The Doll Collector: A Dan Castle Novel

The door buzzer alerted him to a hooded figure visible on the CCTV monitor. Through the haze he could make out few important details about the man, dropping off an envelope and disappearing into the cold, damp night.

Dan furrowed his brow and got to his feet. There’s certain to be something interesting in that envelope.

What was with the clandestine courier service? The November night was typically terrible both in terms of weather and his own mood, but the approach of this man seemed over the top, even considering the weather and the secrecy with which most clients approached his place of business.

Making his way down the stairs, he felt like he could have been the last living soul for miles on that freezing Friday evening. He wished that he was. He was certain that his family wouldn’t want him home for a while after the latest argument.

What do you really know about me? Abigail had said. You never ask, you just make demands.

That’s the job of a father sometimes. Dan has tried to sound stern and diplomatic, but an inner rage had shown through.

Maybe it shouldn’t be your job. Maybe you’re failing as a father, just like you’ve failed at everything else.

If only he had left the conversation there, maintaining some level of quiet dignity in the chaos. He hadn’t needed to trade insults, but he had shouted a handful of harmful words before storming out.

His office was his escape from family life. Everyone knew it. Home was chaos by comparison and sometimes Dan had to psych himself up for the journey home. Does every father experience this?

Returning to his desk, reclaimed from the closed business downstairs, he had no idea of the impact that one small DVD could have on his life. Unlike previous challenges he had faced, this one would not be instigated by his own mindless or malicious mistakes.

Regardless of being blameless, the Private Investigator would look back on that moment, sitting at his oversized desk on the outskirts of Manchester, wishing for his daughter’s sake, that he had done things differently.

What if he had returned home and picked his daughter up from school? What if he had sought to make amends with the usual combination of ice cream and shopping? Instead he had decided to stay in the quiet office a few minutes more, still unable to let go of the earlier battle.

He stared at the home-made DVD, meant for him, without question. No one else was leasing the remaining office space in the newly converted two storey building, so such a deduction was hardly worthy of Poirot or Miss Marple.

Swivelling back and forth slightly in his chair, he looked at the disc, then at his laptop, and looked back and forth between the two for several seconds.

An incoming phone message beeped on arrival, interrupting his dithering with the DVD. It was from his wife, Jenny. Is she calling to chastise me again? He pressed the screen to show the brief but worrying message.

Have you heard from Abbie? She’s not come home yet.

Dan read the message, glanced at the clock on his computer screen, and then re-read his wife’s words. Six o’clock and no sign of her.

It was far from impossible for Abigail to contact him directly, even though they had not yet entrusted her with her own mobile phone (a fact which surfaced with every fresh argument). Despite this, she knew their numbers and she had called them before when there was a need to do so. This time, her radio silence spoke volumes.

It’s not like Abbie to delay coming home, he thought, but after this morning she’s probably retreated to a friend’s house, avoiding the warzone of home for two or three hours.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at the family picture on his desk. Probably a wise move. We’re rarely as happy as we look in that photograph. He looked at his watch. She’s either staying away to avoid conflict (like me), or she’s just making a point.

He didn’t respond instantly to Jenny, unwilling to fan the flame of her worry, or to start another blame game regarding her absence.

He shook his head and picked up the mystery DVD again. Would it contain a virus? Was someone trying to con him into inserting the DVD and eradicating his computer data? Was it something important?

He shrugged his shoulders and inserted the DVD, allowing the aging laptop processor and accompanying noisy fan to go into overdrive, putting forth substantial effort in attempting to render its contents.

The screen darkened for several seconds, allowing Dan to see his own clean-shaven, tired and curious expression. He also noticed more grey hairs creeping into his short sideburns than he had remembered seeing when looking in the mirror earlier. Overall, his once jet-black hair had taken on a lighter shade in recent years.

A video started immediately after the PowerDVD logo vanished. No menus, no nonsense, just an opening shot of a fourteen year old girl that he instantly recognised. He felt like his internal organs had just taken a one-way trip to the floor.

There, in the middle of a near-HD quality video, in focus and then out again, was his daughter, Abigail. The camera appeared to finally adjust to the low light, showing his daughter in pin-sharp clarity. She was wearing only a thin white nightshirt, sitting on a dining chair with her blonde hair draped over her shoulders. Her hands and ankles were secured with thick rope and a rag filled her mouth. The rest of the room faded into blackness behind and beside her.

With instant and massive regret, his last words to her came screaming back into his thoughts.

Find my replacement and I’ll gladly make you someone else’s problem.

Somehow, another person, as yet unknown, was clearly trying to fulfil those words.

Chapter 2

Jennifer stared intently at her phone screen yet again, willing a reply from Dan that didn’t come. I expected as much.

It had been over almost four years since Dan had been the man that she had married. Since the last disaster at work he had been a mess. There were signs that he was regaining his self-respect, and consequently showing more to others, but every now and then it was as if the past six months had not happened.

An argument over something as simple as a curfew and some alleged smell of alcohol on her breath had been enough to send Dan into some kind of parental mental meltdown. This had been the first time that Dan’s temper had driven someone away from the house and threatened to disrupt the togetherness of their family.

She looked up at a family photograph taken during their holiday the previous year. The illusion of happiness was written all over the face of the tall, once black-haired man in the photo. He towered over the rest of the family, with his dark hair in stark contrast to the bright blonde of his wife and two children. Disney’s iconic Cinderella Castle in the distance had seemingly lifted his mood temporarily, but his changes in mood didn’t last. I keep thinking he’s changed. Perhaps I expect too much.

Still staring at the photo, she remembered the comments of infrequent visitors. Apparently, Abigail had become a miniature clone of her mother over the past few years. Her face was slightly smaller and rounder, but there was no denying how much they looked alike with the same blue eyes and the same shade of blonde, shoulder length hair.

Jen had wanted to have a quiet word with their daughter before school, but the distraction of preparing their son for nursery had prevented her from having that much-needed chat.

Now, she was missing. I know I’m probably worrying too much, over-reacting, but that’s the job of a mother.

Abigail had been at school. She would have received a call hours ago from a truant monitor if she hadn’t shown. In any case, she had already called the school, just to make sure. She had attended every lesson, but no one was confident in saying how she had left for the day. Was she on her own? With friends? With someone else?

Their Abbie had not mentioned a boyfriend to them, but most teenage girls would confide in almost anyone else before their parents.

Five minutes, she said with no one to listen. If I haven’t heard back by then I’ll have to see if she’s got any phone numbers for her friends in her room.

Young Noah was in his bedroom playing with a selection of figures from random television shows, new and old, unaware of the nerves of his mother fraying with every passing moment a matter of metres away. He doesn’t need to worry too.

She fidgeted with her fingers, wringing her hands, and tapping her right foot. Any one of those things would have driven Dan nuts if he was next to her, but she could get away with the nervous tells when he was elsewhere. Somehow, the little physical movements seemed to help.

She parted the vertical blinds and peered into the darkness. No one there… still.

She spun around and shrugged her shoulders with an unconvincing nonchalance. She’ll be at a friend’s house, speaking in teenage-grunt, moaning on about the unfairness of life. Her attempt to smile faded before it had even spread across her face.

Still, Jen could not move away from the window. She wanted to go and make dinner as if nothing was wrong. She wanted to tidy up the loose toys on the living room floor. She wanted to do any number of things, but fear had gripped her so tightly that she could do nothing but continue to stand there, worrying.

She noticed that she was twisting her hair around a finger on her left hand and wondered how long she had been doing it.

That must be five minutes by now, she said, craning her head to look at the clock in the kitchen, the one with the correct time. One minute past six. "Only one minute? Seriously?" Raising her voice to the kitchen clock wouldn’t change a thing. She would much rather have raised her voice to Dan, sitting cowardly in his office while she was wearing out the carpet at home, probably worrying about nothing.

Is this Dan’s fault? Is it mine? She shook her head. Parents and children exchanged cross-words every once in a while. If every child ran away after every argument then there would be no such thing as a happy home.

I’m not waiting four minutes. With her phone in her hand, being checked every few seconds, she made her way upstairs to Abigail’s room in her search for clues.

Chapter 3

Joshua stepped in from the cold, shaking the wet coat from his shoulders. He ruffled his longer-than-usual hair with his right hand and discovered that it was only slightly damp. He couldn’t help but feel all-together pleased with himself. The game is afoot. He smiled again. It wasn’t like him to be so bold. He almost announced himself with a ‘Honeys, I’m home,’ such was his mood.

He paused and listened. Silence. Two and a half hours into his care, the three girls were out for the count as was to be expected. No sounds of creaking beds or murmuring from any of them. Still and quiet, just as he liked it.

He wouldn’t rely on just one of his senses to confirm the girls were as he had left them. He crept up the stairs and peeped into each room. Sleeping like three beautifully lumpy logs, he thought, and then he smiled again.

His methods, honed through the years, had increased his confidence and improved his skills. He was able to capture and sedate three girls with relative ease. It seemed to lack the previous elements of danger, and offered him less of a challenge than in days past.

Whilst on the first floor, he took the opportunity to walk into his own bedroom and remove a suitcase from underneath the bed. He placed it on top of the neatly made bed and allowed his palms to glide briefly over its cold surface. He took a deep breath and then let out a long sigh. Oh, how I enjoy my hobbies.

He didn’t open the case. The merest touch of its surface was sufficient to remind him of its contents. He picked it up and slid it back under the bed, smoothed and flattened the bed sheets, turned off the light and sneaked downstairs, past three sleeping beauties.

All of these years, he thought, and the game is changing.

He furrowed his brow slightly as whispered to himself. "The game needs to change, and I have to be the one to change it."

As could be expected, even dedicating one’s times solely to hobbies left room for boredom, for feeling like things were systematically similar. However much things changed, the majority stayed the same. Change can be good. It keeps things… interesting.

He had thrived in his consistencies before, and his methods this time had started in exactly the same way. He insisted on a thorough scout of each girl prior to abduction. He managed to follow each girl to their home, unseen, on numerous occasions. The next step required little effort or expense as he gathered details from electoral roles and to check thrown-away documents to find out family names. It was simple enough to use every available online resource (not least of all Facebook) to discover more details of the family. Usually he could obtain names, dates of birth, and review several photographs of each girl before he had ever laid a hand on them.

Joshua had been surprised to discover that Daniel Castle, parent of Abigail, was the managing director of the small outfit named Castle Investigations Limited, incorporated around two and a half years earlier. I’ve never abducted the daughter of a P.I or of an ex-policeman before. Now I have a girl that’s both.

He mused on his ideas, day after day. He drove past the old but neat office building, noticing the sign, still gleaming with newness, next to the front door above three blank spaces. He continued to contemplate his course until he found himself in front of the freshly kidnapped Abigail holding a camcorder, before delivering the roughly edited DVD to her father.

Abigail’s name meant ‘father in exaltation’. He smiled as he remembered that little titbit, gleaned from a simple internet search a day earlier.

Can I come of conqueror? Joshua asked himself in hushed tones, feeling himself starting to get over-excited. Can the father exalt himself above all? Above me? Surely I can win. This is my game, my rules. I control every piece. Every move will be at my command.

The tapping of his fingers on the handrail reminded him that his predilection for pubescent girls was often an essential element in his life. It was the only thing that kept her nervousness at bay for any length of time.

Will the man’s deductions prove to be better than my diabolical schemes? He reached the base of the stairs, fidgeted with his hands, stretched out his fingers and made fists again and again. He started pumping his fists slightly, as if gearing himself up for something big. Can I stay a step ahead of Daniel Castle, the failed police officer, the lone P.I, seeking to restore a ruined reputation?

He stared out of his front window and raised clenched a fist. Of course I can.

Chapter 4

Abigail had been incredulous that morning during their dispute. It was still his daughter in the video, but she looked different. Her earlier remonstration, her rage, her resentment had been replaced with something else. Sitting tied to a chair, wearing little more than a terrified expression, she looked fragile. It seemed that the slightest hard knock might shatter her world into a thousand pieces.

With his eyes wide and tearful, Dan gritted his teeth. What I wouldn’t give for the chance to speak to her now. He wanted to throw his arms around her. I need to reassure her that she will always be my daughter. Instead, he could do nothing but sit there, shocked at the digital scene in front of him.

Dan’s investigative mind kicked into gear as his eyes focussed on the distressing image on his computer screen. He looked into the background, searching for clues. There was the dull glow of a twenty four hour News channel on a television behind her right shoulder. The definition was clear enough that he could just about make out the date and time. This was recorded around two hours earlier. It was the only detail of note, and it seemed as if it had been placed there purposefully as a means of providing authenticity.

A slightly high-pitched, almost panicked sounding man's voice could be heard explaining the situation. The accent was strange, east coast American with a British twist.

"I have a few questions for you Abigail Castle. I know what so many girls are like at your age. Little sluts who would do anything to get their own way, and damn the consequences. I want to know if you are like that. I want to know of you are like the others."

Abigail shook her head frantically, wide-eyed. It was as if she was looking just beyond Dan’s right shoulder. As he watched the scene unfold, Dan slightly shook his head, almost mimicking his daughter. He couldn't recall a time in her life when she had looked so distressed. Of course, she had never needed to feel the way she was clearly feeling. Her expression was perfectly suited to a situation, fraught with danger, into which she had been forcibly dumped.

Your dear daddy will be watching this, but despite any hesitations or unwillingness you may have in sharing your personal life with your parents, I still expect complete and unequivocal honesty.

The man proceeded to ask her personal questions about her interactions with the opposite sex. Abigail could only nod or shake her head in response.

Had she ever had a real boyfriend? Yes.

Had they kissed? Yes.

Had she allowed things to go any further? No.

Had she ever attempted to use her looks as a means of getting what she wanted? No.

Had she allowed physical contact with a boy to reach an inappropriate level? No.

Had she ever bought or otherwise obtained any type of contraception? No.

Dan stared at the video, unable to comprehend the reasons for his eyes and ears being assaulted with such a horrifying scene.

After three minutes of absurd and intrusive questions, a man wearing a mask marched into view. He took up a standing position immediately behind Abigail, placing his hands on her shaking shoulders.

Mr Castle, the man said in a light, summarising tone, Your daughter tells me her virtue is intact. She seems innocent enough. She may be telling the truth… she may not.

The man paused.

Dan stared at the visible parts of this man, his eyes becoming hot and his breathing shallow. I wish I’d tried to follow the deliverer of the DVD.

Maybe the man that had just abducted his daughter was a matter of feet away only a few of minutes ago. Perhaps the person at the door had been hired for that purpose alone. It was of little consequence at that moment. The person, whatever their identity and purpose, had long since departed.

The tone of voice changed, sounding deeper and more serious. Society is broken. I aim to fix it, he said. Too many girls try to grow up too quickly. They do adult activities before they’re old enough. Sometimes there’s a requirement for me to encourage girls to consider their idiotic inclinations. Sometimes they may feel they suffer, sometimes they’re left alone. The key question is this. Personality or poor parenting? Which is to blame?

Dan could not take his eyes of the centre of the screen. He had stopped searching for clues, fixated on the forlorn female, tied to a chair like some kind of prisoner of war. He could only hope that his little Abbie would soon be safe from the torment of this crazed kidnapper.

I will discover the truth about your daughter. Her honesty will buy her freedom, along with a fairly small fee, payable by you. My time and expenses need to be covered as I continue my work. I may ask for an apology payment, begging forgiveness for raising a child who hasn’t learned to say no to a stranger.

There was a further pause, likely added for reflection. "If she is guilty of lying, there will be consequences. Depending on what I do, you may still be able to negotiate a release fee. In the meantime... his hands moved from her shoulders, over her chest and settling on her stomach, causing Dan and his daughter to wear grimaces that mirrored each other perfectly. He continued, Until I decide what happens next, your beautiful daughter will stay in my care."

The video ended abruptly. Dan breathed out heavily, suddenly aware of the need to relax his body, allowing his lungs to resume their vital work. He was unsure how long he had refused to exhale, but there was a sense of relief throughout his body that its respiratory functions were allowed to continue.

There were no instructions, no contact details. He didn’t know how to identify the man that had abducted his daughter. I need to get Abigail home before this monster does anything to hurt her.

His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. Two hours had already passed. The first twenty four were always crucial.

Dan clenched his teeth again and squeezed his hands into fists so tight that his knuckles were white. Maybe there was a name for the Molotov cocktail of emotions rushing through him. His whole family was suddenly in the snare of an unconscionable man, willing to kidnap and punish in order to play out some kind of sick game.

The words ‘sick game’ stuck in his mind as a sudden onset of molten stomach acid scorched his throat. The ever-present heartburn had upgraded itself to a full-blown eruption of the stomach, leading to a burning oesophagus. Pain shot through his chest as if someone had slammed a red hot anvil into it.

He reached for the antacids in his desk drawer and chewed one slowly for several seconds, letting it get to work. The soothing action concentrated his mind on breathing deeply, calming himself down to the point of being functional, barely.

His shaking fingers found and called his wife. This will rip her world to shreds, but I have to tell her. She had been worrying about the whereabouts of their daughter, who had never been absent from home without an explanation (even if she bent the rules from time to time).

Her worry would be supplanted by paralysing fear. She would be powerless and she would plead with Dan to find their girl. Of course, the pleadings were pointless.

Abigail is my daughter and nothing in this world will stop me from freeing her from this nightmare.

Chapter 5

Everyone obsesses, Joshua said aloud, with no one else to hear his mumbled, repetitive musings. Everyone obsesses over something. Everyone has a… obsession.

He was starting to babble almost uncontrollably. He had grown accustomed to the paranoid portion of his personality becoming more prominent in recent years, exacerbated by the exposition of his nervous nature. When tension built, increased exertion was required to mellow to a more manageable state.

Severe panic attacks were infrequent, day-to-day. Experience had brought about the realisation that the stresses of life could be managed. For Joshua, it was better to babble than to bail out, psychologically or physically.

His watch, staring up at him from his wrist, seemed to be vying for his attention. The timepiece, often his friend in scheduling and regimenting his day, seemed for an instant to be wearing a negative expression on its face. It was as if the device didn’t believe that his plans could be fulfilled within the bounds it had set. He shook his head at his watch as if disagreeing with the speed at which the hands moved from point to point.

He removed his watch, placing it on the glass shelf below his eye line. It’s not even half six. In any case, I’ve taken on far more than this before, he said, in a shorter space of time too. I can do it all again.

He scrubbed from his hands to his elbows at the sink in his en-suite bathroom, perhaps overdoing the soap and hot water. He had winced and almost withdrew his hands at first before slowly subjecting them to the near-scalding temperature. You can’t be too clean, he said to himself. "The hot water helps. Hot water purifies. It purges. It sterilises. It makes everything clean."

He paused, cleared his throat, and continued to converse with himself, preparations proceeding. The medical influence of his father was once again coming into effect.

I can do this, he said to himself. He could feel his throat tighten slightly, the pitch of his voice raising. I have the experience and the knowledge to handle this. I’m good with my hands. He sniggered slightly.

Other people simply did not appreciate his attempts at humour. His own history had taught him as much. It’s not ideal to laugh at your own jokes, but if there’s no one else, what else is to be done?

Is this an obsession, or is it an addiction? Is one better than the other? If so, which way around would that be? Which is more tolerable to others? The speed and intensity of his scrubbing increased whilst talking, his voice sounding more high-pitched and nervous.

The longer he talked with himself, the quicker he spoke. "People have addictions. Most people, possibly all people have an addiction to something. Their own little vice, their wicked pleasure. Some of them deny themselves, but what’s the point in that?"

A sharp pain shot through his hands and arms briefly as he withdrew them from the water and turned off the tap. He reached for a fresh white towel from a neatly folded pile and started to dry his hands one finger at a time.

He started to count on his fingers after he had dried as far as his wrists. There are people addicted to alcohol, tobacco, pornography, sex, video games, work, chocolate, sweets, coffee, energy drinks… He placed the towel down before extending all fingers and thumbs, "…and pretty much anything else."

He hurried through the doorway, yanking the chord to turn plunge the room into darkness. Do all of those people deny their route to pleasure? I don’t think so. Some people do. Why limit yourself? How weird. How… pointless.

If his own personal history had taught him anything, it had taught him this: Denying one’s self is not an effective use of time and energy. What could be gained from misery through abstention, especially with alternatives within his reach?

Life was supposed to include pleasure and pain. His inherent interests had guided him, not some nationalised feeling of guilt for the satisfying of one’s self. The rest of the world could have their opinions, their collective loathing, but in Joshua’s world, he was in the right.

He experienced pleasure and pain, and not always in equal measure. The good needed to alleviate the bad. Life had not been kind to Joshua, and so to balance things, he needed to be kind to himself.

"Who are they to judge where people find their own pleasure?" closing his mental discourse with a question, spoken aloud.

He rolled down his white sleeves just past his elbow and stretched and snapped on a pair of purple latex gloves. He clenched his hands into fists a couple of times, causing the gloves to emit a satisfying creak and crunch. He picked up a couple of medical instruments that he had meticulously sterilised and laid out moments earlier.

Abigail was still tied to a chair, but this was a different chair to the one that had featured in his short, possibly misguided video. This one was reclined, allowing access for Joshua to get the proof he needed.

Following abduction, he had properly sedated her before removing her underwear and putting her in a simple white cotton night dress, just as he had done with all previous participants in this process. The nightdress accents her beauty far more than the school uniform, clashing colours concocted by some clout. He had not approved of the dark brown top and skirt, or the way they seemed to be at odds with the light blue blouse.

He needed to know the truth about these girls. This one seemed to be beautiful, but he could only be sure after testing her virtue.

There was a glow in the eyes of the most beautiful girls that signalled more than an inherited jumble of genes. The prettiest, the ones with some form of unrepeatable perfection, were pure, they were still somehow free from the contaminants of this world.

Several seconds later he had determined that the Castle girl was at least telling the truth about her virginity. The typical signs were there.

He had studied in various medical books and journals about the effects of sexual activity, especially on minors. These signs were not conclusive when considered individually, but collectively they were evidence of a girl who had not yet ceased to live in the world of a child. It was possible, however, that other activities could have taken place. Innocence could be destroyed long after virginity remained.

Abigail, you seem to have been honest with me, he said, in a deep firm tone. He was always amazed by his own transformation in these moments. Seconds after the nervous babbling, it was as if liquid confidence was flowing through his veins.

He continued to address the female, lying perfectly still, usually incapable of comprehending his words. Congratulations on keeping your virtue intact.

Joshua was in command of his own destiny, relishing every moment.

I don’t need to punish you for letting your innocence slip, he said, "but I do need to punish you for being foolish enough to leave school with a stranger."

For the first time, and with her barely audible voice slurring, Abigail said, "I didn’t leave with you. I spoke to you. A kidnapper and a perv..."

Her voice trailed off so that Joshua could only just make out the final few words.

How is she talking? Mystified, he knew he needed to respond. Are the drugs defective? Has she somehow got a high tolerance to them?

Little girl, however correct you may believe yourself to be, he paused briefly, his breathing becoming erratic, before continuing in a tempestuous tone, NEVER answer back when an adult is talking to you!

He felt a chill run up his spine as he spoke with a voice that seemed to have erupted from a well of inner rage deep inside. He took several deep breaths, the large volume of air filling his lungs to capacity either side of the heavy pounding of his heart. Two or three cycles of deep breathing later, he shrugged, feeling his shoulders start to relax. "I need to punish you for talking to a stranger, and now I also need to punish you for talking back."

He removed a damp rag from his pocket and immediately the combined fumes of antiseptic and alcohol struck his nostrils. After straightening the cloth he placed it over the girl’s face. She thrashed slightly, struggling for breath, and then she fell still and quiet once again.

He enjoyed seeing the brief moments of struggle, the children eventually breathing in and settling into a sleep-like state. The short journey from frantic thrashing to perfect stillness was beautiful to watch in his opinion. Like riding through storm-tossed waters and finding yourself sailing suddenly on a sea of glass, Abigail had journeyed from chaos to calm in an instant.

As stillness swept over the girl, leaving her limp and seemingly lifeless. With these girls, passed out and unable to respond, he could have his heart’s desire. He could do anything his mind and hands could construct. It was empowering. It was exciting. No one to stop him. No one to interfere. He was in charge.

Joshua looked almost longingly at the girl for a moment before shaking his head, angry at himself for his own suggestion. She has her virtue. I have my rules.

She was pure and beautiful. The two went together like Bonnie and Clyde, like roses and summertime.

She was his helpless new toy, but his fun would be limited unless he disregarded his own well-established code of conduct. He shook his head again. I can’t do such a thing. She needs to retain every bit of that beauty.

He continued to stand, watching her breathe in her reclined position. He needed to check the other girls, but he stood inexplicably rooted to the spot, looking on at the girl breathing in, breathing out. He couldn’t justify the waste of time, and the torrid tick of his watch would soon require his regret for procrastination, but he continued to stand there, watching.

Chapter 6

Dan Castle was closing up the office, feeling once again as if he was free-falling towards failure. Unable to grab onto any thoughts to halt himself, he once again considered the events and the errors that had brought him to this point in his life. My life could have been so different.

He snatched the laptop, complete with that DVD, from the desk. For most of her life, Abigail, despite the recent onset of hormones, had been his greatest success. Suddenly she had ended up in the hands of some kind of crazed paedophile on some kind of vigilante-styled mission.

He exited the building with a quickness usually reserved for fire drills, pausing only to turn off lights and close doors. After setting the alarm and lowering the shutters, Dan considered the curtain that had fallen on his own career.

He wasn’t yet forty but he had been through several careers in around twenty years of working life. Doomed part-time employment somehow gave way to a job as a police officer, much to the delight of his retiring father. Since the day of Dan’s recruitment, the senior Castle's reputation had loomed large. It was as if his dad’s smiling face adorned a billboard, constantly above his head, 'He’s Okay, But He’s Not Me!'

In those early days he had been trained by Gary Wiseman, a tall, solid, highly strung, brute of a man. He was the kind of police officer that ignored half of the rules and disregarded the other half. He had heard Gary say more than once, Policing is a results business. If real people had a catchphrase, then that was his. Dress it up however you like, apply reason, method, but without the result it’s a waste of time.

The clear-cut, almost negative approach had resonated with Dan. The process was