The Toy Taker (14 page)

‘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 what 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 …’

‘DC O’Neil will be along very shortly,’ he explained, ‘but I thought I should call round and make sure you’re settling back in OK after your night away.’

Celia Bridgeman looked exhausted and soulless. ‘You haven’t found him though, have you?’

‘No,’ Donnelly answered, ‘but we will.’ An awkward silence filled the room.

‘Would you like a drink or anything?’ Mrs Bridgeman managed to ask.

‘Aye,’ Donnelly replied cheerfully, ‘cuppa tea would be grand.’

She looked at the nanny and lifted her chin. The nanny filled the kettle and started preparing the mugs.

‘How do you like it?’ Caroline asked.

‘Builders’ tea for me, please – plenty milk and two sugars.’ Caroline returned his smile while Mrs Bridgeman remained lost in her own painful thoughts, almost oblivious to their presence. ‘Actually,’ Donnelly continued, ‘I need to check something for the forensic boys in George’s bedroom – perhaps, Caroline, you could show me the way?’

She looked a little cautious for a second before realizing she’d been given a gilt-edged chance to escape from Mrs Bridgeman’s despair, even if it was just for a few minutes. ‘Will that be all right, Mrs Bridgeman?’ she asked.

‘What?’ Mrs Bridgeman replied. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.’

‘Will it be all right if I show the detective George’s room?’

Donnelly saw her shrink at the mere mention of her son’s name, the horror and terror of what she must have been going through not lost on him, despite his outward appearance.

‘Yes. Yes. Of course,’ she answered, before returning to staring at the floor.

‘This way,’ Caroline told Donnelly, leading the way out of the kitchen and to the staircase.

Donnelly followed close behind her as he observed the interior structure of the house, which mirrored those on either side. He waited till they’d cleared the first flight of stairs before speaking again.

‘Sophia not at home today?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Caroline answered. ‘I was happy to look after her, but Mr Bridgeman thought it best if she returned to school and got back into her normal routine as soon as possible. “Normalize things,” he said. I don’t know – he might be right, I suppose.’

‘And Mr Bridgeman?’

‘Went back to work, although he said he won’t be late.’

‘To
normalize
things?’

Caroline stopped for a second and looked over her shoulder at Donnelly, who was two stairs lower. ‘You’d have to ask Mr Bridgeman about that.’

They carried on walking until they reached George’s room, Caroline standing aside to allow him to enter, seemingly reluctant to go inside herself. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she told him and made to leave.

‘Actually …’ he raised a hand to stop her. ‘I did have a couple of questions I thought you could help me with. I’d ask Mrs Bridgeman, but frankly she doesn’t look capable of answering them just yet.’

‘Questions about what?’

‘Questions that could help us find George. That’s what we all want – isn’t it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. How long have you worked as the Bridgemans’ nanny?’

‘A couple of years now. What’s this got to do with George? I thought your questions were going to be meant for Mrs Bridgeman?’

‘They would have been,’ he told her.

‘Then you’re checking on me?’

‘Caroline,’ Donnelly admitted, ‘we’re going to check on everyone. Don’t take it personally.’

‘Hard not to.’

‘Do your best. Now, did the Bridgemans find you through an agency?’

‘Yes, the Help 4 Mums Agency. They cover Hampstead, Highgate, Primrose Hill – a few more areas.’

‘All the rough areas, eh?’ Donnelly joked, trying to get her to relax her guard. Caroline said and did nothing. ‘But Sophia is six and George is four. Did Mrs Bridgeman cope on her own before you, or was there another nanny?’

‘Mrs Bridgeman?’ Caroline laughed sarcastically. ‘Cope on her own with two kids? I don’t think so – cramp her style a little too much, don’t you think? The likes of Mrs Bridgeman weren’t brought up to look after children.’