by Sophie Green
Lil cut out the article and stuck it to her wall with all the other clippings from the stories that Randall Collar had written, and then she carried on reading until her eyelids grew too heavy and the print began to swim. At 10.25 p.m. Lil glanced at her clock, rested her head on one arm and fell asleep there at her desk, under the beam of the Anglepoise lamp.
Chapter 4
The Toymaker
The ghostly glow of a reflected street lamp bounced off the windows of 154c Wilderness Lane, the address for Abe Mandrel’s private investigations office. Nedly climbed up the old stairwell where the carpet had worn to dangerous threads in some places and one of the steps had been replaced with an ill-fitting old floorboard only slightly less rotten than the original stair would have been.
When he reached the third landing he faced the frosted glass with the newly repainted lettering announcing ‘Mandrel Investigations’. He wiggled his shoulders and then, grimacing, stuck his head through the door.
The street lamp outside shone through the slats of the blind that covered the window, striping the room with a cold pearly light. The newly acquired sagging leather settee where Abe sometimes slept was empty.
With a slurping sound Nedly’s body followed his head through the door and he made straight for the desk, where he could see files with papers spilling out. He summoned all his energy into the Anglepoise lamp that hung over the desk, and with a hum it came on. He gave himself an encouraging thumbs up. Laid out beside the files was a street map covered in crosses, and pinned to one corner was the mugshot of Cornelius Gallows. A note was stuck to it, which read simply, ‘WHERE IS HE?’ Nedly was just about to try to flap up the cover of one of the files to peer inside when he heard a low rumbling growl.
Instinctively he ducked down behind the desk and then slowly stood up again. A small sand-coloured mongrel stared up at him.
‘Hey –’ he began.
With the hair on her back all spiked up, Margaret looked like a miniature sharp-eared hyena. She flashed the whites of her eyes and her top lip began to curl, revealing tiny sharp teeth.
Nedly’s own eyes widened in return. ‘Hey, Margaret –’ he tried again, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.
Margaret emitted another low growl and pinned her ears flat to her head. Nedly held out a hand towards her and took a faltering step. Margaret stepped up the revs. Nedly put his foot back where it had come from.
Abe’s voice came from the bathroom. ‘What is it, girl?’
Nedly raised his finger to his lips. ‘Shhhh!’ he whispered, eyes darting to the door. ‘Please, don’t rat me out. I’m just here to see if Abe needs our help. I know you can’t understand me, but I mean you no harm.’ He backed away a little more. Margaret’s ears pricked up; she tilted her head to one side. ‘That’s a girl!’ Nedly beamed and moved forward again. Margaret peeled her lips all the way back until her little pointed fangs were on full display. ‘OK – I’ll just stay here in the corner. You won’t even know I’m here.’
As he shrank back towards the desk the bulb in the Anglepoise went out with a ping.
There was a flushing sound followed by the running of water and then Abe Mandrel walked out of the bathroom. His broad chin was covered in grizzled stubble and he had dark shadows under his eyes.
‘Everything all right out here?’ He rubbed Margaret’s head. ‘Something got you spooked?’
Margaret’s black eyes slid over to where Nedly stood.
Abe pummelled his own arms as though he was trying to knock the cold out of them. He tried to switch on the desk lamp but the bulb was dead and gone. He turned on the overhead light instead and started rummaging through drawers, looking for a replacement bulb. A cold sweat was beading on his brow. Nedly pressed himself into the space by the window.
Outside, snow was swirling thickly from the ink-black sky. A lone figure in a corduroy cap hurried along the pavement, hustled by a gusting wind that flapped her tatty coat-tails and pulled at her apron strings. Reaching the corner she skidded on a patch of ice and fell over. Groping frantically in the snow for her glasses, she found them, then scrambled back onto her feet.
She splashed through the slush and then, turning head-on into the blizzard, crossed onto Wilderness Lane and rang the buzzer for number 154c.
Nedly had to spring out of the way as Abe prised open the blades of the blind to see who was there. He sighed and pressed the door release.
‘Show them in, will you?’ he said to Margaret, and opened the frosted-glass door to let her out.
Margaret cast a last cynical look at Nedly and then tippy-toed her way out of the office and down the stairs.
Abe took a moment to look at his reflection in the cracked glass of his framed but expired private detection certificate. He rubbed his chin wearily with his left hand, blinked his bloodshot eyes and then slapped himself awake with his rubbery right palm. He straightened his owl-patterned tie, smoothed down his hair and then he sat at his desk. He looked mournfully into the bottom of his mug and downed whatever remained there with a shudder.
The old woman followed Margaret back into the office. Thin but crimped grey hair radiated from her head like ripples of cold seawater. Her face had the colour and texture of a dried fig, with a determined mouth and large expressive eyes that blinked a lot behind thick plastic-framed glasses.
She held her corduroy cap in one trembling hand and stepped forward. ‘I’m Yaroslava the toymaker,’ she told Abe. Her other hand was outstretched in frayed fingerless gloves. It was red with cold and the joints were swollen. Abe shook it gently with his rubber one.
She was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected texture. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ She blinked at him.
‘It’s a prosthetic,’ Abe explained.
‘Hmmm.’ She peered at it. ‘Can’t do much with it like that. Do the fingers even bend?’
‘The rubber hand is just for looks,’ said Abe. Pulling it off and revealing the Swiss Army hand beneath, he unfolded some of the tools and displayed them in a fan shape. ‘See, here I have a driving attachment, pen grip, letter opener, pliers, screwdriver …’ He didn’t mention the lock picker or the hot-dog holder.
The old woman nodded approvingly and took the seat opposite the desk, taking a firm hold of her own hands to stop them from shaking.
‘It’s cold out there,’ she tried to explain. ‘I could use something strong.’ She raised her eyebrows at Abe hopefully.
‘Strong coffee is the best I can do these days, old-timer,’ he replied. ‘But it’s good and hot … at least it was.’ He felt the jug. ‘It’s strong, at any rate.’
‘So,’ he continued, ‘you didn’t come out here at this late hour to talk about my hand.’
‘I did not.’ The toymaker rummaged in the wide pocket of her apron and pulled out a dog-eared card. It read: ‘Absolom Mandrel, Private Investigator. Civil – Domestic – Criminal No case too small. Fully licensed, round-the-clock service’. The address was beneath it.
Abe sighed. That card was years old.
‘I got this from the landlord over at the Mingo, it’s a two-bit dive for end-of-the-roaders.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘Indeed. You live there. In the basement.’
‘I have a suite.’ Abe tried to sound sure about that.
The toymaker made a cheeky hmpfh noise.
No sooner had he passed her the coffee than the woman knocked it back, greedily wiped her mouth and held the mug out for another. Abe tipped a second slug into it and then waited. ‘When you’re ready, Ms … Toymaker,’ he said. ‘Tell me what I can do for you.’
Margaret took up a position at the foot of the chair and stared intently at the toymaker, who blinked nervously.
‘Don’t mind Margaret,’ Abe said, flipping open his notebook and clicking on his pen. He cleared his throat. ‘So … you’re a toymaker?’
‘In a manner of speaking. For many years I have worked at the doll hospital out on Hen Road. Do you know i
t?’
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘I have spent most of my life fixing broken limbs, sewing tiny clothes, pasting eyes back in and threading hair, but now people don’t even have the money to repair their toys. The doll hospital was closed down several months ago. I couldn’t afford the rent, you see?’
‘Right,’ said Abe quietly, unclicking the pen and resting it on the pad.
‘So, it should be empty. But it’s not. A man is there. He arrives at all times of the day and night.’ She wagged a crooked finger at Abe. ‘There is something funny going on. I don’t know what he’s up to but I don’t like the look of him.’
Abe closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘What does he look like?’
‘He is a thick-set man, with a potato-shaped head covered in curls of oily black hair. His jaw is wide and dusted with short black stubble, and several of his stubby fingers bear chunky gold rings. His suit is expensively cut but made of garish orange tweed with yellow threads, and he wears a ridiculous tiny hat that is much too small for his head.’
‘You have an impressive eye for detail.’
‘I do,’ agreed the toymaker. ‘But the most notable thing about him is his eyes. They are tiny and close together but they sparkle blue, like sapphires.’
Abe added ‘blue eyes’ to the mental list, which so far contained: average height, overweight, dark hair, money. ‘So what did this man want?’
The toymaker shrugged dramatically. ‘Who knows! Not me. They’ve changed the locks – suddenly I’m not allowed in there any more.’
‘Could this man, the one you don’t like the look of, could he be the new owner of the doll hospital?’
The toymaker snorted. ‘Possibly. But isn’t it more likely that he is up to no good – perhaps even stealing?’
Abe stifled a yawn in his sleeve.
‘And that’s not all,’ the toymaker continued desperately, ‘the place, it’s changed. It’s not welcoming to me. It’s like it’s …’ She paused and flapped her hands in the air a couple of times, unable to find the words. The coffee pot gave a menacing gurgle, making everyone jump. Nedly pushed himself further into the corner.
Abe glanced round and loosened his collar. ‘What kind of business do you think this new person is in?’
‘Same business. Toys. I saw a whole boxful, newly arrived. Strange toys, not toys for children.’
Abe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Look, I’m sorry you lost your job.’
‘Whole life.’
‘Well, all right, that too. But has any crime been committed?’
The toymaker shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, I’m just a poor toymaker. You’re the investigator: investigate.’
‘I’ll do it!’ Nedly offered without thinking.
Margaret cocked her ears and stared at the apparently empty corner while the light bulb over the desk flickered. The toymaker’s gaze shot around the room. Nedly clamped a hand over his mouth and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. He closed his eyes, willing the light to stay on and tried to sink further into the wall.
Abe closed his notebook and stole a glance at his watch. ‘Is that the end of the story?’ he asked hopefully. The toymaker nodded. ‘OK, let me get this straight. The case you want me to investigate is someone, maybe even the owner of the premises, occupying the building, but not specifically taking or damaging anything that you can name, but nevertheless you think something is going on.’
The toymaker hesitated. She looked as though she wanted to add something, but it was something she was afraid to say out loud and so she agreed, ‘That’s the gist of it, detective.’
‘OK, I’ll tell you what, I’ll look into it, and let you know if I find anything.’
‘That’s what the police said.’
‘I’ll bet.’
The old woman stood up and turned to go, but stopped mid-step. She let her head bow for a second and then with a stiff breath she pulled her coat round her and tightened her belt.
Abe got up out of his chair. ‘Are you all right? Is there anything else? Something you aren’t telling me?’
The toymaker looked down at her boots. ‘I’m an old woman, detective. This cold goes right through my bones; sometimes I get the shivers – that’s all.’
‘Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?’
‘I’m going to head over to the shelter in St Bartholomew’s. Don’t worry about me.
Here.’ She rummaged in her apron pocket and pulled out a couple of coins and laid them on the table. ‘For expenses.’
‘Keep it. We’ll settle up after. If there’s anything in it,’ he added.
‘Very well.’ She pocketed the coins again and pulled the cap back on over her hair. Abe held the door open for her. As she turned to go she said, ‘Be careful, detective.’
Abe yawned discreetly into his collar. ‘You can count on it.’
Chapter 5
The Doll Hospital
Lil put the kettle on to boil and dropped a couple of slices in the toaster. The breakfast things were all out on the table and the eggs were bobbing around in the pan like bald men in a Jacuzzi.
‘Take a look at this article.’ She pulled out a chair for Nedly to sit down on and spread out the morning edition of the Klaxon in front of him. ‘Fresh off the press this morning.’
Investigation Terminated as Silverman Death Recorded as Suicide
At 4 p.m. yesterday, Morpheus Silverman, chief financier at Peligan City Savings and Loans, died after falling forty-eight storeys from the roof of his former place of work. His body was discovered on the pavement below by bystanders moments later.
Police had been alerted to the incident shortly before when the building’s alarm was set off. It was originally thought that an intruder had entered the building but no other person was found on the premises, so it is believed that Silverman himself may have activated the alarm. Although no suicide note has been located, Peligan City Police Department have closed the case after releasing a statement late last night maintaining that Silverman took his own life.
Silverman was known to have bankrolled some of the most controversial projects Peligan has ever seen, including the Golden Loop of super-casinos in the city centre. He was also a major investor in the privatisation of Fellgate Prison and was rumoured to be behind a scheme to repurpose the old asylum on Bun Hill following a second fire there three months ago.
Lil threw a couple of teabags in the pot. ‘I think we should look Silverman up, while we’re at the library. It sounds like he had his fingers in a lot of pies. If we cross-reference him with Gallows we might get a connection. Plus,’ she added darkly, ‘if our theory is correct and Gallows is up to his old tricks then he has another spook on his books. We should check the obituaries.’
Nedly nodded.
‘So?’ Lil swiped the Klaxon and returned it to her pocket, then sat down beside him with two rounds of freshly made toast, which she began cutting into soldiers. ‘Fill me in. How did you get on at Abe’s?’
‘He was still there but I think I got away with it.’ Nedly shifted uncomfortably.
‘So, what did you get?’
‘Maybe something, maybe nothing. This lady came in; she wanted Abe to go and check out this old doll hospital, out on Hen Road. She thought something was going on there.’
‘What did you think?’
Nedly shrugged. ‘I’m not sure Abe is going to follow it up but someone should – she seemed – yurghk!’ His eyes jumped out of their sockets as Naomi whisked into the kitchen and pushed his chair back under the table, half embedding him amongst the breakfast things. Lil watched him disappear as he wilted to the floor.
‘What did I think about what?’ Naomi seemed completely unfazed by her proximity to Nedly; she showed no signs of the creeps most people felt, or the shiver-inducing icy chill. She stood, her hands still on the back of the chair, looking down at Lil with a worried frown.
Lil shuffled through possible clever comebacks and settled on
a weak ‘I thought you’d gone to work already?’.
‘I’m leaving now. So who were you talking to?’
‘Myself.’
Naomi gave her a considered look. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Fine. I was –’ What was she doing? ‘I was just running some lines from this film we saw yesterday at the picture house.’
‘We? You’ve made a friend who likes the same films you do?’ Naomi looked amazed. Lil rolled her eyes; it wasn’t that unlikely. ‘That’s great!’ She gave Lil’s chin a soft pinch and tilted her head up so she could look her in the eye. ‘So, does this new friend have a name?’
‘Nedly.’
‘Very unusual. What’s he like?’
‘He’s great.’ Lil glanced down to where Nedly was sitting under the table, his arms wrapped round his knees, looking traumatised. ‘He’s … different.’
‘Well.’ Naomi tucked Lil’s hair behind her ears and gave her a kiss on the forehead. ‘I’m really glad. You should invite him round some time. We could get a pizza in and all watch a film together.’
Lil smiled: they had done that a couple of times already. ‘Sure.’
‘Well, OK then. Have to fly now.’
Lil waited until she heard the squeal of the ancient fan belt from her mum’s car and then ducked down to check on Nedly. ‘It’s OK. She’s gone.’
He crawled out and brushed the non-existent crumbs off his jeans. He was smiling widely now.
Lil grinned back without knowing why. ‘What’s funny?’
‘Nothing, it’s just, your mum!’
‘I know.’ Lil snorted. ‘She’s so weird.’
Nedly shook his head, still beaming. ‘No, I mean, she knows my name now; she knows I exist.’
Hen Road was just round the corner from the Picture House on Spooner Row. It was a quiet area of small-scale warehouses and lock-ups, most of which were closed down and out of business, so the snowfall was untrodden until Lil left her footprints there as she and Nedly approached their destination.
Its frontage was shop-like with a small door and a large window, across which the words ‘Peligan City Doll Hospital’ had once been neatly painted, although now the lettering was chipped and turned dull with age. Lil cupped her eyes to block out the glare of the snow and suckered her hands onto the glass.