The Toy Taker. Luke Delaney
were beginning to feel the pinch and even old, experienced hands like Detective Sergeant Dave Donnelly were struggling to find increasingly creative ways to justify the need for them to work overtime.
Sean momentarily glanced up and looked into the main office where half his team casually sat at desks and computer screens, the usual sense of urgency plainly not there. He knew he and they were being kept for something special, but if this went on any longer he’d have to speak to Detective Superintendent Featherstone and ask him to toss his team something, even just a domestic murder – anything to keep them gainfully employed. He gave his head a little shake and looked back down at the report on his desk from the CPS detailing the case against Thomas Keller – kidnapper and murderer of women, and the man who’d so nearly taken Sean’s life. He rubbed his shoulder. It still ached, even after three separate operations to try and remove all the shotgun pellets Keller’s gun had put there.
As he read the psychological report that detailed some of the abuse Keller had suffered as a boy, abuse that occasionally mirrored his own childhood, he struggled to work out how he felt about the man. He knew he didn’t hate him or even resent him, and decided he just felt overwhelmingly sorry for him. But he felt sorry for his victims too. No one had come out of the Keller case a winner.
Despite being completely immersed in the report, he still sensed a change in the atmosphere of the main office that made him look up and see Featherstone striding across the office, all smiles and waves, as if he was on an American presidential campaign. Sean puffed out his cheeks and waited for Featherstone’s inevitable arrival, his large frame soon filling the doorway as for some reason he bothered to knock on the open door before entering without being invited and slumping heavily into the chair opposite Sean.
‘Fuck me. Freeze brass monkeys out there,’ was his opening gambit. ‘Nice and warm in here though. Wouldn’t want to be stuck at an outside murder scene too long today.’
‘Morning, boss,’ Sean replied, his voice heavy with disinterest once he realized Featherstone wasn’t about to hand him a much-needed murder investigation. ‘Anything happening out there?’
‘Nah!’ Featherstone answered. ‘Just thought I’d drop by and tell you myself.’
Sean frowned. ‘Tell me what?’
‘Now don’t get too pissed off, but I had a call from the Assistant Commissioner a couple of hours ago.’
‘And?’
‘One of the top bods at the CPS called him and told him they wouldn’t be trying to get any convictions for rape or murder against Thomas Keller or any other type of conviction for that matter. They’re going to accept a plea of manslaughter on grounds of diminished responsibility and then he’s off to Broadmoor for the rest of his natural. I thought it best if I tell you personally. I know what he did to you.’ Sean involuntarily grabbed his shoulder. ‘How is the old shoulder, anyway?’
‘It’s fine,’ Sean lied, ‘and I’m neither pissed off nor surprised. Keller is what he is. I don’t care how he ends up behind bars just so long as he does.’
‘He can talk to all the other nutters in there.’ Featherstone smiled, but stopped when he realized Sean wasn’t returning the sentiment. ‘Anyway, that’s that job put to bed, so I suppose you’ll be needing something to keep the troops busy. Idle hands and all that.’
‘Right now I’ll take anything,’ Sean told him.
‘Can’t allow that, I’m afraid,’ Featherstone said. ‘Assistant Commissioner Addis is adamant you and yours are to be saved for the more … well, you know.’
‘Yeah, but this is south-east London, not Washington State. It could be years before another Keller comes along.’
‘Indeed,’ Featherstone agreed. ‘But what if you covered the whole of London and, sometimes, if the case merited it, beyond?’
‘How can we investigate a murder in deepest-darkest north London if we’re based in Peckham?’
‘Which rather neatly brings us on to my next bit of news – you’re moving.’
‘What?’ Sean almost shouted, drawing concerned looks from the detectives eavesdropping in the main office. ‘Where to?’
‘Where else? The Yard, of course.’
‘Scotland Yard?’ Sean asked, incredulous. ‘Most of my team live in Kent or the borders of. How are they supposed to get to the Yard every day?’
‘Same way everyone else does,’ Featherstone told him. ‘Train, bus – you can even drive if you have to. The Assistant Commissioner’s bagged you a few parking places in the underground car park there. Best you pull rank and reserve yourself one.’
‘This is not going to go down well,’ Sean warned him.
‘Nothing I can do about it, and nothing you can do about it,’ Featherstone replied, his voice hushed now, as if Addis could somehow overhear him from his office high in the tower that was New Scotland Yard. ‘Mr Addis is determined to keep you for the special ones: murders with strong sexual elements, especially ones involving children; murders showing excessive violence and body mutilation, and missing person cases where there are strong grounds to believe a predatory offender may be involved. You get the drift. Addis put the proposal to the Commissioner and he agreed it, so that’s that. They feel we’ve been getting caught out by not having a specialist team to investigate these types of cases, so they decided to create one and you’re it.’
‘Meaning,’ Sean offered, ‘when these high-interest, media-attracting cases don’t go quite to plan they’ve got someone ready-made and in place to blame?’
‘You may think that, but I couldn’t possibly comment,’ Featherstone replied. ‘Let’s just say you don’t get to be the Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police without learning how to cover your arse.’ Sean just pursed his lips. ‘Anyway, your new home’s on the seventh floor, Room 714. Used to be the Arts and Antiques Team’s, until Addis decided they weren’t offering value for money any more and sent them back to division – half of them back to uniform. Wonder how they’re feeling this morning – walking the beat in some khazi somewhere freezing their nuts or tits off. A warning to the wise – Addis is not a man to piss off.’
‘What if I say no?’ Sean suddenly asked. ‘What if I say I don’t want to do it?’ Images of his wife, Kate, flashed in his mind, smiling and clutching her chest with relief as he told her he’d quit the Murder Team.
‘And what else would you do?’ Featherstone answered. ‘Go back to division and rubber-stamp search warrants, oversee endless dodgy rape allegations? Come on, Sean – it would kill you.’
‘Flying Squad? Anti-Terrorist?’
‘They’re plum jobs, Sean. You know the score: everyone leaving a central or area posting has to go back and serve time on division before getting another off-division posting. And like I said – just in case you weren’t listening – Addis is not a man to piss off.’ Kate’s smiling face faded to nothing. ‘Besides, this is where you belong. I’m not blowing smoke up your arse, but seriously, Sean, you’re the best I’ve got at doing this – the best I’ve ever seen, always one step ahead of everyone else, sometimes two steps, three steps. I don’t know how you do what you do, but I know you can use it to catch some very bad people, and maybe save a few lives along the way.’ Sean said nothing. ‘What’s done is done. Now get yourself and your team over to NSY and set up shop. Your new home awaits you.’
The discussion over, Featherstone stood and walked backwards towards the door. ‘We’re done here. I’ll drop in and see you in a couple of days, see how the move’s going. Who knows, you might have a special case by then. Just what your troops need to take their minds off being moved – and you too. Good luck, and remember, when you make it to the Yard be careful: Addis has eyes and ears everywhere. Loose lips sink ships.’
With that he turned on his heels and was gone, leaving Sean alone,