‘That’s what I thought,’ Sean told him, the disgust on his face barely disguised as he headed for the exit.
He would usually been up by now, showered, shaved and dressed just as always, but this morning the pain in his head was debilitating, keeping him virtually paralysed in his bed, the usually neat sheets crumpled around his writhing limbs as his head twisted from side to side, a permanent grimace of agony etched into his grey, sweat-coated face. ‘Make the pain stop,’ he begged. ‘Please make the pain stop.’ But it only grew more intense. He jolted under its intensity, struggling to control his bladder and bowels.
All the while he could hear the pounding of the children’s feet on ceiling as they ran around in the room above. Their voices penetrated his pain as they chattered and laughed – conspiratorial voices mocking him, mocking his kindness. ‘Please, tell me what to do. Help me know what to do. I don’t know what to do,’ he panted, his fingers clawing at the sheets, but the voices had abandoned him, leaving him nothing but pain and confusion. ‘Dear God, help me. The Lord is my shepherd.’ Even his prayers went unanswered. ‘Why have you betrayed me – in my time of need?’ He braced himself against the pain and rolled on to his side, shuffling forward, eyes still tightly closed, until he felt his feet hanging over the edge of the bed. ‘God give me strength,’ he pleaded. He pushed himself from the bed, his knees landing hard as the crashed to the floor, his upper body slumped over the bed. ‘Have I not done everything you’ve asked of me? Why do you punish me? Tell me why.’
His eyes began to flicker open, the weak morning light seeping through the curtains serving to increase the hammering inside his head. Eventually he was able to turn his head and look up towards the footsteps pounding on the ceiling above. ‘Have I made a mistake? Have I not chosen carefully enough? Is one of them a Judas?’ His narrowed eyes slid from side to side, old, familiar feelings of paranoia spreading like creeping, strangulating vines through the roots of his mind. ‘Is it the girl?’ he asked. ‘The one who will never do as she is told?’ The pain faded as his delusions took hold, helping him grow stronger and stronger.
‘I understand,’ he told the voices crowding inside his head. ‘I hear you,’ he assured them as he pulled himself from the floor and tentatively stood without holding, his pyjamas clinging to his body, damp with sweat. Once he was sure his legs could support his body he began to head towards the bedroom door – slowly at first, but as the pain continued to subside and his strength returned, his shuffle turned into an unsteady walk and then into a purposeful, steady stride.
He walked into the hallway and stared up the stairs as he began to recite from Christ’s sermon on the mount. ‘And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee.’ The words made it clear to him what he needed to do next. He placed a foot on the first stair and began to climb. ‘For it is profitable that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.’
The door was opened by a tall, slim, flat-chested woman in her mid-thirties wearing a two-piece grey suit, white blouse and long, straight brown hair. Sean immediately recognized her as one of his own. She looked him up and down suspiciously before speaking, making him wonder for a second whether Addis had warned her to expect him and prevent him entering the scene. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked sternly.
He tugged his warrant card from his coat pocket and let it fall open for her to see. ‘DI Corrigan. Special Investigations Unit.’
Her face visibly relaxed. ‘Thank God for that,’ she whispered. ‘Thought you were a bloody reporter. I was told they might come creeping around.’
‘And you are …?’ Sean asked with a false smile.
‘Sorry,’ she apologized, holding out her hand. ‘DC Amanda Haitink, local CID – Sapphire Unit, to be more precise. I was briefed to stay with the family till someone from Special Investigations got here, and to keep an eye out for reporters.’
‘It’s a little early for reporters,’ he reassured her. ‘No one knows about this yet, and that’s the way we need to keep it – for now.’
‘I understand,’ she agreed, still guarding the entrance to the house. ‘Sorry,’ she said, finally standing aside. ‘I suppose you want to come in.’
He walked past Haitink and into the hallway, leaving her to close the door. The inside of the converted stable-block was dark and quiet, the atmosphere oppressive.
He quickly looked around and found his bearings. It was a large and luxurious home, the old features of the building perfectly blended with the contemporary interior design. Any pleasure he might have taken in the beauty of his surroundings had already been crushed by the presence he had sensed as soon as he entered the house. He knew the man he hunted had been here: the fact the family were obviously wealthy, the age of the missing child, the time and method of abduction, the fact there was another child left at the house – it all led him to the same conclusion. But aside from the logical arguments linking this case to the others, for the first time he could feel the man’s presence. His exhaustion, his conversation with the priest and Addis leaving him nothing to lose had at last freed his mind from the confusing clutter. He knew beyond doubt that there was something here, at this scene; something crucial that would finally lead him to the man he’d been so fruitlessly hunting. He could feel it with such certainty that his heart-rate began to rise and stomach tighten. Now all he had to do was find it, and find it before Addis had a moment of clarity and realized that he wasn’t about to just walk away from his quarry and three missing children, not when he knew he was still their best chance.
‘Any idea how they make their money?’ he asked, still looking for any link between the families.
‘He’s an investment banker in the City, but apart from that he seems all right, and she owns and runs a clothing boutique or something,’ Haitink explained.
‘Where are they now?’
Haitink grimaced and kept her voice low. ‘Dad’s in the kitchen at the moment, although he can’t sit still: keeps walking from room to room. Understandable, really. He’s not too enamoured with the police right now – he knows all about the other abductions, wants to know how we could have let this happen.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Sean promised. ‘And the mother?’
‘Not doing too good. I’ve tried to talk to her – just sit with her − but she wants to be on her own. Won’t even talk to her husband.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘The missing girl’s bedroom.’ Sean fired her a look of concern, and she knew why. ‘I know – I should have preserved it for Forensics, but … I just didn’t have the heart. If you’d seen her …’
‘It’s all right,’ Sean stopped her. ‘I understand. Besides, she must have been in the room a thousand times: she won’t affect its forensic state much now.’
‘Thousands of times?’ Haitink questioned. ‘I don’t think so. They only moved here a few weeks ago.’
Sean almost smiled at his own forgetfulness. ‘Of course,’ he told her. ‘Of course they did.’
‘Does that mean something?’ Haitink asked.
‘Only one man can tell us that for sure,’ he answered.
‘And who would that be?’
‘The man who’s taking them.’
Haitink studied him for a while before speaking again. ‘Kitchen’s through here,’ she told him and headed towards it knowing Sean would follow.
As soon as they entered Seth Varndell rounded on them. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded, looking at Sean.
‘DI Sean Corrigan – Special Investigations Unit. It’s my job to find your daughter,’ he told him, trying not to think of Addis and what he’d do if he knew Sean was here now.
‘Then maybe you can start by telling me what the hell’s going on?’ Varndell’s short, stocky frame was taut with tension, his almost invisible spectacles magnifying terrified eyes. ‘We reported Victoria missing hours ago and nothing seems to have happened. Where are the forensic people? Why aren’t the streets full of
cops searching for her? And what about search dogs and helicopters? Why isn’t anything happening?’
‘That all takes time to organize,’ Sean tried to explain, ‘but it will all be done, trust me.’
‘Time to organize,’ Varndell mocked. ‘No wonder you haven’t caught him yet. Why’s he doing this? Is he some sort of pervert, or has he got a grudge against people working in the City? Is this a revenge attack? How could you let him do this?’
Sean fought hard to resist the temptation to bite back. ‘Unfortunately these abductions aren’t the only bad thing happening in London right now and I don’t have a limitless supply of people, but I can assure you we’re putting as many resources as we possibly can into finding the man responsible, and getting the children back safely.’
‘Safely?’ Varndell questioned. ‘Safely? Isn’t it already too late for one of the children? I haven’t just arrived from another planet,’ he continued. ‘I saw it on the news last night. You found a boy in Highgate Cemetery – right? Dead – and you think he was taken by the same man who’s—’ He suddenly stopped himself, his hands searching for something to support him as his legs suddenly could no longer bear his weight. Sean sprang forward and managed to get both arms around Varndell’s chest and manoeuvre him into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
‘You all right?’ Sean asked with genuine sympathy.
‘Yes,’ Varndell answered, but he looked deathly pale and clammy. ‘Thank you, and I’m sorry – I just can’t believe this is really happening – not to us.’
‘I understand,’ Sean told him, still checking for signs that Varndell wasn’t about to faint. ‘Have you eaten anything, or had a drink?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘You need to try,’ Sean insisted. ‘DC Haitink here will fix you something – a cup of sweet tea at least.’ Sean looked to her for backup.
‘Of course I will,’ she told Varndell pleasantly. ‘The DI’s right – you need to take care of yourself if you’re to help us find Victoria.’
‘I’ll try,’ Varndell promised.
‘Good.’ Sean patted the man’s shoulder. ‘And while you do that, I need to speak with your wife.’
‘Helen?’ he asked, filling his lungs to combat the dizziness. ‘Good luck there, Inspector. She doesn’t seem to want to speak to anyone at the moment – not yet, anyway. Maybe you could give her a little time?’
‘Sorry,’ Sean explained. ‘Time is one thing I don’t have.’
‘In that case you’ll find her in Victoria’s bedroom – on the second floor.’
Sean immediately headed for the stairs, telling Haitink: ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ She gave a single nod before turning her attention to Varndell.
‘OK, Mr Varndell, where d’you keep the tea and sugar?’ Sean heard her asking as he made his way up the steep staircase towards the bedroom where hours before Victoria Varndell had been sleeping only a matter of feet from her parents.
‘There’s something here,’ Sean whispered to himself as he climbed the stairs. ‘Something here for me to find, but I need to see, not just look. All I’ve been doing is looking, but now I need to see – need to see like you see. You left something for me at George Bridgeman’s house, didn’t you? But I didn’t see it. I looked, but I didn’t see it. And you left something for me at Bailey Fellowes’ house too, but I didn’t see that either. So you left Samuel Hargrave in the cemetery for me so I would see what you are.’ He climbed the remaining stairs in silence until he reached the almost fully closed door of Victoria’s bedroom, the quiet crying inside telling him he was in the right place. He knocked on the frame and waited, but Helen Varndell either hadn’t heard or she wasn’t ready to share her pain. Sean knocked again, easing the door open when he received no reply, peering inside where he could see Helen Varndell sitting on the end of the bed with her back to him, surrounded by dolls and soft toys, her body as still as if she’d been frozen in stone, her anguished yet gentle sobbing continuing unabated.
‘Mrs Varndell,’ Sean almost whispered, but she didn’t respond. ‘Mrs Varndell,’ he persisted, louder this time, slowly entering the room, just as he had. He was sure that if Mrs Varndell hadn’t been in the room he could have smelt the scent of desperation the man he hunted had left behind, but as it was he couldn’t be sure it didn’t belong to the mother. ‘Mrs Varndell. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan. I need to speak with you, if I can.’
Still she didn’t respond. He walked deeper into the room until he was level with her. ‘I understand you want to be alone, I would too, but I have to speak to you. I need to know what happened here.’
Her head snapped towards him, almost making him jump.
‘Someone took my baby,’ she told him clearly, despite the tears that slid down her cheeks. ‘He came in here and he took her – the same man who took those other children. The same man who killed that boy.’
‘Samuel Hargrave,’ Sean explained. ‘His name was Samuel Hargrave.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ she answered. ‘I wasn’t paying that much attention when I saw it on the news. For a second I thought, God, how terrible that must be for the parents, then I didn’t think about it again until this morning, when I went to get Victoria and saw she was gone. And I knew – I just knew straight away that she’d been taken. I-I remembered seeing it on the television, but I still couldn’t remember the boy’s name.’
‘It’s understandable,’ Sean tried to comfort her. ‘We never think these things will happen to us.’
‘We have an alarm,’ she told him, pain and guilt shining in her eyes, the thought of actions not taken haunting every line of her face. ‘When we saw it on the news I said to Seth, I said we should set the alarm at night, but we forgot, we just forgot, and now Victoria is gone.’
‘No,’ Sean insisted. ‘That’s not why she’s gone. She’s gone because someone took her. That has nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do. This man is like … like a bolt of lightning. Who knows why lightning misses a million people standing in the open, but then hits one man as soon as he steps outside. Some things we just can’t predict, and we can’t live our lives always fearing the worst or we would have no life. I see these things almost every day, but do I make my wife and kids live their lives in some sort of protective bubble? Of course I don’t, and I never would, no matter what.’
‘Maybe,’ she told him, ‘but if something happens to her I’ll never forgive myself – I’ll be dead inside. I’ll always be dead inside.’
Sean sat next to her on the unmade bed, unable to think of anything else to say – exhausted by the effort of being understanding and trying not to absorb her pain, until for the first time he noticed she was holding a small toy in her hands, almost concealed between her palms. ‘Is that her favourite toy?’ he asked, remembering the toy placed so caringly under Samuel Hargrave’s dead arms and making a mental note to check what progress Zukov had made in tracing the toy’s origins.
Mrs Varndell looked down at the toy she was caressing, then answered with a resigned shrug. ‘This thing? God, no.’ She opened her hands and Sean saw that the toy looked more like an antique from the Victorian age than a child’s plaything – a monkey with a grinning porcelain face, dressed in a red soldier’s uniform with a little red cap perched at an angle on its head while each hand grasped a miniature brass cymbal. ‘I never wanted her to have it, but she insisted. Horrible-looking thing. Scary. I don’t know why I even picked it up – perhaps because it was one of the last things I bought for her.’
Her words made Sean rise to his feet, staring down at the toy monkey still in the woman’s hands, thoughts rushing at him too quickly to be processed. He was terrified that they might all melt away before he could form the whole picture in his mind. The words of the young priest came back to him. It’s like we’re looking so hard, but we just can’t see. ‘This isn’t her favourite toy?’ he asked her, his instinct telling him to keep asking questions, any that
came into his mind. Just ask the questions and hope to decipher the answers when they came.
‘No,’ she told him. ‘Victoria has only ever had one special toy – Polly the rag-doll. Sometimes I think she loves that doll more than she loves anyone alive. But all children have one special toy, don’t they? One that they love above all others – the one they can’t sleep without – the one that all parents are afraid of losing. Even if you give them an identical replacement, they know it’s not the real one.’
‘Yes, yes they do,’ Sean agreed, thinking of his own daughters and their special soft toys – the ones they’d had since the day they were born. Never the largest or most expensive, but somehow the ones that each particular child formed a seemingly unbreakable bond with. ‘So where is Polly now? Is she still here?’
‘No,’ she answered, ‘or at least I don’t know.’
‘Have you looked?’
‘Everywhere, but we can’t seem to find her.’
‘Then it’s possible that whoever took her also took the doll,’ Sean thought of the soft blue dinosaur in Samuel’s arms, and realized that the killer hadn’t brought it with him. It had always belonged to the boy and he’d taken it at the same time …
But Mrs Varndell hadn’t finished yet.
‘No,’ she contradicted him. ‘He couldn’t have done that.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Sean admitted, his eyes growing narrow with strain. ‘Why couldn’t he?’
‘Because Polly didn’t go missing last night – she went missing the night before.’ She continued talking, but Sean wasn’t listening any more as the significance of her words began to sink into his strained mind and settle into a composite picture he could finally understand. He’d had all the pieces of the puzzle he needed right from the first scene, but only now was he able to put them together – only now was he able to realize the significance and importance of each separate piece. ‘We looked everywhere, but we couldn’t find her, so he couldn’t have taken Polly at the same time as he took Victoria, because Polly wasn’t here.’
The Toy Taker Page 39