The Toy Taker (30 page)

‘I gave that particular unenviable task to young DC Goodwin,’ Donnelly answered. ‘Thought the experience would do him good – teach him it’s not all cops and robbers.’

Sean quickly found Goodwin’s mobile. He kept all his team’s numbers in his contacts, past and present. He dialled, pacing the office as he waited for an answer.

‘Ashley speaking.’

‘Ash,’ Sean began, ‘are you with the family at the moment?’

‘Of course, guv’nor.’

‘Ask them if they know a teacher’s assistant at Bailey’s nursery called Hannah Richmond. I’ll explain why later.’

‘Hold on a second,’ Goodwin told him, leaving Sean listening to muffled voices in the background until Goodwin’s clear voice returned. ‘I’m getting blank looks here, guv’nor.’

‘She’s white, mid-thirties, heavy to medium build, long brown hair. I’ve only got a passport photograph here – I can’t tell you much more.’ More muffled voices from the other end of his mobile.

‘No. Sorry. No one here knows her. But Mrs Fellowes says their au pair usually takes the kids to and from school, so it’s not unsurprising she doesn’t recall a teacher’s assistant.’

‘Is the au pair there?’ Sean asked.

‘No. At the park with the kids.’

‘Shit. All right, I’ll get back to you,’ Sean told him and hung up, turning to Donnelly. ‘Is Maggie back with the Bridgemans?’

‘Should be.’

He quickly found and called her number, which was answered almost immediately.

‘Guv’nor?’

‘You with the Bridgemans?’

‘Yes,’ Maggie answered. ‘I was just explaining to them what happens next.’

‘Never mind that,’ Sean interrupted, ‘ask them if they know a woman called Hannah Richmond. She used to work at Little Unicorns with George.’

‘Hold on,’ she told him as he endured more distant mumbles before Maggie spoke to him again. ‘They’re asking why you want to know.’

‘Tell them …’ Sean began, before realizing his voice was raised in frustration. ‘Just tell them,’ he repeated, more quietly, ‘that I’ll explain everything as soon as I can, but right now they need to answer the question.’

‘OK. Give me a second.’ Sean rubbed his forehead while he anxiously waited for Maggie to come back to him. ‘Yeah, they know her.’

‘Know her or remember her?’ Sean asked, momentarily confused.

‘They know her,’ Maggie confirmed.

‘She must have made quite an impression on them.’

‘Not really,’ Maggie explained. ‘She wasn’t just an assistant teacher at George’s nursery, they used her for private child-minding when they were between nannies – which is strictly against school rules, hence they were a little reluctant to tell us at first.’

‘Ask them what she was like.’

‘OK,’ Maggie answered with a resigned tone. ‘Give me a minute.’ He listened to more infuriating, unintelligible background chatter for what seemed like hours. ‘They say she was very nice, completely obsessed with the kids, didn’t appear to have a social or love life. I guess that’s what made her such a good child-minder: she was reliable – always available.’

‘Thanks, Maggie,’ he told her before hanging up, caressing the growing stubble on his chin between his index finger and thumb as he stared down at the small, lifeless photograph of Hannah Richmond, her eyes like the dolls’ eyes from Bailey’s bedroom – looking, but not seeing. His hand drifted from his face to the photograph, his finger circling Hannah Richmond’s plain face as he accidentally spoke out loud. ‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they – these children you’ve taken? Flames to the moth.’

‘Excuse me,’ Donnelly interrupted, stopping him before he could say any more.

‘What?’ Sean asked, looking up, unaware of what he’d said.

‘You said something.’

‘It was nothing – just thinking out loud. We need to take a close look at this woman. We need to totally change our suspect outlook – change their profile.’

‘You sure about this?’ Donnelly questioned. ‘Seems like hell of a risk. Wouldn’t we be safer checking out more local paedophiles or even looking at some further afield?’

‘No. This one has good local knowledge. These attacks aren’t random – they’re planned – planned meticulously. They even have knowledge of the inside of the houses: where the children sleep, the fact they’re not alarmed – everything they need to know, they know.’

‘But how could this … this Hannah Richmond know those things? There’s no evidence or suggestion she’s been in either home – in the Bridgemans’ old home, sure, but not their new one.’

‘But whoever’s taking the children for her could have been inside. Maybe the new man in her life was one of the removal men, the alarm fitter, anything. Where are those damn names, anyway?’

‘We’re working on it,’ Donnelly told him.

‘Then we need to work faster. There’ll be more connections here, I’m sure of it – more connections between the families and the houses. We need to find them before we have another missing child on our hands – or worse.’

‘Worse?’ Donnelly asked. ‘I thought you said she was taking them because she wanted to keep them – to love them?’

‘I did, but that doesn’t mean she’s not deranged. For all we know she could be schizophrenic and not taking her medication. Which means she’s dangerous, whether she knows it or not.’

‘I don’t know, boss.’ Donnelly shook his head. ‘I’m still not convinced this isn’t just some kiddie-fiddler nut-job. It could just blow up in our faces if we go down this route.’

‘It’s not a paedophile,’ Sean insisted. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Why?’ Donnelly asked. ‘Why so sure?’

‘Because of what McKenzie said: if they’d been taken by someone like him they’d already be dead by now and we would have at least one body.’

Donnelly’s shoulders slumped. ‘It’s unusual, I admit, but I still feel like we’re going out on a limb here, with this Hannah bird.’

‘It’s my call, so I’ll be the only one out on a limb.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know,’ Sean told him.

‘Then what are we going to do?’

‘Get the surveillance team back up and running and put them on Hannah Richmond,’ he answered, already reaching for his desktop phone and punching in the extension number he knew off by heart. A few seconds later the other end was picked up.

‘Detective Superintendent Featherstone speaking.’

‘Boss, it’s Sean. I need a favour.’

‘I’m listening,’ he answered, his tone neutral.

‘I need the surveillance back.’

‘I thought this McKenzie bloke was done and dusted as a suspect.’

‘He is,’ Sean agreed. ‘I need them for someone else.’

‘A new suspect?’ Featherstone asked, interested now. ‘Care to share?’

‘I haven’t got time to go into it right now. Can you trust me?’

‘Sure,’ Featherstone replied after a pause.

‘Then I can have the surveillance?’

‘You can have the surveillance,’ Featherstone told him, ‘but not until the day after tomorrow. They’re all tied up on an Anti-Terrorist job until then. I’ll never be able to pull them away. Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sean replied. ‘The day after tomorrow will be fine.’

‘You sure, given the nature of this case?’ Featherstone seemed slightly surprised at Sean’s calm reaction.

‘Day after tomorrow will be fine,’ Sean answered and quickly hung up.

‘You’ve got that look again,’ Donnelly told him. ‘Like you’re about to do something you shouldn’t.’

‘Surveillance can’t cover until the day after tomorrow.’

‘So I gathered.’

‘So we’ll cover it until then.’

‘You didn’t tell Featherstone that,’ Donnelly quizzed.

‘No,’ Sean replied. ‘There’s no way he’d let me pull most of the team away from other inquiries to cover a suspect like Richmond. He’d be too scared it was slowing down the investigation.’

‘And he might have a point.’

Sean ignored him. ‘Take five people and three cars. Have whoever you want, but get the surveillance up and running. Cover Richmond until two a.m., then I’ll take over with a relief team.’ He glanced at his watch and looked across the main office at the darkness beyond the windows. ‘It’s too late to pick her up leaving work, so cover her home – address is in the file, somewhere in Camden.’

‘I hope you’re right about this,’ Donnelly told him, shaking his head in concern.

‘So do I,’ Sean answered, ‘because if I’m wrong, then I really haven’t got a clue what’s going on here. Not a single, damn clue.’

Hannah Richmond stared at herself in the large square mirror that hung in her kitchen, attacking her long dull hair with an old comb, desperately trying to make it look presentable. Finally she gave in and tossed the comb on to the table as she straightened her only suit and admired her image – not something she was used to doing, but these last few months had been different – life-changing. She’d met a man and he’d already told her he loved her and wanted to marry her – the sooner the better. She was the first to admit he wasn’t exactly the man of her dreams, or probably anyone’s, but he was good and decent, and he was keen to please her – to bow to her every whim. More than anything else she was happy now and hadn’t even had to take her anti-depressants lately, despite warnings from her doctor about the possible side effects of dropping her medication so abruptly. ‘Doctors,’ she said to herself. ‘What do they know?’

She should have been going to work today, but an opportunity too good to ignore had come up and she was going to take it – grab it with both hands, that’s what her man had told her to do, so that’s what she was going to do. She was dressed in her best and almost ready to head out. She needed this and knew the children needed her. School would be expecting her into work later that morning, but she wouldn’t be able to make it, not today. She’d wait a little while longer, then phone in and tell them she was sick with that stomach bug that was doing the rounds. More than a few children at the nursery had had it, so it shouldn’t give rise to too much suspicion.

She thought of the nursery as she tried to apply a little make-up, something else she wasn’t used to doing. But her man reckoned it suited her, so she’d taken to using it more often, although still only for special occasions, or when she needed to make an impression, like this morning. Small Fry was all right – the other teachers were pleasant enough, if a bit condescending at times, and most of the children were adorable too, although some took after their parents: arrogant and self-important, acting as if they were royalty, speaking in their clipped accents just to make sure everybody knew they belonged to
the right set
. They barely even looked at her, let alone spoke to her, unless they wanted something – child-minding usually, then they were all smiles and niceties, until they’d got what they wanted. I trust you to look after my children, but don’t expect me to treat you like an equal, or even a person. ‘Don’t deserve children, most of them,’ she told her image in the mirror. ‘Can’t see the point in having them if you don’t want to be with them.’ She’d buried her jealousy well all these years, that twisting feeling she got in her belly every time she saw or heard a parent treating their child with contempt and disdain, as if they were nothing more than a burden. And yet all this time, all these years, all she’d ever wanted were children of her own. But she could never meet the right man – any man − until now. And she was already in her thirties – it might be too late for her. She couldn’t take that chance – she had to have children.

Hannah Richmond pulled on her thick winter coat, grabbed her old handbag and headed for the front door of the small ground-floor flat she’d bought off the local council years ago. It was in an ugly modern tenement block – something that looked as if it had been made out of giant pieces of black and white Lego. As she undid the various front-door locks the bathroom door behind her opened and her man stepped out, his badly receding hair still wet, a towel wrapped around his ample waist. He hadn’t bothered to shave. ‘You’re out early,’ he said in his thick London accent. ‘Dressed to kill an’ all. Something on at work?’

‘I won’t be going to work today,’ she told him, her usually smiling face as serious as he’d seen it.

‘Oh. How come?’

‘I have to go and see a family,’ she explained. ‘The children need me. I’ll see you later.’ She opened the door and moved to step outside.

‘Not even a kiss?’ he called after her, stopping her in her tracks. Her lips broke into a faint smile as she waited for him to come to her and they quickly kissed before she stepped over the threshold and was gone.

Once she was outside she moved quickly away from her block, her chest fluttering with anxiety in case she was seen by a work colleague, her planned lie about being sick aborted before birth. The worrying thought intensified the morning chill, prompting her to pull her collar up around her neck and lower her face. Her new shoes clicked and clacked on the hard pavement as she headed towards Camden Town and beyond – to the address where she knew the children would be waiting for her.

His fitful sleep was punctuated by confusing, irrational dreams – images, memories and people from his past and present knitted together in a bizarre patchwork of events: the missing children for some reason in his own home, playing with his own children, but being cared for by his mother, not Kate – Anna waiting for him upstairs, in the bed that he shared with his wife. He watched himself climbing the stairs, his heart pounding as he avoided the creaky floorboards, just as the
taker
had. This was his own home, yet still he moved stealthily towards the bedroom and Anna, pushing the door slowly open and seeing him – seeing him on top of her, forcing himself on her. He walked as if walking through quicksand to the bed, Anna’s pain and humiliation bringing tears to his own eyes as he reached out to the man on top of her, grabbing him by the back of the head and twisting his face away from Anna’s and towards himself, the laughing, mocking face of his father staring into his own. He looked down at Anna, pleading with him to help her, her lips moving, but no words coming out as his father’s laughter drowned out all sound. ‘Help me,’ her silent lips pleaded. ‘Help me.’ But he couldn’t, and he ran from the room, fleeing back down the stairs to the children and his mother. Only she was gone and once more it was his father who waited for him, standing behind the four children who kneeled in front of him, laughter still pouring from his black mouth and blood-red lips. The children’s eyes begged him to rescue them – their silent mouths mimed words almost identical to those Anna had mouthed: ‘Help us. Help us.’ But he couldn’t move; no matter how much he struggled, he couldn’t move. Suddenly his entire world began to shake as sounds from the real world penetrated his nightmare.