The Toy Taker

by Delaney, Luke

  Sean staggered backwards a step, the weight of the unravelling truth making him dizzy as he began to speak out loud, not caring who heard or what he sounded like – he just needed to say the words that were racing through his head before they were lost: ‘He knows the houses – knows everything about them, because he’s been inside them before, during the night. And the children never cry or call out because he brings them something – something special, something more special to them than almost anything else.’

  He paused for a second as the final picture took shape behind his eyes and at last solidified. ‘Jesus Christ – he was in the house the night before he took the child. He was in all the houses the night before he took the children. He let himself in, checked everything he needed to check and then he went to the children’s rooms and he saw which toys they were holding tightest. He knew they would be the ones he needed and he took them – and then he left as silently as he came, locking the door behind him so no one even knew he’d been. And when he came back the following night, he came with the toy. That’s how he kept them quiet, by giving them back the thing they wanted more than anything – the thing they loved.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Mrs Varndell said through her distress, covering her mouth with one hand as if she was going to start retching. ‘Oh my God, he’s been here before – walking around inside my house. Oh my God.’

  Sean ignored her because he had to. He was too close to the final answer to let anything stand in the way. ‘But that’s not enough. Not for this one. He plans – everything is planned. If he went to the bedroom and the child wasn’t holding the toy, then all the other parts of his plan would collapse, and he wouldn’t risk that, so … so he already knew which were their favourite toys – the bastard already knew. But how – how did he know that?’ He looked down at the sobbing figure of Mrs Varndell and the toy monkey in her hand, its porcelain face staring straight at him, just as the doll with the porcelain face had done when he stood in the bedroom of Bailey Fellowes − toys from a bygone era, out of place in the rooms of young children nowadays. He was seeing more and more as he dropped to his knees in front of Mrs Varndell, grabbing the hand that held the toy. ‘Listen to me,’ he pleaded. ‘It’s vitally important you listen to me.’ She blinked away her tears and tried to focus on his face. ‘I need you to tell me where you bought this toy. I need you to tell me right now.’

  She shook her head, dazed and confused, her mind struggling to function properly. ‘A toyshop,’ she stuttered. ‘A toyshop somewhere.’

  ‘Where?’ Sean demanded.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she told him. ‘I’m confused. I … I.’

  ‘Think,’ he pushed her.

  ‘In Hampstead, I think.’

  Sean rocked back on his heels. Hampstead – right in the middle of the abduction sites.

  ‘Where in Hampstead?’

  ‘I don’t remember. I don’t know Hampstead very well. We just went for a wander, and we came across this toyshop, and it looked quite interesting – more interesting than usual − so we went in.’

  ‘In what way more interesting?’ he asked.

  ‘It was old fashioned, I suppose. It didn’t have many modern toys in it, mostly strange, old things, and lots of handmade clockwork toys. God knows who’d buy clockwork toys nowadays.’

  ‘Clockwork?’ Sean snapped his question, the picture of a man stooped over a desk piecing together a clockwork toy jumping into his mind – small, delicate tools in the man’s nimble, practised fingers, tools like the ones used to pick locks.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘They were everywhere. He told us he made them himself.’

  ‘Who did? Who told you that?’

  ‘The shopkeeper,’ she told him, shaking her head in surprise that the answer hadn’t been obvious to him.

  ‘What was it called?’ he asked, his heart thumping against his chest wall. ‘I need to know the name of the shop.’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she told him. ‘I don’t understand. Do you think the man from the toyshop could have taken Victoria?’ Sean’s silence answered her question. ‘No,’ she pleaded, suddenly tossing the toy monkey to the ground as if it had magically transformed into a poisonous snake, kicking it away with her feet. ‘He picked that for her,’ she told him, staring disgustedly at the discarded toy. ‘Took it off the shelf and gave it to her. He touched it with his hands and now he’s touching my …’

  ‘The shop?’ Sean stopped her. ‘I need the name of the shop.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she begged him. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘OK,’ he relented with a sigh. He hurriedly pulled his phone from a coat pocket and searched it for Sally’s number, pacing the bedroom while he waited for her to answer.

  ‘Sean,’ she snapped at him. ‘What’s going on? I’m hearing all kinds of rumours back here and none of them good. I’m hearing you’re off the case. I’m hearing you’re off the team, Sean.’

  ‘Never mind that now,’ he told her. ‘I need you to do something.’

  ‘Of course, but where are you?’

  ‘Mornington Crescent – at the fourth abduction site.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Sean! If Addis finds out he’ll go fucking spare.’

  ‘Not if I get the children back first,’ he explained.

  ‘What?’ Sally asked, barely believing what she was hearing. ‘You know where the children are?’

  ‘Almost, but I need your help.’

  ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  ‘We still have Family Liaison Officers with the other three families, right?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘Good. Get them all lined up on a conference call and make sure they have the parents of the children with them, then call me back fast.’

  ‘Even the Hargraves?’

  Sean paused for a second before answering. ‘Yes,’ he told her. ‘I understand where you’re coming from, but I can’t take the chance of leaving them out. They may be the only ones who can tie this all up. I need them on the call.’

  ‘OK,’ Sally told him. ‘I’ll get it sorted and call you back.’

  Sean hung up and turned his attention back to Helen Varndell. ‘Is it possible the man from the shop could have followed you home?’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ she answered. ‘When we left the shop he was busy serving other customers.’

  ‘What about someone else? Did anyone else follow you from the shop?’

  ‘I don’t … I can’t remember.’

  ‘He knew where you lived,’ Sean told her brutally, ‘so either he followed you or he had you followed … or,’ he stuttered for a second as another thought entered the maze of his mind, ‘or you told him your address.’

  ‘Why would we have done that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted. ‘Maybe you filled something out in the shop – some kind of form. Something you wrote your name and address on?’

  Her eyes darted in all directions as she struggled to remember, not wanting to rush her recall and scare her memories away. ‘My husband – he filled something in. The shopkeeper said it was for a competition.’

  ‘So he knew where you lived? You told him where you lived?’

  ‘Yes,’ she confessed, ‘but how could we possibly have known?’

  ‘You couldn’t,’ he replied softly.

  For a few seconds they stood in silence, each trying to comprehend. Then his vibrating, ringing phone broke the trance.

  ‘Sally?’

  ‘I have the Family Liaison Officers standing by,’ Sally told him. ‘What d’you need to know?’

  Sean took a breath and steadied himself. ‘I need you to ask whether any of them have recently been to a toyshop in Hampstead.’

  ‘A toyshop?’ Sally quizzed.

  ‘Please, Sally,’ he snapped, ‘just ask.’

  He listened as she put the question to the Family Liaison Officers on the conference call, and then he waited in silence for the answer. He heard Sally breathing into the phone before s
he spoke and already knew he had his man.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Sean – how did you know?’

  ‘Long story,’ he answered, unwilling and unable to dwell on his success. ‘You need to ask if any of them can remember the name of the shop. Mrs Varndell was in it too, but she can’t remember what it’s called. Can any of them remember?’

  ‘Hold on …’

  Again he could hear Sally repeating the question into the other phone. This time there was a longer pause, each second making him fear the worst, before Sally came back on the line. ‘Sorry, no. None of them can remember its name.’

  ‘Damn it,’ Sean answered, before recovering his optimism. ‘Never mind. We know it’s an old-fashioned toyshop in Hampstead – it can’t be too difficult to find.’

  ‘Sean, wait!’ Suddenly Sally was back on the line, cutting across him. He listened to more voices, straining without success to follow the conversation. Then Sally returned. ‘Mrs Fellowes says it’s called the Rocking Horse and it’s in Heysham Lane, Hampstead. She bought a doll from there for Bailey. She says you know which one.’ Sean’s mind filled with the picture of the ornate doll he’d lifted from amongst Bailey’s other toys. ‘Sean?’ Sally prompted him.

  ‘It was there all the time,’ he told her. ‘In Bailey’s bedroom – the answer was always there. I held it in my hand, Sally – I held the answer in my hand, but I missed it.’

  ‘We all did,’ she reminded him, ‘but you’ve put it together now. I don’t know how, but I know nobody else could have. Question is – what d’you want to do next? Surveillance? Have the TSG take him out?’

  ‘No. This one’s no Thomas Keller. He’s no danger to me.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘They’ll be close. He’ll be keeping them close.’

  ‘But if he sees us coming?’

  ‘If he sees us coming I’m not sure what he’ll do – so we don’t let that happen.’

  ‘How can we—’

  ‘Meet me in Heysham Lane as soon as you can. Just you, Donnelly and one other. Travel in two cars and park out of sight at either end of the road, and then wait for me. Tell nobody where you’re going or what you’re doing. Understand?’

  ‘I understand. I’ll update you with his description en route,’ she assured him. ‘Travelling time from the Yard,’ were her last words before she hung up, leaving him alone once more with Helen Varndell.

  ‘Have you found him?’ she asked as soon as he lowered the phone from his ear. ‘Have you found Victoria?’

  ‘I can’t promise that.’ Sean’s voice was shaking in the effort to suppress his excitement, he was almost beside himself, wanting nothing more than to get to his car and attach the magnetic blue light to its roof, parting the late-morning traffic like a wolf cutting through a flock of sheep. ‘But I promise I’ll do everything I can to bring her back to you – whatever it takes.’

  15

  Sean walked slowly along Heysham Lane, his collar turned up against the persistent cold, one more local businessman late for work or on his way to a meeting. He walked straight past the Rocking Horse toyshop with barely a glance inside, but it was enough. He found Donnelly’s unmarked car behind a van and tapped twice on the window before jumping in the passenger seat.

  ‘What took you?’ Donnelly asked.

  ‘Been walking the area a bit,’ Sean told him.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And we’re in the right place.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Sean assured him. ‘He’s skilled enough to make clockwork toys. Not much of a stretch from that to picking locks. He lives in the right area, he knew all their addresses and he understands children and toys. Last but not least, he’s the only thing that connects all four families. He feels right. He just feels right.’

  ‘How did he get their addresses?’

  ‘Had them fill in some forms for a bogus competition. Everything he needed to know, the families gave him themselves.’

  ‘You know they all did this?’ Donnelly asked.

  ‘Yeah, I confirmed it on the way here. The bastard broke into their homes the night before he took the children and stole their favourite soft toy or doll – learned all he needed to know about the inside of the house, then the next night he comes back, with the same toy – gives it back to the kid and makes himself an instant hero. No wonder they went with him so easily – so quietly.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Donnelly answered, trying to understand the mind of a man who would do such things. ‘So what now? Surveillance?’

  ‘No. Won’t tell us anything.’

  ‘Could tell us if the children are here, assuming they’re—’

  ‘They’re here,’ Sean insisted. ‘I know they’re here.’

  ‘Maybe he keeps them somewhere else,’ Donnelly suggested. ‘Just in case anyone comes sniffing around the shop. Maybe he lives somewhere else himself?’

  ‘No,’ Sean told him. ‘Zukov checked the local retailers’ register. The same man who owns the shop is shown as owning and living in the residential property above it: Douglas Allen, male, white, fifty-eight years old. He’s our man.’

  ‘But why?’ Donnelly asked. ‘Why take these children if he’s no paedophile or child-pedlar?’

  ‘That’s what I intend to ask him,’ Sean told him while looking in the wing mirror of the car until he saw what he was waiting for – a mother entering the shop with her two young children. ‘That’s what I intend to ask him right now.’ He tried to spring from the car, but a heavy arm from Donnelly stopped him.

  ‘Last time you took one of these psychos on alone it didn’t end too well, I seem to remember.’

  ‘This is different,’ Sean insisted.

  ‘All the same, I think I’ll tag along with you.’

  ‘No,’ Sean ordered. ‘I need to see him alone with a family. Once I’ve seen that, I’ll call you straight away. I promise.’

  Donnelly released his arm and sank back into the seat, resigned to Sean’s intentions. ‘Just … just don’t push your luck, guv’nor. OK?’

  Sean looked him in the eyes for a brief moment. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

  Donnelly’s quiet reply was lost to him as he opened the door. ‘Aye. Of course you will. Of course you will.’

  Sean moved quickly along the pavement, clocking Sally and Zukov parked at the other end of the street. He reached the Rocking Horse and entered, scanning the shop without making eye contact with anybody – he wanted to get his bearings and settle his mind before engaging anyone in any way. He ignored the displays of ornate, traditional and clockwork toys and headed for a corner of the shop seemingly set aside for the more modern – Lego, Duplo, Airfix and even Action Man. There was a distinct lack of anything computer-based.

  Once he felt comfortable in his surroundings Sean began to covertly look around the shop, his attention closing in on a short, stocky man dressed in grey flannel trousers with a maroon V-neck jumper pulled tight over a white shirt and red tie. The man had to be at least fifty-five, with a small gut, but he looked nimble and strong, although Sean noticed he was stooping slightly. As he talked to the mother and her two young children the shopkeeper maintained a constant smile, but his face wore a troubled expression, as if he was bearing some great burden. Sean knew what it was. Douglas Allen, he spoke silently inside his mind, I’ve come to take you away, my friend. It’s time to go. It’s time to end this ugly game.

  He listened in to their conversation, watching every move Allen made, waiting for him to turn round and see him standing there, instinctively aware of who he was. But Allen was no Sebastian Gibran or John Conway – ready and willing to kill at the drop of a hat to save his own skin. This was an individual who was broken inside and confused about the world around him. Nevertheless it was Sean’s job to bring that world crashing down.

  ‘These are very popular,’ Allen told the tall, well-spoken woman who held on to her children as they tried to pull away from her. He held out a porcelain-faced doll
in a lace dress. ‘I import them from Paris. They’re handmade – their faces painted by true craftsmen, so each has its own expression and personality.’

  ‘A bit like a Cabbage Patch Doll,’ the mother told him unwisely, wiping the thin smile from Allen’s face.

  ‘Quite.’ He bent down to show the doll to the eldest girl, who Sean guessed could only be five or six. ‘And what do you think?’ he asked her. ‘Do you like this dolly?’

  ‘I think she’s beautiful,’ the little girl answered, her wide smile revealing perfect white milk teeth as her blue eyes sparkled with happiness.

  ‘Yes, she is, isn’t she – almost as beautiful as if she was alive. But who’s this we have here?’ Allen asked, gently touching the small, beige teddy bear, almost squashed flat through years of being held too tightly by the little girl.

  ‘That’s Mr Teddy,’ the mother answered for her with arching eyebrows. ‘Mr Teddy goes everywhere.’

  ‘Then he must be very special?’ Allen asked.

  ‘Mr Teddy’s the most special,’ the little girl told him.

  ‘Of course he is, but I bet you’d like this doll?’ he suggested.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ the mother interceded. ‘It looks very expensive, for a young child’s toy.’

  ‘You can’t put a value on quality,’ Allen argued. ‘You can’t compare these beautiful Parisian dolls to the cheap rubbish they mass produce in Taiwan, or China I suppose it is now. These dolls were made to last a lifetime.’

  ‘So long as they’re never played with,’ the mother joked, but Allen wasn’t laughing.

  ‘Please, Mummy,’ the little girl pleaded, tugging at her mother’s coat. ‘Please can you get her?’

  ‘No, darling,’ the mother insisted. ‘It’s not even a toy. It’s more like an ornament. Pick something you can play with. Look – they’ve got Lego over there.’

  ‘Yes. Yes,’ Allen agreed, carefully placing the doll back on its shelf. ‘We have some Lego. In fact, we’re having a little competition at the moment. First prize is quite a collection of Lego, or you could always choose the doll as a prize.’