The Toy Taker. Luke Delaney
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she admitted.
‘And your mother’s instinct told you something was wrong?’ Donnelly tried to seduce her with praise.
‘Yes – I mean no. I’m not sure, really I’m not. It’s late, detective. I must …’
Donnelly tapped the top of the breakfast bar before standing and fastening his overcoat against the cold that waited for him outside. ‘Of course,’ he told her. ‘You’ve been a great help.’
‘I just hope I haven’t misled you,’ she told him.
‘Oh, I don’t think you’ve done that, Mrs Howells. I don’t think you’ve done that at all.’
Sean cursed his nine-to-five neighbours as he searched and failed to find a parking spot anywhere close to the front door of his modest three-bedroom terraced house in East Dulwich, bought just before the wealth spread into the area from Dulwich Village and Blackheath. Maybe Kate was right – they should cash in while it was worth as much as it was and flee to New Zealand; perhaps then he would be able to afford somewhere with off-street parking instead of going through this nightly ritual of imagining his neighbours smugly tucked up in their beds while they thought of him having to park a couple of streets away. At least it wasn’t raining. Finally he parked up and trudged back towards his house, passing cars that he knew would still be parked in the same places as he headed back to his own the next morning. Last home and first to leave – same as usual.
His head was still buzzing with the day’s events: the office move, the new case, meeting the missing boy’s parents, and most of all the interview with McKenzie and all the questions he’d thought of on the way home that he’d forgotten to ask during the interview. He had only a few hours before it would be time to head back to work and pick up where he left off, and experience told him that if he was to get any rest at all he needed to unwind; sit alone and watch something on the TV unrelated to any type of policework while he consumed as much bourbon as he dared to slow his racing mind without leaving him groggy in the morning. To his disappointment, as he entered the house he sensed Kate was still up, a sinking feeling in his belly making him feel guilty for seeking solitude. He eased the door shut behind him and headed for the kitchen where he knew she would be waiting.
‘You’re late,’ she said, unconfrontationally. ‘Or at least, later than you’ve been for a while.’
‘They finally gave us a new case,’ he told her, trying not to show his excitement and relief at once again being gainfully employed, once again leading the hunt.
‘Oh,’ she responded, not hiding her disappointment.
‘They weren’t going to leave me alone for ever.’ He gave an apologetic shrug.
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I realize that. It’s just, I was getting used to having you around a bit more than usual, and so were the girls.’
‘We’ve had a good run, perhaps we should just be grateful for that.’
‘Grateful!’ Kate snapped, then immediately softened her tone: ‘You were shot, Sean. I think you earned some time off.’
‘Maybe,’ he answered, desperately wishing he could just be alone as he pulled a glass and a bottle of bourbon from a cupboard the kids couldn’t reach and poured two fingers before emptying his pockets on the kitchen table and slumping into a chair on the other side to his wife.
‘Haven’t seen you do that in a while,’ she told him, her eyes accusing the drink in his hand.
‘I need to sleep tonight and this’ll help.’
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look pretty pleased with yourself,’ she told him.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Sitting there, drink in hand, hardly speaking, holier-than-thou look on your face.’ He couldn’t help but grin a little. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was enjoying being back in the same old shit. ‘Yeah, that smile says it all.’
‘Don’t be so pissed off,’ he told her. ‘I’m a detective. They pay me to solve cases, catch the bad guys, save the day, remember?’
‘I’m pissed off because I was worried, Sean. I called you, several times, and left messages, but you didn’t call back – not even a text.’
He lifted his mobile from the table and checked for missed calls. Sure enough she’d called him several times. ‘Sorry,’ he told her. ‘I must have been in the middle of an interview.’
‘I don’t know, Sean – it feels like we’re heading back to the bad old days: me here alone with the kids while you run around trying to get yourself … We can do better than this, can’t we?’
‘It’s only been one night,’ he reminded her.
‘You said it’s a new case, so we all know what that means.’ Sean didn’t respond as a silence fell between them that only increased his yearning to be alone. ‘So what is it?’
‘What’s what?’ he asked unnecessarily.
‘The new case.’
‘A four-year-old boy gone missing from his home in Hampstead,’ he answered, immediately regretting mentioning Hampstead.
‘Hampstead?’ Kate seized on it. ‘Why are you investigating something that happened in Hampstead?’
He took a gulp of the bourbon before answering. ‘They’ve moved us to the Yard.’
‘Why would they do that?’ she asked, her voice heavy with suspicion.
He swallowed the liquid he’d been holding in his mouth and waited for the burning in his throat to cease before answering. ‘They’ve changed my brief,’ he told her. ‘We’re to investigate murders and crimes of special interest across the whole of London, not just the south-east.’
‘Have they centralized all the Murder Teams?’ she asked, her voice tightening with concern.
‘No. Just mine.’
Kate took a few seconds to comprehend what it could mean. ‘So now they can dump anything from anywhere on you? That’s just fucking great, Sean. I mean that’s really just fucking great.’
‘What d’you want me to do?’ he asked. ‘I had no choice.’
‘Don’t be so damn weak,’ she chastised him. ‘You could have said no.’
‘That’s not how it works – you know that.’
‘Sean, it doesn’t work at all. God, it was bad enough before and now it’s going to be even worse, if that’s at all possible. Everything we’ve planned for the next few weeks I might as well just scrap – just chuck it in the bin?’
The frustration at not being alone finally snapped him. ‘I’m sorry if I’m fucking up your social calendar. I thought it was a bit more important to find this four-year-old boy before some paedophile bastard rapes and murders him. I’ll tell his parents I can’t help them any more because my wife’s made dinner reservations – will that make you happy?’
‘Fuck you, Sean, and your self-important, arrogant bullshit. I’m going to bed.’ She sprang to her feet, almost knocking the chair over, then looked across the table accusingly. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much point in asking when you’ll next be home at a reasonable time?’
‘That’s not really up to me, is it? That’s up to whoever took—’
‘I’ve had enough of this crap,’ she told him and turned her back on him as she headed for the stairs. He considered calling after her, trying to make the peace before it was too late, but that would mean more sitting and talking, lessening any chance he’d have of calming his mind enough to think as he needed, to think about who could have taken George Bridgeman. But the damage had already been done and the fight with Kate had only added more turmoil to