Page 2 of The Taskmaster
“That isn’t the worst of it,” Stamford said, nodding to something on the floor, and we moved to see what he meant.
Jenkins stalked out of the room when he realised what it was, holding his hand over his mouth as he made retching sounds. I felt the same, but I managed to tamper it down.
On the floor, lying in the bloody mass of her organs and intestines, was a dead foetus. A baby that hadn’t been given a chance. Cut from its mother in a fit of unimaginable horror by this man, who I assumed was the father.
“What kind of monster would do this?”
“He wasn’t fucking human, that’s for sure,” Stamford replied.
We stood for a moment in stunned silence. We knew we had to do our job and gather evidence, but for a split second, we let ourselves be human; fathers, husbands, men who thanked the lord that the evil we saw in our profession didn’t invade our lives and our families like it had for this mother.
“Forensics are on their way,” Stamford said as Jenkins walked back into the room, keeping his head up but averting his eyes to avoid the massacre on the floor.
“This is a pretty fucked up domestic,” Jenkins whispered, heading over to the window and peering out at where our car was parked. “Considering the level of violence, why didn’t anyone call this in earlier? I mean, days or weeks earlier? Don’t tell me this all happened on one night, no build up, no sustained violence over time.” He gestured with a nod to the neighbourhood beyond the window. “People out there, they knew what was happening. They had to.”
“If they knew, they didn’t care enough to act on it,” I said, stepping to the closet opposite where the mother hung. I don’t know why, but I pulled open the door.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
My knees buckled when I saw what was inside.
There was a stained, dirty cot mattress on the floor, filthy rags scattered across it, and in the middle of that piss-soaked mattress sat a little boy.
Chapter Two
The little boy couldn’t have been older than two, maybe three. He wore a dirty, grey vest, and his little grey underpants were filthy, from where he’d soiled himself.
Cautiously, I crouched down to be at his level. I was a father myself, so it was instinct to take the handkerchief from my face and smile kindly at him so I wouldn’t frighten him.
“Hey there,” I said in a low, calm voice. “You’re safe now, buddy. No one is going to hurt you. We’re here to look after you. Okay?”
I reached forward, but the little boy scurried into the corner of the closet to get away from me. A waft of shit, piss, and the stale smell that showed he hadn’t been washed for weeks blew over me, but I didn’t react. It wasn’t his fault, and as I looked at the slats on the closet door, I could tell this boy had seen everything that’d happened in this room, and my heart broke for him.
“Jesus,” Stamford gasped. “I had no idea.” Then after a beat he stated firmly, “We need to get him out of here. Now.”
Stamford pulled his radio out to request further assistance, and Jenkins grabbed a sheet off the bed and stood close to thecupboard, holding the sheet up to try and shield the boy from the scene behind us. But it was too little too late.
I couldn’t stand to see the poor lad shivering in the corner while three grown men, three strangers, stood in this room towering over him. A room with a scene no one should ever witness, least of all a little boy. I needed to get him out of this house, but I could see how truly terrified he was. I had to tread carefully.
He tucked his knees under his chin, and I could see the shine in his eyes from the tears he wasn’t crying. He started to rock on the mattress, staring straight ahead with eyes wide, but there was a deadness behind them.
“You’re going to be okay,” I reiterated, moving a little closer to him. I did it slowly. I didn’t want to add to his terror. “We’re here to help you.”
His chin quivered, but he didn’t react to me or what I was saying, he just continued to rock and stare ahead in a daze.
I noticed a broken toy train to the side of the mattress, and I picked it up.
“My little girl likes trains too. Is Thomas your favourite?”
He didn’t answer, but he did turn his head slightly to look at the train in my hand.
“My little girl likes James because he’s red. Red is her favourite colour.”
He stared at the train, and I was glad he was focusing on that. Hopefully I was getting through to him.
“Do you have a favourite colour?” I asked, and he shook his head to say no. “I like red too. I think that’s why Abi chose it for her favourite, because of me. Have you ever been on a real train?” He shook his head again. “Maybe I could take you one day...”
Stamford butted in, “Dan, just pick him up and get him out of here. We have protocols to follow. You know that.”
