Puppet: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

by Mark Sennen

  ‘Good thinking.’ Riley continued on to the end, where a door opened into a larger space.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Enders pulled Riley by the shoulder. ‘Eyes, see?’

  For a moment, Riley wasn’t sure if Enders was making some kind of pun, but then he understood. Glistening in the light from the phone were dozens of pairs of eyes. Yellow, green, blue, brown. Some small, some large, some mere pinpricks, one set huge and glowing red.

  Then Enders held the phone up and panned the light round, and Riley saw the eyes belonged to stuffed animals: two squirrels climbing a small branch, a fox on a wooden plinth, a badger, a pheasant, a cat curled in a wicker basket.

  ‘What the…’ Enders pointed to the far side of a room where a wolf stood on a rocky diorama, a rabbit limp and lifeless between white teeth, blood on the teeth and the rabbit. ‘I wouldn’t fancy that in the corner of my living room.’

  Riley moved across. ‘You couldn’t afford it. Three thousand pounds.’

  ‘Ain’t got no sausages…’ Singing floated into the room from somewhere ahead, the words sung to the tune of ‘King of the Road.’ Bizarrely, a tang of searing meat accompanied the song. Then a clang rang out. Metal on metal. ‘I’m a man of beans, got no beans … … … King of the road.’

  ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on back at the station,’ Enders said. ‘If we leave now, I can get it done by close of play.’

  ‘Come on.’ Riley ignored Enders’ quip and crossed the room to the far side. A glimmer of light framed another corridor, and a shadow danced on the wall. ‘He’s through here.’

  The passage led to another room where Raymond was waiting for them. A small spotlight was fixed to the wall behind him and provided enough illumination for Riley to see what he was up to.

  ‘You’re late for lunch,’ Raymond said, shovelling something disgusting round a frying pan with a metal spatula. The pan sat on a small camping stove, the stove on the top of a desk piled with paper. Receipts and bills and order forms. Catalogues and bank statements and letters. Raymond waved the spatula, and a few globules of fat flew off and landed on a week-old copy of the Herald. Riley took in the headline: Top Cop Daughter Dead. ‘This is my office. The puppets are through there.’

  Raymond pointed the spatula to the right, where another door stood closed.

  ‘Thanks,’ Riley said.

  ‘Straight on, second left, next right, and it’s the low door with the curtain ahead of you.’ Raymond slid the spatula back into the pan and lifted the chunk of meat onto a plate. ‘Be with you when I’ve eaten this.’

  The door opened onto yet another corridor, this time lit with a series of fairy lights hanging on one wall. They walked along until they came to the second left, followed a narrow corridor and turned right into a short passage ending, as Raymond had said, with a low portal over which was strung a tattered velvet curtain.

  ‘At last,’ Enders said. He reached for the curtain and lifted it. ‘After you, sir.’

  Chapter 16

  Moles: So let’s recap. You’ve admitted that Lena was at the shop, that you locked her in. You’ve admitted to your little den under the rafters. Now tell us the purpose of the ropes and pulleys and what happened when you caught up with Lena.

  Taylor: I want it to be noted that my client has cooperated beyond what might usually be expected. He’s—

  Wright: Cut the crap. Your client is nothing more than a sorry little pervert attempting to squirm his way out of trouble. [a bang. Fist on desk?] Well, Mr Taylor, it ain’t going to happen. Not this time.

  Moles: OK, let’s get to the point. Thomas, where did you find Lena?

  Raymond: In the attic. She was in the room with all the clothing. I couldn’t see her but I knew she was there because I could smell her perfume. I began to search the room methodically and after a couple of minutes I spotted her foot sticking out from beneath a mackintosh. She’d tried to bury herself under a pile of old coats.

  Moles: So what did you do?

  Raymond: I started to pull the stuff off. When she realised I’d found her she began screaming. As she tried to get up and run I hit her. I told her to keep quiet. That everything was going to be alright.

  Moles: And that calmed her down?

  Raymond: It shut her up. I tied her hands behind her back using a belt from one of the coats and took her to my den.

  Wright: Your wanking room, for fuck’s sake.

  Moles: And when you got her there?

  Raymond: I explained about the way she’d led me on, how she’d controlled me. I’d followed her like a little puppy but she’d abused me. I told her it was time she did what I wanted for a change. She appeared to agree and said she’d do anything. I wasn’t going to be fooled so easily so I took her beneath the pulleys and strung her up.

  Moles: You tied her up?

  Raymond: I took the belt from her wrists and told her to take all her clothes off. Once she was naked I attached one set of ropes to her wrists and ankles. Put one round her waist and one round her neck. I added other ropes at her elbows and knees. [a pause] Then I made her perform for me.

  Moles: Perform?

  Raymond: I got her to dance like a stripper.

  Wright: You sick fuck.

  Raymond: I didn’t mean to hurt her.

  Wright: You’d set it all up before. This wasn’t some accident. It was premeditated.

  Raymond: It was a fantasy. I’d rigged up a life-size marionette before but I never expected to have a real girl to use.

  Wright: To use? Why I ought to give you a bloody—

  Mole: Sergeant, sit down.

  Taylor: If your officer speaks that way again then we’re done here, understand?

  Moles: So, you pulled the strings and she danced. How long did that go on for?

  Raymond: Twenty minutes or so.

  Moles: And while she was dancing you did what?

  Raymond: I got off [whispered]. Twice. After that I fell asleep. When I woke up Lena was hanging on the ropes. She was unconscious.

  Moles: So what did you do?

  Raymond: I pulled the strings to make her move again. For a while I made her dance hoping that might revive her but although her limbs moved nothing else happened.

  Wright: She was fucking dead, you moron. What do you expect if you tie a rope round somebody’s neck? It’s just a shame the same can’t happen to you, you pervert. Then again, perhaps we could rig something up in your cell. I’ll have a word with the custody—

  Taylor: DI Moles, we’re done here, OK? Threats like that will not be tolerated.

  Moles: Mr Taylor, it would be helpful—

  Taylor: No, I said we’re done. My client will not be making any further statements while DS Wright is present.

  Moles: Fuck. [pause] Interview suspended at… sixteen-twelve.

  ***

  Riley stooped and crabbed in under the curtain. A light came on as he did so, illuminating the room’s contents. At the same time, music played from a speaker mounted on one wall.

  I’ve got no strings…

  ‘Pinocchio,’ Enders said, hunching into the room and standing. ‘That movie gave me nightmares when I was a kid. Still does.’

  Riley turned and took in the room’s contents. There were dozens of puppets of all shapes and sizes, many hanging from the ceiling by their strings. As the music continued to play, some of the puppets began to move, arms jerking, legs lifting, bodies contorting. Riley stepped into the centre and swung round. There were puppets on sticks, glove puppets, little animatronic wooden displays, but most were of the stringed variety and had control lines running up to wooden frames. Additional lines ran from the frames to a series of small pulleys in the ceiling, the lines running round the pulleys and disappearing through holes in the wall.

  ‘This must have taken some setting up,’ Riley said. He watched as the lines twitched back and forth, animating the figures with realistic actions.

  ‘Perhaps he’s got nothing better to do with his
time.’

  ‘Could be.’ Riley turned his head and looked around. ‘Can you see anything like Smeeton’s doll?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Enders stood beside three puppets that were dancing on a table next to a large wooden chest. He put his hand out to touch one of them, but as he did so, the lid on the chest opened, and a figure loomed out from inside.

  ‘Christ!’ Enders shouted as a mannequin emerged from the chest, a wire line pulling it to full height. He jumped back and tripped over a cast iron boot scraper fashioned to resemble a crocodile’s jaw.

  The puppet was of a woman dressed in frilly petticoats. She wore a bonnet tied around her head, and her face was white porcelain with rouge circles on the cheeks. She loomed over Enders and her mouth opened and closed, a hideous laugh coming from an unseen speaker.

  ‘It’s only a puppet,’ Riley said, bending and offering a hand to the DC. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Enders pulled himself up. ‘Some puppet.’

  ‘You’ve met Sally then?’ Raymond stood by the curtain. He wiped a drool of meat juice from his chin. ‘She’s enough to get most people running, to be sure. Never seen anyone fall over before, though.’

  ‘It’s almost as if you don’t want customers to return, Mr Raymond,’ Riley said. ‘Don’t you need the business?’

  ‘I make enough to get by and that’ll do for me.’

  ‘Now we’re finally in the right room perhaps you can help us. Patrick?’

  ‘Right.’ Enders glowered at Raymond and then reached into his jacket and pulled out a picture of the puppet found near Smeeton’s body. ‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’

  Raymond stuck out a hand and snatched the picture. He bent his head close to the image and studied it.

  ‘Where d’ya get this?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say, Mr Raymond,’ Riley said. ‘Please just answer the question.’

  ‘It’s Hungarian. From the studio of Jakab Mészáros.’ Raymond squinted. ‘One of his later creations. Made in the early sixties, I’d guess.’

  ‘So not an antique?’

  ‘No, but valuable. A marionette by Mészáros in good condition would be worth a thousand or more. A prime example, mint mind you, could go for upwards of ten thousand.’

  ‘Ten K for a toy?’ Riley said.

  ‘Not a toy, Mr Black Detective. A Mészáros is a creation. The man literally sacrificed his life making these puppets because the dust from working the wood gave him lung cancer. As the puppets filled with vigour, his own ebbed away. They eventually killed him.’

  Raymond had lost his mad demeanour. He handed back the picture and moved across the room to a large glass cabinet. A key came out from a pocket, and he slotted it into a lock in the door.

  ‘Can’t be too careful these days,’ he said, unlocking and opening the cabinet. ‘Best keep things safe. I discovered that the hard way years ago.’

  He reached in and lifted a large wooden puppet from a display stand. He turned and held out the puppet for Riley to examine.

  ‘It’s the same.’ Riley pointed to the articulating knees and elbows. ‘Apart from the face and the hair, it’s similar to the one we found.’

  ‘Every Mészáros puppet is an individual work of art. No two are alike.’

  ‘How much is it worth?’

  ‘This one isn’t for sale.’

  ‘Have you sold any like it recently?’

  ‘No, and if any were to come into my possession, I’d keep them rather than sell them on.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  Raymond took back the puppet and lowered it to the ground. He held the frame in his hands, his fingers delicately tugging at the control lines. Riley couldn’t help smiling as the puppet appeared to dance on the floor, transformed from a few pieces of wood into something almost alive. As he watched it move, he realised that Raymond’s skill as a puppeteer was considerable. The puppet jumped and skipped and did a little shimmy to the left before spinning round, and then, struck by some invisible object, it reeled over and fell to its knees. The hands rose to the face and the figure slipped to the floor, a falling star, a wilting flower, a dying swan. It twitched once and lay still, and Raymond’s voice lowered to a whisper.

  ‘And there you are…’ Raymond appeared to deflate in the same way as the puppet had and he stood frozen to the spot, the silence unbroken until after a few seconds he spoke again, matter-of-factly and without emotion. ‘Once the magic is gone, the poor creature is, like Jakab Mészáros, quite, quite, dead.’

  ***

  Savage was back in the crime suite, and Collier was reading the note left in the car door.

  ‘I don’t like it.’ Collier held out the note, now contained in a plastic bag and preserved as evidence. ‘Could have been written by anyone, even the killer.’

  ‘All the more reason to meet them,’ Savage said.

  ‘We’ll need Inspector Frey and the Force Support Group. I’d feel a lot better about it with a couple of officers hiding behind a nearby hedge.’

  ‘Suppose they’re spotted and scare off whoever left the note?’ Savage shook her head. ‘Can’t risk it, Gareth.’

  ‘You’re not going alone. I can’t sanction that.’

  ‘I’ll take Calter then. She’s more than a match for most people.’

  ‘I still want Frey and his squad parked up in a van a mile or so away, ready to swoop.’ Collier met Savage’s gaze. ‘Simply covering all the bases, right?’

  ‘Fine,’ Savage conceded. It wasn’t worth arguing with Collier. ‘As long as he stays out the way.’

  ‘If the letter writer is coming on foot, it’s a fair old walk.’ Collier strolled over to the whiteboard and looked at the map. ‘Two and a half miles from God’s Haven as the crow flies, cross country and in the dark. They must either be desperate to tell you something, or else they’ve got an ulterior and possibly sinister motive, right?’

  Savage didn’t answer.

  ***

  She went home late afternoon. Cooked a family dinner and afterwards spent a couple of hours dozing on the sofa. By eleven, she was back at the station. She found Calter alone, feet up on a desk, reading a newspaper.

  ‘Ready?’ Savage asked.

  ‘As ever.’ Calter was dressed for the occasion in dark hiking trousers and a chunky woollen jumper. She wore a pair of Magnum tactical boots on her feet. ‘Do you like my outfit?’

  ‘Yes. I’d have a word with Inspector Frey. He might be able to find a place for you in the FSG.’ Savage took in the empty room. ‘Talking of Frey, where is he?’

  ‘In position already. Said he wanted to make sure the team didn’t spook anyone.’

  ‘Good.’ Savage imagined Frey and his team clad in black and armed to the teeth. They’d certainly scare the living daylights out of anyone who came across them. ‘I just hope they don’t interfere.’

  They took a pool car and drove from Plymouth to the town of Ivybridge, heading north from there along a series of narrow lanes to the hamlet of Harford. A steep hill passed the little church and rose to the open moor, where the road ended at a cattle grid. Beyond lay a rough parking area. The car headlights picked out a No Camping sign and several sheep. The sheep trotted off into the darkness.

  Calter killed the engine and the lights. Clouds drifted overhead, the undersides tinged with a strange glow from a full moon hidden somewhere above. In the distance, a set of tall pines marked the location of the reservoir where the letter writer wanted to meet.

  ‘You think they’ll come?’ Calter said as they got out. ‘Or is this some kind of set-up?’

  ‘No idea, but it seems unlikely it would be a ploy by members of God’s Haven. Messing us around would only antagonise us and stimulate our interest. Besides, the first thing Clent knew was when we talked to him. He couldn’t have had the note written while we were with him.’

  ‘Unless the whole thing was pre-planned.’

  ‘On the off chance? I
doubt it.’

  They strolled away from the car and towards the pines. The moorland was monochrome under the wan light from above, the bracken, gorse, heather and low shrubs all painted with the same grey wash. After a few minutes, they reached the woodland. Through the dark trunks, there was a ripple of moonlight on the surface of the reservoir.

  ‘We’re here,’ Calter said.

  They stood in the darkness for several minutes, Savage scanning the horizon for signs of life, Calter keeping up a constant chit-chat on various subjects. The DS was keen to tell Savage about her latest beau, a regional Taekwondo competition in which she’d taken second place, and her punishing training schedule for an upcoming race across the moor. Eventually Savage looked at her watch. Thirty minutes had passed.

  ‘We’ll give it a little longer and then pack it in,’ she said.

  ‘They must have got cold feet.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Ten minutes later and Savage said they should call it a day. They walked back down the path, but as they approached the car, a cough came from next to a stone wall.

  ‘Police, right?’ a female voice said. ‘And there’s only the two of you?’

  ‘DI Charlotte Savage and DS Jane Calter. Nobody else.’

  A shadow slipped into view. Her slight figure suggested to Savage that she wasn’t much more than a girl.

  ‘You can call me Bathsheba.’

  ‘Bathsheba?’

  ‘From the Bible. She was seduced by King David. Some modern interpretations suggest she may not have given consent.’

  ‘She was raped?’

  ‘Religion is about holding power over people, and power leads to abuse. What happened to Bathsheba is merely illustrative of the way things are.’

  ‘And you? Were you abused?’

  ‘I passed you the note because I want you to know the truth about God’s Haven. It goes beyond what happened to me.’

  ‘We can start with you, though, can’t we?’

  ‘This isn’t about me. It’s about Abi. She trusted me and I let her down. I thought God’s Haven was a place we could be happy and live our dreams, but it turned into a nightmare and now she’s dead.’