Its nothing, he assured her, or at least nothing thats going to take us forward. Christ, my heads so full of crap at the moment I can barely think.
Then use your experience instead, Sally encouraged him. Youve dealt with paedophiles before. What about that undercover case you were on?
That was years ago.
These particular leopards never change their spots.
No, he agreed. No, they dont.
So what was the job?
To infiltrate a paedophile ring calling itself the Network.
Sounds like fun, Sally sniffed sarcastically.
The Internet was just beginning to spread and typically the baddies were on to it before we were grooming kids online before getting them to to perform sometimes with each other, sometimes with the men whod groomed then. Theyd film the abuse and post it on the Internet.
Why? Sally asked.
Because they were proud of what they did.
Sick, Sally judged.
Maybe, or maybe that was just the way nature intended them. Anyway, I infiltrated their top man in prison first, then on the outside we continued our relationship until eventually he let me into the heart of their organization, something they called the Sanctum, made up of the members who actually did the abusing and oversaw distribution of the pictures.
And you took them out? Sally asked.
We did. But the whole time I was with them, the head of the snake knew I was a cop from the very first time he met me.
He was bullshitting you.
No, Sean said without hesitation. He knew. John Conway knew.
Then why did he take you in?
Because he thought he could turn me, Sean admitted.
Thought he could turn you into a paedophile? Sally asked, confused.
What else? he answered, the question lingering unanswered between them. He steered the conversation back to the present. But the Network groomed their victims, luring them to places where they could safely meet them. And the victims were older all between nine and thirteen. Not like this one. Our guy goes into the house and takes them and he takes them when theyre still very young.
Them? Sally asked. Hes only taken one, if that.
Slip of the tongue, Sean lied. Anyway, theres a damn good chance we have our man banged up downstairs. So, if youre ready He stood, gathering up the piles of reports hed been reading in preparation for the interview.
Ready when you are, Mr McKenzie, Sally said. Ready when you are.
DC Maggie ONeil looked out of the fifteenth-floor hotel-room window at the view of Swiss Cottage and Maida Vale, the streets below twinkling and sparkling in the headlights, the crowded pavements bathed in the yellow light that leaked from the shop-fronts. The traffic was in gridlock, the sounds of which drifted up to the fifteenth floor and through the double-glazing. Shed offered the Bridgemans the use of a police safe house but they had unceremoniously turned her offer down, instead opting to find and pay for their own temporary accommodation, hence the three-bedroom apartment in the hotel in Swiss Cottage. Mr and Mrs Bridgeman took the largest room, while the nanny and Sophia shared the twin room. Maggie could use the small single room if she felt it was necessary for her to spend the night with the family, and so far she did.
She drew the curtains on the city below and turned to study the family, wishing she was tucked up at home in her small flat in Beckenham with her partner, who worked on the Mounted Division out of Wandsworth. Shed recently turned thirty and still hadnt told her parents and family back in Birmingham she was gay, although she suspected her older sister had worked it out by now the lack of boyfriends, no marriage talk, no baby talk. But for the rest, their conservative Irish background seemed to mean theyd rather not know the truth than have to deal with it. Besides, her brothers and sisters had already produced four grandchildren with the promise of plenty more to come, so it wasnt as if she was leaving her parents with no little brats to bounce on their knees at Christmas.
She watched the nanny chasing six-year-old Sophia around the living area, her excitement at staying in a London hotel on a school night making her even more difficult to deal with all thoughts of her missing brother seemingly forgotten. How cruel and selfish young children can be, she thought to herself as Sophias noisy protests against bedtime drowned out the urgent whispers from the small kitchen next door where Mr and Mrs Bridgeman had retreated in search of privacy.
Do you need any help there, Caroline? she asked the nanny, who continued to chase the six-year-old.
Do you need any help there, Caroline? she asked the nanny, who continued to chase the six-year-old.
No thanks, she replied, Im used to it. Come on, Sophia its time for bed.
You cant tell me what to do, Sophia unhelpfully answered. Youre not my mother.
Dont talk yourself into trouble, Sophia, Caroline warned, prompting the six-year-old to turn her back on them and reluctantly head towards the bathroom, calling back without looking:
Whatever.
Caroline rolled her eyes in Maggies direction before whispering, Proper little madam, that one.
What about her brother? Maggie asked quietly. Whats George like?
Not like this one. Hes a really sweet boy, Caroline managed to answer before her voice failed and her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. Im sorry, she stuttered. I wasnt expecting to have to speak about him.
Its all right, Maggie reassured her. In situations like this our emotions can sometimes ambush us. One second you think youre fine, then the next
Poor George. Dear God, poor George. Whats happened to him?
Dont worry, Maggie told her. Well find him.
How do you know that? Caroline asked. I mean, how do you know that for sure?
It was a question Maggie knew she had to avoid answering. Hows Mrs Bridgeman coping?
Shes doing a decent job of hiding it, but I can tell shes scared really scared. This is killing her inside. The sound of Mr Bridgemans raised voice in the kitchen made them both freeze for a second, their eyes locked, neither speaking until the sounds from the kitchen returned to faint murmuring.
And Mr Bridgeman, Maggie asked, her voice hushed, hows he doing?
Caroline suddenly looked uncomfortable, like a child being asked to divulge a playground secret to a parent. I dont know, she answered. Its difficult to say. Sometimes men hide their fear behind anger especially men like Mr Bridgeman.
Like Mr Bridgeman?
You know powerful men men who are used to being in control.
So whos he angry with?
With I didnt say he was angry with anyone in particular, just that he was angry at whats happened. Hes upset, you know.
Maggie ignored her explanation, sensing there was more for her to find. Mrs Bridgeman? Is he angry with her? Or maybe hes angry with George about something.
Listen, Caroline tried to backtrack, I dont really know whats going on. Im just the nanny. I look after the children thats all. She walked from the room in search of Sophia, leaving Maggie alone with her thoughts and doubts. Shed been Family Liaison Officer on plenty of cases in the past. Until a body was found, family members would never wander too far from the phone or each other, but after the body was found and confirmed as their missing loved one, family members would frequently seek solitude for their grief. Shed seen murders destroy families more often than shed seen them bring them together the parents of victims often divorcing in the aftermath of murder but shed never seen or felt a reaction quite like she was seeing in the Bridgemans: a devastated mother and an angry father who seemed to be doing everything they could to avoid being in the same room as her. The usual non-stop flow of questions from the terrified parents was absent; instead she could hear the constant murmur of their hushed, urgent voices coming from the kitchen. She reminded herself that shed never dealt with victims like the Bridgemans before wealthy and privileged. The families shed worked with had all been comfortable at best, poor beyond most peoples understanding at worst. Maybe this was simply how rich people dealt with things she just didnt know. But something in her still-developing detectives instinct told her all was not as it should be, as if they resented her presence. It wasnt the first time she had encountered hostility as a Family Liaison Officer, but that had been from criminal families whose hatred of the police wouldnt be softened by the mere death of a family member. That wasnt the case with the Bridgemans so what was wrong?
The loud buzzing noise filled the small interview room where Sean and Sally sat opposite Mark McKenzie and his state-appointed duty solicitor. Sarah Jackson was a fifty-six-year-old veteran of North Londons police stations. Her plain, loose-fitting clothes covered a bulky five-foot-two frame and her round face was surrounded by short, curly hair. Ancient spectacles finished her look. Within minutes of meeting and talking to her prior to introducing her to McKenzie, Sean could tell she knew her business and would not be walked over, although he also sensed she was a straight player and wasnt here to do McKenzie any special favours. If he admitted to her hed taken the boy then Sean would back Jackson to get him to admit it to them for his own sake and the boys. Seans eyes never left McKenzie, who squirmed in his rickety chair and waited for the buzzing to fall silent. When it did Sean spoke first.
The time is approximately eight fifteen p.m. This interview is being conducted in an interview room at Kentish Town Police Station. I am Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan and the other officer present is
Detective Sergeant Sally Jones, she introduced herself without needing to be prompted.
I am interviewing could you state your name clearly for the tape, please?
Mark McKenzie, he answered curtly with a thin smile.
Sean continued to speak without having to think about the words, his mind already considering the questions he would ask the small, ball-hammer taps he would keep making, attacking the veneer until finally McKenzies protective shell shattered.
And the other person present is ?
Jackson answered without looking up from the notes she was busy scribbling. Sarah Jackson, solicitor here to represent Mr McKenzie.