The Toy Taker

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by Delaney, Luke


  He walked away from the room to resume his search. Somewhere in the house the children waited for him, and there was only one place they could possibly be.

  For a split second he was tempted to run up the stairs shouting Police, Police, but it didn’t feel right somehow. If the children were alive it would be best not to terrify them more than they already were by charging around shouting. And if they were already dead – if he was too late – he didn’t want to hurtle into a room and immediately be confronted by his worst nightmare. All he could do was silently pray as he climbed the stairs to the top of the house, pushing himself forward as fast as he dared.

  When he reached the landing he could see there were only two doors leading off it – both closed. But he could see no locks or even keyholes, so either they were unlocked or they were locked from the other side. Allen hadn’t kept the children as prisoners in one of these rooms, they’d been allowed to roam the upper section of the house. He’d wanted them to treat his house as their new home – to come and go between rooms as they pleased, so long as they didn’t come down to the shop – so long as they remained quiet. A secret. But what if they hadn’t remained silent? What would he have done to them if they threatened to reveal their existence?

  Sean pushed the questions away and turned the handle of the first door. Bright sunlight flooded through the windows inside, spilling on to the landing as he slowly swung the door open. He peered inside, holding his breath and squinting against the light that made his eyes slightly watery, blinking them clear until he could see the room in front of him and everything in it. Empty. The room was empty, except for some simple ivory-coloured furniture and two single beds, both with wooden headboards – one still immaculately made, with a porcelain-faced doll lying on the pillow, while the other had clearly been slept in and remained unmade. As he grew used to the brightness he could see the entire room had been lovingly prepared for the use of children, with clouds and rainbows, stars and moons covering the walls. Mobiles with unicorns, lions and birds hung from the ceiling, their intricate shadows gently dancing on the walls and floors. Some old-fashioned toys − a spinning top, clockwork train and a Jack-in-a-box − lay in the middle of the room, played with before being abandoned. Others looked on from the shelves of the seemingly idyllic children’s bedroom. But no amount of toys and furnishings could hide the atmosphere of fear Sean sensed in the room, stained deep into the walls. He shivered at the prospect of what may have happened in this place, the lack of any signs of violent struggle doing nothing to ease his fears as he remembered Samuel Hargrave’s barely touched body. He only had one more room to check.

  Sean crossed the landing, resting his hand on the door handle, taking several deep breaths before almost reluctantly turning the knob and opening the door by no more than an inch, waiting for the scent of death to give him fair warning of what he was about to see. But he could smell no such thing. He began to push the door open slowly, confused by the lack of sunshine. This room was in semi-darkness, telling him the curtains or blinds were still drawn and no lights had been turned on. He took it as a bad sign and braced himself for what he would find, filling his lungs so he’d have something to exhale when his eyes fell upon the scene of horror.

  When the door was finally open he peered inside, trying to adjust his eyes to the dimness. The main body of the room was around to his left. All he could see from the doorway was the wall to his right. As he walked further into the room, the scent of children, of living children, washed over him, increasing the rate of his already thundering heart – his heart that was suddenly full of hope. He rounded the door and looked into the twilight, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him as he looked down at the floor where three small figures sat silently facing each other. They looked up at him, neither smiling or crying, just staring expressionless, eyes wide open with wariness – the faces from the photographs he’d first seen pinned to the Missing Person’s Reports what seemed like a lifetime ago. And yet, here they were – real, living children.

  Instinctively he stepped towards them, but sensing they were ready to scurry away like frightened mice, he froze where he was. He almost reached for his warrant card before realizing it would be a futile act – showing children something they would neither recognize or understand. Finally he opted simply to speak, crouching down low to appear as unthreatening as possible, slowly stretching out his upturned palm. But when he tried to speak the words stuck in his dry, tight throat. He swallowed hard and tried again. ‘It’s all right,’ he told them, his voice raspy and unpleasant. ‘I’m a policeman. You don’t have to be afraid any more. The man who brought you here is gone now.’ He waited for a response from the children, but they said nothing, looking away from him and turning to each other, as if they were communicating telepathically. Sean watched them as he tried to think of something else to say until finally the tiny figure of George Bridgeman got to his feet and faced him, apparently without fear.

  ‘Have you come to take us home?’ he asked, looking down at his fellow captives as if seeking assurance he’d asked the right question. Sean had to stifle a laugh borne of relief and elation.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Yes, I have. I’ve come to take you home.’

  Sean stood to the side of the elevated desks that were the focal point of the custody suite at Kentish Town Police Station. Two uniformed sergeants surveyed all they controlled from on high, behind the huge booking-in desk with its built-in computers. Oblivious to the hustle and bustle going on around him, Sean read each page of Douglas Allen’s custody record, focusing on the summary of the Mental Health Team’s findings. Already he could foresee a plea of not guilty on the grounds of diminished responsibility due to mental illness. ‘Why didn’t you just take the damn pills?’ Sean asked out loud. ‘You could have saved a lot of people a lot of pain – yourself too.’

  A brash voice snapped him back to the real world.

  ‘Talking to yourself again?’ barked Donnelly. ‘First sign of madness, apparently. Speaking of which, the search team’s found a shitload of drugs in the house – as in medicinal drugs, not the fun stuff. Nothing I’m particularly familiar with, so I ran a few of the names past the local police surgeon. It appears they’re for the treatment of depression and schizophrenia.’

  Sean didn’t mention he’d already seen the drugs during his hunt for the children; instead he handed the custody record to Donnelly. ‘There’s an entry in there from the Mental Health Team,’ he explained. ‘They’ve managed to speak to Allen’s GP, or should I say GPs – he swapped whenever he got one who told him what he didn’t want to hear. They all say he has treatable depression with schizophrenic overtones – also treatable, but only if he took his medication.’

  ‘Which he wasn’t doing,’ Donnelly finished for him.

  ‘He was home alone,’ Sean continued. ‘He didn’t have anyone to make sure he took the drugs – so he stopped taking them, preferring to listen to the voices in his head. Same fucking sad story we’ve seen before, and will see again.’

  ‘Care in the Community,’ Donnelly spat. ‘You’ve got to fucking love it.’

  Sean felt the phone vibrating before he heard it, pulling it from his inside jacket pocket and checking the caller ID: anonymous. Not unusual on a detective’s phone, but always a cause for concern. He answered it anyway. ‘Sean Corrigan.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Corrigan,’ Addis’s voice leaked from the phone. ‘I hear congratulations are in order.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Although I seem to recall dismissing you from this investigation?’

  ‘You did, but I remembered something – something I felt was crucial and that needed to be acted on immediately. Turned out that something was right.’ He waited for the response.

  ‘You’re sure he’s our man?’ Addis eventually asked.

  ‘Found the children in his house, and so far he’s not denying it.’

  ‘And he was working alone?’

  ‘As far as I can tell. It
looks like he has mental health issues – probably depression and schizophrenia. There’s nothing to suggest he was working with anyone.’

  ‘The children – where are they now?’

  ‘Already back with their families.’

  ‘Have they been interviewed yet?’

  ‘No. That can wait. I’ll have SOITs start interviewing them tomorrow.’

  ‘SOITs?’ Addis queried anxiously, the fact Sean wanted to use officers trained in Sexual Offences Interview Techniques giving him cause for concern. ‘Do you think they’ve been sexually assaulted?’

  ‘No,’ Sean answered, ‘but I want to be sure.’

  ‘Very well,’ Addis agreed. ‘I want a full report on my desk by tomorrow morning – first thing.’

  ‘Isn’t that for my replacement to do?’ Sean asked, hungry for his pound of flesh. ‘I’m still waiting for them to arrive here at Kentish Town so they can take over.’

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Inspector,’ Addis warned. ‘You know full well no one’s on their way to take over anything. You saved yourself – though only just. I have decided to leave you in your current position – for now. Your report – my desk – tomorrow – first thing.’ The line went dead.

  ‘Problem?’ Donnelly asked.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  The door to the interview room opened and a head popped around the corner, searching for Sean.

  ‘We’re ready when you are, Inspector,’ the appointed duty solicitor announced, struggling to conceal his delight at landing such a high-profile case.

  ‘Shall we?’ Sean asked Donnelly, and headed to the interview room without waiting for a reply.

  Sean hurried through the legal requirements he needed to complete before the interview could begin, speaking as quickly as he could without betraying his impatience, relieved to get the legal ramblings out of the way so he could start with the questions and answers.

  ‘Douglas, I need to ask you some questions. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ Allen confirmed, ‘but why is she here?’ he asked, looking at the woman sitting next to him. ‘I don’t need an appropriate adult. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘Law says different,’ Sean told him. ‘Leane’s a trained psychiatric nurse. She needs to be present before I can interview you.’

  ‘I see,’ Allen agreed suspiciously.

  ‘Douglas,’ Sean began, focusing intently on him, as if they were the only two people in the interview room. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Because you’ve been arrested for the murder of Samuel Hargrave and the abduction of George Bridgeman, Bailey Fellowes and Victoria Varndell. Do you understand?’

  ‘I didn’t murder him,’ he almost gasped. ‘It was … it was an accident.’

  Sean said nothing, hoping the oppressiveness of silence would encourage Allen to say more. It worked.

  ‘It’s just … it’s just he was making a lot of noise and … and I was afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what?’ Sean asked gently.

  ‘Afraid they would hear us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His parents.’

  ‘This was when you were inside the boy’s house – Samuel’s house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I put my hand over his mouth.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That’s all, I swear.’

  ‘But you must have had to restrain him – hold his arms still?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Otherwise he could have pulled your hand away.’

  ‘No … he couldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Why not? If his hands were free?’

  ‘Because I was pressing …’

  ‘You were pressing what?’ Sean pushed him. ‘You were pressing down on his mouth too hard?’

  ‘Excuse me, Inspector,’ Leane Kerry intervened, ‘but do you think this style of questioning is appropriate, given Douglas’s mental health issues? With the right treatment he’ll be fine, but the medication takes several weeks before it’s up to speed. At this time he’s effectively untreated.’

  ‘Thank you – I read the custody record.’

  ‘Then maybe you could go a bit easier?’

  ‘And in the custody record it says you’ve come to the decision he’s fit to be interviewed.’

  ‘That’s true, but—’

  ‘Then maybe it would be better for all of us if you’d let me get on with it,’ Sean rebuked her, but then eased off. ‘I’ll bear in mind your … suggestions.’ He turned back to Allen. ‘So, Douglas – were you pressing down too hard, so hard that not only was Samuel unable to call out, he couldn’t breathe?’

  ‘I told you,’ Allen replied, more scared and panicked than angry, ‘it was an accident.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as an accident,’ Sean told him calmly but firmly. ‘It’s always someone’s fault. If you hadn’t been in the house trying to abduct the boy, you wouldn’t have had to clamp your hand so tightly over his mouth that he couldn’t breathe, and he’d be here today – alive. You killed him, Douglas. Whether you like it or not, you killed him.’

  ‘No! No!’ Allen raised his voice, tears welling in his eyes. ‘It was an accident. Why won’t you believe me?’

  ‘Because we call those sort of accidents murder,’ Sean told him. ‘At the very least, manslaughter – although in this case, child-slaughter would seem more fitting.’

  ‘Inspector, please,’ Leane appealed to him.

  ‘OK, OK,’ Sean relented. ‘Let me ask you something simple, Douglas: why did you take them? Why did you take these children?’

  ‘To give them a better life – better than the life they had.’

  ‘These were children from privileged backgrounds – wealthy parents, beautiful houses, good schools, exclusive areas of London – what could you give them that would make their lives better?’

  ‘Love,’ Allen answered without hesitation. ‘I could give them love. Their parents didn’t care – not really. Nannies, au pairs, child-minders, toys to keep them quiet, computer games to keep them distracted. Their parents would do anything for them except spend time with them – nurture them and love them. They didn’t deserve children. Iris and I tried for years, but the Lord never saw fit to bless us with a child, even though we would have given it all the love in the world.’

  ‘Iris?’ Sean asked. ‘Your wife?’

  ‘She died.’ Allen told him what he already knew. ‘More than two years ago. Cancer. She deserved better. We deserved better. I only took the children who I could see weren’t loved. And I would have loved them, loved them as if they were our own.’

  ‘Must have made you pretty angry – seeing these parents with beautiful children, blessed by God when they didn’t deserve to be, while he left you with nothing: no children and your wife taken from you?’

  ‘Not angry – determined. Determined to save the children from a loveless childhood.’

  ‘That wasn’t for you to decide,’ Sean snapped at him. ‘That wasn’t your judgement to make.’

  ‘Not my judgement,’ Allen agreed. ‘God’s. It was God’s judgement. He blessed them with children and they forsook his blessing, they ignored and took for granted the gift of all gifts they had been given. God passed his judgement on them and gave me the strength and guidance to do his work.’

  ‘To take the children?’ Sean asked. ‘You’re telling me that God told you to take the children?’

  ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’

  ‘And how did he tell you to do these things?’

  ‘He spoke to me – in my mind – his voice as clear and distinct as yours is now. The voice of Our Lord and the voice of my wife guiding me, always guiding me – telling me what I must do.’

  ‘You heard your wife’s voice too?’ Donnelly asked.

  ‘Yes – giving me the strength to go on, even in the darkest of hours.’

  ‘Given Douglas’s
medical history,’ Leane interrupted, ‘there’s no reason to doubt what he’s saying.’

  ‘No,’ Sean agreed. ‘I don’t suppose there is. But I need to know, Douglas, why didn’t you just take your medication?’

  ‘And silence the voice of God, and lose my wife for ever? Is that what you would have done?’ Allen asked. ‘Do you think yourself more important than God?’

  ‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘No, I do not, but I’m not the one being interviewed, am I? You are.’

  Allen’s mouth fell open as if he was about to say something, but then it slowly closed. Sean sensed he might be going into lock-down and knew he needed to keep him talking, at least until he had enough to be sure Allen wasn’t a far more darkly dangerous animal than appearances would suggest. That his medical history wasn’t just something he’d created and nurtured so that he could hide behind it if he ever got caught.

  ‘What did it feel like,’ he asked, ‘when you let yourself into their houses? What did that feel like?’ For the briefest of moments he thought he’d detected the slightest glimmer in Allen’s eyes. ‘It was cold out at night. Inside the house must have felt warm – warm and safe. Did it make you feel like you belonged there?’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Allen told him.

  ‘Did it make you feel in control? Did it make you feel like the God you say you serve?’

  ‘It didn’t feel like anything. I was only there for the child – for the sake of the child.’

  ‘Come on, Douglas – it must have felt special, knowing the house was yours – standing alone while the family slept – knowing exactly where the child you’d come to take waited for you. Did it make you feel powerful?’ Allen said nothing, his eyes never leaving Sean’s. ‘Because you knew everything about the house, didn’t you, Douglas? You’d been there before. You’d been there the night you took the child’s most prized possession – the thing you knew they loved more than anything – the thing you knew you could use to win their trust when you went to take them. That sounds like a man in complete control to me – not someone listening to voices inside his head.’

 

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