The Toy Taker (25 page)

He took a few seconds to look around as he cleared his mind. Almost everything was tastefully and expensively decorated or arranged –
almost everything
. But the house was a reflection of its occupants: the occasional overly showy statue or figurine, painting or Persian rug, betraying their origins. Sean tried to think if it could somehow be relevant to Bailey’s disappearance, but nothing stirred in his instinct, although it was becoming increasingly difficult to trust that – the tool he had relied on for so long suddenly so blunt, unfit for purpose.

He began to climb the wide, carpeted staircase, thinking of his own house and how tiny it now seemed compared to a
real
family home – thoughts that made him stop halfway towards the first floor.
Think
, he told himself.
Think. Forget home. Forget Addis and the others. Think – think like him
. He began to climb again, the new carpet soft under his leather-soled shoes, completely masking the sound of his footsteps as he kept to the side of the stairs to avoid any invisible footprints the stealer of children might have left, even though he knew they’d probably already been trampled by frantic parents.
You knew there was thick carpet on the staircase – you knew your footsteps wouldn’t be heard as you climbed these stairs, but how? How did you know that? And you knew there was an alarm, but that it wasn’t working yet. How did you know? Did you know it was due to be fixed today – is that why you came last night, because you had to, before the house was alarmed?

He thought about the possibility of the suspect being an alarm fitter and how perfect that cover could be, with access to everything he would need to know about the family, the inside of the house and the alarm system itself. The terrifying simplicity of it made him shudder. If they got a hit on the alarm company, if it was the same company for both houses, the same engineer, then he’d have his man.
Look for the cross-overs
, he reminded himself.
Look for the thing that connects the two families – there has to be one and it has to be the answer, somehow
.

He continued to climb the stairs, quickly peering into each room on each floor, increasingly convinced the man who stole Bailey away had not been into any of the rooms, not even looked inside – because he didn’t have to.
You knew exactly which room was the girl’s – you came in and you went straight to her room, but how did you know? How could you know that unless you’ve been in this house before? Just as you’d been in the other house before you took the boy. So you know these families, you sick, twisted bastard – you know these families. But what are you? Some passing tradesman they hardly even noticed, even though you were watching them, learning everything you needed to know before shattering their lives? Or had the families taken you into the bosom of their homes, only for you to commit the ultimate betrayal of trust? Which one are you, damn it? I will find out and I will find you
.

Before he knew it he was standing outside Bailey’s bedroom, the climb through the house something he couldn’t even remember.
What did it feel like standing here? What did it feel like standing in the warm house, knowing the object of your every desire was sleeping on the other side of this open door? – dreaming of you coming for her, wanting you, but why do you want them? What are you taking them for?
Again he considered the fact that no bodies had been found, his mind swimming with possibilities as to what that could mean, remembering that as a virtual rule the only killers who tried to ensure their victims were never found were those who have a strong connection to them – something so strong it would lead the police straight to their door: a husband who kills his wife, a business partner who wants it all, an organized criminal getting rid of a turf rival, a parent killing their own child. Strangers rarely went to the trouble of concealing their victims well enough to never be found – even those who were highly organized and motivated.

Images of all the victims he’d seen flashed through his mind, a series of macabre stills fast-forwarding through his memory: some mutilated, others apparently with barely a mark. Bodies in wheelie bins, next to train tracks, left in the street, abandoned in the woods, tossed into running water, and those left in shallow, pointless graves, gnawed and bitten by foxes and rats.
So either you know these children personally
, he told the unseen monster,
or they’re
…
they’re not dead. You’ve taken them, but you haven’t killed them, and you haven’t killed them because
… he suddenly felt so close to a breakthrough into the mind and motivation of the taker that his head began to pound as if he was suffering a severe migraine …
because you don’t have to
…
because
…
because
…
The answer came like light pouring into a black hole …
you haven’t hurt them. You haven’t touched them. You take them, but don’t lay a finger on them. You love them!
He allowed his mind to stop thinking, to grow calm.
But if, when, they don’t return your love, what will you do?
Once again the face of Thomas Keller burnt itself into his consciousness.
Will you turn on them like Keller turned on the women he’d taken? Will you leave them in a dark wood for me to find?

He waited for the answers, but none came. ‘Damn it. I’m guessing – nothing more than guessing. Christ,’ he swore quietly as he once more tried to concentrate, to think like the man whose footsteps he now walked in, raising his hand to the partially open door, resting no more than a fingertip on the yet-to-be-examined wooden surface and pushing it fully open – slowly waiting for it to swing fully aside.
Did you stand here and watch her sleeping? Watch her chest rise and fall – listen to her breathing? Did her scent almost drive you mad with desire, make you want to rush into the room and do the things you’d dreamed about doing to her while her parents, brother and sister slept soundly below? Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. How did you control those needs that burn in the pit of your stomach?

He sighed without knowing it and walked into the room, not stopping until he was exactly in the centre where he stood completely still, staring at the empty, unmade bed, biting down hard on his bottom lip, the pain preventing any unplanned thoughts from ambushing him while he tried to clear his mind and create the blank canvas he needed to paint the picture of what had happened here last night. The girl had been taken, but that was only a small part of it. What coming together of circumstances and opportunities had led to the cataclysmic event that could result in the violent end to a young, innocent life?

Toys from all corners of the room watched him as he looked around – their glass eyes as lifeless as the eyes of the victims that had haunted him as he’d climbed the stairs. And like so many of the dead, they looked as if they might come to life at any moment – sealed plastic lips of dolls unable to tell him what they saw. Sean felt their eyes as he moved towards Bailey’s abandoned bed and knelt by its side, eyes wide and nostrils flared as he instinctively searched for anything that didn’t belong: the faint scent of cigarettes or alcohol, chloroform or ether; a tiny drop of blood or a small patch of discoloured, flaky material made that way by semen or saliva. But he saw and smelt nothing out of place.
How
, he asked the ghost,
how did you come into this room in the dead of night and take this girl – take this girl without a sound or even the slightest sign of a struggle?

‘What do you want them for?’ he demanded under his breath, his lips thin and pale with anger and frustration, that soon gave way to an overwhelming sadness. ‘Please don’t hurt them,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t hurt them and I won’t hurt you. As God is my witness, I’ll do everything I can for you, just don’t hurt them.’

He closed his eyes for a fraction too long, allowing the snarling, savage faces of the gang of paedophiles who called themselves the Network, to poison his thoughts, their faces morphing into the shapes and colours of the bizarre, handmade animal masks they wore during the orgies of child abuse they called
chicken feasts
. His eyes jolted open to chase the images from hell away.

Sean searched in his coat pocket until he found a loose pair of surgical gloves that he painstakingly pulled over his hands, making a mental note to let Forensics know that if they found traces of talcum powder it would most likely have come from his gloves. Once his hands were covered he ran them over the surface of the blue-and-white patchwork quilt, partly to see if any foreign objects revealed themselves, but more significantly to try and connect with the little girl. If he couldn’t think like the taker then perhaps he could try and see what she had seen – feel what she had felt. Perhaps that would bring the answers? ‘Why didn’t you fight?’ he whispered. ‘Why didn’t you scream or call out? Weren’t you frightened?’

He thought about his last question for a few seconds, looking around at the peaceful room, sensing no brutalization of the atmosphere, no lingering feeling that something violent or terrible had happened there. ‘No. You weren’t frightened, were you? But why not? Why weren’t you afraid of this man who came into your room in the middle of the night? Did you know him, know him like he knew this house? Did you trust him – trust him like George Bridgeman trusted him? Did he make you feel safe – loved and safe?’ Sean suddenly found himself rubbing his face with his glove covered hands, the smell and feel of the latex making him gag slightly as he lost his train of thought, feeling as far away from truly understanding what was happening as he’d ever been.

‘Shit,’ he swore and pushed himself back to a standing position, surveying the room with his hands on his hips, studying the faces of the silent dolls and teddy bears and the array of other soft toys that seemed to surround him. Slowly he began to move around the room, circling its borders where most of the lifeless creatures were gathered, his hand occasionally stretching out to touch one or move one slightly to see what was behind them. The room reminded him so much of not just George’s, but of his own children’s rooms, their infant sanctuaries, colourful and safe – places where the outside world didn’t exist – where they were protected from all the evils of reality. He couldn’t help but smile as he recognized some of the toys that he’d also seen in his daughters’ rooms, until he found himself back by the bed, the far side of which was covered in dozens more dolls and toys. He scanned each and every one, looking for others he recognized from home, his need to connect with his own children suddenly overwhelming. Something caught his eye, hidden in amongst the other toys, a doll whose eyes seemed to burn into his own, as if she was desperately trying to tell him something, beckoning him. He leaned over the bed and gently pulled the doll free from the crowd, its incredibly blue eyes glittering in her porcelain face and contrasting with her long, curly, black hair. She was dressed in a long, handmade, lace dress that looked like a wedding dress from the 1930s, giving her the appearance of an antique rather than a toy. As he held the beautiful doll he was just beginning to feel a slight smile spread across his lips when the sense of someone behind him made him spin around to face the door.

Jessica Fellowes stared at him blankly, her eyes as glassy and lifeless as those of the doll he held. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, protective of her daughter’s room, uncomfortable at having a strange man handling her things.

‘Looking,’ Sean answered.

‘For what?’

‘Anything. Anything out of place.’

Jessica’s eyes fell on the doll he held. ‘Like that doll?’ she asked, her dead eyes flaring with anger. ‘Like you shouldn’t find a doll like that in a house owned by people like us? What is it – too
classy
for people like us?’

‘No,’ Sean protested, the doll suddenly heavy and awkward in his hands. ‘I was just—’

‘Nathan and I earned everything we have. We weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths like most of the people in this street who can hardly even bring themselves to speak to us. Nathan started as little more than the tea-boy – only sixteen he was, but he showed them – showed them how good he was – working in the City, surrounded by all them superior bastards, just because they went to the right schools and the right bloody universities. He proved he was better than them and this is our reward, so we’ll spend our money how we bloody well like. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have taste. What did you expect – that I’d only ever let Bailey have Barbie dolls and crap?’

‘No,’ Sean explained. ‘It’s just that it reminded me of something my wife would want to buy for my girls, even if they didn’t want it.’

She walked deeper into the room and gently took the doll from him, holding it in one hand as she smoothed its long hair with her other. ‘I didn’t want to buy it,’ she admitted. ‘Stupid thing cost a fortune, but Bailey insisted and I can be such a soft touch – you know how it is with kids.’

‘Absolutely,’ Sean confided, trying to remember the last time he’d been in a toyshop with his daughters.

‘Anyway, she made a liar out of me. She plays with it all the time.’ She shook her head disapprovingly and smiled despite the quiet tears that had begun to trickle from the corners of her eyes. ‘Look at all these toys,’ she said. ‘Didn’t have toys like this when we were kids. Didn’t have any money – not like now. Me and Nathan back then – both our families always pot-less, trying to survive on our council estate in Holloway, trying to find a way to escape.’

‘Looks like you did.’

‘Yeah, we did. All the way from Holloway to Highgate – you know we were brought up less than two miles from here, but it feels more like two hundred miles. Different world.’

‘That’s London,’ Sean reminded her, thinking of his own home’s proximity to some of the toughest council estates in south-east London.

‘I suppose,’ she agreed. ‘But I tell you now, I’d give it all up in a second to have my Bailey back. They can take it all, just give me my daughter back.’

‘I don’t believe this is about any sort of ransom,’ Sean explained.