‘And I’ll ask you again,’ Sean kept up, ‘have you ever been to Courthope Road or not?’
‘Like my solicitor says, no comment.’
‘Mark, we’re investigating the disappearance of a very young boy. If you’re involved in it then you really need to start answering my questions.’
‘Disappeared? Sure of that, are you?’
‘What d’you mean?’ Sean asked, caught slightly off guard by McKenzie’s question.
‘I mean, have you searched the house properly yet? I know how you police do things – slow and steady, step by step, always afraid of missing something.’
‘It’s being done as we speak,’ Sean told him bluntly. ‘But I’m sure the boy is missing.’
‘Then maybe his parents did him in and got rid of the body before they called you lot, knowing you’d come after someone like me to blame for it.’
‘Is that how you see yourself – as a victim?’
McKenzie ignored him and shrugged his shoulders, the thin smile still fixed on his face. ‘Or you’re right. Someone went into the house and took him – took him away right under your nose.’
‘Right under my nose?’ Sean asked.
‘You’re a policeman, aren’t you? You’re supposed to stop things like this from happening.’
Was that McKenzie’s motivation – some kind of twisted intellectual vanity? A misguided sense of needing revenge on the police and justice system for all that had happened to him? Take the boy to prove he could get away with murder?
‘I suppose so,’ Sean played along, ‘but whoever took the boy was obviously extremely smart. They got in and out without leaving a single piece of evidence.’ McKenzie’s smile grew a little wider as his eyes grew narrower. ‘Is that why someone took the boy – to show us how clever they are?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And is that someone you?’
‘Ha,’ McKenzie laughed, ‘you’ll have to do better than that.’
‘This is not a game, Mark. Do you know what your life will be like if anything happens to the boy? Nowhere will be safe for you ever again.’
‘Is that a threat?’ McKenzie pushed back, making his solicitor look up like a teacher surveying a class of trouble-makers.
‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘It’s a warning.’
‘Don’t patronize me. I know what it’s like to survive behind bars once they call you a sex offender. You bastards have put me away before, remember? But I survived all right, and I will again if I have to.’
‘But this time it’ll be child-abduction,’ Sean warned him. ‘You’ll be the scalp everyone’s looking to take.’
‘Only if you can prove it,’ McKenzie mocked, stopping Sean dead for a while.
‘OK,’ Sean continued after a few seconds, ‘let’s move on to something I can prove, and maybe we’ll come back to the missing boy. Earlier today when you were arrested in your flat there was something on your laptop – care to tell me what it was?’
‘You know what it was. But I told you – I just bought it second-hand. The stuff you saw was already on it.’
‘Come on, Mark,’ Sean gently encouraged, ‘we’ve already had a look at it and it’s clear the obscene images – the obscene images of children, Mark − were only downloaded seconds before we entered your flat. And seeing as how you were the only person there, it kind of means you had to be the one who downloaded them – doesn’t it?’
‘Must have been a glitch, or maybe someone downloaded it remotely from somewhere else.’
‘On to your laptop?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Not with your previous it’s not,’ Sean told him. ‘Are you aware of Bad Character Evidence? Have you discussed it with your solicitor?’ McKenzie shrugged while Jackson briefly looked up to shake her head. ‘It means if you rely on a story like that then we can tell the jury all about your previous convictions for downloading other, similar pornography, not to mention your convictions for sexually assaulting children. I really don’t think that’s going to help your cause.’
‘You can’t prove anything.’
‘By the time the specialists at our computer laboratory have examined that laptop, I’ll be able to prove plenty.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You’re going back inside, Mark.’
‘I don’t think so.’
McKenzie’s misplaced confidence was beginning to irritate him. ‘Well at least we’ve established one thing – that you’re a liar. A liar who, even when faced with the truth, still can’t be honest.’ McKenzie squirmed a little in his chair. ‘Everybody in this room knows you downloaded the child pornography yourself and everybody here knows you took the boy.’ Sally and Jackson now also shuffled uncomfortably in their chairs.
‘Like I said,’ McKenzie goaded him, ‘you can’t prove anything and you can’t save the boy. You’re too late.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sean asked, as calmly as he could. ‘What do you mean, I’m too late?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’
‘If you know something, you need to tell me.’
McKenzie’s foot tapped fast and repeatedly as his excitement grew. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’
Sean’s heart burnt with anger at McKenzie and fear for the missing boy, but he wouldn’t play McKenzie’s game any more – it was too easy for him to come up with sound-bite answers that might mean something or nothing. ‘Did it feel good?’ he began, ‘being alone in the street in the middle of the night? Quiet and cold, nothing but the sound of the leaves in the wind.’ McKenzie stopped tapping his foot and looked Sean in the eyes for almost the first time. ‘You’re good with locks, but it still must have taken a while to get the door open – were you scared someone would hear or see you, kneeling outside by the front door? It must have been difficult, working with gloves on, using those fine, small tools, but you had to wear them, because it was cold that night and you needed to stop your fingers from going numb, didn’t you?’ McKenzie squinted and frowned, his thin smile all but gone. ‘And when you finally stepped inside the house, the warmth hitting you in the face, the smell of the family must have been almost more than you could bear – did it make you feel dizzy, like you were having a dream?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ McKenzie interrupted.
‘What did it feel like, Mark, climbing those stairs towards the boy’s room – walking past his mother’s bedroom while she slept – knowing you were going to take her baby?’ Jackson glanced at him, her face betraying that she had children herself, no matter how grown-up they may be now – her mother’s instinct stopping her from intervening even when she should. ‘Did it make you feel special, Mark? Special like you never feel in everyday life? Did it make you feel powerful?’
‘Guessing, guessing, guessing,’ McKenzie hissed. ‘All you’re doing is guessing.’
‘But why didn’t you touch the mother? Is it because you’re a coward? Because you were afraid of her – afraid to rape a grown woman in case she fought back?’
‘This is going too far, Inspector,’ Jackson finally interjected.
‘Which is why it has to be children for you, doesn’t it?’ Sean ignored her, his voice louder than before. ‘But why not the little girl? Is it only little boys that do it for you, Mark?’
‘I think that’s enough, Inspector,’ Jackson insisted, her voice matching his until McKenzie spoke over the top of both of them.
‘You think you’re so clever – the police,’ he spat at them. ‘Fuck the police. I have the power here – no one else. I say what happens. We play by my rules – no one else’s.’
‘You have the power, Mark? Your rules? You seem to be forgetting something.’
‘Yeah? And what would that be?
‘That we’ve already caught you.’
McKenzie looked shocked for a moment, but then his blank expression began to grow into a smile and the smile into a barely audible laugh. His laughter grew until it was as loud as it was mocking and all the time he stared into Sean’s eyes.
Sean was close to leaping across the interview table when his vibrating phone distracted him. ‘Fuck,’ he swore too loudly before remembering his every word was being recorded. He snatched the phone from his belt and examined the caller ID. ‘Sorry, but I need to take this. For the recording, DI Corrigan is leaving the room for a short while.’ He made sure the door was shut behind him before he answered. ‘Ashley, what you got?’
‘The Special Search Team and the dog have both been through the house,’ DC Goodwin told him.
‘And?’ Sean asked impatiently.
‘Nothing. The boy’s definitely not still in the house.’
‘They absolutely sure?’
‘Sorry, guv, but the boy’s gone, no doubt about it.’
‘Christ,’ Sean blasphemed. For all that he’d been convinced the boy had been taken, it was still a deeply disturbing jolt to have it confirmed. ‘What about a scent? Did the dog pick up on any scent?’
‘Sorry,’ Goodwin explained. ‘Too many people have been through the house too many times, including the boy. The dog followed his scent to the front door, but once in the street it didn’t know which way to turn.’
‘OK, Ash – and thanks. You might as well get the forensic team in now – see what they can find.’ He hung up, returned to the interview room and sat down heavily. ‘DI Corrigan re-entering the interview room.’
‘Everything all right?’ Sally asked.
‘Fine,’ Sean lied. ‘I’d just like to clear a few things up before we take a break.’
‘Such as?’ McKenzie asked, suspicious of Sean’s surprise exit and re-entry. He’d been interviewed enough times to know the police weren’t above an underhand trick or two to get a confession – especially from a convicted paedophile.
‘The house George Bridgeman was reported missing from has now been thoroughly searched.’ He paused for a second to give himself time to read McKenzie’s face. ‘There’s no sign of him.’ McKenzie’s foot immediately started tapping uncontrollably again. ‘A full forensic search of the house will be starting almost immediately – looking for any tiny traces of whoever went to the boy’s room and took him. We’ve taken your clothes and body samples already: how long before we put you at the scene, Mark? How long?’
‘Too long,’ McKenzie grinned. ‘Too long to save the boy.’
‘We’ll see,’ Sean answered.
‘You’re too late,’ McKenzie almost sang. ‘You’re too late. You’re too late,’ over and over again.
‘This interview is concluded,’ Sean told him, pushing the stop button that made a heavy click followed by a slight whirring sound, the noise reverberating around the room as Sean gathered his sparse interview notes and headed for the door as quickly as he could before McKenzie’s mocking chants pushed him beyond control. Sally followed him out of the room, leaving McKenzie alone with his solicitor. They walked a few steps away from the door before speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
‘What d’you think?’ Sally asked.
‘He couldn’t look more like our man if he tried,’ Sean answered.
‘Well, we know the boy’s definitely missing now – so it’s McKenzie or the parents.’
‘In all likelihood,’ Sean agreed. ‘But what game is he playing? He neither denies taking the boy nor admits it. He seems to want to float somewhere in the middle. But why? If I could just get inside—’
‘Inside what?’ Sally jumped on him. ‘Inside his head? Last time you did that, it didn’t work out too well, did it?’
‘We got our man,’ Sean argued, ‘and probably saved at least one life.’
‘Yeah, and Keller almost took yours – remember? Maybe this time we can just do things normally. You know, follow the evidence, wait for back-up – that sort of thing.’
‘Is that what you think George Bridgeman wants us to do – sit around waiting for the evidence to come to us? Is that what his parents want?’
‘I guess that depends on whether they were involved or not. I’m beginning to think you’re not even considering them as suspects.’
‘I’m considering everything. Right now, I’m considering everything.’
‘But you like McKenzie for it more than the other options?’
‘Don’t you? His previous. His lock-picking skills. The way he’s behaving in interview. I have to like him for it.’
‘Fair enough,’ Sally agreed. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘Lock him up till the morning and then interview him again. Perhaps by that time we’ll have something from Forensics to rattle his cage with.’
‘And if we don’t?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something … something to knock him out of his stride, with or without more evidence. He’ll talk – eventually.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Sally asked.
‘Because he wants to,’ Sean explained. ‘They all want to – that’s half the reason they do what they do. He just needs a few more shoves in the right direction. I’m going to pop back to the Yard and see what’s happening. Get hold of the local superintendent and have them meet you here in the morning to sort out an extension of detention for McKenzie. I’ll meet you back here later tomorrow morning to interview him again. Once you’ve got it sorted, go home and get some rest while you can.’
‘And you?’ Sally asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact to hide her concerns.
‘I’ll get home later,’ he promised as he headed for the exit. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he called over his shoulder and was gone.
‘Here we go again,’ Sally told no one. ‘Here we go again.’
Donnelly stood on the doorstep of 9 Courthope Road, warrant card in hand, and waited for the door to be opened. He’d already visited the Bridgemans’ neighbours on the other side in number five. The Beiersdorfs – Simon and Emily − had given him more than a few interesting tit-bits about the Bridgemans, even if they hadn’t realized they were doing so: how they had no intention of moving their children from their current school some distance from home rather than send them to the excellent local private school. How they never really spoke to anyone or tried to socialize, keeping themselves very much to themselves and seemingly avoiding their new neighbours. And then there had been the occasional sound of heated voices raised in argument, the children being shouted at. They had been at pains to explain that they understood all couples and families argued from time to time, but the Bridgemans’ arguments happened little too often and were a little too disturbing.
Everything was turning out just how he thought it would.
The door was finally opened by yet another attractive woman, although she was slightly older than the norm for the street − she must have been in her early fifties. Nevertheless she had the same physical characteristics as the other women wealthy enough to live in this part of Hampstead: tall, slim, perfect skin and expertly dyed silver-blonde hair in a ponytail. She spoke in the same accent as everyone else too, almost a non-accent, but with just a hint of the aristocratic as she peered through the small gap the security chain allowed. ‘Yes. Can I help you?’