Puppet: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

by Mark Sennen

  ‘Sorry.’ Clent held his hands up again. Another apology. ‘I was hoping to avoid the details. I don’t believe they have any bearing on the poor girl’s murder.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Now tell me when she left.’

  ‘It was the first Saturday in November last year.’

  ‘OK.’ Savage nodded. If Clent was telling the truth and Nesbit’s estimated time of death as five to six months ago was correct, then it was probable Abigail was murdered on or close to that date. Now she understood why Clent had been reluctant to be pinned down. ‘And what was this event?’

  Clent didn’t answer immediately but hesitated for several seconds as if summoning some inner strength. ‘It wasn’t simply an event, it was a wedding. An important wedding.’

  ‘Right.’ Savage had a notepad out. ‘And who was getting married?’

  ‘Abigail, of course.’

  ‘Abigail?’ Savage looked up. The mysterious informant hadn’t mentioned anything about a wedding, nothing about Abigail being the bride, just something to do with a ceremony. ‘But she’d only turned eighteen the previous month.’

  ‘Yes. So young to find your calling. I guess she was blessed.’ The flat smile again. ‘You see, she’d joined a dedicated Skilled Task Force Group and become one of my Super Aides. This was simply another step along the path to transcendence.’

  ‘Getting married leads to transcendence?’

  ‘A match between God’s Haven members is a union sanctified by God.’

  ‘And the tattoo on Abi’s thigh – Bride of Christ – I assume that was to do with the wedding, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was its significance?’

  ‘Commitment. Permanence. Faith.’ Clent shifted on the sofa, edgy, uncomfortable. As if a secret was out. ‘It demonstrated Abigail had all of those qualities.’

  ‘But it appears Abigail got cold feet at the last minute. She wasn’t ready for the commitment or the permanence, and she’d lost her faith, hadn’t she?’

  ‘I guess. Unfortunately, with all the preparations and rehearsals, nobody caught her mood, and by the time we realised she was gone, it was too late.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call the police at that point?’

  ‘Abigail was an adult, and to be honest we’ve had good reason to distrust the authorities in the past. We hoped she’d turn up, eventually.’

  ‘But she didn’t.’ Savage said flatly. ‘At least not until now. Good call, Mr Clent.’

  Clent raised his hands. ‘I trusted in God to bring Abigail home if He chose to do so.’

  Savage stared at Clent for a moment, finding it hard to believe the arrogance of the man. Hard, too, to keep her temper. She grimaced and let Calter take over.

  ‘OK, let’s move on, shall we?’ Calter said. ‘We’ll need to speak to Abigail’s intended, but for now perhaps you can fill us in on their relationship. For instance, did they seem like a good match? Were there any problems? Were there any other people involved who might have been jealous?’

  For a second, Clent appeared thrown, his confidence gone. His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t understand the question. Savage stepped back in.

  ‘Well, Mr Clent? Who was Abigail marrying?’

  Another pause. Then Clent opened his arms in a show of resignation.

  ‘Me,’ he said. ‘She was getting married to me.’

  It was all Savage could do to stop her mouth from dropping open. Beside her, Calter squirmed in her seat.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Savage said. ‘Abigail Duffy was marrying you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mr Clent, you are – what? – mid-forties?’

  ‘Forty-seven.’ Clent’s confidence was back. ‘To her eighteen, yes. A twenty-nine-year age difference. As far as I’m aware, there’s no law against it. Anyway, when I say marriage, it was more of a betrothal, a union. There was no actual legality to it.’

  ‘And she did this willingly?’

  ‘Of course.’ Clent waved at the window. ‘There are no fences here. This isn’t a prison. People can come and go as they please. Members may leave the community at any time.’

  ‘And that’s what she did. Abigail ran away.’

  ‘I can’t deny it, but I was surprised because she seemed to get on so well with everyone. I dare say she was a little nervous, confused, perhaps even scared.’

  ‘Of course she was bloody scared.’ Calter. Rigid with anger. ‘She was a young girl forced into marriage with a much older man.’

  ‘That’s not true. Her participation was entirely voluntary. I’d talked it through with her many times, and she was keen to become a Bride of Christ.’

  ‘It was coercion at best,’ Calter said. ‘You’re in a position of trust as the leader of this community, and it seems to me you abused your power.’

  ‘The union was the wish of God. It was approved by Him and blessed by Him. This was an honour for Abigail.’

  ‘Crap. You’re nothing more than a paedo who uses his power to abuse young girls. I’d like to—’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Savage held out a hand in front of Calter. Although she agreed with every word the DS had said, this wasn’t the way to conduct the interview. ‘Did you already have a sexual relationship with Abigail, Mr Clent?’

  ‘No. The night of the wedding would have been our first time together.’

  ‘You bloody sicko!’ Calter was on her feet, fists raised, closing the space between herself and Clent.

  ‘DS Calter! Outside! Now!’ Savage pushed herself up from the sofa and made for the exit. Calter followed close behind. Once they were in the car park, Savage turned on Calter.

  ‘That was out of order, Jane. As much as I share your disgust of what Clent has likely been up to here, we have to remain professional.’

  ‘Abuse, ma’am.’ Calter stared at the cluster of grey Victorian buildings. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting this place is riddled with it.’

  ‘I agree, but to get to the truth, we need a plan of action. First, I’m going to demand access to the whole of the community – buildings, people, records, everything. Second, I’m going to ask Mr Clent to come into the station for a formal interview under caution.’

  ‘Right.’ Calter appeared to relax a little. ‘And if he refuses?’

  ‘Then I’ll arrest him.’

  ***

  When Savage returned to Clent’s office, the French windows were half open. She dashed across the room, arriving at the doors in time to see a figure disappear round the corner of a nearby building.

  For a moment she hesitated. It would take her twenty or thirty seconds to get Calter, and Clent could be anywhere by then.

  ‘Shit,’ she said and rushed out through the doors.

  A veranda stretched the length of the office, and steps led down at the end to an area of lawn. A line of footprints lay dark in the morning dew. She ran alongside them until she reached a gravel pathway that rounded the adjoining building. Clent was ahead. He’d donned a waterproof, the hood pulled up, and was carrying a briefcase. His strides lengthened as he broke into a sprint. The path bent to the left and ran between two fields. On one side, tall wire mesh enclosed a large chicken run, while on the other, a line of electric pig netting marked the boundary to a muddy pasture. Clent didn’t hesitate. He leapt the electric netting and ran past a couple of surprised pigs.

  ‘Stop!’ Savage shouted.

  She was fifty metres back, but if Clent heard her, he took no notice. His pace had slowed a little because of the mud, and as Savage reached the pig netting, she figured she had a good chance of catching him up. She raised one leg, hoping to jump the fence like a hurdler, but the heel of her shoe brushed the top strand of wire and pulled it into the path of her following foot. She tripped and fell, sprawling into the muddy field. The next instant she was aware of a sudden pain around her ankle. She rolled over, realising her foot was caught in the wire, a stinging electric shock coming every half a second. She shook her foot free and pushed hers
elf up. Clent was at the far edge of the field, where a gate led to a wooded area. As he climbed the gate, Savage set off again, now wet and covered in mud.

  By the time she reached the gate, Clent was somewhere deep in the wood. On the other side of the gate, a dirt track followed the edge of a stream that cut down the hillside, the trees hugging the banks of a ravine. A smaller path threaded into the trees. She climbed over the gate and stopped and peered down at the ground. Footprints in the dark soil. He’d taken the track.

  She set off again at a jog, realising that somewhere ahead the woodland was going to meet the lane they’d driven up. There were open fields beyond the lane, and there’d be nowhere for Clent to hide. She redoubled her efforts and sprinted along the track. Then, a hundred metres farther on, the woodland ended at another gate. There was barbed wire coiled around the top bar, and on the far side of the gate, Clent stood in the lane with his hands on his hips, his face contorted in pain. There was a rip in his jeans and blood came from a gash in his calf where he’d cut himself on the wire.

  ‘OK,’ he said as Savage got to the gate. ‘I’m all done in.’

  ‘Stay right there, Mr Clent. You’re under arrest.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, but you’ve got this all wrong. God’s Haven had nothing to do with the death of Abigail. It’s outrageous to suggest we did.’

  ‘So why run then?’

  ‘I was scared. You probably know I’ve been in trouble before. You have to understand that was a past life, a past me. The Marcus Clent you see before you is a very different person. God changed me and he can change anyone. That’s why I hate to see God’s Haven threatened.’

  ‘Nobody’s threatened God’s Haven. We just want to discover the truth.’

  ‘I understand. The truth is all any of us want.’

  ‘Let’s continue this later, Mr Clent.’ Savage put out her hands, trying to work out a way of getting over the gate safely. ‘Somewhere where we can get your leg patched up.’

  ‘Sure.’ Clent turned as a car sped down the lane. The young woman at the wheel slammed on the brakes and stopped next to Clent. He opened the passenger door and waved at Savage. ‘Much later, right?’

  Clent got in and beamed through the windscreen as the car pulled away, Savage wrong-footed and on the wrong side of the gate.

  Chapter 18

  Interviewing the residents took all day Thursday and most of the following morning. When Savage returned to God’s Haven close to midday on Friday, she found Collier, on a rare outing from the station, ticking off the last few names on a checklist. Calter, having sat in on most of the interviews, was sceptical of the entire operation.

  ‘So far everyone has said exactly the same thing,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps spouted would be a better word. It’s like they’re reading from a cue card.’

  ‘Clent briefed them on Wednesday night,’ Savage said. ‘I’m sure of it. That’s why he dismissed us with all the crap about a prayer circle. Whatever meeting they held consolidated their responses.’

  Collier flipped a page over on the pad on his clipboard. Lines of shorthand in pencil dotted the paper. ‘According to nearly every resident, after Abigail went missing, Clent was upset. He spent the next three days at prayer in the hall, only taking a break for a brief nap or to go to the toilet.’

  ‘Good to know even the chosen have to take a crap,’ Calter said.

  ‘On the day Abi disappeared, everyone insists he wasn’t out of sight for more than a few minutes at a time, neatly providing him with a cast-iron alibi.’

  ‘Because these God-fearing people don’t lie, right?’ Calter shook her head. ‘The whole thing is a bloody joke.’

  ‘There is this.’ Collier pointed to a table where a picture frame lay face up. Inside was a panoramic photograph of a crowd of people. ‘It was taken last summer and shows all the residents of God’s Haven except Abigail Duffy.’

  Savage stared at the picture. It showed three rows of people lined up on a grassy bank to the front of the complex. On the far left, the hexagonal tower with the white cross rose in the background. However, a tiny portion of the tower was missing where it intersected with the top row of residents, one person snipped from the image.

  ‘Charlene Golding says the missing resident is Abigail,’ Collier said. ‘I put it to her it was done to obstruct our enquiries, but she insists it happened shortly before Abigail disappeared, and both she and Clent were mystified as to who’d defaced the photo. Afterwards, Clent preached it had to be the work of God, a warning that those who rejected God’s word would be cast from the promised land. For what it’s worth, several residents have confirmed Golding’s account. But, of course, we don’t even know if the person cut out was Abigail. They could all be lying.’

  ‘It was Abi,’ Savage said. ‘But it wasn’t God who removed her. It was Bathsheba.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl I met last night. She claimed to have sent a picture of Abi to the police. Perhaps it was the only way she could get an image of her.’

  ‘But the team at Exeter never received a picture.’ Collier spread his hands. ‘If there’d been one, it would have completely changed the course of the investigation.’

  ‘Well, if she’s telling the truth, then it must have got lost somehow.’

  Collier looked askance. In his structured world, such things didn’t happen.

  ‘Ma’am?’ DC Louise Robertson, a young transferee from the midlands, had joined them. She looked to the back of the room, where an elderly gentleman was slowly making his way to the exit, hobbling with the aid of a stick. ‘I’ve just finished talking to that old bloke. His account of what happened when Abigail went missing is gold dust.’

  ‘Go on,’ Savage said.

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure he’s quite with it, but whatever Clent told him to say, he’s completely forgotten. Turns out the wedding ceremony was scheduled to go ahead even though Abigail had fled.’

  ‘How come? I’d have thought a bride was essential for a wedding.’

  ‘That’s the thing, there was a bride. In fact there were two other brides.’

  ‘Two?’ Savage said. Robertson nodded.

  ‘Figures,’ Calter said. ‘The girls at the tattoo parlour, remember? Toby Barrows said there were three of them on the same day.’

  ‘Yes,’ Savage said. ‘BOC. Bride of Christ. Only now we’ve got two more than we initially thought. Whatever, all three of them must have been coerced, never mind what Clent said about commitment and faith and all that crap. The pressure to conform to the wishes of the community would have been huge. They had to go along with what was expected or get out.’

  ‘I’ve got their names.’ Robertson looked down at a scrap of paper. ‘Fiona Jones and Isobel Anderson. After Abigail had vanished, the other two girls took part in a full-scale rehearsal for the ceremony. Music, singing, white dresses, the lot.’

  ‘So the entire community is complicit in lying about what happened, including the grooms.’

  ‘Not grooms, ma’am, groom singular. Marcus Clent was the intended for Fiona, Isobel and Abigail.’

  ‘Jesus. You’re joking?’

  ‘No.’ Robertson looked back as the old man disappeared through the exit. ‘And the Son of God didn’t get up to half of what Clent was intending.’

  ‘Fiona and Isobel.’ Collier tapped his pencil on his clipboard. ‘They’re not on this list.’

  ‘No,’ Robertson said. ‘Because according to our witness, a few hours after Abi left, the two girls disappeared too.’

  ‘Shit,’ Savage said.

  ‘There’s a Mr and Mrs Anderson on my sheet, as well as an Ava and Mia Anderson,’ Collier said. ‘But they haven’t been interviewed yet. Presumably they’re Isobel’s parents and siblings.’

  ‘Parents?’ Calter was spitting. ‘They colluded in this wedding sham?’

  ‘They’re listed as residents, so it looks like it.’

  ‘Fetch Charlene Golding,’ Savage said. ‘I want to know where
the parents and the girls are.’

  When Golding came over, Savage put the question to her: Where were Fiona Jones, Isobel Anderson and Isobel’s parents? Golding looked blank for a moment until Collier coughed in the background and muttered something about obstructing police enquiries.

  ‘They’re not here.’ The voice was small and meek, the woman visibly shrinking. ‘They left.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Fiona and Isobel.’

  ‘At the same time as Abigail?’

  ‘Later that day, in the evening.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘Marcus said they were possessed by the devil and intended to harm the community. By gaining our trust, they convinced us they were part of our fellowship, but they weren’t.’

  ‘Clent said that?’

  ‘He was only speaking what we all believed. Those three girls threw our gifts back at us. By walking out, they mocked our practices, led us to question our values. Marcus said we had to be strong and hold together. It was the only way for us to protect the community from the devil’s work.’

  ‘Isn’t it more likely all three girls simply didn’t want to get married to Marcus Clent? That they just ran away?’

  ‘Why would they do that? To be a bride to our leader is an honour and privilege. It is to serve him, to serve the community, and most of all to serve God.’

  ‘How old are Fiona and Isobel?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Golding lowered her head, avoiding Savage’s gaze. ‘Eighteen or nineteen.’

  ‘They’re younger than that, aren’t they?’ Savage recalled Toby Barrow’s comments that he’d refused to do the scarification of the letters on the two younger girls who’d accompanied Abi to the tattoo parlour. ‘Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen?’

  ‘Isobel is sixteen. I don’t know about Fiona.’

  ‘And Fiona’s parents aren’t residents here, right?’

  ‘Fiona turned up here alone. She’d run away from an abusive home up in London. We looked after her.’