more suited to this investigation will hopefully at the very least buy us time.’

Sean finally looked up from the file, not having heard a word Addis had said. Something told him he needed to get to the scene as fast as he could — that the answers were there. He needed to see it while he was still in a semi-exhausted, dreamlike state — while his mind was too tired to be cluttered with the irrelevant vines that clung to all major investigations, and too tired to be even slightly affected by Addis’s sermon.

‘It’ll be done quietly,’ Addis continued, ‘you have my word on that. As soon as it can be arranged you’ll be moved back to a borough that’ll suit where you live. You should be grateful for the chance to work some sensible hours and see a bit more of your family.’