by N. M. Brown
“He’s not that dirty.” One child spat. “And he doesn’t smell.” This little boy, McQueen noted, had been quiet through the whole interview and had only whispered a thank you after he received his lollypop.
“You’ve met him?” McQueen asked, not daring to look at the Father in case he could read his sudden intrigue and fear.
The kid, seeing he was the centre of attention, shrunk back quickly. “Just… just once.”
“What did he say to you?” McQueen leant forward but held back his eagerness. “Did he give you anything?” But the boy clamped up.
“Pete.” His Dad stressed, “What are you doing talking to strangers?” The was a hitch of panic in his voice.
“He’s not a stranger dad. He’s nice. He played with me when everyone else runs away.”
McQueen saw as the rest of the adults shift uncomfortably. No parent liked hearing their child was a bully, but McQueen wasn’t at a parent-teacher conference. He had a much more important job to do so he stayed focused on the boy, begging for any information.
“And he said he knew Johnny? Did the three of you play together before Johnny went missing?” McQueen asked. The dad had crouched down and hugged his son furiously with one arm. “Have you seen him today? Or yesterday?”
“I-… I dunno.” Pete mumbled, tears in his eyes and he clutched his dad furiously. “When we went to the park.” The boy mumbled into his Dad’s jacket. Everyone was watching him now and Pete was on the brink of hysterics.
McQueen’s heart sadden at the sight of the boys fear. As a child, he had always been outgoing at school, something he put down to his future wife. However, McQueen could remember when he was interviewed by police; first when his Da left and then again with Shauna… It was scaring having someone ask you intence questions and hadn’t been nice then; it probably still wasn’t nice now. Nevertheless, this was a witness who not only knew who might have kidnapped Johnny, but it could be a lead them to where Johnny had been taken.
“We went yesterday.” The dad answered, growing pale. “I took him and his sister to the park after school. We have a dog that always needs walking…” But that father trailed off, the full force of the situation coming to his attention.
Crouching closer to the boy, McQueen remained calm but looked to the father. “What park was it?” He asked, but the father was stumped, the name not coming to his bewildered mind. “Was it Warping Woods?”
As a detective, he should never lead a witness with answers like that. If the witness didn’t know the name, he was meant to wait, or find evidence that gave the answer. But McQueen could feel the clock ticking in the back of his skull. He’d had one too many coincidencesin in this case and he was willing the bet on another.
“Yes… That’s the park. It’s on the way home…” The father paled and a few of the other parents drew in a breath as they recognised the park name themselves.
Turning his gaze to Pete, McQueen asked a question he’d been dreading. “I need to know if the boy gave you anything, Pete? Any sweeties like he did Johnny?”Pete had to only be about five years old and he was frozen in panic, his eyes shifted to his Dad as any child would when in trouble.
Looking the boy over, Pete was wearing a t-shirt and grubby jeans, the pockets flat and empty, but his puffy coat sat in the pile with the others. Plenty of pockets to hid things in. “Did he give you them and tell you to keep them a secret?” McQueen asked, already moving to the coat pile.
But still Pete didn’t say anything. “Please, Pete?” His dad smiled at his son encouragingly, “Give them to the Detective. You won’t be in trouble, I promise.” Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he slowly, with a shaking hand, pointed at his snow jacket.
Anxiously, McQueen plucked it from the pile and dug in the pockets, finding three lumps. He held his breath as he passed them from one hand to another and sighed, relieved when he saw all three sweets were intact and uneaten.
“Thank you, Pete.” McQueen smiled at the boy. “You’re really brave.” Looking to the rest of the group, he held up the sweets, the old fashion wax paper crinkled, and the blue underneath shone through. “If you find your children with any of these sweets, take them straight away and please bring it here to the station.”
“Why? What are they?” Mrs Roger’s asked squeezing her son’s hand hard enough he flinched.
“They are… not good. The kidnappers use them to lure Johnny away. I’m sorry, I must get these to the lab, but thank you for all your help. If you have any more information, please don’t hesitate to call.”
McQueen ushered the families out and wasn’t surprised to find Pete and his father the last to leave. “My boy, is he going to be ok?” The dad asked carrying his son as he sobbed into his shoulder.
“I’m not certain.” McQueen answered honestly and looked at Pete who hid his face further. Johnny had one whole sweet and two wrappers, while Pete had three whole sweets. Three seems to be the magic number…
“Pete, have you eaten any of these sweets?” and after a heartbeat, Pete shook his head, releasing a little more air from McQueen's tight chest. “Without giving too much information, your son should be ok. He hasn’t digested anything, which is a good sign. If I were you though, I would take your son to the hospital and ask them to check his blood. If there are any traces of narcotics in his system, please do call us.”
The father’s breath hitched before nodding. “Thank you, I will.” He made to leave but turned back around at the last second. “You’re going to find these kids? The one endangering our families?” He asked. “We try, you know, as parents, to warn them, but… children drugging other children?”
And McQueen felt the same chill at such a horror. “I understand your worry Sir, and I can assure you it is of my greatest concern. I’ll be informing officers of the situation and stationing them around the woods. We will attempt to catch these kids, spearing no expense.”
The dad nodded, seemingly pleased with McQueen reply when a small, hushed voice spoke up through layers of clothing. “You not find them.”
“Pardon?” McQueen asked, stepping around the father so he could see Pete’s snot covered face.
“You not find them.” He repeated. “He told me no Elders allowed. That Johnny was loving it and there was no rules.” Pete swallowed her and sniffed loudly. “No rules. He said no Elders were allowed and we could have all the sweets we want. That’s what he said. he said i woudl love it there.” Pete’s voice was barely a whisper by the time he finished; exhausted from crying.
“I’m sure that’s not true son. Besides, you’d miss home and who would make your toast in the morning?” The dad tried to encourage, but the full force of how close he had been to losing his son started the weigh on him.
“The police are very smart Pete. I’m sure we’ll fine him and Johnny.” McQueen continued, but Pete was shaking his head adamantly.
“He said they have loads of kids from everywhere. They play all day and never have a bedtime.” Pete sniffed hard. “I like bedtime. Mummy reads me a story.” Pete’s dad heaved his chest, catching a sob before it got out; both of them couldn’t break down in floods of tears.
“Yes. Yes, you do. Come on Pete, let’s go home and you can tell Mummy which story you’d like tonight.” The dad was silently crying now, his arms shaking, but Pete didn’t seem to mind. He was almost asleep, and with thanks, the father left.
◆◆◆
Sitting back at his desk, McQueen rubbed the small wax-paper sheet between his fingers and contemplated all he’d learned.
They – whoever they were - struck at the lonely kids, swaying them with a lawless society and freedom. Drugs entice them, masked as sweets, making them dependant. Then, the kids stay missing until something happens to them. He couldn’t say for certain they were killed because so far, they’d only found four bodies, but McQueen didn’t hold high hopes. There were dozens of missing kids and nowhere in this town was big enough to hide them. Plus, there was still a few missing puzzle pieces too, the top one
on McQueen’s list being: why where the the kids they had killed?
Leaning back, McQueen pulled a pair of latex gloves from his draw and unrolled a sweet. Carefully, he took a closer look at the wax paper. It was a dull matt and you could see the crease lines where the paper had been folded or crumpled. It was yellow with age, but McQueen couldn’t figure out if it was authentic or just due to how it was made.
The phone rang twice before Cassi answered. “Yes, hello?”
“Cassi, it’s me again. What did you find out about the wrap for the drug? The waxy paper?” He asked, holding the paper up to his desk light.
“Oh, I sent you the report yesterday, it should be on your desk.” McQueen paled as he looked at the masses of folders strewn over the desktop.
“Could you give it to me over the phone?” McQueen asked cheekily.
“Uhrrr… sure.” The was a slight rustling over the phone but eventually Cassi huffed a breath, looking over her notes. “The paper is a mix of newsprint, parchment and other sources of writing supplies. There are traces of a lot of inks, which makes me think the paper is recycled. No doubt it is mushed up, mixed with some wax and dried flat” The phone scrambled lightly as Cassi turned to the next page. “I had problems identifying the wax substance though. It’s not beeswaxes or made from tree nuts. I was thinking fat from an animal, but now we’re thinking the kidnappers are children, that seems a bit complex…” Cassi trailed off and McQueen could hear her mumble something about maybe a false positive on the scans.
“I’ve got some more sweets you can test: three more. Could you run a trace and see what else you can find?” McQueen asked. Even brick dust or several types of clay would identify what area of they might be looking in.
“Of course, McQueen. Excellent thinking. Send them over and I’ll have a look.”
“Thank you, Cassi.” McQueen said and got a distant reply before he put the phone down.
Picking up the drug again, he added ‘children’ too his train of thought. A well organised group, in need of children. They could be using them as slaves; forcing them to create this Dixie drug and the wax paper to distribute into the city… but McQueen quickly dismissed that.
If they were distributing, they would have an epidemic and the Narcotics department wouldn’t think it was a hoax. They only gave the sweets to other children they were trying to kidnap; but then what? A thought struck McQueen and he tried to remember what Pete had said ‘and we could have all the sweets we want.’ So, the sweets were used to keep the children in line, that was plausible, but again McQueen was stumped about the why…?
It could be child trafficking… but again McQueen didn’t buy it. Wendell, at the age of six, was perfect for what the black-market called, ‘White Gold’: long blonde hair, pale white skin and stunning blue eyes. She would have made hundreds of thousands on a single sale, but instead she grew up on the street, malnourished and addicted to Dixie, wound up pregnant, beaten to death.
“What the hell do they want these children for?” McQueen felt like a child trying to force a square peg through a round hole. He just wasn’t getting it. But someone else does, his traitorous mind whispered.
McQueen thought back to that fateful day when Echo had first spoken the name Wapping Woods. He remembered how sullen she’d become and how her wicked smile hadn’t reached her eyes. He’d happily ignored her rapid mood swing then, but now he wondered if he’d made a mistake. What had she said; ‘When I was…’ was what? Could it be possible Echo was about to say there? When she was there, she had experienced the horrors of the kidnapping ring? Been forced to make a drug, with no bedtime?
McQueen suddenly laughed at such an idea. It wasn’t possible. Echo was alive, here and now and hadn’t been reported missing, nor was she addicted to little blue sweets. But as McQueen spent the next few hours mulling over every angle and every bit of information he knew, his couldn’t stop glancing at his phone. He knew he was being silly, but it was like an idea he just couldn't ignore. Even if there were a slight possibility...
Instead, he called the officers on duty at the park, asking if they’d seen anything. Most said no, with only one saying he’d caught a drunk peeing in the flower beds, but otherwise nothing. Their presence was going nowhere and the more McQueen thought about what Echo had said, the more his resolve broke down.
She probably didn’t know anything and even if she did, it wasn’t like she’d tell him. Besides after what she pulled with Sage; he didn’t want to speak to the she-devil. She’d just mess him around; play him a fool. This wasn’t a case he could waste time on following half cocked leads and ghost stories.
He picked up the phone, and then put it down again, before picking it up and tapping in the first few didgets, before he stopped and put down the phone.
“Damn it.” He snarled. “Damn her.”
Grabbing his coat, McQueen walked out the door, cursing every step he took in the direction he didn’t want to go.
XVII
Alone in her apartment, Echo had paced across the front window ranting in her head about how stupid she’d been. She should have been here. She should have known that her family might test her once she came back. She’d been weak; fallen prey to someone else and barely got out alive. Her family wouldn't have someone so powerless as their ward.
Stopping mid stride, Echo caught glimpse of her swollen hands. Outstretched in front of her, she watched them trembled like quivering flowers, do delicate, so fragile… she wasn’t fragile!
Taking breath, Echo remembered through times like this before; times when her family had been displeased. She remembered being ignored for weeks when she’d been distracted by other sinister projects they considered mediocre. She’d clawed her way back into their graces and learnt to take their punishment as advice. She had to wait for them to forgive her and do as they say.
This time was no different. She must work hard, make sure they all knew she was here for them ready and willing to do anything. “I am one of them.” Echo said to herself in the mirror, her voice hard as it echoed in the bathroom.
Sweeping her hair back with a sigh, she took in a full, unobstructed view of her face and cringed. She didn’t look like a peach; more like a dying avocado, and if anything, it was getting worse. A few blows had caught her face, her once blue bruises where puffy and seeping into dirty yellows and greens. A black eye was glowing, and a lovely shiner covered her jaw. Her hands was swollen, her back ached and her ribs prevented any extravagant movements. She was going to be more of a deterrent than an asset in the House tonight.
Cringing again, Echo imagined it: her family wanting drinks, testing her resolve tonight, but her ugly face and broken body would fail her. She couldn’t hold anything or do anything at speed. How was she to join her family tonight if all she did was send people screaming?
“Ok, let’s try this again.” She ordered herself and was proud to say her backbone solidified into an iron rod.
Plucking up the concealer, Echo clenched her teeth as she rolled it painfully across her skin, going over the same bruises three times just to make sure nothing showed through. Traitorous tears rolled down her face, but she ignored them. Tears were no excuse to her family; a little pain was nothing.
They could cause everlasting pain if they so chose and Echo would not give them any reason to. She was theirs tonight. Realising a steading breath, she picked up her powder and dabbed her skin. Plumes of pale dust clouded the air, but Echo kept going, covering the bruises, coving the truth; covering her skin like a fine armour. Once she looked like herself, nothing could hurt her.
When her face was flawless, highlighted and contoured, the last job was just her signature blood red lips. It wasn’t her amour but her weapon. With a silver tongue and a wicked smile; her red lips made her powerful. It made her strong. It made her confident.
Twisting the stick to the right height, she hesitated for a second, taking in her immaculate face. You never knew what was under someone’s skin, the secrets and the story t
hey wanted to hide...
With a steady hand, with her heart in her hand, Echo painted her lips with a smile. She could do this. She was Echo- fucking- Headly and she was the one and only ward to the Seven Deadly Sins. She was theirs, as they were hers and nothing could take that away from her.