Puppet: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

by Mark Sennen

‘Badly,’ Savage said. ‘I can’t say PLOD was that stimulating. The work was lonely too.’

  ‘You’ve missed us? Even DC Enders?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Here, ma’am.’

  Up ahead, the right turn led to a newly metalled lane that threaded across a boggy area and between two rocky tors, steepening all the time. After half a mile, there was a gate. Calter got out and opened it to let Savage through. A sign on the gate implored visitors to Drive Carefully! Animals and Children! and beneath, another said, Private Road. God’s Haven Deliveries Only.

  ‘What is this place?’ Savage said as Calter got back in.

  ‘I’m not sure. It used to be known as Penn Haven. I walked past it years ago, but back then there was only a collection of near ruins. It was spooky.’

  ‘How come?’ Savage said.

  ‘Look around.’ Calter indicated the barren landscape. ‘It’s desolate up here. Nothing but moorland, tors and bogs. The cloud comes down quickly, and one minute you’re in sunshine, the next surrounded by mist. The place has got to be the best part of a mile and a half from the main road, and there’s only one way in and out.’ Calter lowered her voice. ‘Then there’s the thought of what went on here. It was a loony bin, right?’

  ‘A mental asylum?’

  ‘Yes. All of the county’s crazy folk banged up together. ‘Not the sort of spot I’d like to be after dark, and certainly not where I’d want to live.’ Calter stuck her tongue in the corner of her mouth and made a grunting noise. ‘Nutters roaming the moor, swinging their axes, hungry for human flesh.’

  ‘You’ve either got an over-active imagination or have been watching too much TV.’

  ‘Both, probably.’ Calter laughed. ‘Or perhaps just spending too much time with you, ma’am.’

  ‘So what’s this God’s Haven then?’

  ‘Don’t know. Some religious group must have bought the place, I guess. The neighbourhood beat officer told me quite a few people live here, so I thought we should check them out.’

  Beyond the gate, the road levelled and headed for a cluster of buildings nestled in a hanging valley. Austere granite structures loomed beneath grey slate roofs. There were perhaps a dozen separate buildings, a long stable block, and several large barn conversions. At the centre of the complex, a hexagonal tower soared above everything, a large white cross rising from behind fake castellations at the top.

  ‘Changed a bit since I last came by,’ Calter said as they followed the road to a car park. ‘Impressive.’

  Savage agreed. It was indeed impressive. There were neat lawns and gardens to either side of the buildings, and she spotted a vegetable plot with several polytunnels. A paddock contained a dozen sheep, and behind the paddock, pigs roamed a muddy field. An area of young trees lay to the west of the buildings, no doubt designed to provide shelter from the prevailing winds. This truly was a haven sculptured from the harsh landscape. A mini Eden on the barren moor.

  ‘You reckon they’re some New Age, end-of-the-world sect?’ Calter said. ‘Self-sufficiency and a rack full of automatic weapons?’

  ‘Or perhaps this is nothing but a community of Christians minding their own business. It’s not against the law to keep a few sheep and grow some vegetables.’

  ‘Bet it’s strict, though. No sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.’

  ‘Not for you then?’

  ‘No, but believe it or not, I dated a born-again Christian once. Sadly, I had to split up with him because we were incompatible.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I wanted to be on top.’ Calter giggled. ‘But he insisted on the missionary position.’

  Savage groaned. ‘I fell for that one.’

  She turned into the car park. A sign on a low building read Visitors report here, so they got out of the car and walked across. Two men, one small and wiry, the other larger, bare-chested and muscled, were working on a low stone wall surrounding a flower bed to the side of the building. A battered dumper truck contained several pieces of granite. The smaller man looked away, shy or unsociable. The larger one spied Savage and Calter but concentrated on lifting an immense rock from the truck to the wall, where he manoeuvred it into position. When he finished, he straightened.

  ‘Can I help?’ The voice was open and friendly and came with a smile.

  ‘Police, Mr…?’ Savage said.

  ‘Ben Kelly. Check inside. Charlene will see you right.’ With that, the man turned to the dumper and hefted another huge rock.

  A set of double doors led to a reception area that mirrored a doctor’s waiting room. Wiry carpet tiles, cold plastic seats, a counter with a monitor screen, and a series of posters on the walls. However, rather than displaying health information, the posters bore several slogans that left Savage in no doubt as to the type of people who lived here.

  Walk in God’s footprints and his shadow will shield you from the heat of the sun.

  God knows everything about you and you should know everything about God.

  Rapture comes not from an apple stolen from a tree but from a seed planted to bear fruit.

  ‘I told you they were God Bods,’ Calter whispered. ‘Complete nutters. Unless we’re the misguided ones, of course.’

  ‘That’s the general idea about these places.’ Savage scanned the posters. ‘To make those on the inside feel special. Come on, do what you need to do and let’s get out of here. I need to get back to the scene.’

  ‘Still, Samson out there was friendly enough,’ Calter said. ‘The question is, where’s Delilah?’

  Calter went across to the reception desk and picked up a small crystal bell. She shook it, producing a tinkle, barely louder than a glass clinking. A few seconds later, a door in the wall behind the desk opened, and a woman in her early thirties came through. Not Delilah, but attractive, with rich auburn hair and not a touch of makeup. The dress was Laura Ashley cross Little House on the Prairie. Homespun, Savage thought, but nothing wrong with that.

  ‘Charlene Golding,’ the woman said as Calter showed her ID. ‘How can I help?’

  Calter asked a few questions and took some notes. Savage let her get on with it and wandered back outside. Minutes later, the DS was done, and they were in the car heading away from the community and back to the crime scene.

  ‘They seem harmless enough, ma’am,’ Calter said. ‘But according to Charlene, a hundred and twenty people live here. I doubt any of them know much about a derelict building a mile and a half away over the ridge, but they’ll all have to be interviewed. I’ve asked for a full list of names, but the logistics of setting everything up will be a nightmare.’

  Hardly a nightmare, Savage thought, her mind turning to the crime scene she’d witnessed last night. Certainly nothing like the sight of Abigail Duffy’s husk of a corpse lying in the byre. The dry skin and bone spattered with debris. The creaking and cracking as John Layton and his team shifted her onto a body bag. The way she’d crumbled like flaky pastry. And the eye sockets. Hollow and empty and black with shadow, as if something had sucked the life from Abigail’s body.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Opprobrium,’ Enders said as they climbed the stairs in search of Sam Baker. ‘The definition of the mother’s attitude towards her son and us. She’s the sort of person who finds fault with everyone.’

  ‘Look at the state of this place,’ Riley said, surprised to discover himself defending Mrs Baker. ‘The house is probably her pride and joy, and it’s destroyed in a couple of hours.’

  On the landing, they stood for a moment outside the bathroom. The door was ajar, a cross of police warning tape barring entry. Over near the sink, the pool of DC Hester’s blood had dried to a dark brown. Enders sucked in a breath.

  They found Sam’s room down the corridor, but there was no response to Riley’s light knocking. He eased the door open.

  ‘Sam?’ The curtains were half drawn, but someone huddled on the bed atop the duvet. ‘Police. Just a few words about last night, OK?’

  As the
figure stirred, Riley entered and introduced himself and Enders. There was a desk with a computer chair, so he went over and swivelled it round. Sat. Enders stood by the window.

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ Sam pushed himself up. Blond, shoulder-length hair fell over his face, and he brushed it away. ‘For holding the party?’

  ‘No.’ Riley could see the lad wasn’t much more than a kid. His parents had obviously given him a considerable bollocking, and now he was scared he’d be carted off to the cells. ‘But we’ve got a few questions.’

  ‘I want to help if I can.’ Sam perched on the edge of the bed. ‘That woman…’

  ‘Her name is Naomi,’ Riley said. ‘And fingers crossed she’s going to be OK.’

  He asked about the beginning of the party and how it had turned from a few school friends into a free for all. Once Sam had explained about the Snapchat message he’d sent and how the invite to a handful of friends had spread across social media, Riley moved to later in the evening, when the dozens of gatecrashers had arrived.

  ‘Did you know them?’

  ‘Some were from school. That’s Devonport. I wasn’t happy because they weren’t my friends, but it was the others who caused the trouble.’

  ‘And you didn’t recognise any of those?

  ‘No. They were older. Seventeen, eighteen, a few lads in their twenties.’

  ‘Did you catch any of their names?’

  ‘No.’ Sam ducked his head. ‘By that time I was too… too drunk.’

  ‘OK, no problem. Been there myself many a time.’ Riley smiled, trying to reassure the boy. ‘Did you notice what any of them got up to, who they talked to, or what they did? Specifically, I’m trying to trace whoever might have stabbed Naomi.’

  ‘I… I’m not sure… it’s…’ Sam’s voice faded.

  ‘Look, Sam, I can’t remove the trouble you’re in with your parents, but I can assure you that getting to the bottom of what happened to DC Hester is the police’s top priority. In fact, it’s all I’m interested in right now, OK?’

  ‘Sure.’ Sam tried to smile. ‘There was this girl. I showed her where the upstairs bathroom was. When she went inside, I came here for a few minutes, because… well, I liked her and wanted to bump into her when she came out. Only when I went back, the bathroom door was open, and she was inside doing…’ The smile had gone. ‘Doing a line of something on the sink top.’

  ‘Any idea what it was?’

  ‘Speed, coke or something. I’m not into that, to be honest. Wouldn’t have a clue.’

  ‘Right. What happened then?’

  ‘I pushed open the door so I could talk to her, but there was a guy in there too. He didn’t seem to mind me coming in. In fact, he even offered me a line. Because I wanted to appear cool, I said “maybe later,” and he said “no problem,” and then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. There was a phone number on it.’

  Riley tensed. ‘Do you still have it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sam shifted on the bed and slipped a hand in the back of his jeans. Out came a thin strip of paper. Enders walked across, and Sam handed it over. ‘I don’t know who he was, but he was older, probably late twenties. Tufty blond hair, a narrow face. He wore a hoody and tracksuit bottoms. He was a right chav.’

  This wasn’t Andrei, the Romanian, Riley thought. Andrei had dark hair and was a clean-cut, good-looking guy who wore sharp suits as if he was some kind of legitimate businessman rather than a pimp.

  ‘Did you get his name?’

  ‘No, but he called the girl Faye.’

  ‘And what happened next?’

  ‘The two of them chatted for a minute, most of it whispers I couldn’t hear. I felt a bit of a gooseberry, so I made to leave, but the guy told me to stay. He said Faye really liked me.’

  ‘How did she respond?’

  ‘She was smiling and giggling, and the guy told her to kiss me. When he left, she went across and locked the bathroom door. Then she gave me a snog.’ Sam blushed. ‘And… well… she…’

  ‘Did you have sex with her?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’ The boy had gone red now. Like a beetroot. ‘She slipped her hand down my trousers and… you know…’

  ‘She gave you a hand job?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sam hung his head low and turned away.

  Riley felt for the boy. Forced to reveal such an intimate secret in front of two strangers. He paused for a moment, allowing a little space. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Faye left and I cleaned myself up. When I went out onto the landing, she was waiting for me. She told me she liked me and to phone the number I’d been given if I wanted to see her again.’

  ‘So what about my colleague, Naomi? When did she appear?’

  ‘Shortly afterwards, I saw her come up the stairs and go into the bathroom. By this time I was feeling pretty rough, so I went to my bedroom to lie down. It can’t have been more than a couple of minutes later I heard shouting and some sort of commotion, so I got up to investigate. There was a friend of mine over by the bathroom, and she was screaming something about a fight. I ran across and saw Naomi on her hands and knees inside. There was somebody else in there too, and they had a knife.’

  ‘The man in the hoody, right?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t him. It was the girl, Faye.’

  ‘Faye?’

  ‘Yes. As I approached, she bent down and stabbed Naomi.’

  ‘So where was the man with the blond hair?’

  ‘No idea. He’d probably left the party. He certainly wasn’t upstairs, and I didn’t see him again.’

  Riley was confused. What the hell was going on here? ‘What did Faye do then?’

  ‘She ran past me and went down the stairs. I was going to follow, but your colleague needed urgent attention.’ For the first time, Sam appeared to relax. ‘We had an enrichment week last year at school, and I did a first aid course. I took a towel and pressed it against the wound. Luckily I knew what to do.’

  ‘Luck didn’t come into it, Sam. Your actions probably saved Naomi’s life.’ Riley stopped for a beat again. ‘Patrick, anything you want to ask?’

  Enders turned from the window. ‘You said you hadn’t met Faye and this guy before, but do you think any of your friends know them?’

  Sam blinked. Pushed his fringe from his eyes. ‘I can ask around.’

  ‘That would be useful. It would also be great if you can come up with a list of people who were at the party.’ Enders held up his hands. ‘Don’t worry, mate, none of them are in trouble, but we need to find witnesses who saw Faye and this guy.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And perhaps there are social media posts with pictures of Faye and the man? I’d like you to look through your friends’ accounts and see if you can spot any we can use in an appeal.’

  ‘You mean for a wanted poster?’

  ‘That sort of thing, yes.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good.’ Riley stood. They’d got enough for the moment, but there was one further question. ‘Did you see an older man at all? Tall, dark hair, smart suit. He’d have looked like a bouncer, toned, well-built.’

  ‘No.’ Sam gave Riley a blank look. ‘Nobody like that.’

  ‘Right then, we’re done. ‘Riley took out a business card and snapped it down on the computer desk. ‘Call me if you think of anything else. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch in a day or two.’

  ‘Naomi,’ Sam said. ‘Tell her I’m sorry, would you?’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Riley said.

  With that, he beckoned Enders and they turned and left the room. He wondered if Sam Baker would get over this, wondered too, which of the two young women he’d remember for the longest: Naomi Hester, whose life he’d saved, or the mysterious, knife-wielding Faye, a girl who’d given him a first taste of the oh-so-sweet apple.

  ***

  ‘It’s a local line,’ Riley said to Enders as they drove away from Chestnut Boulevard. ‘The girl’s a runner and the guy in the hoody is the main man. T
he hand job was a little inducement to try to get Sam involved.’

  ‘As a user?’ Enders said.

  ‘Or possibly as another minion. Imagine the market all those middle-class kids represent? Sam could have been a useful go-between. A lead right into the grammar school.’

  ‘And what about Andrei, our Romanian pimp?’

  ‘Yes, there could be a connection.’ Riley agreed. ‘With vice, there’s often a complex web of interlinking threads.’

  He’d safely stored the strip of paper with the phone number in a ziplock bag, and when they returned to the station, he headed for the crime suite in search of either DI Frank Maynard or DI Phil Davies. The pair shared ninety per cent of the drug knowledge at the station and would be able to tell him about the locals involved in drug lines. DI Maynard was in charge of operation Tarquin, a long-running investigation targeting a number of big fish, while DI Davies always had his nose down in the detritus, sniffing through the dirt of the city’s organised crime gangs.

  Chalk and cheese, Riley thought as he sought out either or both of them. Frank Maynard was beyond reproach. He made his own sandwiches, brought in tea in a flask, and was an avid birdwatcher. None of which had anything to do with police work, but everything to do with the type of man he was. Maynard would no sooner break the law than he’d pilfer somebody’s lunch from the communal fridge. Davies was the opposite. He had an unhealthy relationship with several local criminals and connections to just about every lowlife scrote in the city. He’d taken bungs to look the other way, he’d tampered with evidence, and thought a policing manual was something to tear pages from to wipe your arse with. On the other hand, there was a secret side to him: he was the primary carer to his wheelchair-bound wife, a lovely woman Riley had met on several occasions.

  Serendipity meant he found Maynard and Davies huddled over a desk in a corner of the crime suite. Both men looked up as Riley approached as if he’d caught them in some sort of vast conspiracy.

  ‘Darius, you good?’ Davies raised a hand to give Riley a fist bump. The greeting would have seemed ridiculous from anyone else, but Davies, despite his failings, was never anything but genuine in his dealings with Riley. ‘You were quite the hero last night. Saved young Naomi’s life, from what I heard.’