The Child Taker Is Criminally Insane Box Set

by Conrad Jones

  Jacky Benjamin looked at the iron and winced at the sight of his blackened skin melted to it. He thought for long seconds about his answer. “Look, whoever is paying you, I’ll double it.”

  “No one is paying us,” Nate said flatly.

  “Are you Leon’s muppets?” Benjamin asked, looking from one to the other. “Is he pissed off with me? Is someone else after my area or what?”

  “Last chance, where is it?” Nate asked calmly. Patrick pressed the steam button once again.

  “Fuck off!” Jacky Benjamin threw his weight backward in an attempt to escape the bungees. The chair toppled and he landed on his back. He thrashed about, desperately trying to escape. Patrick forced the dealer’s knees apart and pushed the steam iron into his groin. Benjamin let out a bloodcurdling scream as his testicles sizzled on the metal. “Okay! Stop,” he gurgled. His breathing was shallow and his eyes looked as if they may pop out of his head. Despite his pleas, Patrick held the iron there, fascinated by the pain his captive was feeling. “Stoooooop!” Jacky wailed.

  “Stop it.” Nate pulled Patrick’s arm.

  “What is your problem?” Patrick turned on him. “This scumbag killed your son.” The smell of scorched flesh filled the air. Nate saw something in Patrick’s eyes. Pure hatred. He had seen a thousand interrogators at work. Some of them enjoyed their subject’s pain more than others, but Patrick had something else. He was just plain evil.

  “He is no good to me unconscious just now,” Nate said calmly. He was cool as a cucumber. They looked at each other and there was tension between them, but Nate had to take control of the situation. Patrick had to realise who was in charge here. “We need him to talk.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Patrick laughed again. “I bet that hurt, lad.” He mocked Benjamin cruelly.

  “It’s in the washing machine,” Benjamin gasped. “Take the panel off the front. My stash is in there.”

  Nate nodded to Patrick, who reluctantly put the iron down and went into the kitchen to check out the washing machine. The younger boy he had tied up earlier was sobbing as he watched things unfold. He patted the terrified teenager on the head as he stepped over him. “Don’t worry, you’re next,” he laughed. The teenager started crying and a dark stain spread across the crotch of his jeans. Watching them burning his boss was too much. He decided that drug dealing was not the glamorous career he had thought it might be. Patrick grabbed a screwdriver from a drawer and forced the front panel. It clattered on the floor.

  “What did he mean?” Benjamin sobbed.

  “What?” Nate replied.

  “What did he mean, I killed your son?” He was sobbing and his face was twisted with pain.

  “He died after taking one of your ecstasy tablets,” Nate answered calmly.

  “What?” Benjamin tried to turn around to see Nate properly. “When? How do you know he bought it from me?”

  “He bought it from a kid called Carl Lewis.”

  “Is he the kid that’s gone missing?” His eyes widened as he spoke. “The police have been all over me about him and his mate, Grebby. They’re both missing. You must be Nate Bradley’s father.”

  “Bingo,” Nate nodded.

  “Is that what this about?” Benjamin whined.

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m sorry about your son. What’s your name?”

  “Nate,” he said quietly.

  “Well, Nate, I am sorry about your son. I am really sorry about your son,” the dealer sounded genuine. “I have never wanted to hurt any of the youngsters.”

  “Hurt them? You killed Nate.” Nate Bradley senior was still calm. His voice was clear and crisp. “You killed Nate but you haven’t stopped selling the same shit that poisoned him, have you?”

  “It was an accident, Nate. It was a one in a million accident,” the dealer cried.

  “One too many from where I am stood,” Nate answered.

  Patrick walked back into the room with a sports bag full of money and drugs. He was laughing and rooting through the contents like a child in a sweet shop.

  “Look what we have here. We have Charlie, weed, speed, ecstasy and smack, plus about a hundred grand. We’ve hit the jackpot,” he laughed.

  “Take it all. Take it all and I give you my word that I won’t come after you. Call it compensation,” Benjamin was talking quickly. Patrick’s reappearance had made him panic again. He knew the identity of his attacker and so did the teenager. That was not good. If they left him alive, there was the chance of him looking for revenge or his drugs and money back. He could go to the police, although that would be unlikely; how did you complain that somebody had stolen your drugs? The chances of them leaving him alive were slim. “Take it. I am genuinely sorry about your son.”

  “Shut up, scumbag.” Patrick stamped on his chest.

  “Who supplies you?” Nate asked calmly.

  “What?” Benjamin looked incredulous.

  “Who supplies you with drugs?”

  “What does it matter?” Benjamin whined. He didn’t think he was going to walk away from this one. Patrick picked up the iron and pressed the steam button. Benjamin began to sob uncontrollably. He shook his head. “I buy them from Leon Tanner. He gets them from a Turk called Sally. His name is Salim. He owns Connections in town.”

  “Where does he get them?” Nate asked. “Who is at the top of the tree?”

  “I know him,” Patrick interrupted. “He’s one of the Turkish mafia. They’re the biggest importers in the country. They’re right at the top of the pile.”

  “Fair enough,” Nate nodded. “Then I’m done here.”

  “Okay, boss. You take the stash and I’ll finish things off here. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Patrick said. He handed Nate the bag and guided him toward the backdoor. “There is no need for both of us to hang around. You put the gear safe and I’ll tidy up here.”

  “Please don’t leave me here with him,” Benjamin said.

  “You didn’t care who you hurt. Why should I?” Nate replied. He wasn’t sure why Patrick was so eager to stay, but he didn’t care.

  “Your missus liked her smack, didn’t she?” Jacky laughed like a wild man. He realised he was going to finish the night dead or dying. The guy with the iron was a lunatic. He could see that in his eyes. There was a little comfort in hitting back the only way he could. “Hey, I said your missus liked her smack.”

  “What?” Nate stopped at the door and turned back.

  “Yes, when you said the name, Bradley. I knew that was your missus,” Jacky sneered. “She was alright for her age, when she wasn’t smashed of her head, that is.”

  “She was my wife and Nate’s mother,” Nate spoke quietly. “You destroyed her for cash.”

  “Cash?” Benjamin laughed wildly. He knew he was dead anyway. “She ran out of money a long time ago.”

  “What do you mean?” Nate asked. He had heard the ranting of dying men many times before. They rarely told the truth.

  “Did you know she was taking it up the arse for her smack?” Benjamin grinned. “She fucking loved it. There was nothing that she wouldn’t do for a hit.”

  Patrick Lloyd brought the iron down onto the dealers face. His scream was stifled as his lips sizzled. His body twitched as Patrick pressed the steam button and a cloud of boiling vapour engulfed the dealer’s head.

  “We need to discuss your manners,” Patrick smiled as the dealer desperately tried to escape the pain. Nate Bradley took the bag and unlocked the steel plate, opening the door and stepping out into the night without saying another word. Nothing needed to be said. Patrick seemed to enjoy hurting people, buzzing off their fear. Nate never did. It was purely a means to an end. As he reached the van, he heard Benjamin’s muffled screams. They meant nothing to him.

  Patrick Lloyd took his time killing Jacky Benjamin. Most of the man’s skin was burned with the iron before he shattered every major bone in his body with the baseball bat. It felt good, and making the teenager watch was exciting. When he was do
ne, he fetched his camper and returned for the boy. He took him to an empty factory unit near the river, Jamaica Street, and had hours of fun with him. It took the teenager days to finally die, and it entertained Patrick so much, he didn’t pick up his share of the tax until three days later. Working with the Gecko was fun, but his extracurricular activities were mind-blowing. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in years.

  Twenty-Six

  Kisha Arobe

  Kisha sat at her desk and sighed as she looked at the notes her fellow officer, Stevie Nelson, had left next to the computer. They looked like a five year old had scrawled on a piece of A4. He had circled some of the names in balloons; ticks and crosses were marked randomly in the margins. There was no sense to his workings. She picked her own notes and tried to compare them to his. Her handwriting was beautiful; she formed the letters perfectly. Kisha was proud of her work, and her reports looked more like a dissertation than a brief update.

  “How is it going, Kisha?” Will asked, disturbing her thoughts.

  “Slow,” she answered, forcing a smile. She didn’t want to drop Stevie in the mire, but it was obvious that he hadn’t finished entering the information they had gathered into the database before leaving the station. “We seem to be going around in circles entering all the key holders.”

  “How come?” Will leaned over the back of the chair but maintained a comfortable distance between them. “How much info have you got?”

  “Over three hundred names to crosscheck against flags in the investigation.” She pushed her chair back and frowned. “We’ve gathered a list consisting of anyone who had access to the building’s keys. We’ve included the owners, partners, shift managers, painters, joiners, roofers, bailiffs, the current estate agents and their service contractors!”

  “It’s a lot to filter through,” Will laughed. The crime scene on Jamaica Street was a rented industrial unit, which had changed hands numerous times over the past decade.

  “Tell me about it, she sighed. Stevie had done nothing but hamper her work, but she didn’t want to tell Will that. “We’ve established that it has stood empty for the last four years, which has done little to narrow down the search.”

  “Keep plugging away,” Will said. “Let me know if you need any help.”

  “Thanks, Will.”

  “Where is Stevie, by the way?” Will stopped as he walked away.

  “I think he’s running late,” Kisha lied. Will nodded and frowned. He walked across the office without making any comment about her partner’s absence.

  Kisha had no idea where Stevie was, but she didn’t feel it was her place to say that. She picked up the top page of information and scanned it to see where they were up to.

  “Do you want a brew, Kisha?” Smithy walked past and patted her on the shoulder on his way to the kitchen. Normally the touch of a man made her skin crawl, but Smithy was different because she knew he had no sexual interest in her. She looked up to him. The Superintendent had paired them as a team on several cases. As a new detective, he had given her a mentor to guide her. Smithy had taken her under his wing and they had gotten on well. They went for a drink after work some days and Kisha felt comfortable with him. He treated her as a fellow officer and had no sexual interest in her. If he did, he kept it a secret.

  “Yes, please, Smithy,” she said. She smiled as he walked by although she didn’t feel much like smiling. She wanted to be at the cutting edge of the investigation, not tied to a computer.

  “How are you finding working with Stevie Nelson?” Smithy lowered his voice. He didn’t like the man. Kisha was his pet newcomer and as her mentor, they had become close friends.

  “He is grinding me down.” She looked tired out.

  “Is he behaving himself?” Smithy asked. “I know you said he came on to you at Christmas.”

  “Don’t get me started.” She looked around to see if anyone was listening. “He is constantly making sexual innuendoes and brushing against me when there’s no need to.”

  “Do you want me to have a word with him?”

  “I can fight my own battles, but thanks,” she chuckled. “He’s a sexist pig.”

  “He is,” Smithy agreed with a smile.

  “It has crossed my mind to make a formal complaint already, but we’re only a few days into the task.”

  “If it’s pissing you off, then you should.”

  “No, Smithy. I can’t do that.” She put her head in her hands for a moment. “You know how things work. It’s hard enough for a female to fit in with you macho-men!” She laughed. “I can’t leave a trail of harassment complaints behind me on the way to becoming chief!” She took a deep breath and smiled again. There would be plenty of Stevie Nelsons along the way.

  “Chief constable?” Smithy laughed. “Just remember who your friends are when you reach the top, missus!”

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Very funny,” Smithy smiled. “Seriously though, maybe I should have a little word in his shell,” Smithy clenched his fist and laughed. “A clip around the ear is all it takes.”

  “No, you fool,” she smiled. She knew he meant it, but that wasn’t the answer.

  “You look really down,” he said seriously.

  “Things aren’t great at the moment.” She tilted her head to one side.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “Maybe later, but thanks,” she smiled again, but there was sadness in her eyes. Her partner was an idiot and on top of all that, things at home were on a downhill slide. Her partner of three months was having a crisis. She had left her husband and two children to live with Kisha, but now she wasn’t sure if she was gay or not. How could she not know? They had argued about it day in and day out for weeks, but Kisha could not understand her uncertainty. She said she wasn’t gay, she must be bi-sexual, some days she fancied Chinese food and other days she fancied Indian food. That comment had hurt Kisha deeply. How could her partner compare their love to takeaways? The situation was making life difficult, and she wasn’t sleeping properly. Kisha was tired and working with a pig like Stevie was not helping matters one bit.

  “How is the list of key holders coming?” Smithy’s voice disturbed her thoughts. She could hear cups clinking in the sink as he rinsed them out. “Are you getting anywhere?”

  “Slowly, needle in a haystack is crossing my mind,” Kisha shook her head and she tried to fathom what system her partner was using to enter the information. Stevie was a stubborn man and he always knew better. Kisha tried to explain her dilemma to Smithy. “I’ve been entering the names of key holders in date order, as it seems more likely that recent key holders should be the priority, but Stevie disagrees and he is insisting on entering information in alphabetical order. We’re going around in circles.”

  “The system is tetchy at best, so if you’re entering the same names twice, it will cause it to crash,” Smithy said.

  “It did yesterday, and we had a heated exchange,” Kisha moaned. “I don’t want to fall out with the man, but in the end I went out and interviewed some of the recent key holders on my way home and left Stevie to it.”

  “You two need to sort it out before the governor finds out,” Smithy said quietly. “He won’t be pleased if you’re getting nowhere.”

  “I know. Stevie must have had the same idea and given up inputting names. He has probably gone to interview some of the key holders.” At least that was what she thought.

  “Call him and see where he is. Then catch up with him. Neither of you should be working on your own, you know that, Kisha,” Smithy warned.

  “I know,” she said. “Thanks, Smithy. I’ll do that.”

  “Do you want a chocolate biscuit with your brew?” Smithy sang the words. He always seemed to be happy no matter what was going on around him.

  “No, thank you,” Kisha replied waving her finger. “I have to watch my weight.” She laughed. She didn’t have to watch her weight at all. She was one of those lucky people who could eat whatever they liked wi
thout putting on the pounds.

  “I have been watching mine for years, but it just keeps going up,” Smithy chuckled. “One won’t hurt.”

  “That’s the start of a slippery slope, Smithy.” Kisha smiled at him. “One leads to two and suddenly the packet is empty.”

  “What do you mean?” Smithy frowned. “You cannot possibly leave any biscuits in the packet, Kisha. They go stale.”

  “Spoken like a true chocoholic in denial,” she laughed. The problems at home were gone for a second. Smithy had the ability to make people laugh.

  “My body is a temple, young lady. The problem is I worship the Buddha.”

  “The Buddha is cool, Smithy,” she laughed. “Fat but cool.”

  “So I am fat now, am I?” He frowned in mock disgust.

  “No. The Buddha is fat.”

  “Do you want a biscuit or what?”

  “Yes, Smithy,” she grimaced and nodded her head. “I am afraid I do.”

  “Just one, though.”

  “Just one,” she agreed.

  Kisha hit the return button on the keyboard to look at the last entry that her partner had made. Smithy clumsily put down a cup of weak brown liquid, and it splashed coffee onto her disorganised pile of names. Entries were in neither date nor alphabetical order. She couldn’t work in such a random fashion. She needed to work to a system. Stevie was holding her back. She couldn’t read his handwriting because it was so bad, which caused arguments when they were entering names into the database.

  “Oops!” Smithy chuckled as he walked away. He had a biscuit between his teeth and a cup in each hand. “Sorry, Kisha.”

  “Thanks for nothing, Smithy!” Kisha laughed. She reached into the bottomless pit of her handbag for a wet wipe. They were essential kit, and she never ran out. She dabbed at the spill and wiped coffee from the papers. One of the cleaners walked towards the desk to empty her wastepaper bin. They started work at stupid o’clock in the morning.

  “Hi, Sue,” Kisha pushed her chair back. “Have you seen Stevie this morning?”