Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

Sean sighed deeply before answering, remembering the pitiful sight of Samuel Hargrave in the mortuary — his tiny broken body clutching his favourite soft toy, trying to equate that terrible scene with the shadow of a man who sat in front of him now. ‘It wasn’t God’s work, Douglas,’ he told him, ‘and it wasn’t God’s will either. One day I hope you can see that — I really do.’ He gathered his files and the tapes and stood to leave, looking from Leane to the solicitor. ‘Take as long as you need. Just let the jailer know when you’re done.’

He left the room as quickly as he’d arrived, Donnelly trailing in his wake. They stopped at the oversized custody suite desk to book the master-tape in as evidence.

‘Well, you certainly went for him,’ said Donnelly accusingly.

‘I had to know,’ Sean told him. ‘I had to know for sure.’

‘Know what?’

‘Whether he would have killed the other children — eventually.’

‘I see,’ Donnelly replied. ‘So what d’you want to do now?’

‘Let’s see how the search teams and Forensics get on. Let him rest. We’ll interview him again tomorrow in more detail. See if he can remember the when, where and how stuff.’

‘And then?’

‘Talk to the CPS — see what they want to do. It’s their decision.’

‘Fine,’ Donnelly agreed. ‘But what do you think?’

‘About what?’

‘About whether he would have killed the other children?’

Sean looked into Donnelly’s grey eyes. ‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On what God told him to do,’ Sean answered, his face serious and still. ‘But then you might say it was God who saved them — in the end.’

‘God?’ Donnelly questioned. ‘I thought it was you who saved them.’

‘Whatever,’ Sean said, continuing to log the tape. ‘None of that really matters now. The main thing is, this show’s over — for now, at least.’ He closed the logbook and tossed the master-copy tape on top of it before looking back to Donnelly. ‘Drink?’ he asked.

‘Constantly.’

Five Days Later

Sean crawled around on his hands and knees collecting dozens of treacherous pieces of Lego from the living-room floor. He could hear the voices of his wife and daughters one floor above as Kate struggled first to get them into the bath and then struggled even more to get them out. A couple of days’ rest had made him feel almost like a different person. Normal. He allowed himself a smile as he listened to Kate’s toil, glad to be left in charge of the downstairs tidying up. It was almost the first time he’d let the children out of his sight since coming home after seeing Douglas Allen being led away on remand to await his possible trial. He tossed the last of the Lego pieces into the box and stood, still feeling stiff and sore after surviving the investigation with close to no sleep or proper rest. At least he still had another couple of days off before going back to work. When and what the next case would be, God alone knew the answer.

He made his way to the kitchen and poured himself and Kate a glass of inexpensive Chianti, sitting contentedly at the dining table to wait for her to reappear before he got on with cooking dinner — something he hadn’t done in quite a while. He hoped the distraction would stop his mind from wandering back to Douglas Allen and all the others before him. He didn’t want to return to that world, not just yet. Kate had pushed him for details about the investigation, but as usual he’d kept it vague — even more so than usual. No details.

Kate’s hurried footsteps down the stairs broke his tranquillity and warned him something was wrong. A few seconds later she burst into the kitchen looking agitated.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, getting to his feet.

‘I can’t find Louise’s Froggy.’

Sean knew his daughter wouldn’t sleep without the floppy green toy she’d had since birth.

‘What d’you mean, you can’t find it?’

‘I mean I don’t know where it is.’

‘Can she remember where she left it?’

‘If she could do that it wouldn’t be lost, would it?’

‘When did you last see it?’ he asked, his voice urgent and anxious.

‘When did I last see it?’

‘Yes,’ he snapped at her. ‘When did you last see it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Think,’ he pushed her. ‘Did you see it this morning?’ Allen had been working alone, hadn’t he? There couldn’t be — another?

‘I … I can’t remember,’ she answered, growing increasingly concerned as she watched him frantically move around the kitchen, searching in every cupboard and drawer, under the table and every chair.

‘I haven’t seen it today,’ he told her over her shoulder. ‘If I had, I would have remembered. Did she have it last night?’

‘Yes,’ Kate replied. ‘She definitely had it last night.’

‘But you can’t remember seeing it this morning?’

‘No.’

‘What about when you made her bed?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘But I thought you always put it on her pillow?’

‘Not always. Sometimes she keeps it with her. What’s this about, Sean? You’re beginning to scare me.’

‘Like you said — she won’t go to sleep without it.’

‘No — something else. There’s something else you’re not telling me.’

He walked past her and headed back towards the relatively tidy living room, certain he hadn’t come across the prized toy when he’d cleaned up.

‘Sean,’ Kate asked as she followed him into the room. ‘Why are you so worried about this bloody toy?’

‘I’m not,’ he lied. ‘Just help me find it — please.’

She shook her head and without another word began to help him search the room. Sean pulled toys from the shelves and dropped them on the floor, emptying out boxes of Duplo and anything else that could be concealing the thing he desperately searched for. His eyes fell upon the sofa the children had not long ago been curled up on, watching cartoons before bath and bed. He grabbed handfuls of loose cushions and threw them aside, pulling off the covering blanket they used to try and preserve the sofa covers and hurling it to the side until only the main cushions remained. He drew a breath and said a fast, silent prayer before tossing them aside, dropping to his knees with relief as a huge weight suddenly lifted from his mind and body. He held the small green frog in both hands, breathing out and smiling slightly as he stared into its stitched eyes.

‘Jesus Christ, Sean,’ Kate asked. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing,’ he replied, never looking away from the toy. ‘Nothing at all.’