Puppet: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

by Mark Sennen

  ‘You were with Abi?’

  ‘We weren’t a couple, if that’s what you mean, but we were friends. I persuaded her to come here with me. I thought it would get her away from a particular type of man she seemed to attract.’

  It clicked then. This was the girl from the house in Molesworth Road. The one Paulie Kenner had mentioned.

  ‘You already knew about God’s Haven, though?’

  ‘Through a friend of a friend. I visited and was impressed, so I put my name down on a waiting list. Normally you have to pay, but they said I might qualify for what they call a Higher Scholarship. I had an interview with Marcus Clent, and he told me I’d passed with flying colours. My enrolment date was set for April but then I met Abigail. Of course, I wanted her to come too, and when I brought her along to a meeting, they said that wouldn’t be a problem. So when I moved here she came with me.’

  ‘And what happened then? What did you do at God’s Haven?’

  ‘We were given a nice room, and Clent assigned us to various menial STFGs.’

  ‘STFGs?’

  ‘Skilled Task Force Groups. Everything at God’s Haven has a label or a title. You get good at remembering all the acronyms. In this case, the “skilled” part was supposed to convince us we were doing something meaningful, but actually we were cleaning toilets, digging the garden, serving food. Still, I had no complaints, it was fun, and I was glad to be part of something.’

  ‘And did Abi feel the same way?’

  ‘Yes, especially after Clent chose her to be one of his SAs.’ A smile, white teeth in the dark. ‘Sorry, that’s Super Aides. Basically SAs do Clent’s bidding. They run special errands and carry important messages but are seen as a higher rank to the regular God’s Haven folk. And it’s no coincidence, seeing as they’re Clent’s personal assistants, that they’re all female, young and pretty.’

  ‘And Abi was happy with this?’

  ‘Yes. She loved the attention, loved that people looked up to her. It made her feel important. From what she told me, her parents didn’t think much of her. They were always coming down on her for her life choices.’

  Savage winced. The Duffys loved their daughter, but Abigail hadn’t realised. If only they’d been more vocal about their love and less critical of her behaviour, then perhaps she’d never have left home.

  ‘Were the community aware Abigail was a missing person, that people were looking for her?’

  ‘Yes. Residents were given specific instructions that if anyone asked, we were to say we’d never seen her. Clent said Abi was an adult and had a right to live her life and follow her beliefs without interference.’

  ‘And you agreed with that?’

  ‘At the time, sure.’ Bathsheba hesitated. ‘Later though, I realised the whole thing was wrong for both of us. I anonymously sent a picture of Abigail to you lot to let you know she was alive.’

  Savage had heard nothing about a picture. It wasn’t in the material Duffy had given her, and there was no mention of such a vital piece of evidence in the case files. She wondered if Bathsheba was making it up to absolve herself of blame.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘A few days before she went missing from God’s Haven. That was last November, about six months after we arrived. There was to be a ceremony, and Abi was to be right at the centre of it all. She seemed so happy about that, but at some point on the day before, when all the rehearsals were taking place, she slipped away unnoticed. Only in the evening did people realise. There was a right panic, Clent running around shouting, search teams sent out on foot and in cars.’

  ‘Are you suggesting people would have tried to prevent her from leaving had they known?’

  ‘She was an integral part of an important event. Plus, even though Abi had only been here for a few months, as an SA, she knew a whole lot of stuff which could have put the community in jeopardy.’

  ‘Why didn’t you try to leave God’s Haven yourself?’

  ‘I wanted to, but there are people here I care about, and I’d feel guilty if I ran out on them. Also, it sounds crazy, but… well… I…’ Silence from the girl for a few seconds. ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘There’s no need to. I think I understand.’ Savage knew a little about the psychology involved in cult membership, and as in other types of abusive relationships, there were many reasons why people chose not to leave. She weighed her next words carefully. ‘Look, you really need to come into the station and make a statement. We can keep it anonymous, but this is no place to talk.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ll be missed.’

  ‘You’re not allowed out?’

  ‘Only on official God’s Haven business.’

  At that moment, there was a rumble to Savage’s right, headlight beams bouncing up and down and swathing off the moorland. The beams cut across the car park. She put up a hand to shield her eyes as a car drew up. A police car.

  Savage lowered her arm as both front doors opened and two uniformed officers got out. A torch flashed up in her face and then at Calter’s.

  ‘What’s going on?’ the officer said. ‘There’s no overnight parking here, no overnight anything if you get my drift.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, officer,’ Savage said. She pulled out her warrant card. ‘DI Savage, Crownhill.’

  ‘Oh.’ The torch flashed at Calter. ‘And she’s with you?’

  ‘Yes. We were—’

  Savage turned as a second police vehicle roared into view, this one the FSG van. Black figures emerged from the rear, Inspector Frey springing from the shotgun seat. The armed officers fanned out across the car park and adopted a combat stance, weapons raised.

  ‘Charlotte,’ Frey said. ‘Are you OK?’

  The headlights from the van picked out the wall Bathsheba had been standing beside, but the girl had dissolved into the shadows.

  ‘Fuck,’ Savage said.

  Chapter 17

  The visit from the police had unsettled Raymond, and he was having trouble concentrating as he potted through the shop in the early morning. He had dozens of books to price up but was finding it hard to focus. He thought about how the two officers had ferreted their way through the shop and asked a myriad of questions. Bit his lip. Reached for a trio of hardbacks.

  A Brief History of the Roman Empire. The 1983 AA Driver’s Guide to Great Britain and Ireland. 101 Knots for the Weekend Sailor.

  Raymond swivelled round and checked the room in case somebody was peeking. Then he took the book of knots and placed it spine-in on the nearest bookcase. The Black Detective and his sidekick, DC Double Dimwit, had shown such interest in the puppet room that it paid to take precautions.

  They know all about you. Everything.

  ‘Not everything, Jakab. Not my secrets.’

  Raymond’s gaze roved to the ceiling. There were ropes and things up there. Snatch blocks, cleats and jammers bought from a chandlery. Assorted paraphernalia. If the police found out about his equipment, then they’d draw the wrong conclusions.

  Misconstrued.

  ‘Exactly. Nothing wrong with a bit of dangle dangle. An hour or two of fun with a lady of the night. All paid for, Jakab. My money for her time. A fair exchange.’

  But try to explain the dangle dangle to them. After what happened before.

  Yes, that could be a problem. It might be safer if he took everything down and hid it away. That would be annoying because he had something planned for Saturday, and it would be a shame to put it off. He thought about the girl he had in mind, thought about her hanging from the beams, all lovely and naked.

  You naughty boy.

  Raymond quivered as a tremor ran up from his fingers and down to his toes. He smiled and, unable to help himself, reached for 101 Knots for the Weekend Sailor.

  ***

  Riley slept badly, tossing and turning for half the night. What sleep he got was full of dreams of Thomas Raymond and the little puppet dancing. Only the little puppet wasn’t so little. Instead it was a lumbering giant chasing Ril
ey through the deserted streets of Plymouth. He tried to run, but there were strings attached to his arms and legs, Raymond now in control.

  Since he couldn’t sleep, he rose early and brought Julie breakfast in bed.

  ‘Your last day at work, so I thought we should celebrate,’ he said, setting the tray down. ‘Mind you, another couple of weeks and you’ll be missing it.’

  Julie ran NeatStreet, a charity that worked with disadvantaged youngsters. She was about to go on maternity leave, her post filled by a coworker.

  ‘You reckon?’ Julie shifted a little and made herself comfortable. ‘I think I’ll have enough on my plate to keep me occupied, don’t you?’

  Riley conceded the point, but in truth he had no idea. They had a shelf burdened with parenting books, but he’d concluded that theoretical knowledge on child rearing was about as useful as believing a policing manual would help when facing a drug-crazed scrote armed with a knife. In both cases it was real-world experience that got you through.

  ‘What?’ Julie said.

  She’d spotted the grin on his face so he explained his thinking.

  ‘You’re not suggesting our baby is in the same league?’

  ‘No.’ Riley laughed as he passed Julie a plate of toast. ‘But I’m wondering if there’s a market for a child-friendly Taser.’

  At the station, he briefed Collier on the visit to Oddities. The office manager was sceptical, raising an eyebrow at the suggestion that Raymond might be involved. Riley showed him the historical interview transcripts Enders had discovered.

  ‘There’s a connection, and he’s got previous,’ Riley said. ‘He tied the girl up, used her like a puppet. Smeeton’s tied up by the neck, a puppet is found close by, and Raymond has one of those puppets in his shop. Who’s to say he didn’t or doesn’t have others?’

  ‘He used the girl for sexual gratification and the initial motivation was revenge. I don’t see how the crime could be linked to Smeeton.’ Collier handed Riley back the transcripts. ‘And we’re talking over twenty-five years ago. I can’t see it.’

  Riley stood for a moment. Collier wasn’t in charge of the investigation, the SIO on the Smeeton case was Davies. Nevertheless, Collier was highly experienced and rarely wrong. Riley could overrule him, but for now he let it lie. He strolled over to his desk and sat and kicked back for a moment, trying to work out what to do next.

  Thomas Raymond was a complex character. Riley wondered if the weird creepiness was an affectation, something the man put on as protection. According to the records, he’d been locked away in a secure unit for fifteen years. Such a long spell inside would cause profound changes in anyone, and if you went in normal, you’d sure as hell come out half crazy. Perhaps being labelled as mentally ill meant Raymond had to conform to what was expected of him. Pretending he was of diminished intellect, he was able to pass off his crime as not his fault. It was undoubtedly what those in charge of his treatment would have wanted, and it suited the whole agenda around unfathomable crimes. If a person was mentally ill, a heinous act was explainable and to some extent understandable. But the opposite applied if a person was sane because then the act came from rational thought and a normal person. That was unpalatable and disturbing.

  Riley logged into his terminal. A search for Jakab Mészáros brought up a short, incomplete Wikipedia page on the man and his art. Mészáros, it appeared, was revered not only for the beautiful hand-crafted puppets he made but also for the performances he’d put on. Riley clicked play on a short black-and-white movie and watched a wooden figure dance across the screen. The puppet spun and jumped and skipped. It was almost impossible to imagine the skill involved. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said the whole thing was CGI’d, but of course, Mészáros was working long before computer animation.

  He read on. Mészáros’ life was, like a lot of geniuses, a sad one. He hadn’t gained recognition during his lifetime and had died penniless in what was back then called a lunatic asylum. The cause of death was, as Raymond had said, lung disease brought on by exposure to wood dust. Riley was more interested in why Mészáros was in an asylum rather than a hospital, but the page had nothing on that. Before he was incarcerated, Mészáros had written a book, self-proclaimed as the definitive work on puppetry. In the book, he explained what it took to be a great puppeteer and how, by making his own puppets, he imbued his creations with a living spirit, a part of him. Back then, such a theory might have been enough to get you locked away, but if so, it had brought a cruel end to an accomplished artist.

  At the bottom of the page there was a small paragraph about the value of Mészáros’s puppets. Raymond had been right. In mint condition they were selling for astonishing figures. That being the case, why had somebody discarded one near the body of Dave Smeeton?

  Enders came across with his second breakfast: a BLT sandwich and a carton of orange juice.

  ‘Any luck?’ he said as he munched on the sandwich, tomato sauce dripping out the side. ‘Diffyousdiffcoverffanyffing?’

  ‘You and Thomas Raymond, hey? Separated at birth.’ Riley shook his head. ‘If you’re asking whether I’ve discovered anything, well, only this.’

  ‘That’s him? Mészáros?’ Enders squinted at the screen. To the right of the Wikipedia article there was a picture. Mészáros had short, black hair and a trimmed beard. Dark eyes. ‘Evil looking bugger. A jury would convict on his appearance alone.’

  ‘Except the dead don’t commit many crimes and we certainly can’t arrest them.’

  ‘Could there be a link between Smeeton and Raymond? Drugs or something?’

  ‘Collier doesn’t think so.’

  ‘What about if Smeeton had stolen something from the shop in the same way Lena Allen did all those years ago? Raymond got mad – or rather, madder – and went after Smeeton. He left the puppet as a calling card.’

  ‘And we found it and came straight to his door?’

  ‘He wanted to be caught. These nutters always do.’

  ‘I don’t buy it and I’m not sure Raymond is as crazy as he makes out. If he was involved, he wouldn’t leave such an incriminating piece of evidence at the scene, especially since he told us how valuable the puppets are.’

  ‘So the puppet has nothing to do with him?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Square one then.’

  ‘We’ll find out more after today’s little event.’

  ‘Whaffsthatffthenff?’

  Riley looked up at Enders. The DC was taking another bite of the sandwich. Pink bacon and red sauce. A reminder of things to come.

  ‘Smeeton’s post-mortem,’ Riley said.

  ***

  Savage didn’t wait for an email from Marcus Clent. She headed back to God’s Haven at nine-thirty the following morning, and this time, as well as Calter, she brought along three other detectives and a squad car packed with uniformed officers.

  ‘Show him we mean business.’ Calter had made no secret of the fact she despised Clent, and now she leaned forwards, determined. ‘Kick some butt. I love it, ma’am.’

  Savage didn’t see it quite like that, but she was determined to question some of the other residents and find out if Bathsheba’s account was true. If Clent objected, then perhaps some butt-kicking would be in order.

  The three-car convoy swept up the driveway and turned into the car park. Calter was out before Savage had pulled on the handbrake. The other detectives were close behind, and Savage followed them as they clattered through the doors into the reception area. Charlene Golding was behind the desk, and she looked up in surprise.

  ‘What the…?’ she said.

  ‘We need to speak to Mr Clent,’ Savage said. ‘Now. No excuses, no delays.’

  ‘He’s at a prayer circle. He can’t be—’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Savage walked past the reception desk and pushed open the door to the office. Clent sat on one of the enormous sofas, a laptop on the low table in front of him. He hunched forwards, his fingers flying over the keyboard.


  ‘Charlotte!’ Clent smiled and hit the return key with a flourish. ‘This is unexpected yet pleasant.’

  ‘You told us Abigail Duffy was only here for a few weeks. That was a lie. She stayed for over six months, a fact I’m sure we’d have discovered had we been allowed to talk to Haven residents.’

  ‘Please.’ Clent gestured at the sofa opposite. ‘No need to get angry. Let’s clear this up.’

  Savage turned to the other detectives. ‘Start interviewing any residents you can find. Stress non-cooperation will result in a trip to the station and charges for obstruction.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Clent stood and beckoned Savage over once more. He raised his arms and smiled. The salesman making a pitch before closing a deal. ‘I’ve asked everybody to help with your enquiries. Every door at God’s Haven is open, every member of our community ready to offer you all the information you need.’

  Savage moved across. She let Clent sit back down and then lowered herself to the sofa. Calter sat beside her.

  ‘You concede Abigail was not a casual visitor but stayed here for an extended period?’

  Clent bowed his head. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why the deceit? Considering the situation, it’s highly suspicious.’

  ‘When you turned up yesterday, you took me by surprise. I needed space to think and time to reassure the community.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the future. A crisis like this can threaten the existence of a tight-knit group of people. As confidence flows away, belief can too. I was worried.’

  ‘This is a murder investigation, Mr Clent. Your concerns shouldn’t have taken precedence.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I can see that now.’ Clent smiled and turned his hands palms up. ‘What can I say? I can only apologise and promise that from now on I’ll cooperate fully.’

  ‘OK.’ Savage couldn’t see beyond the mask. Was Clent genuine or was this another attempt to placate her? ‘When did Abi leave God’s Haven?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly, to be honest.’

  ‘You’re lying, Mr Clent. Abigail was taking part in some sort of important event to be held on the following day. She was central to it. How can you forget that?’