Someone You Know by Brian McGilloway Page A

pulled the plastic front off the bath and peered underneath, illuminating the space with her torch beam, but there was nothing there.
    The second room was a spare bedroom. The wardrobe was empty save for an old suit jacket, which, judging by the musty smell coming from it, had not been worn in some time. Lucy checked the room, under the bed, the dresser in the corner, but there was nothing of interest.
    Finally, in Kay’s own bedroom, she found what she’d been looking for: a box on the top shelf of his wardrobe. She quickly checked the rest of the room then, when she was sure there was nothing else of interest, she took the box down to the living room to catalogue with Fleming present.
    Fleming came struggling in through the back door carrying a black rubbish bag.
    â€˜In the bin,’ Fleming explained, dumping the bag on the ground. ‘What did you find?’
    Lucy laid the box on the table, opened it and began sifting through the contents. It contained mostly objects rather than pictures. Among them was a teddy bear, several pairs of ticket stubs, some to a local cinema, two pairs to the circus, though dated on different years, and a dried-out daffodil. At the bottom of the box were a handful of sea shells, a single glove, a doll. With each object, Lucy reflected on the child whom it represented to Kay. Trips to the circus and cinema suggested the family of the child had trusted him, known him well, had allowed him to inveigle his way into their home.
    â€˜A bit careless of him keeping these in the house,’ Fleming said.
    â€˜They don’t prove he did anything wrong,’ Lucy muttered. ‘He’s probably hidden his other collection much more carefully.’
    She knew that there would be another collection, the one which, despite her time in the police, she knew would still make her stomach twist with revulsion when she saw it. But, strangely, she found these collections – the objects – to be equally disturbing, reflecting as these did the innocence of the ones Kay had clearly been grooming. In the bottom corner, beneath the glove, she found a bar of hotel soap and pointed it out to Fleming, who groaned.
    â€˜Some of these stubs are years old,’ Lucy commented.
    Fleming shook his head. ‘Anything you see there connect him to Karen Hughes?’
    â€˜No,’ Lucy said. ‘If anything, if all this stuff is connected to his victims, they’re a little young in comparison with Karen. She was mid-teens, this stuff suggests that might have been too old for Kay.’ She gestured towards the black bag. ‘What was he dumping?’
    Fleming lifted the black bag and emptied it. Pictures cut from newspapers and magazines spilled out onto the floor. One by one, they picked through them, examining each. While each image was of a child, none were of a sexual nature. The children pictured were predominantly pre-teen.
    They worked through each image, but again, none related to Karen Hughes.
    â€˜He must have other stuff somewhere,’ Fleming said. ‘Presumably on his computer. He’s stashed it somewhere after we called for the dog hairs.’
    â€˜Would he have destroyed it?’ Lucy asked. ‘Or hidden it in the garden?’
    Fleming shook his head, his breath sweet as he exhaled. ‘If Kay’s been building these collections for years, his real one will be massive. He’ll not just get rid of it. Someone’s keeping it for him or he’s hidden it somewhere. It’s not out back. I searched the shed, checked the lawn for signs of recent disturbance. Nothing.’
    They had just finished bagging the collections to be transferred back to the Strand Road when Fleming took a call from one of the district teams to say that another fifteen-year-old girl, called Sarah Finn, had been reported missing.

Chapter Nineteen
    S arah Finn’s mother, Sinead, sat on the sofa in the living room of their family home in Fallowfield Gardens, in