‘Social Services requested a fucking dawn raid?’ Talbot snorted. ‘I’d call that a bit more than a precautionary measure, Mac’
‘One of the local schools, St Michael’s, called us in. They reckoned two, maybe more, kids there were being knocked about by their parents.’ He shrugged. ‘We checked it out, sent a report to Hackney Social Services and they thought there could be something going on.’
‘Who reported it?’
‘A teacher.’
‘When was this?’
‘Two days ago.’
‘How the hell did Social Services get wardship orders so quick?’
‘You tell me.’
Talbot wandered across to the nearest box and peered in.
It was full of books, videos, magazines, and he even noticed some clothes in the bottom.
‘It’s the same in all of them,’ Macpherson told him, reaching inside another of the boxes. ‘What do you reckon?’ He held up a magazine which showed a young woman kneeling in front of a man, gripping his penis with one hand, her lips closed over the end.
‘Don’t fancy yours much’ said Talbot, dismissively, glancing at the title: Wild Cum Party.
‘We found loads of them’ Macpherson said, indicating more of the magazines. He flicked through another.
‘No law against those, Mac’ Talbot reminded him.
‘Some of the stuff’s going to the Vice Squad, some of the heavier stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘In two of the houses we found paedophile magazines and photos. And that’s just what’s been checked so far.’
‘How bad?’
‘Kids as young as two.’
‘Shit’ muttered Talbot.
‘We raided twenty-three houses, took stuff from every one, and we’ve done inventories on twelve so far. Out of those twelve we’ve found enough porno magazines and videos to decorate a block of flats, and we’re not finished yet.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Like what?’
‘Equipment. Bondage gear. Anything that might have been used on the kids.’
‘Not unless you count three vibrators, a blow-up doll and some of those fucking love eggs.’ He smiled. ‘You know, those things women stick up their-‘
‘Yeah, I know what they do with them, Mac’ Talbot interrupted.
He wandered over to another of the boxes and looked inside.
More magazines. More videos.
He pulled one out.
‘Cannibal Ferox,’ he read aloud.
‘And video nasties,’ Macpherson added. ‘We’ve found plenty of those. Driller Killer. I Spit on your Grave. S.S. Experiment Camp. The lot. The Exorcist-‘
Talbot interrupted him.
‘I’ve got a copy of that’ he said.
‘So have I’ Macpherson echoed. ‘I’m just telling you what we found.’
‘Not all from one house?’
‘No. I wish it had been: we might have been able to nail someone quicker. If there was one geezer supplying the rest of the neighbourhood it’d make things much easier, but it seems to be spread around.’
‘So how much have you got to go on? What’s the likelihood it is a child abuse ring?’
‘We’re not going to know that until Social Services finishes questioning the kids. That could be days. Then there’s the medical reports if they do find any physical damage.’
‘Damage isn’t always physical’ murmured Talbot.
‘What did you say, Jim?’
‘Nothing’ he lied.
You know all about that, don’t you?
Talbot reached into one of the boxes and pulled out some Polaroids.
Damage isn’t always physical.
They showed a naked woman spreadeagled on a worn and battered sofa. She was sucking one index finger. She was skinny. The outline of her ribs showed clearly.
There were only red dots where her pupils should have been.
Talbot shook his head, flicking through the remainder of the pictures.
The same woman holding a cucumber to her mouth, licking the tip.
The absurdity of the pose was striking.
There was one of a naked man, gripping his penis in one large fist.
Another of the skinny woman with her middle finger pushed into her vagina. She looked back with that familiar red-eyed expression.
Talbot noticed that there was a budgie cage in the background behind the sofa on which she was spreadeagled.
‘Whoever took them was no fucking David Bailey, was he?’ said Macpherson chuckling. ‘And she’s no Cindy Crawford.’
‘How many times have you seen Cindy Crawford pose with a cucumber?’ Talbot asked, smiling.
‘We can all dream, can’t we?’ Macpherson smiled, taking another drag on his cigarette.
Talbot stepped away from him as he blew out a stream of smoke.
He could do with one now.
He dropped the photos back into the box.
‘You don’t mind if I have a look around, do you, Mac?’ he asked.
‘Help yourself,’ Macpherson told him, watching as the younger man moved slowly from box to box, his gaze drawn to the contents of each one.
‘You looking for anything in particular, Jim?’ Macpherson asked.
Talbot chose not to answer him.
Jesus, the fucking press would have afield day with this lot.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, Jim,’ Macpherson said, cautiously, ‘what’s your interest in this?’
‘What makes you think I’ve got an interest?’ Talbot snapped without looking at his colleague.
‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
The two men regarded each other silently for a moment then Talbot spoke again.
‘You remember, a couple of years ago I was suspended for slapping some fucking nonce around.’
Macpherson nodded.
‘Let’s just say that case aroused my interest in this sort of thing’ he lied, nodding towards the boxes. ‘If there is a child abuse ring in operation here then I want to know about it.’
Fifty-two
‘It looks pretty quiet’ said Phillip Cross, his voice hushed almost reverentially.
Catherine Reed peered out of the side window of the Fiat, her eyes drawn to one particular house, then she glanced at the computer print-out spread across her lap.
There was nothing moving in Luke Street, Hackney, apart from a motley-looking Labrador, which was padding back and forth across the street.
Cath watched as it stopped to cock its leg against a hedge before disappearing up the pathway of a
