The Toy Taker

by Delaney, Luke

  ‘Fuck me,’ DC Jesson added in his Scouse accent. ‘What are we waiting for? Let’s just charge him now.’

  ‘I agree,’ Sean told the baying room, ‘he’s an outstanding suspect, but we need to investigate this properly and thoroughly. The boy’s still missing and McKenzie isn’t talking.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like we need him to talk to prove he’s guilty,’ Jesson continued. ‘We’ve probably got enough to do him on method alone.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Sean told them, ‘but I need him to talk if we’re to find the boy quickly. So far he hasn’t admitted taking the boy, but he hasn’t denied it either.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Cahill asked.

  ‘Means he likes playing games,’ Sean answered. ‘Maybe this is his play at being famous. You can never tell with someone like McKenzie.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s not him at all?’ Donnelly dropped a fly in the ointment, silencing the room.

  ‘Got something you want to share?’ Sean asked, barely hiding his irritation.

  ‘Had an interesting chat with the Bridgemans’ neighbours last night,’ he explained. ‘The Beiersdorfs at number five and Philippa Howells at number nine.’

  ‘Go on,’ Sean encouraged, trying to get Donnelly’s sideshow over as quickly as he could.

  ‘Both say the same thing: the Bridgemans have kept themselves to themselves since moving in and don’t appear to want to socialize. Also, both sets of neighbours have heard plenty of raised voices coming from the Bridgemans’ house. My pal Philippa told me it was Mr Bridgeman who seemed to do most of the shouting. She also noticed that although he rarely scolded his daughter, he seemed cold towards the boy.’

  ‘But not Mrs Bridgeman?’ Jesson asked.

  ‘According to Philippa, she was fine towards the boy.’

  ‘So there’s something going on between the boy and the father?’ Cahill joined in.

  ‘The boy’s only four,’ Sean reminded them. ‘I know as well as anyone that four-year-olds can be a pain in the backside, but you don’t start hating your own children because of it.’ DC Maggie O’Neil tentatively raised her arm. ‘What is it, Maggie?’

  ‘I was going to raise it in private with you, guv’nor, but seems the cat’s out the bag.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Last night, when I was with the family, I picked up on the hostility between George’s parents. A lot of whispered conversations they certainly didn’t want me to hear.’

  ‘It’s early days,’ Sean warned them. ‘It may turn out their marriage was on the slippery slope even before George was taken. You don’t need me to remind you that families don’t always stick together in adversity.’

  ‘True,’ Maggie agreed, ‘but when I spoke to the nanny she said that Mrs Bridgeman was devastated by George’s disappearance, but that Mr Bridgeman was just angry.’

  ‘Did she say who with?’ Sean asked, unable to so easily dismiss the Bridgemans as suspects in his own mind now, no matter how much he wanted McKenzie to be guilty.

  ‘No,’ Maggie answered. ‘Just that he was angry.’

  ‘Hidey-fucking-hi,’ Donnelly interrupted. ‘Let’s get ’em in, both of them, Mr and Mrs.’

  ‘We haven’t got enough to arrest them yet,’ Sean warned him off. ‘So Mr Bridgeman’s a bad-tempered bastard – so what?’

  ‘Not arrest them,’ Donnelly suggested. ‘Get them in as primary witnesses, but interview them on tape separately under caution – shit them up a bit. Divide and conquer them before they pull together for self-preservation and concoct a pack of well-ordered lies.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Sean insisted. ‘This isn’t the time to go in like a bull in a china shop. If we do that and it turns out you’re wrong, we’ll be slaughtered. Let’s not show them our hand just yet. Besides, we need to concentrate on McKenzie first. It won’t look good if we’re treating the parents as suspects while we’re still interrogating McKenzie. Let’s get him sorted first, one way or the other, then we can think about the Bridgemans.’

  ‘By then it might be too late,’ Donnelly told him.

  ‘It might already be too late,’ Sean countered, and regretted it. ‘Listen, we have two very different but promising lines of inquiry. McKenzie remains our prime suspect until I say different. As for the Bridgemans, find out whatever you can, but do it subtly and without dragging them in for interview, understand?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Donnelly agreed, taking what Sean said as a green light to go after the parents.

  ‘Sally and I will be re-interviewing McKenzie again soon and will make a further decision after that, but for now do the jobs you’re given – and for Christ’s sake, try and get this bloody office sorted.’

  Detective Chief Superintendent Featherstone was just about to devour a large cooked breakfast he’d carried down to his office from the canteen when his desk phone rang, drawing a string of obscenities from his still empty mouth. He answered the phone as he continued to watch his egg yolks solidify.

  ‘Alan – Assistant Commissioner Addis here.’ Featherstone’s appetite faded quickly. ‘I was wondering whether you had any updates for me on the Bridgeman case? I would have popped down and spoken to DI Corrigan myself, but I’m away from the Yard this morning promoting the new Safer Neighbourhoods Scheme in Lambeth, of all places.’

  ‘I understand things are progressing well enough,’ Featherstone tried to buy some time and space. ‘No stone’s being left unturned.’

  ‘What about this suspect you told me about? He sounded very promising.’

  ‘Somebody McKenzie,’ Featherstone recalled. ‘He’s still in custody over at Kentish Town.’

  ‘Has he been interviewed yet?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, sir. I’ll be getting an update this morning,’ Featherstone answered, making it up as he went along.

  ‘I need you closer to this, Alan,’ Addis warned him. ‘We can’t afford any more bad press. We need the boy found as a matter of urgency. If he’s already dead then we need someone charged with his murder without delay or we’ll have a panic on our hands. A child murderer at large does not read well.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should keep the press out of it for a while longer,’ Featherstone tried to stall him, ‘until we have a positive result lined up?’

  ‘No, we can’t afford to do that. If they get wind of it from another source before we inform them there’ll be hell to pay and I’ll never get them back on side. I’ve made my decision – arrange a press conference for this evening. It’s time to get the media and public involved. I’ll do the briefing myself. Let me know when you’ve sorted it out,’ Addis ordered and hung up, leaving Featherstone holding an empty phone still pressed to his ear as he stared at his congealing breakfast.

  Finally he hung up and pushed the plate as far away as he could across his desk, his already significant regrets at allowing himself to become involved with Assistant Commissioner Addis growing by the second.

  ‘The time is approximately ten a.m.,’ Sean announced for the tape, ‘and this is a continuation of the first interview of Mark McKenzie who’s being questioned regarding the disappearance of a four-year-old boy – George Bridgeman. Do you understand why you’re here?’ Sean asked.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I’m just trying to clarify that you understand why you’re here, Mark.’

  ‘I said no comment.’

  ‘Fine. That’s your right. Can you tell me where you were Monday night to Tuesday morning of this week?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘The boy having been taken from his home sometime during that time.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘If you have an alibi that can place you somewhere else then now’s a good time to tell me and save a lot of people a lot of trouble and time – including yourself.’

  ‘No comment,’ McKenzie continued with a smirk, the involuntary tapping of his foot returning.

  ‘Then you don’t have an alibi,’ Sean tried to bait him.

  ‘That’s not w
hat my client said,’ Jackson got involved. ‘He merely declined to answer your question.’

  ‘My apologies,’ Sean told her. ‘Speaking of declined, yesterday you declined to deny that you had taken the boy. I’ll give you the chance to do so again, Mark. Are you telling me that you had nothing to do with the boy going missing? A simple yes or no will do.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Tell me you had nothing to do with it, Mark, and you never know, I might even start to believe you.’

  ‘You expect me to make your job easy for you,’ McKenzie answered, unable to resist any longer. His hatred of the police drove him to torment Sean as the police had tormented him on so many occasions, knowing he was defenceless. He couldn’t go running to the media with tales of torture and evidence-planting – as far as everyone else was concerned he was a sex-offender and had got what he deserved. Now it was his turn to be the tormentor ‘You’re the police, you’re the detectives, yet you can’t even find one missing boy?’

  ‘We’ll find him, don’t worry about that,’ Sean told him.

  ‘Really?’ McKenzie mocked. ‘And how you going to do that?’

  ‘As we speak there are specialist search teams combing North London with dogs and helicopters. How long d’you think it’s going to be before we find him? And when we do, we’ll find the evidence that will hang you.’

  ‘Is that what you’d like to do to me, Inspector – hang me? Isn’t that what they sing to people like me in prison – Sex case. Sex case. Hang him. Hang him. Hang him?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ Sean changed tack. ‘If you help us find the boy, if you tell us where he is, then I can help you.’

  The smirk fell from McKenzie’s face as he began to chew his bottom lip. ‘It’s too late anyway,’ he told them, looking and sounding suddenly solemn. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Sean kept going, sensing a breakthrough. ‘No matter what’s happened, it’s not too late. Tell us where the boy is, alive or otherwise, and we can talk about it – we can talk about anything you want.’

  ‘No.’ McKenzie immediately clammed up again. ‘You can’t prove anything. I’m saying nothing.’

  ‘Damn it, Mark,’ Sean continued, frustration beginning to show as he sensed McKenzie slipping away, ‘how long d’you think it’ll be before we can prove you were in the house? We’ve just sent dozens of fingerprints and forensic exhibits to Fingerprint Bureau and the lab – how long before we find out some of them belong to you? How long, Mark?’

  McKenzie looked worried again – deeply worried. ‘No. If you could prove anything you would have charged me by now or …’

  ‘Or what?’ Sean seized on McKenzie’s hesitation. ‘Or what, Mark?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he answered, leaning back in his chair, away from Sean.

  ‘Listen,’ Sean told him, ‘pretty soon my Assistant Commissioner is going to go on television and tell the world that a young boy was snatched from his own bed while he slept. The reporters are going to ask him if we have any suspects and you know what he’s going to tell them, Mark? He’s going to tell them your name and he’s going to show everyone a picture of you.’

  ‘He can’t do that,’ McKenzie protested.

  ‘Yes he can, Mark, because you’re a credible suspect and we’re well within our rights to ask the public for their help in tracing your movements during the last couple of days. For Christ’s sake, a four-year-old boy is missing. We can do pretty much whatever we like to help find him. Your name and photograph, Mark, all over the TV and papers – the Internet. If you don’t start talking, if you don’t admit your involvement then, yes, you’re right – I can’t charge you. Which means I’ll have to release you – back out there with all those people just waiting for you – all those angry people, Mark. What d’you think they’ll want to do to you?’

  ‘That’s not entirely true, Mark,’ his solicitor advised him. ‘If the police believe you could be in danger then they have a duty of care.’ McKenzie looked blank. ‘They have to protect you – no matter what.’

  ‘I don’t want their protection,’ McKenzie barked. ‘I don’t trust them. I’ll take care of myself.’

  ‘Mark,’ Sally jumped in, ‘George has been missing for almost thirty-six hours now. He’s only four years old and therefore incapable of surviving for long on his own, especially with these freezing nights.’

  ‘So?’ McKenzie asked, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

  ‘So, it won’t be long before we have to assume he’s no longer alive, whether we find a body or not,’ Sally explained. ‘When that happens, you’ll no longer be a suspect for abduction, you’ll be a suspect for the murder of a child. You’ll be the most hated man in Britain, and not everybody will be as fussy about proof as we are.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. I already am a murder suspect.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Sally argued.

  ‘Yes it is,’ McKenzie insisted. ‘You think I killed the boy – I know you do. So why don’t you just charge me with murder? Do it!’ He banged his fist on the table. ‘I want you to, so just do it.’

  ‘Admit to it and we will charge you,’ Sean told him.

  ‘So long as you can convince us you’re telling the truth,’ Sally qualified.

  ‘I’m not going to admit to anything,’ McKenzie told them, his face tight with desperation. ‘I’m not going to help you. If you’re so sure I’m guilty, then charge me and we’ll see each other in court. And when the boy’s body is found it won’t be me the media comes after – they’ll soon forget about me. It’ll be you they hunt down.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Sean replied.

  ‘Then charge me and let’s find out.’

  ‘I’ll decide when to charge you, and then I will see you in court and you will be found guilty and you will go to prison – for the rest of your life,’ Sean warned him.

  ‘Then do it,’ McKenzie challenged him, his voice raised as he smiled through gritted teeth. ‘Do it and let’s get this over with.’

  ‘No,’ Sean told him, stretching to turn off the tape recorder. ‘This interview is terminated.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ McKenzie insisted.

  ‘Then tell me what happened,’ Sean demanded.

  ‘No,’ McKenzie answered, slumping in his chair. ‘No. I won’t tell you anything.’

  ‘In that case, this interview is over,’ Sean told him and pressed the off button with a loud click.

  ‘What now?’ the solicitor asked.

  ‘No doubt you’ll want a further consultation with your client, and we also need some time to consider what action we’ll be taking.’

  ‘Don’t take too long, Inspector,’ Jackson warned. ‘You’re running out of detention time and I don’t see any further lines of inquiry that could justify an application at the Magistrates Court for a further extension.’

  ‘You’ll find magistrates can be very obliging when it concerns a missing child,’ Sally told her. ‘We’ll keep you informed.’

  Both she and Sean left the interview room and closed the door behind them, walking a few steps away from it before feeling safe to talk.

  ‘Well?’ Sally asked. ‘What now?’

  ‘We stick to the plan,’ Sean answered. ‘Once he’s released, he’ll be in danger from the public, therefore we have a duty to protect him.’

  ‘You mean follow him?’

  Sean shrugged innocently. ‘All I know is this means Featherstone and Addis have to give us a surveillance team – R versus Brindle – remember? And whilst they’re looking after him they might as well report his movements to me. Nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone.’

  ‘You’ll be popular with the brass.’

  ‘Fuck ’em. We don’t have enough to charge him so we have to let him go, and if we have to let him go I want him followed. Who knows – he may panic and lead us straight to George Bridgeman.’

  ‘Or he may go to ground and stay there?’ Sally suggested.

  �
�He could.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should keep him in custody a while longer and see what Forensics and Fingerprints come up with? The magistrates will give us an extension – what choice do they have?’

  ‘No,’ Sean insisted. ‘He’s too confident he’s left nothing. Besides, if we get a match we’ll just re-arrest him. With a surveillance team up his arse at least we’ll know where he is if we need to bring him back in. I’ll call Featherstone and as soon as we have the surveillance scrambled we’ll bail him straight into their hands.’

  ‘He’s going to suspect he’s being followed,’ Sally pointed out.

  ‘No matter,’ Sean argued. ‘It might make him nervous, then he’ll be all the more likely to make a mistake. We’ll brief the surveillance team to make it look like he’s lost them if he starts giving them the run-around and then we’ll find out what he doesn’t want us to see.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Sally reluctantly agreed.

  ‘Good,’ Sean told her.

  ‘So long as you still think he’s our man.’

  ‘He has to be.’

  ‘Then why was he so desperate for us to charge him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted. ‘Maybe he wants the notoriety?’

  ‘So why not admit it?’

  ‘Because he’s not ready to burn all his bridges yet … who knows with his type? Ian Brady still won’t tell anyone where some of his victims are buried. Maybe McKenzie needs to feel he has sole possession of George.’

  ‘Weird and disturbing,’ Sally told him.

  ‘A troubled soul,’ Sean said, more to himself than Sally.

  ‘Another one?’ He didn’t answer the question.

  ‘Do me a favour and hang around here until I get the surveillance sorted out. When it’s done, we’ll get back to the Yard.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Don’t worry about McKenzie. He can play his fucked-up games as long as he wants, but he’ll screw up soon enough. Like I say: they always do.’

  Mrs Bridgeman led Donnelly along the corridor and into the kitchen of her house in Hampstead. He hadn’t told her he was coming. ‘I was expecting DC O’Neil,’ she told him. ‘No one else – not unless …’