Corn Dolls

by K. T. Galloway

  “Morning, Rose,” Swift said, and Annie noticed his ears turning pink.

  “Morning, Rose,” she said herself, giving her friend a little wave.

  Rose’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling, but before Annie could explain that she and Swift had arrived together from a crime scene and not from his bedroom, Swift was through the inner sanctum entrance and the door was fast closing.

  “This,” he said, crashing open a pair of double doors to reveal a large space buzzing with people, “is the centre of activity. He led her through another set of double doors to the incident room. “And this is our haven.”

  It could have been any of the conference rooms Annie had been in before, had it not been for the large noticeboard taking up the majority of the far wall, heavy with pictures and notes. Annie had only ever seen incident rooms like this one on the television, and up until now the idea of a noticeboard covered in clues had been one of make-believe. She walked up to it and studied the pictures of the two missing children pinned at its heart. There were other faces she recognised dotted around the girls: Maggie Finch, Tammy Carter, Tim Barclay, and a couple of men she didn’t recognise. DC Page came up behind Annie and pinned a new printout of Richard Able’s face onto the board, on Jodie Carter’s side.

  “Get anything useful out of him?” Page asked, pressing the pin into the board harder than necessary.

  Annie was primed to give Page the lowdown when Swift piped up loud enough to get the attention of the whole room.

  “Listen up, everyone!” he yelled, clapping his hands together. The room descended into a hush and Swift opened his arms towards Annie. “For those who haven’t met her yet, this is Annie O’Malley, she’s working with us on the case. Annie worked with the father of Orla Finch before he went AWOL and I brought her in to tap into the relationship she has with Mrs Finch. It worked, and she’s here for the duration of this case. Answer her questions and listen to what she has to say. She may be a psychotherapist but she’s also a trained police officer.”

  Annie felt her cheeks heat as all eyes turned to her now. Two of the team she recognised from their brief introduction last night, but there were a few extras, PCs she guessed, who eyed her suspiciously. She lifted a hand to wave at them, then thought better of it.

  “Hi,” she said, steeling herself. “Nice to meet you all. I’m a psychotherapist, as DI Swift mentioned, but my policing career was short and a long time ago.”

  “Great, he’s brought in a shrink,” a voice whispered from the back of the room. Annie could just make out the snide smile of an older man with an unfortunate comb-over and a shirt struggling to stay buttoned. No one laughed at his joke but that didn’t deter him. “I thought all that profiling bollocks was done with. What’s she here to do, read our minds?”

  “Yes,” Annie said, louder now, addressing the man’s concern. “PC…?”

  The man flushed the same colour as Annie’s tired eyes.

  “PC Neil Bush,” he said, sheepishly.

  “Right then, PC Bush,” Annie continued. “As you’ve already gathered, I’m here to read the minds of the many. So, I’d pipe down if I were you, or I might read yours, and I’m guessing it isn’t pretty!”

  Annie hands were sweating, but from the laughs filling the room and the apoplectic look on PC Bush’s face, she figured she had about gotten away with it. Swift was trying to conceal a laugh himself as he walked towards Annie and the noticeboard.

  “Ouch,” he mouthed to her, grinning, before spinning around and facing the room again, his face straight. “Right, Old Man Dick, aka Richard Able. I don’t think he’s our perp, but what do we have on him?”

  Another PC, who was now distancing herself from a fuming PC Bush, stood up.

  “PC Anderson, welcome to the team, Annie,” she said, before turning her attention to Swift. “Able’s got an alibi, confirmed with the member of his church he was consoling, at the time we know Jodie Carter went missing.”

  “The whole time?” Swift asked, his head cocked. “That early in the morning?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Apparently the woman is newly divorced.”

  “Hmm,” Swift said again.

  Undeterred, the PC carried on. “He’s certainly providing a service of some sort to his congregation.”

  “He told us he’s the South City leader, that he has his own building to use for the church. How rich is this cult?” Annie asked the team.

  “Very,” DC Page answered. “To join the Angels of the Water you have to give them your worldly possessions. Not your house, or anything like that, but a generous percentage of your wages and any other donations can certainly help your standing in the community.”

  “We need to find out more about the North Norfolk church leader too, and what he does with his church-owned property,” Annie continued. “What was his name again, Swift?”

  A murmur rippled around the room.

  “Peter Johnson,” Swift said. “Bush, Anderson — you two get out to the coast, find out what you can on this Mr Johnson and the properties he owns.”

  The two PCs, Bush still looking somewhat pink, gathered their bags and coats and made their way out the door. The room quietened again and Swift addressed Annie.

  “We’ll head out there later, for now we need to look at what else we have.”

  Annie nodded and they both turned to the noticeboard.

  “Apart from Orla’s dad, Tim Barclay, do we have any other offenders living local to either of the two girls?” she asked.

  Annie could feel Swift’s gaze on her but she focused on the pictures pinned to the blue fabric. She recognised Tim Barclay of course, even though the picture they had was an old one from his pre-prison days.

  “Any suspects that knew both the families?” she added, looking at Maggie Finch’s drawn features staring out at her from the board.

  “You’re sure you haven’t done this before?” Swift asked. “You were only a PC for a few months, weren’t you? Never a detective.”

  “I watch a lot of police drama on the TV,” Annie replied. “It’s not that hard really, is it? A few episodes of Line of Duty and Marcella and I’m pretty much up to speed.”

  She laughed, unsure that her humour would go down very well. Swift punched her gently on the shoulder.

  “Oi,” he fake gasped. “Watch it, or I’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “I learnt that on The Bill!” he added, smirking.

  Though they were sharing a joke, the room felt full of the questions surrounding the missing toddlers. Annie dropped her smile and looked again at the board.

  “So, who are our suspects?” she asked the detectives left in the room.

  Tink stepped up to the board and pointed to the picture of Tim Barclay.

  “First up we have Orla’s father, he’s AWOL, and he’s a known offender.” She moved her hand over Maggie’s picture to the scribbled names of the Finches’ neighbours. “We can rule out Mr and Mrs Bishop as searches came back clear. And the landlord of the Finches’ house, as he lives in London and has an alibi.”

  Her finger slid back to the picture of Orla’s mother. “Maggie Finch was given an advocate by the council because they were worried about her child, so Maggie herself isn’t in the clear yet. She was the last one to see Orla, who’s to say they weren’t playing hide and seek at all?”

  Tink moved slightly to Jodie Carter’s side of the board. “We have no idea of the whereabouts, or the who-abouts, of Jodie’s dad. We’re on it though and will let you know as soon as we have anything, Guv.” She tapped hard on the next picture. “Richard Able, aka Old Man Dick, has an alibi.”

  “But Angels of the Water has come up in both cases,” Annie interrupted, holding her hands up as an apology. “The Finches’ neighbour asked me to look through Maggie’s post as he and his wife had recently been sent a flyer from their local branch. And Richard Able is a leader of the same church.”

  “It’s t
he only thing linking them at the moment,” Tink agreed.

  “Don’t forget we also have the dolls,” Annie added. “They’re occult; ground into the earth to provide prosperity for the farmers of years gone by. Could they be connected to the church?”

  “And the signs drawn on Orla’s window and Jodie’s path,” DC Page said. “They could be something similar? A ritual, maybe? Like the old Theobald case?”

  Annie felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.

  “Who’s Theobald? What kind of ritual?” she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

  Swift stepped away from the board, running his hands through his hair. He let out a sigh and slumped into one of the chairs around the large table in the middle of the room. Tink and Page went to join him. Annie took a chair opposite Swift and waited until he’d lifted his head.

  “Thomas Theobald was an old case,” he started. “It’s not him, he’s going to rot in jail. And I didn’t learn that from The Bill, that’s just how we all feel. He was my first case as a uniformed officer. He was arrested fifteen years ago now, caught trying to leave the country with two babies he’d stolen from their parents. It was a huge operation. Theobald was being paid vast sums of money from an organisation in Europe that harvested and sold children’s organs.”

  “What the fuck?” Annie blurted, unable to help herself.

  “I know,” Tink agreed, nodding grimly at her.

  “It’s very unusual for around here,” Swift continued. “Something so callous and unthinkable. One of the kids was never found. His case is still open in the misper team, though it’s a cold case now.”

  They all fell silent. Annie looked again at the pictures of the two missing toddlers.

  “You think this may be related?” she asked them.

  “We’re hoping not,” Page said, his young face looking browbeaten. “Because then those girls don’t stand a chance. Orla’s been missing for nearly sixty hours, and Jodie for over 24. Theobald had his children out of the country within a day.”

  “Were any pagan tokens or signs left in the cases of the Theobald children?” Annie asked.

  Swift shook his head. “No. Nothing whatsoever. I don’t think this is related; the children are older too. But it’s bringing it all back, and I don’t want anything to get out in the media about how this case may be a repeat of the Theobald one. That’s scaremongering we don’t need right now.”

  They all nodded.

  “I think our best bet right now is to look deeper at this so-called church; to go and see Peter Johnson and hear what he has to say; and to find Jodie Carter’s dad and see if he has any links to Orla Finch.” Swift stood up so suddenly that his chair wobbled precariously on two legs before settling again. “Page, get on to Miss Carter and find out who Jodie’s dad is, or at least narrow it down to a few possibilities if she can. Tink, go and talk to other members of the South City congregation, see if you can get some more info about what the hell goes on at these Angel of the Waters assemblies.”

  He lifted his chin at Annie, who stood up immediately.

  “Annie,” he said. “You’re with me. I’m running on empty at the moment, so we’ll take a detour through Maccy D’s on the way out to the North Norfolk coast. I’ve got a feeling about this Peter Johnson and his church that is giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Right, Guv,” she said, smiling at his wince.

  Twelve

  “I didn’t realise how hungry I was,” Annie said, swallowing the last of her sausage and egg muffin and peeling the lid from her coffee cup.

  “I don’t know about you,” Swift replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand, “but my brain doesn’t work on an empty stomach.” His other hand remained firmly on the steering wheel of the 4x4 as they flew along the dual carriageway, back out towards the coast.

  “Mine’s normally okay with caffeine and sleep,” Annie said. “So this will have to suffice.”

  She held up the coffee cup until it sloshed dangerously close to the edge. And though Swift’s car wasn’t quite as pristine as her trusty Golf on the inside, it didn’t warrant being covered in a Maccy D’s flat white.

  They trundled along the dual carriageway for a while, the only sound the thrumming of the wheels against the tarmac and the cars passing them on the fast lane at way over the speed limit. Annie fell into a daze as the rhythmic noise lulled her almost to sleep.

  “So, how are you?” Swift asked, his voice jolting her so hard she had to grab the top of her takeaway cup to stop it flying over the dashboard.

  He snorted. “Were you asleep?”

  “I’m not used to missing whole nights! I’m not trained like you guys are. I haven’t done two years of shift work. My clients all stick to the nine-to-five. You know, normal working hours.” Annie opened her window and let the warm air hit her in the face.

  “Sorry,” Swift said, flicking the radio on. It started blaring out Classic FM. “What?” he said, as Annie raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m more refined than I look, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you weren’t…refined,” Annie said then immediately regretted it. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what were you saying when you woke me up?”

  Swift was giving Annie the stare she’d seen him give Richard Able, and she didn’t like it. She was supposed to be the one who could read minds, not him. She turned to study the airbag logo on the glove compartment instead.

  “I was just wondering if you’re okay?” he said, his eyes back on the road. “You know, with the whole church cult, missing kids thing. But particularly with the church cult. Given your history.”

  Annie considered her nails for a good few minutes before replying. She’d been so swept up in the tragedy of the missing toddlers that she hadn’t given any thought to what exactly was happening, and how it might affect her, since the moment she almost killed herself and Swift on the road last time they were heading to the coast. Truth be told, she had no idea how she felt about the whole thing.

  “Your well-being means a lot to me, O’Malley,” Swift continued. “I don’t want to be the bad guy who dragged you from a good job into a world of murk and murder and despair.”

  That made Annie laugh.

  “There’s no murder on the cards yet, Swift,” she said. “And there’s no despair from me.” She took a breath and wound her window back up so she could hear herself talk. “You know, it’s weird. I thought I’d be thinking about Dad and Mim all the time working with the police and this whole cult thing but being so involved in this case has actually taken my mind off them. Maybe it was what I needed all along? Not bloody government paperwork, but good old-fashioned police work. My job has been getting a bit tedious of late—don’t mention a word of that to my lovely boss now, will you? Marion would string me up—and I think this is just what I needed. So thank you. Though, I’m obviously not happy about the missing girls. Do you think we’ll get them back safely?”

  Swift sucked air in through his teeth. He indicated, then took a left onto a smaller road that Annie recognised from their last trip.

  “Normally I’d say it’s unlikely after this long has passed,” he said. “But I like to stay positive.”

  “Yeah,” Annie said, staring out of the window and catching sight of the sea. “Yeah, me too.”

  Peter Johnson was not at all how Annie had been imagining him. He was tall, well dressed, and annoyingly attractive. If it wasn’t for that same air of importance that Richard Able had also exuded in abundance, Annie would have found herself falling for Peter’s charm a little too easily. As it was, his pomposity stood out like a bad smell and Annie was quite happy to grimace instead of smile at him.

  “I don’t know what Richard has been saying about me, but I’ll have you know everything I do is above board. Unlike him.” Peter was pacing the room of his cottage, which overlooked the Staithe. It was decked out with brown leather and hard corners, so Annie guessed there was no Mrs Johnson.

  “Care to elaborate on
that, Mr Johnson?” Swift asked from his position by the window. Just over his shoulder, Annie could see sail boats toppled on their sides awaiting the rising tide.

  “His congregation are nearly all single, and let’s just say he helps them overcome their husbands, even if they don’t need to.” Peter sipped at an espresso from a white porcelain mug that had been filled by the snazziest coffee machine Annie had ever seen in a private home. This Johnson guy obviously had money.

  Annie took a sip of her own coffee and felt the caffeine coursing through her bloodstream. Wincing, she tried to focus on what Peter Johnson was saying about Richard Able.

  “I’m always there for my congregation, but I always keep my clothes on.” The way his eyes were fixed firmly on Swift as he spoke made Annie wonder what lies he was telling. “Now, tell me Officers, how can I help you further than I already helped your colleagues earlier?”

  “Detectives,” Swift corrected; Annie didn’t add her own correction. “And as far as I can see you weren’t that forthcoming with information earlier either.”

  “They were questioning my integrity, Detective,” Peter Johnson spat out in disgust. “There was really no need for that.”

  Annie watched as Swift pulled his shoulders back and grew a few inches.

  “Mr Johnson, there are two missing toddlers, one of whom is from around here,” he said. “We are doing our very best to bring them home safely and any help you can give us is greatly appreciated. Of course, we could have this conversation down at the station if that would make it easier for you to concentrate?”

  That stopped Mr Johnson in his tracks.

  “No,” he said simply.

  “Well then,” Swift continued. “Can you please tell us a little more about the property you own as a perk of being a leader of the Angels?”

  Annie saw a slight hesitation in Peter Johnson’s movements. So slight it might not have happened; it was the flush creeping up his neck that gave him away.