sitting on the bed without speaking, lifting a floppy-eared rabbit from the floor and holding it tight to her chest while she stared at the wall opposite.
‘Feel a little better?’ Sean asked, keen to get her talking before she went catatonic on him.
‘Not really,’ she responded.
‘I have some difficult questions that need answers,’ he warned her. ‘They’re best asked when your husband’s not here.’
‘Stuart?’ she asked in a conciliatory tone. ‘Don’t worry about Stuart – he’s just scared and angry. He always reacts like that when he feels something is beyond his control.’
‘I understand,’ Sean assured her.
‘You said you had questions.’
‘Keys,’ he began. ‘Is there anyone no one’s mentioned who could have keys to the house?’
‘Not that I know of,’ she answered.
‘Anyone who shouldn’t have keys to the house but does?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I need to know if both your children are yours
and
your husband’s – genetically?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, confusion etched into her face. ‘Why?’
‘Most children who are abducted are abducted by their estranged fathers,’ he told her. ‘If there was one and he had keys to the house, then …’
‘There isn’t,’ she stopped him. ‘How could you even think that? I’m his mother and Stuart’s his father,’ she insisted, but Sean sensed some doubt in her voice – and her eyes.
‘Any problems with your marriage?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she muttered, her eyes avoiding his.
‘Could Stuart be seeing anyone else?’
‘God no.’
‘And you?’ Sean ambushed her.
‘No,’ she swore, ‘nothing like that. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that to my children.’
‘My children?’ Sean questioned. ‘Not our children, but my children?’
‘Stuart’s not around much,’ she explained. ‘He works hard for us – that’s all I meant.’
Sean watched her silently for a moment as she continued to hug the toy rabbit – watching her eyes and hands, her feet that stayed flat and still on the carpeted floor – judging her. He believed most of what she was saying, but there were doubts and untruths hiding in her grief.
The longer he stood in the boy’s room, the more sure he was that George had been taken. But why and by whom? His mind searched back for memories – going back more than ten years to when he was still a detective sergeant, deployed by SO10 on an undercover operation to infiltrate the Network, a paedophile gang who’d been grooming children during the early days of the Internet and then sexually abusing them, filming their exploits and circulating them to other paedophiles. He forced the face of the gang’s leader, John Conway, into his mind, remembering the way he talked and moved, recalling his mindset – what excited him and motivated him. But Conway and his cronies groomed older children and always met the children a safe distance from their houses and schools, whereas whoever had taken George had risked coming into the house in the dead of night. And George was only four, too young to be groomed from a distance.
From a distance, but what about by someone close?
Conway’s face melted into that of Sean’s own father. But there had never been anything subtle about the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father. The face faded away, replaced by the things that continued to plague his mind:
There’s an alarm, but you knew it wasn’t working. A man lives in the house, but you knew he wasn’t there. The floorboard creaks, but you didn’t step on it. You knew all this because you know this house. You have to know this house – but how? Who are you and what do you want?
John Conway’s face flashed back into his mind.
Slow down
, he warned himself.
You’re making assumptions. You don’t know he knew about the alarm, the husband being away, the damn floorboard. All you know for sure is that the boy is gone. Someone came to the house, entered without breaking in, took
‘Feel a little better?’ Sean asked, keen to get her talking before she went catatonic on him.
‘Not really,’ she responded.
‘I have some difficult questions that need answers,’ he warned her. ‘They’re best asked when your husband’s not here.’
‘Stuart?’ she asked in a conciliatory tone. ‘Don’t worry about Stuart – he’s just scared and angry. He always reacts like that when he feels something is beyond his control.’
‘I understand,’ Sean assured her.
‘You said you had questions.’
‘Keys,’ he began. ‘Is there anyone no one’s mentioned who could have keys to the house?’
‘Not that I know of,’ she answered.
‘Anyone who shouldn’t have keys to the house but does?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I need to know if both your children are yours
and
your husband’s – genetically?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, confusion etched into her face. ‘Why?’
‘Most children who are abducted are abducted by their estranged fathers,’ he told her. ‘If there was one and he had keys to the house, then …’
‘There isn’t,’ she stopped him. ‘How could you even think that? I’m his mother and Stuart’s his father,’ she insisted, but Sean sensed some doubt in her voice – and her eyes.
‘Any problems with your marriage?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she muttered, her eyes avoiding his.
‘Could Stuart be seeing anyone else?’
‘God no.’
‘And you?’ Sean ambushed her.
‘No,’ she swore, ‘nothing like that. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that to my children.’
‘My children?’ Sean questioned. ‘Not our children, but my children?’
‘Stuart’s not around much,’ she explained. ‘He works hard for us – that’s all I meant.’
Sean watched her silently for a moment as she continued to hug the toy rabbit – watching her eyes and hands, her feet that stayed flat and still on the carpeted floor – judging her. He believed most of what she was saying, but there were doubts and untruths hiding in her grief.
The longer he stood in the boy’s room, the more sure he was that George had been taken. But why and by whom? His mind searched back for memories – going back more than ten years to when he was still a detective sergeant, deployed by SO10 on an undercover operation to infiltrate the Network, a paedophile gang who’d been grooming children during the early days of the Internet and then sexually abusing them, filming their exploits and circulating them to other paedophiles. He forced the face of the gang’s leader, John Conway, into his mind, remembering the way he talked and moved, recalling his mindset – what excited him and motivated him. But Conway and his cronies groomed older children and always met the children a safe distance from their houses and schools, whereas whoever had taken George had risked coming into the house in the dead of night. And George was only four, too young to be groomed from a distance.
From a distance, but what about by someone close?
Conway’s face melted into that of Sean’s own father. But there had never been anything subtle about the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father. The face faded away, replaced by the things that continued to plague his mind:
There’s an alarm, but you knew it wasn’t working. A man lives in the house, but you knew he wasn’t there. The floorboard creaks, but you didn’t step on it. You knew all this because you know this house. You have to know this house – but how? Who are you and what do you want?
John Conway’s face flashed back into his mind.
Slow down
, he warned himself.
You’re making assumptions. You don’t know he knew about the alarm, the husband being away, the damn floorboard. All you know for sure is that the boy is gone. Someone came to the house, entered without breaking in, took
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