Corn Dolls

by K. T. Galloway

  A second loud rap at the door had Annie forgetting about sweet alcopops and darting for her clothes. She leapt out of the camp bed and dragged on sweats and a hoody, glancing at the clock on her desk as she did so.

  10.15am, shit.

  “Hang on, I’ll be right there!” she shouted through the closed door as the knock came again.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Annie’s brain wasn’t fuddled enough to forget clients. Was it? She ran a brush through her hair and chewed some toothpaste tabs from the little pot by the sink, hiding away the toiletries and personal paraphernalia as best she could. She opened the door, surprised to see Swift standing behind it.

  “Everything alright?” Swift asked, looking around the office space as Annie let him in.

  She glanced around, hoping that she’d hidden away enough of her stuff to fool him.

  “Yeah, sorry, I was, um… you know.”

  Swift stared at Annie for long enough to make her cheeks flame.

  “Sleeping?”

  She turned away and headed for the kitchenette. “Top marks, Detective.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, taking a seat on one of the low comfy chairs she used for consultations. “I would be too, if I hadn’t been woken by bloody foxes at it outside my bedroom window before it was even light.”

  Annie handed him a coffee. “It’s just instant, hope that’s okay?”

  “Police station finest would be okay right now. I feel like the living dead.”

  “I look like the living dead.”

  Annie slid a window up and the sounds from the street below filtered in through their silence. Bicycle bells rang, delivery vans clattered, cars thudded over the cobbled road…people going about their normal lives. Annie wasn’t sure, after the shock of what they’d found yesterday, what her normal life was anymore.

  “How are you?” Swift asked, as he blew on the steaming cup in his hand.

  Annie shrugged. How am I? “I honestly feel like I could sleep for a week and still not recover from the last few days. Is this, like, just an average day in the life of Joe Swift?”

  Swift laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Thankfully, no.”

  “Good,” Annie replied, sipping her coffee and starting to feel slightly more human with the fresh air and caffeine. “Because if I’m going to be consulting with you, I don’t want to be feeling like this forevermore.”

  “You can step away from this if you need to, Annie,” Swift said, looking concerned. “Like I said, nothing is worth losing your mind over.”

  “Two missing girls are,” Annie said, pointedly.

  Swift stared at her, shaking his head slowly. “Nothing.”

  The room was thick. Annie couldn’t speak. She knew her personal need to find these girls was more than just finding these girls. Every time she thought about Jodie Carter or Orla Finch she pictured her little sister Mim, whisked away by their dad — ex-copper, pivotal member of society, until he wasn’t. She couldn’t get the cries out of her head; even though she hadn’t been there when their dad had taken Mim, she knew how her sister sounded when she was upset. Crying for Mum over a grazed knee or a bumped head, or because her doll’s hair had gotten too tangled. Those cries kept Annie awake at night, despite her efforts to forget.

  “You’re a psychotherapist, you of all people should know that you need to look after your own mental health.”

  Annie laughed. “I thought it was common knowledge that health professionals are the worst. We’re all in denial, that’s why it makes it so much easier to treat others.”

  “Touché,” Swift said.

  “So,” Annie continued, finishing her coffee. “Tell me what we’ve got. How is Mr Barclay? Any news on Grey Donovan? That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?”

  Swift’s brow knotted. “You’re good at that. Please don’t delve too deep in here though.” He tapped his temple.

  “You’ve brought your work bag with you,” Annie said, indicating the satchel Swift had dropped by his feet. “I’ve told you before, I can’t read minds. I just read behaviour.”

  Swift smiled and reached for the bag. He drew out a file and opened it on his knee, resting his cup on top.

  “Tim Barclay is in hospital,” he began. “He’s as okay as can be expected for someone who had heroin on tap for the last God knows how long. He’s not going to be much use to us at the moment though, Tink went to see him last night and he’s properly out for the count. The doctors will let us know when he’s talking, but they’re trying to keep us away so he can get better. His wife has been in to see him though. Maggie. It seems he’d not eaten properly for days, and was on the brink of death from lack of fluids. So much for charity, hey?”

  “I doubt Peter Johnson ever visited his tenants.”

  “Likely not, he would have kicked them out if he’d seen the state of the house.”

  “Most of the house,” Annie added, thinking about the immaculate living room and how, what was most likely to be, Grey’s bedroom had been almost untouched.

  “Yeah,” Swift agreed. ‘That was weird.”

  “And Grey Donovan?” Annie asked.

  “Grey Donovan is known to the police.”

  Annie nodded, unsurprised.

  “Drugs?” she asked.

  “No, weirdly enough.” Swift flipped a sheet of paper in Annie’s direction. “Solicitation. Lewd behaviour. Indecent assault.”

  Annie scanned the rap sheet handed to her. It was a photocopy, the handwriting difficult to decipher. It felt like something out of the nineties rather than up-to-date police files. The dates of the incidents all read at only a few years prior.

  “Don’t the custody suites in Norwich have twenty-first century equipment?” she asked, her eyes still scanning the long list.

  “You’re lucky we’re not still using slate and chalk,” Swift laughed. “Just because probation are allowed a computer each, don’t get all conceited about it.”

  “Chance would be a fine thing,” Annie said, her brows furrowing. “Did Donovan get charged with anything? It seems there’s a lot of arrests and not much else.”

  Swift shook his head. “No, there was never enough evidence to get him on any of the charges, and witnesses and victims seemed to vanish into thin air at the crux.”

  “Bloody hell,” Annie said, whistling through her teeth as she flipped the page over and stared at another load of assault arrests. “So have we brought him in for questioning then?”

  “Nope,” Swift said, slapping the file down onto the coffee table with a sting. “Our Mr Donovan has gone AWOL. Hasn’t been seen or heard from since last month, when the neighbour said she saw him.”

  “But there was a warm cup of coffee in the living room of that house that sure as hell wasn’t Tim Barclay’s,” Annie said, exasperated. “That can’t have been anyone other than Donovan, can it? Shit. Do you think Peter Johnson gave him the heads up?”

  Swift nodded. “It’s looking likely. We’re bringing Johnson in for questioning as we speak. Checking his phone records too.”

  “And the paraphernalia, the house? Are we looking for, I don’t know how it all works, DNA or something that will help us to track down the girls?”

  Swift ran his hands through his hair, his attention drawn to the window and the noise of the streets below.

  “The DCI isn’t sure we’re going to reach the threshold for CPS to issue us with a warrant to search the house,” he said eventually.

  “What?” Annie shouted. “But that’s absurd. It’s all connected to the church, surely? The dolls, the creepy symbols, the fact that Orla’s dad was in a church property? The fact that the neighbour heard what she thought was a child crying. What more does your DCI need?”

  “We can’t arrest Tim Barclay on suspicion of kidnap, and there’s not enough to connect Grey Donovan yet. We technically shouldn’t have been in the property without a warrant, but we heard that cry from Barclay and had to help. The crying the neighbour heard, I think it
was Tim’s.” Swift looked at her with steely eyes.

  Annie knew damn well the cry they had heard came after they’d found Tim Barclay, but she wasn’t going to argue with Swift when she agreed with everything they’d done. God knows how long Tim would have had left if they hadn’t, in effect, broken the law and waltzed right on into a private property. Plus, Annie didn’t fancy being arrested.

  “Is that the other reason you’re here? So we can get our story straight?” she asked.

  “Story?” Swift asked, his mouth twisted into a smile of sorts.

  “The way he cried out when we found him will stay with me for ever,” Annie said, her shoulders shivering with the memory of Barclay’s keening. “I’m happy to say we heard it from outside. And you’re right, I was going to say that too. I think the neighbour heard Tim through the walls, he must have been in so much pain, the kind caused by, and only quashed by, a shit load of drugs.”

  “Yeah. We’ve seized the drugs and sent those for forensics. The baggies, the equipment, the stashes that Donovan had piled neatly in his bedroom. If there’s anything of the girls on those items, we’ll find out soon.”

  “Do we know where Donovan may have gone? Any friends or family around? What happened to his parents?” Annie asked.

  “Tink is looking into that, along with the rest of his history. We need to get over to the station and get a round-up of new info. Plus, we need to go over what we found yesterday with the rest of the team.”

  “Sorry, I would have been there earlier, I must have slept through my alarm,” Annie said, feeling like she’d failed her first week back at police work only four days in.

  “Don’t apologise, O’Malley,” Swift said, his eyes coming back to her.

  “Right, sorry,” Annie said, before realising what she’d said and laughing.

  “Do you want a lift to the station?” Swift said, hauling himself out of the low chair.

  “No, I’m good,” Annie replied, taking their cups to the kitchenette and swirling cold water around them. “I think I’m going to walk over. I feel like the fresh air will do me some favours this morning.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, grabbing his bag.

  Annie opened the door for him and stood leaning against it, watching Swift throw his bag on his shoulder and move towards her. He was so sure of himself, even though he took up a lot of space. She liked that about him.

  “So,” Swift said as he stepped out into the stairwell. “When were you going to tell me you were living in your office and not above it?”

  Annie grimaced and swung the door shut in his face.

  Fifteen

  “Okay team,” Swift said, bashing his cup down on the desk so hard that the coffee splashed over the side and onto the Formica. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his jumper. “Let’s summarise where we’re at.”

  Annie looked up from her computer and hit the button to send the screen to sleep. She’d been doing a bit of digging but didn’t want any roving eyes to judge her, she still felt out of her depth and was pretty sure she’d be arrested for fraud if they saw she was Googling answers to her million and one questions. She had enjoyed the walk from her flat-come-office to the station though. The late summer sun was still warm, and the city had been full of shoppers and walkers and people who generally looked happy to be there. Her mind had been racing through the details that Swift had woken her with. The rap sheet, the drugs, the fact that their DCI didn’t think there was enough evidence to get a search warrant for the property. Her blood had started to boil as she’d arrived at the crowd of protestors gathered for today’s vigil outside the station. Cursing herself for forgetting to go around to the back doors, she’d pushed her way through the throng that was chanting stop the cuts and save our services. Under her breath, she’d joined in.

  Rose had waved her through the front doors with a smile.

  “Oi, you,” she’d hissed to Annie in the empty lobby. “What’s going on with you and Swift?”

  Annie had felt her cheeks heat and she had whisked herself over to Rose with her forefinger up to her lips. “Shhhh,” she’d said. “That’s how rumours start.”

  “So?” Rose had shrugged, her eyes sparkling. “This station could do with a good rumour or two. It’s been dull as anything since those protestors took up residence. People who would pop in to report something menial, like old Mrs Smith who used to come in at least once a week to moan about the bin men smiling at her suspiciously, they’ve all but dried up. They don’t like having to squeeze past the protestors.”

  “Shouldn’t the police officers here just move them on?” Annie had asked, leaning an arm on the reception desk. “Isn’t that a thing they can do?”

  Rose had shrugged again. “I guess they like the lack of paperwork that comes with the relative quiet.”

  Then she’d slapped both hands down on the desk. “But stop digressing. Tell me all about why you and Swift turned up together first thing in the morning looking like you’d had no sleep?”

  Annie had been about to, but the inner doors had slid open with a hiss and Swift himself beckoned Annie over.

  “Sorry,” Annie had smiled at Rose, who looked apoplectic. “Work to be doing.” She’d blown her a kiss and headed into the inner sanctum of the station.

  “Okay, Page, talk to me,” Swift said, heading over to the noticeboard and poking a finger at the picture of Jodie Carter. “What did you find out about Jodie’s dad?”

  The younger detective picked a sheet of paper from his desk and walked to the front of the room, where Swift was standing next to the noticeboard.

  “Okay,” Page said, tacking the sheet to the board next to Jodie’s young face. “The possible paternity of Jodie Carter was narrowed down to two men when we pushed Tammy Carter for information.”

  “She was feeling a bit off-colour, Guv,” he added. “So getting the information out of her took a lot longer than it needed. She kept having to excuse herself. I hope it was nothing contagious.”

  Swift grimaced. “I hope you washed your hands thoroughly and changed clothes once you were done? The last thing we need is a bout of a bloody sickness bug.”

  Page grimaced in a way that told Annie he had probably come straight back to the station after his interview.

  “Anyway,” Page said, moving the conversation away from his possible contamination of the whole team. “Tammy Carter was actually quite forthcoming with information when she was feeling well. The Family Liaison Officer with her has been great. I think Tammy may have been a bit off with you guys on Tuesday because she’s had a bad experience in the past.”

  “With the police?” Annie asked.

  “Yeah,” Page shook his head. “Mainly to do with the people she used to hang around with, back when she was pregnant with Jodie, apparently. Nothing came of it, she was too worried about her baby to stay involved. Anyway, the FLO has brought her round to see us as her friends now, and she wants to do anything she can to get Jodie back. I really felt for her.”

  “Back to the paternity,” Swift barked and Page flinched.

  “Yes, sorry. Tammy had two lovers at the time she fell pregnant. A…” Page stopped to consult the sheet of paper he’d just pinned to the board. “Lyle Baxter and a Brad Greene.”

  “Sorry,” Annie said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Did you say Lyle Baxter?”

  Page nodded, looking cautiously at Swift. “Yes, local guy. Been in prison for affray and possession.”

  “Got out at the beginning of the year, yes I know,” Annie said. “He was one of mine. Hold on.”

  Annie flicked her screen back on and clicked on the intranet icon. She logged into her work emails and scrolled down to the emails from January.

  “Yes,” she said, pointing at the screen though no-one could see it. “Here. Lyle Baxter. He’s only twenty-two, was given a two-year sentence because it wasn’t his first offence. Went down three years ago, so Jodie would have been just over a year. From what I can remember — and it’s going b
ack over six months now, and I can barely remember what I had for breakfast — Lyle had no idea he was a father. Or he was a very good liar.”

  “Do you often ask your clients if they’re fathers?” Swift asked.

  “Not routinely, no,” Annie raised an eyebrow. “But we talk about things that are important and if there are children involved, then almost one hundred percent of the time they’re brought up in conversation.”

  “Right,” Swift conceded, and Annie tried to remain poker-faced

  “That would make sense,” Page continued. “Tammy Carter said she had never told either of the men about Jodie.”

  “But if he didn’t know then surely he can’t be a suspect?” Annie asked.

  Page bounced his head from shoulder to shoulder. “It depends. If he’s only just found out then maybe he wanted to get to Jodie, get revenge on Tammy for keeping her out of his life?”

  “But then why take Orla too? And why leave a bloody corn doll in their place?” Annie asked, her turn to be exasperated.

  “Let’s get this Lyle Baxter in for questioning,” Swift barked. “He may not know he’s a father, but he can give us information on Tammy Carter and her associates. We can also find out if he knew Tim Barclay. If it slips that he’s a dad, then so be it. Let’s try and speak to the other guy too, whatsisname again?”

  “Brad Greene?” Page nodded, though Annie could see hesitation on his face.

  “Anything else?” Swift asked.

  Page shook his head this time and retreated to his desk.

  “Tink?” Swift asked, scanning the room for DS Lock.

  “Yup,” Tink said, bouncing to her feet and chicaning the desks to the front of the room. “Okay, so as I told Annie and Guv earlier, the Angels of the Water have a weird, archaic rule that only men can be leaders and that all their congregation have to be female.”