The Vault

by Karen Long

  “I need to make sure that an Amber alert is appropriate in this case Ma’am.”

  “What do you mean appropriate?” screamed Siobhan. “Tommy’s been taken by god knows who and you’re debating whether to let the media know?”

  “You’re not going to do anything?” shrieked Rosheen.

  Wadesky spoke calmly but firmly. “I cannot call an Amber alert unless I have a strong belief that Tommy’s life in in danger or that there is information that might help to locate either Tommy, a suspect or a suspect’s vehicle. So far you’ve given me nothing. I need you both to work with me and trust that the only thing I’m going to be focused on is bringing Tommy home safely.” She reached forward and took hold of Rosheen’s hand. “I need you to answer my questions. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Rosheen nodded.

  Timms stood in the child’s bedroom and took in the scene as he slipped on latex gloves. He noted that the window sash had been drawn up and that a small piece of wood had been wedged tightly in the groove, preventing it from sliding down. He applied a small amount of pressure to the wedge but it remained solidly in position. Sticking his head out of the window he noted that a patrol officer, showing some initiative, had placed police tape around the area in order to preserve any footprint evidence.

  “What do you think has happened to your son?” asked Wadesky carefully.

  Rosheen began to look wildly around the room.

  “What are you afraid of?” Wadesky said more firmly.

  “That someone came through the window and took him,” she whispered, as if naming the fear somehow made it a certainty.

  Wadesky nodded. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he’d never have climbed out of the window on his own. He wasn’t that sort of a boy.”

  Wadesky turned to look questioningly at the older woman who sighed and shook her head.

  “Ok, who do you think could have taken him?”

  “I don’t know. A paed…” The rest of the word was choked back. “I don’t know.”

  “What about Tommy’s father.”

  Rosheen looked frightened. “Ethan? I don’t…”

  “That no good piece of shit couldn’t organise the putting of his trousers on, never mind kidnap his own child,” spat Siobhan Banks.

  “How well do you know Ethan, Mrs Banks?”

  “Like the back of me own hand,” she hissed. “He’s my son.”

  Wadesky looked at the two women in surprise. “I’m sorry. I’d assumed you were mother and daughter.”

  “Rosheen’s my daughter-in-law.” Siobhan paused, as if unsure whether to continue. “Ethan took a hand to her and I threw him out. I never let his father use his hand and I’d not tolerate it from my own son.”

  “Ethan was violent towards you?” Wadesky asked Rosheen.

  “Once,” said Rosheen quietly. “Mom threw him out and we haven’t seen him since Tommy was three.” At the mention of her son’s name, Rosheen burst into tears again. Siobhan put an arm around her shoulder and spoke quietly to her. “You have to help the detective. Clear your head girl so we can get our boy back.

  Timms looked carefully around the room, noting the lack of any disturbance. He slid his hand gently along the fitted sheet to detect signs of dried semen but the sheet was smooth. He lowered his face to the mattress and inhaled deeply but picked up little beyond the floral notes of the detergent. He didn’t want to touch the duvet in case he disturbed any evidence. Looking at the floor he noted that there were several pieces of train track scattered around, one of which had been crushed underfoot. After making one more visual sweep he joined the women in the kitchen.

  “Did either of you open the window last night or this morning and stick a small wooden peg into the frame to stop it sliding down.

  Both women shook their heads. “I left it slightly open last night because it was so hot. About six inches or so, no higher,” said Rosheen using her hands to indicate the gap. “I pushed the stop in so it couldn’t be lifted any higher… It was just so hot and we don’t have air conditioning.”

  “You are sure that you didn’t open it to the position it’s in now.”

  “No, we’d never do that,” said Siobhan quietly.

  Timms nodded, “You’ve given a full description of what Thomas was wearing to Detective Wadesky?”

  The two women nodded. “Tommy… He’s Tommy,” said Rosheen.

  “Mom, I want you to come into the room with me and take a look for a moment,” said Timms holding out his hand to her.

  Rosheen got to her feet, wobbling a little with the effect of the sedative. Timms took her arm and walked her into the bedroom, turning her to face him. “You ready for this? Are you strong enough for me to run some ideas past you or shall I talk to grandma?

  Rosheen began to blanch. “You think he’s dead?”

  “What I’m about to tell you is what I believe but not what I know. You understand that? And this could all change when Crime Scene get here.”

  “Yes… I understand.”

  “You are going to feel scared and sick but I need you to stay as strong and co-operative as possible, if I’m going to stand a chance of getting Tommy back.”

  She began to shake violently. Timms gripped her arms firmly and drew her closer to him. “You ready?”

  Her breathing made a rasping sound and unconsciously she grabbed his arms, squeezing desperately.

  “Ok, this is what I believe,” he said steadily, his eyes fixed on her. “At some point last night, when you and grandma were asleep, someone, male most probably, pushed his arm through the gap and prised out the wedge you’d put in and pulled up the sash. He then jammed it open with the wedge and went over to the bed. He must have lifted Tommy into his arms and climbed back out of the window.

  Rosheen was nodding her head vigorously, her eyes wide and unblinking, her nose streaming. Her teeth began to chatter noisily.

  “There is no sign of a struggle and –” he paused momentarily “– I have no evidence to suggest Tommy was sexually abused.

  “I’m so cold,” she whispered.

  “It’s because you’re going into shock but I need you strong for a little longer. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” she managed.

  “I need to know if there’s something missing from this room.”

  Rosheen began to look wildly around, her arms still gripping Timms’ arms.

  “Don’t rush. Just look.”

  “I don’t know… I don’t…” She stopped and stared at the floor. Timms supported her as she sank to her knees and reached out for the track. He stopped her before she could pick it up. “The trains are gone.”

  Timms nodded. “Are you sure?”

  She looked under the bed and then all the surfaces. She nodded, confused. They were here last night. He was playing with them before he went to sleep. I trod on one when I tucked him in and was going to put them in his toy box but he liked the arrangement. He asked me not to.” Timms let go of one of her arms and opened up the toy box lid.

  “Can you see them there?”

  She peered into the box and shook her head. “Why would the man take his toys?” She cocked her head to one side, her shaking slowing to occasional shudders. “Because he wants Tommy to play… not to be scared?”

  Timms watched the glimmer of hope take fire. He felt angry at having to keep this alive in her but she was the only hope he had to get the child back alive. “I don’t know why the trains were taken. Maybe for that reason.”

  She tried to smile. “He’s alive? You think he’s alive?”

  “Rosheen, I need you to go to the station with Detective Wadesky and talk to a friend of mine. He’s called Mo and he will show you some photographs and try to build up a picture that might help us. Will you do that for me?”

  She nodded and then pushed herself into his arms. “He’s our life. Bring him back safely won’t you? I’m begging you.”

  Timms held her tightly. “Tommy is my life now
.”

  “Raven!” bellowed Samuelson, from somewhere in the corridor.

  Eleanor rose from her desk and headed for Samuelson’s office, trying not to catch her partner’s worried gaze as she went.

  “What the fuck sort of asshole beats up a member of the press?” he hissed, raising his eyebrows to emphasise his disbelief.

  Eleanor opened her mouth but Samuelson shot a finger up as in indication that now wasn’t the time for explanations. She nodded and listened. “But you are not an asshole, are you Raven?”

  There was a pause before she responded. “Generally not sir.”

  “Now I don’t think Smith has ever made an arrest without someone receiving some sort of injury, which is why he works the lower IQ spectrum of crime. That’s not your MO is it?”

  “Not usually, no.”

  “So what triggered yesterday’s diplomatic coup?”

  Eleanor thought for a moment. “I felt put upon.”

  “Put upon? I feel put upon from the moment I haul my ass out of bed in the morning. But I am allowed to feel that because I am the boss and it comes with the territory. You are not allowed to feel put upon because you are carrying a gun and some sort of emotional baggage that is converting one of the best cops in homicide into an asshole!”

  Eleanor nodded. “I agree sir.”

  “You agree because I’m talking sense or you agree because I’m your boss?” Samuelson rocked back on his seat, his lips pursed. He lowered his tone to barely that of a whisper. “You aren’t ready to be back at work Raven. That’s not just my opinion either but here’s my problem I’ve got a probable child abduction come in this morning and Wadesky and Timms aren’t going to look at anything but that case until the child is safely back home. I have to believe that you can handle your caseload with the help of your partner Detective Whitefoot. Neither of which I’m convinced you are able to manage.”

  Samuelson leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly. “These are the rules Raven. You will not be pissed off or put upon by any member of the public until this clusterfuck is solved. You will endeavour to get on with your partner, until I see fit to transfer him to another department. You will attend every single fucking psychiatric consult they want you to attend and you will listen to what they are saying. They want you to see the Virgin Mary in an ink-blot, you see her and all the heavenly choirs. Are we on the same wavelength?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Samuelson sighed heavily. “You have to give Claddis McAvoy his interview.”

  “That’s not happening,” she said slowly.

  “I can hold it off till the end of the case but that’s the deal. McAvoy presses charges you will be cover on every media outlet in Canada. You’ll be treated as a pariah and shunted into cold case and evidence logging – a slow and painful death by anyone’s standards.

  Eleanor rolled the concept around in her mind for a second or two before delivering her final thought. “You can have my badge at the end of this case then.”

  Samuelson looked at her, shaking his head slowly. “For the sake of throwing a bone to some hack, you’re willing to throw ten years of hard labour into the trash?”

  She stood up and nodded. “Yes sir.”

  “How’d it go?” asked Laurence distractedly, as he sifted through mounds of paper on his desk.

  “Terrific.”

  Laurence switched attention to Eleanor. “Terrific huh?”

  “Yup,” said Eleanor flicking the switch on the coffee machine. “It’s just us two until Timms and Wadesky have cleared the Thomas Banks abduction.”

  Laurence nodded unhappily. “Mo?”

  “Sharing him and Johnson but we have Smith all to ourselves and access to patrol, at Andy Harrison’s discretion. On the brighter side, we can leave the landfill coordination to the radar guys and cadaver search. Any news and they’ll call us in.”

  “We got a plan?” asked Laurence.

  Eleanor nodded. “How about we take our coffee and go stare at the board?”

  There’s something I’m missing,” said Eleanor grimacing.

  “We’re missing,” Laurence said firmly.

  Eleanor glanced at his profile, unsure whether he was making some sort of political statement, but his expression appeared to be that of stumped rather than confrontational. She relaxed slightly. “I couldn’t speak for you,” she said quietly.

  He turned to her, puzzled. “No, I’ve no ideas either,” he said.

  “Something connects all of these murders to the same guy but…” Her voice trailed off as she immersed herself in the collage of photographs, map printouts and forensic sketches, all laid out in a linear manner. “What?”

  “Communications… Try that,” said Laurence grabbing his notebook and pen from the desk.

  “Okaaay… Parminder knows Giselle and let’s assume she knew her murderer, as she arranged to meet him in TTP.” Her eyes ran over the board.

  “So, she had to have contacted the guy who killed her. She didn’t have a landline at the apartment and every one of her calls from her cell pan out as legit. “

  “She couldn’t use the cell at work and she didn’t use the restaurant landline, so where did she call from?”

  Eleanor peered closely at the map, placing her finger next to the pin that marked The Orient Express. “She called from a public payphone. There must be one nearby. Let’s get the number and run the calls for her work hours.”

  Laurence jotted down the instruction. “Shall I send patrol?”

  “No, I’d like to suss that one out and then let Johnson grab the data.”

  “Did you call Dieter about the…?”

  Laurence cut in smiling. “He really couldn’t say that the skulls were those of conjoined twins, as he could barely remember them anyway. He did seem rather keen to help you in any way he could and felt that if you’d care to interview him again, possibly over a dinner, he might just remember a little more.”

  Eleanor smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind.” She stared at Lucy’s sketch of the old-fashioned hair decorations, as described by Lula Bell and then at the photographs of the wooden snake.

  “He likes to give presents, unique presents.”

  “We’re definitely lumping Tara in with Giselle and Michelle Brown, as murdered by the same guy?’

  “I’ve no proof yet but everything’s pointing to that.” She looked at Laurence’s expression. “You don’t agree.”

  He shrugged and furrowed his brow. “We’ve nothing to link them. We haven’t got a body for Tara.”

  “We’re unlikely to get one, unless he messes up the preservation. Have we heard back from Isabel Drake yet?”

  “No, shall we drop in?” asked Laurence, as he grabbed his jacket from the chair.

  “Let’s run these past her as well,” Eleanor said, unpinning the comb sketch off the board.

  Before either of them could make it to the door Andy Harrison opened it, a sympathetic expression on his face. “Not planning a good day were you?” he said.

  “Apparently not,” replied Eleanor, waiting for the spoiler.

  “I’ve got Tyler Baxton due for release this morning, according to Mo, and I’ve just had a call from Toronto General informing us that Marcus Baxton passed away an hour ago.”

  “Shit,” intoned Laurence.

  “You want me to get someone from patrol to take Tyler to the hospital?”

  Eleanor shook her head and sighed. “No, it’s my call.”

  Andy nodded appreciatively and waved his cup. “I’ll just grab a coffee, if there’s one going.”

  “Help yourself,” she said turning to Laurence.

  “You want me to come too?” he asked.

  She smiled. “No this shit’s on me. Text me updates and press Isabel Drake on the skulls. She’s had enough time to check on her stock.”

  Laurence nodded. “Roger that. You going to make the meeting with Doc Hounslow and Susan this afternoon?”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  Tyler Baxton s
at in resolute silence, during both his release from custody and the subsequent explanation of his father’s death. His eyes had remained slightly unfocused, as if he wasn’t quite listening and his jaw was clamped tightly closed.

  “Tyler, I’m going to take you over to the hospital now, to see your father,” Eleanor had said slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  He looked at her with astonishment. “You said he’s dead.”

  “He is but we thought you’d like to see him,” she replied, carefully.

  “But I’m not allowed near the dead! I had to promise!”

  Eleanor sighed. “I’m going to be with you. This is your chance to see him again. Ok?”

  Tyler looked unconvinced.

  Toby had been pleasantly surprised at how effective the chloroform had been. Little Tommy had slept throughout the night and was still asleep as he prepared to leave for work. Realising that the boy would be able to squeeze through the bars of the ‘crush’ with some youthful manoeuvring, he had reinforced the frame with some secondary steel bars. It made the crush mechanism slightly more sluggish and less aesthetically pleasing but he didn’t want to run any risk of Tommy being injured in any way. He had placed the child in the crush, his legs drawn up to his chest and head balanced on his knees. He thought that Tommy would be able to stand up, which meant that he could be cleaned more easily but if he couldn’t, he would figure that out when he got back from work.

  Today, Toby thought, was going to be a good one.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Thank you,” said Laurence appreciatively, as Isabel Drake poured him a glass of iced tea.

  She pushed several sheets of paper towards Laurence. “It was as you’d said. I’ve run through the cataloguing system and can confirm that there are thirty-five items of museum property that can’t be accounted for or located.”

  “That’s a lot,” replied Laurence, as he leafed through the list.

  “It appears that the wooden snake you have in your possession was, most likely, part of our collection. If you look here…” She opened a file to a tagged page and pointed to a highlighted list and then compared it to the catalogue booklet, which documented the artefacts with images. “The listings, prepared by my department, describe each of these items including the snake but the corresponding catalogue makes no mention of it. Also, these specimens are no longer on display but are archived in the children’s Saturday Club and Schools’ materials boxes. I’ve found every one of these wooden toys but not the snake.”