Corn Dolls

by K. T. Galloway

  But there was something wrong. There was no movement in the handle. It wasn’t dropping down like it normally did when she was occasionally allowed outside. It was stuck. She tugged and tugged but it was no use. She heard the footsteps slow behind her and felt the familiar warmth of breath on her neck. The hairs raised up on her arms and made her whole body tickle.

  Got you.

  She felt strong arms pick her up, and she kicked her legs out to try and break free.

  You’re IT

  Orla screamed, NO!

  She wriggled free and fell to the floor, laughing so much it hurt her tummy. She didn’t want to be IT, she liked being chased, it was fun. She turned sharply and smacked the legs of the person behind her.

  You’re IT, she screamed, laughing some more.

  She looked back to the kitchen door and grabbed the key from the hook on the wall, letting herself out to the garden and the soft grass and play equipment. She spun around and made herself dizzy. It was one of her most favourite things to do. She giggled as she stumbled towards the swings, her head wobbling on her neck. One of the seats was taken by the new girl who had arrived that morning. The new girl hadn’t wanted to play with Orla and that made Orla mad. The new girl was still crying, silently, as she swayed back and forth on the plastic swing seat. Orla ignored her and ran back inside; she wanted to play hide-and-seek.

  Twenty-One

  Saturday.

  “Page, I want you to spend the morning with as many of the congregation as possible, the women. I need you to find out if any of them know about the anniversary this evening and if any of them have been invited.” Swift was pacing the front of the incident room like a lion trapped in a cage.

  He’d gone over the findings from the previous night with the team, all of whom had been chomping at the bit to get forensics on the barn. They couldn’t, though. Annie could see the desperation in their eyes as they all came to the same realisation that Swift had last night. What she and Swift had done was illegal and could jeopardise their case if the girls were somehow linked to the barn.

  Last night.

  What was that all about? Annie wondered if the team knew about Swift’s rather gigantic abode. Not that it mattered a jot to the work he did. It just seemed a little inconsistent with the man currently standing at the front of the room, looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, then forwards again for good measure.

  “Are we any further on with finding and questioning Jodie’s dad, Lyle was his name, wasn’t it, or was it Brad?” Swift directed that question at Page. “Though I don’t think her dad is linked, we need to close off as many of these loose ends as possible, it makes getting a warrant for the real perps a bit easier.”

  Page was about to reply when the phone rang out. Tink, once again, went to pick it up.

  “No, Guv,” Page said, when the room had quietened. “Though we narrowed it down to Lyle Baxter, he was in Magaluf when the girls were taken. We have photographic and video proof of him downing a luminous fishbowl on the night in question, courtesy of Facebook. He’s still there now.”

  “Right,” Swift said, taking a marker pen and crossing right through the picture of Lyle Baxter on the board. “Thought as much. Not about him chugging ridiculously named drinks, just about him not being involved.”

  “A fishbowl isn’t the name of the drink, Guv,” Page said, smirking. “It’s an actual fishbowl, usually filled to the brim with whatever alcohol the bar staff can find.”

  “Right,” Swift said again, looking bewildered.

  “What happened to your misspent youth?” Annie asked, chuckling to herself at the memory of her last fishbowl attempt, which was a good few years ago now, but still there in the banks of alcohol-related memories.

  The incident room quietened to a hush. Annie could hear the ticking of the old clock on the wall and the rising tide of her heartbeat.

  What did I say? she mouthed to Page, who grimaced at her but, before he could respond, Tink flew into the middle of their line of sight and swore loudly.

  “There’s been another one,” she said, slapping a piece of paper down on the desk in front of Swift.

  “Annie, with me,” Swift said as he ran towards the door of the incident room, car keys in hand.

  Three-year-old Katie Green had been snatched from her buggy outside the Londis a few streets over from where she lived. Her mum had popped in for a pint of milk and left the young girl waiting for her in the street. By the time she’d scrabbled around in her purse for the right change, the girl was gone. A small doll twisted together from corn was left in her place. No onlookers, no witnesses.

  “I only left her for a minute, two max,” Katie’s mum wept into the arms of the family liaison officer already at the house. “I needed milk. It’s too crowded in the shop to take the buggy in, and she’s getting too heavy for me to carry in my state. She was asleep, she was strapped in.”

  Annie looked around the small flat. Children’s toys littered the floor and the sofa, but something far more sinister littered the table in the corner of the room. Bongs, lighters, tobacco, burnt tin foil, and rolled up notes. Katie’s mum caught Annie looking and wrinkled her brow.

  “Just because I like to smoke, that doesn’t make me a bad mum,” she said defensively, through her tears.

  “No,” Annie said, against her better judgement. “I never said that, Miss Green, sorry, I just…” She stopped talking, wary of overstepping the mark.

  “It’s Mrs Green,” the woman sniffed.

  “Where is your husband, Mrs Green?” Swift asked.

  “Look, I already told the officers that I spoke to earlier, Derek’s at work,” Mrs Green spat. “He has nothing to do with this. Why would he snatch his own child and swap her for a bloody doll?”

  “Where is the corn doll now, Mrs Green?” Annie asked, eyeing the Londis bag by her feet that looked like it was stowing more than a pint of milk.

  “It was sent to forensics,” the FLO answered.

  “Why don’t you go and make some tea?” Annie asked the FLO, nodding at the carrier bag. “There’s milk there if you need it.”

  She got up and picked up the bag, and the unmistakable clink of wine bottles sang out. Mrs Green looked down at her bitten nails but kept quiet.

  “Mrs Green,” Annie said. “You said just now, too heavy to pick up in my state. What did you mean by that?”

  “What do you think?” Mrs Green scoffed, sitting up straight and displaying a small but unmistakable baby bump. “Call yourself a detective?!”

  Annie caught Swift’s eye and they exchanged a look, but before either of them could speak, Mrs Green butted in.

  “Look,” she said, rubbing her eyes violently with the heels of her hands. “This has nothing to do with me, why are you here judging me for liking a drink and a smoke when you should be out there trying to find my little Katie?”

  Mrs Green’s tears started again, in earnest this time. Annie’s brain was working overtime; she could feel a connection forming in her mind and tried to leave it be to manifest into something whole.

  “I’ve seen it on the news,” Mrs Green continued, waving her hands around. “This person, whoever it is, takes children. They leave a calling card. That bloody doll. Surely you must have some idea who has taken these kids, who has taken my Katie? It’s been nearly a week since that first girl was taken. What have you been doing this whole time?”

  Mrs Green was angry. Annie didn’t blame her; she knew what it felt like to miss someone so much you felt like your insides would combust. Especially when you knew they were out there somewhere…if only they could be found.

  “We’ve been doing our best,” Swift said, getting to his feet. “Do you mind if we look in Katie’s room?”

  Mrs Green shook her head. “It’s just through there, the one with all the stickers on the door.”

  Annie and Swift left Mrs Green with the FLO, who had arrived back with tea and some cake she must’ve found. The internal hallway was dark
, no natural light sources lit the space, but they found Katie’s room pretty quickly as the flat was so small. Her door was so covered in stickers it was impossible to see the Formica underneath. Annie shut the door behind them.

  “She’s pregnant and taking drugs?” Annie said in a whisper.

  “Oi,” Swift said, rounding on Annie. He was so close she could see just how red his eyes were. “No judgement from us, okay? You should know better, you’re a psychotherapist!”

  Annie winced and took a step back. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  The room gave up no secrets. It was so full of toys and stuffed animals that Annie had no idea where to start.

  “This feels different,” she said, carefully picking up a book that made fart noises. “Hasty somehow. Like the abductor was in a hurry.”

  “Because she was taken from a shop?” Swift asked, peeling on a blue glove and lifting the unmade covers from the bed.

  “I don’t know, yeah, I suppose so.” Annie didn’t know what exactly, but something felt off. More off, because replacing children with corn dolls was the most off thing Annie had ever heard of. “Do you think the fact that Maggie Finch and Mrs Green are both pregnant has something to do with those kids being taken?”

  “Maybe,” Swift nodded. “Maybe they know each other through antenatal classes or maybe the perp’s wife goes there. I’ll get it checked out. But it could just be a massive coincidence. Tammy Carter isn’t pregnant, is she? Maybe the perp thought the children would be easier to take from a pregnant woman, harder to chase…”

  His voice trailed off as his phone started to ring out.

  “Swift,” he barked into the handset.

  Annie left him to it, keen to get out of the stuffy bedroom. She bypassed the living room, where the FLO was comforting Mrs Green, and wandered through to the small kitchen. The block of flats was built in the seventies, so the kitchen was tiny compared to the other rooms. A frosted glass serving hatch showed the muffled movement in the living room, but other than that there was little to see. The surfaces were clear and clean. The oven was spotless. Annie ran the cold tap and held her hands under it, relishing the coolness on her fingers. The temperature was warming up, and Annie felt distracted by the heat at the best of times. And this was most definitely not the best of times. A noticeboard was tacked to the wall beside the window, home-made drawings and letters were pinned in no discerning order. Underneath one particularly bright painting of a caterpillar, Annie saw a familiar logo poking out. She shook the water from her hands and lifted it carefully from the board.

  The Angel rose from the water and stretched up to the sky. Annie heard the bedroom door opening and went out to show her find to Swift. His face looked more drawn than it had five minutes ago.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Swift shook his head. He took the leaflet from Annie’s hand and grabbed something out of his bag before heading in to where the two women were sipping their tea.

  “Mrs Green,” Swift said, holding out the leaflet so she could see it. “What can you tell me about your relationship with The Angels of the Water?”

  Mrs Green spluttered her drink.

  “I don’t have a relationship with them, this just came through the door.”

  “But you pinned it on your noticeboard for a reason?”

  “I wondered if they did coffee mornings,” she said, biting her cheek. “It gets a bit lonely around here when Derek’s at work, especially with the little one.”

  More tears fell as she rubbed her tummy with her free hand. Swift looked as though he’d seen enough. He shook his head and swapped the Angels’ flyer for the picture of Grey Donovan.

  “And what can you tell me about this man?” he asked.

  Mrs Green’s eyes narrowed, and her face turned puce.

  “No idea who he is.” She put her cup down on the table and got out of her seat. “Now if you could get out there and try to find my daughter, I’d appreciate it.”

  “SIT DOWN, Mrs Green,” Swift barked, making Annie jump and Mrs Green retreat to her seat quicker than a greyhound out of the blocks. “It’s not about drugs, not right now. I need you to tell me if you know him or not. Tell me how, tell me why, tell me his bloody inside leg measurement if you have to, just talk to me.”

  Mrs Green shrunk into herself. She looked younger than her years, though they were only late twenties from what Annie could gather.

  “He sometimes brings me stuff, you know,” she said in an almost whisper.

  Swift nodded. “And he’d met Katie?”

  Mrs Green nodded back.

  “Right, well we have just been given CCTV footage outcome, and it looks like Grey Donovan was outside the Londis when you went in for your wine. He’s the one who has taken Katie.”

  Twenty-Two

  The 4x4 flew across the city. Annie held on for dear life as Swift took the corners with some added kerb.

  “Did the CCTV guys manage to track Donovan? Find out where he took Katie?” Annie managed to get the words out before yelping again.

  “They’re going to let me know,” Swift said, barely breaking a sweat. “They said he looked brazen. Just walked up to her, unclipped her buckle, and walked away with her in his arms like she was his. Not that there was anyone else around to stop him, mind. But still. They even got him leaving the corn doll, which was—”

  The car phone interrupted him.

  “Swift!” he yelled, answering the call with a button on his steering wheel.

  “Guv?” It was Tink. “I’m sending you the last known whereabouts of Donovan. The CCTV only went as far as the bus station, but he was seen getting on the number 8 which, interestingly, goes right out to the North Norfolk Coast, past both the village nearest to the barn you found, and Amadeus’s house.”

  “Get a constable out to both places now. See if we can pick him up en route to wherever it is he’s going.” Swift hit the indicator and swerved the car around in an arc, ignoring the horns from passing motorists who didn’t have a death wish. Unlike Annie’s driver, who she figured was fifty-fifty whether or not he cared to make it out of the vehicle alive.

  “Also, Guv,” Tink continued. “Forensics are back.”

  “Hit me!” he yelled, honking the horn at an old lady trying to cross the road.

  Annie held up her hand as an apology to the woman, who had dragged her shopping cart out of their way, but they were moving too fast for Annie to see if the gesture had been accepted.

  Don’t unmarked cars have lights you can stick on the roof? she thought, as Swift took them out onto the bypass, which was thankfully lacking in sharp turns and little old ladies. She relaxed a little and listened to the information Tink was relaying.

  “The corn the dolls are twisted from?” Tink began. “Forensics found traces of soil found in Norfolk. It’s a certain type of clay found only in the county. There’s no way to narrow it down to a specific field though, apparently.”

  “Shit,” Swift said, hitting the wheel. “Still, it’s a start.”

  “The baggies we picked up at Donovan’s house had no traces of any of the missing girls.”

  “Double shit!” Swift shouted. “Any good news?”

  “Tim Barclay’s clothes had traces of his own daughter on them but nothing of Jodie Carter,” Tink said, apologetically.

  “Fuck!” Swift shouted again. “I asked for good news.” He hung up on Tink just as she was saying goodbye.

  “We know Grey’s involved,” Annie said, trying to placate him so he’d remove his foot from the accelerator slightly. “We’ve literally got him on camera taking Katie.”

  “But where is he taking her and why is there nothing else on him? Surely forensics would have picked up something of Orla on the bags of drugs? Or on Tim Barclay?”

  “Where are we going, Swift?” Annie asked, as Swift hit the indictor again and sped off down a slip road.

  “We’re going back to Jodie Carter’s house. I need to get a connection between Donovan and Jodie.
Do me a favour and call Tink back. Get her to sort out a proper forensic sweep on Donovan’s house now we’ve caught him in the bloody act. That definitely reaches bloody threshold.”

  “On it,” Annie said, grabbing her phone before it went flying off her knee.

  Tammy Carter had aged almost fifty years in the few days that had passed since Annie was last at the house. The smell of plug-in was stronger now, and Annie could see why—every plug socket was full. The FLO looked green about the gills and took the opportunity to escape for some fresh air when Swift and Annie arrived. Tammy Carter puffed away on a cigarette and her cheekbones looked like they were going to burst out of her skin. She was a shell. In all of the women who’d had their children snatched, Annie could see her own mum reflected in Tammy the most. It was as though her soul had been sucked from her body, like the victim of a Dementor. Annie’s mum had been the same when Mim had been taken away by their dad. Like she needed the love of her missing daughter to fill her shell back up again. That had never happened though, and Annie had a pang of guilt at the length of time that had passed since she’d last spoken to her mum. She made a mental note to call her later, no matter what.

  Swift had got straight in there, telling Tammy that there was no news about Jodie, but that they were on the brink of an arrest. Annie hated the hope she saw in the woman’s eyes when the police arrived, which was quickly replaced with fear when she realised the police weren’t smiling.

  “We need you to do something for us, Miss Carter,” Swift said, reaching into his bag. He held out the picture of Grey Donovan. “Can you tell us if you know this man?”