Puppet: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

by Mark Sennen

  Raymond: No.

  Moles: Why not? I understand your father had called us five times in the previous six months concerning shoplifting.

  Wright: You didn’t want the police to come, did you Thomas? You had other plans for Lena.

  Raymond: I was cross but I didn’t want Lena to get into trouble. That’s why I didn’t phone 999.

  Wright: You didn’t call because you were going to punish her yourself, isn’t that the case?

  Mole: [whisper. Words not audible]

  Wright: OK, sir.

  [silence for several seconds]

  Moles: How long did you search for?

  Raymond: Thirty minutes.

  Moles: How can you be so precise?

  Raymond: The clocks in the clock room had been striking three when Lena ran off. When I gave up looking for her, they were marking half past the hour.

  Moles: And what did you do then?

  Raymond: I decided I’d better go and tell my father what had happened. He’d be angry but I thought it would be best to come clean about Lena. I knew he’d be in Ladbrokes until the afternoon’s racing was over. If he was losing there’d be trouble. If he was winning then there’d probably be even more trouble.

  Moles: How come?

  Raymond: He’d feel cheated out of the money he’d won and it would be all my fault. He’d be angry. Really angry.

  Moles: Did your father know about your relationship with Lena?

  Raymond: He knew there was a girl I was sweet on, but he didn’t know her name.

  Moles: Let’s explore that a little further. You’d been out with her a few times, right?

  Raymond: A couple.

  Moles: And had you got anywhere with her?

  Raymond: I don’t know what you mean.

  Moles: Come on, Thomas, I was young once. I remember what it was like to be twenty-four. A kiss and a nibble won’t do it. You wanted the full English breakfast with dessert to follow. Sausage and egg. Milk and honey. Lena was a beautiful girl and she turned you on. You asked her back to the shop because you thought you might be able to get inside her knickers.

  Raymond: That’s not true. Lena was the one who suggested she came round. Of course, the whole thing was a charade to enable her to pilfer some of our stock, but I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

  Wright: And that’s why you were angry, wasn’t it? It’s why you decided to turn the tables and make sure you were the one reeling her in, pulling the strings.

  Moles: Sergeant, please leave that for later.

  Wright: Sorry, sir.

  Moles: You invited her to the shop because you liked her, right?

  Raymond: I told you, she invited herself round, but yes I liked her.

  Moles: More than liked her. Would you say you were infatuated?

  Raymond: No.

  Moles: Lena’s friends say you’d been following her. That you hung round outside her house.

  Raymond: I was passing by.

  Moles: We have a note. [rustling] Is this your handwriting?

  Raymond: I suppose so.

  Moles: The note says, I quote, “Lena, I want you. Please be mine. Lena, I’ll love you. Until the end of time.” Not exactly Byron, but anyone who’s been smitten could understand the sentiment. Did you give her this note and others like it?

  Raymond: Yes.

  Moles: And flowers and gifts too?

  Raymond: Might have.

  Moles: All in the hope she might go out with you?

  Wright: A vain hope, you misguided idiot. Look at you. Who’d want anything to do with you? They’d have to be blind as well as olfactorily challenged. Christ, man, what the hell were you thinking?

  Moles: I dare say he thought he’d by some miracle succeed in wooing Lena, hey, Thomas?

  Raymond: Yes.

  Moles: Unfortunately you didn’t succeed. And that left you with a problem that you determined to solve in a most unfortunate fashion, right?

  Raymond: [silence]

  Taylor: [cough]

  Raymond: [sobbing]

  ***

  Raymond’s Oddities lay at the end of a small alleyway down in the Barbican area of the city. Riley and Enders parked in a nearby loading bay and walked along Southside Street, dodging through a stream of tourists.

  ‘It’s as if they own the place,’ Enders said, grunting as they stepped off the pavement to avoid a tour guide shepherding a large group of pensioners. ‘Years back, when the autumn came, we’d be shot of them until well after Easter. Now they’re here all year round. Mini breaks. Weekend getaways. Staycations.’

  ‘Well, it’s good for someone, I suppose.’

  ‘Good for this lot.’ Enders swept his hand at the fudge shops, ice cream parlours, gift shops, cafes and chippies. ‘A licence to print money. Almost criminal.’

  A little farther up the road, Enders darted left into a cut that narrowed into a tiny passage.

  ‘Doesn’t look as if Raymond’s Oddities is in the same league,’ he said.

  A sign in the shape of a hand with a pointing finger hung above the entrance. The cut was dark and the cool air within pungent with a heavy odour of urine. The alley was obviously an impromptu toilet for the beered-up nighttime crowd, and the smell alone would have been enough to stop most people venturing down to Oddities.

  A little way in, the alley widened and at the end was the shop. A small bay window stood to one side of a barred gate, an inner door beyond. The display wasn’t much to look at: some old ink prints of Devonport back in the nineteenth century; a pile of dusty books; a few pieces of china and silverware; several ancient Dinky cars; an old drum, the top head slack and wrinkled.

  ‘If this is the best Thomas Raymond can do, then I’m surprised he’s still in business.’ Riley pushed at the door and entered. A bell on a spring attached to the frame rang as Enders came in and closed the door. Riley stared into the gloom. ‘Doesn’t look like he spends much on lighting, either. Not exactly welcoming.’

  ‘No.’

  They stood in a small room lined with bookshelves, each shelf rammed with an array of ancient tomes. A passage led out of the room, and halfway down was an alcove containing a small table. Standing on the table was a large handbell next to a note layered with dust: RING FOR SERVICE.

  ‘Isn’t that what we did when we entered?’ Riley shook his head and then hefted the bell. It clanged out three times before he placed it back on the table.

  For a moment, there was only a dying echo as the rings reverberated deep inside the shop. Then came a shuffling, the sound of feet dragging, mumbled curses, before a shadow appeared at the end of the corridor.

  ‘What d’ya want then?’ A man in his fifties stumbled towards them in a series of spasms, his lumbering figure flopping from side to side. ‘Only it’s early closing today and I was about to lock up.’

  ‘Are you Thomas Raymond?’ Riley said.

  ‘What of it?’ Raymond looked up. He had a day’s growth of beard on his face, puffy cheeks, a slab of hair plastered down on the top of his head with something that looked like Vaseline. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Is this the way you treat all your customers, Mr Raymond?’ Riley pulled out his warrant card and held it up. ‘I’d have thought in these days of social media it might be better to be a little more courteous. Otherwise, you might find a load of negative reviews on Tripadvisor.’

  ‘Sod trip advice.’ Raymond craned forwards and peered at the card. He lifted his face and met Riley’s gaze. A grin showed yellow teeth and between them a tongue like a slice of cold pork. ‘You’re the black cop, aren’t you? Seen you on TV. You’re like that Black Farmer fellow from North Devon ’cept I bet you don’t make sausages, right?’

  Riley wasn’t sure what on earth Raymond was on about. ‘We’re here because you sell puppets, Mr Raymond. Marionettes. You’ve got a room full of them, I understand?’

  ‘I knew you’d be sniffing around eventually. Not rocket science, is it?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Riley wondered for a
moment whether somehow the details about Smeeton’s doll had got out.

  ‘Stands to reason, what with Lena and all. Dangle, dangle, jump and prance, twirl and smile and pout and dance. Easiest option for you to come and visit me. Conveniently find a few clues. Bang me up. Job done.’

  ‘We haven’t told you why we’re here yet.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. It’s about the girl. Abi Whatsherface. Daughter of that top copper. She turned up near Penn Haven, and now you need a goat to scape.’

  Riley took a half glance at Enders. The DC had his notebook out, the pencil flicking over the surface. He made a shrug as if he didn’t know what the hell Raymond was on about either.

  ‘And why would we think that?’

  ‘Makes sense, what with the dangle dangle and all.’ Raymond bowed his head. ‘But you’re wrong. Lena was an accident. I only wanted her to dance for me, and when she wouldn’t, I got angry. I didn’t mean to kill her. I did the crime and served my time, wouldn’t do something like that again. Never, ever, ever.’

  ‘Understood.’ Fruitcake, Riley thought. Complete and utter. The prison sentence had obviously done nothing for the man’s mental stability, and now the best he could hope for was care in the community; if he was lucky, the ear of his GP for fifteen minutes once every six months. ‘Are you on medication, Mr Raymond?’

  ‘I take a sleeping pill now and then.’ Raymond frowned. ‘An aspirin if I have a backache. A few tablets the doctor gave me.’

  ‘Tell me what the dangle dangle is and what it has to do with Abigail Duffy.’

  ‘No.’ Raymond smiled. Those teeth again. ‘You want to see the puppet room?’

  ‘Sure.’ Riley gave Enders another look. ‘Lead on.’

  ***

  Moles: Feeling better?

  Raymond: [grunting, sobbing noises]

  Moles: Good, good. We were always going to get to the truth eventually. Far better this way. I can’t promise anything like leniency, but judges and juries do always look favourably on a guilty plea.

  Taylor: You said previously that you’d talk to the prosecution about manslaughter.

  Moles: Talk, yes, but I made no promises and nor could I. That’s not the way the system works.

  Raymond: I didn’t mean to kill her.

  Moles: And you’ve been clear about that, so let’s try and understand precisely what happened shall we?

  Raymond: [affirmative grunt]

  Moles: Let’s recap. You went in search of your father. What happened when you found him?

  Raymond: I didn’t find him. Someone in the bookmakers said a fifteen to one outsider had come in for my father. He’d staked fifty quid which meant he was well in the money. He’d gone next door to the pub to celebrate and when I peeked in he was already well oiled. I decided not to tell him about what had happened.

  Moles: OK, so you returned to the shop. How did you know Lena was still there?

  Raymond: I could smell her.

  Moles: Sorry?

  Raymond: She was wearing strong perfume and as soon as I stepped in I realised she’d been down to the front of the shop. She probably tried the door but found it locked.

  Moles: So what did you do then?

  Raymond: I began to search again, going from the ground floor upwards. I locked the doors at the bottom of the rear staircases and used the main one. That way I knew she couldn’t slip down as I was coming up.

  Moles: Right. Go on.

  Raymond: When I got up to the second floor, I heard a noise above me. I realised she was in the attic rooms. I hadn’t thought to look there the first time I searched.

  Moles: What’s up there?

  Raymond: Storage mostly. Boxes of stuff we haven’t been able to sell or pieces awaiting valuation.

  Moles: There’s something else though.

  Raymond: Yes.

  [a long pause]

  Moles: We know all about it, Raymond, but I want to hear you tell me in your own words.

  Raymond: There’s a den. The attic has about a dozen rooms all jigsawed in under the roof. Up the far end is my secret space. I pulled a stack of crates across in front of the wall and obscured the doorway. I think my father had quite forgotten the room was there.

  Moles: And what did you use this den for?

  Raymond: I…

  [a long pause]

  Moles: We found girlie magazines there. A whole stack of them.

  Raymond: It was my private place for doing private things.

  Moles: You mean masturbating?

  [a long pause]

  Moles: Thomas?

  Raymond: Yes.

  Moles: And what else?

  [a long pause]

  Moles: Come on now, Thomas, you’d attached cross members to some of the attic beams. There were pulleys and wires and ropes. The ropes led to a series of wooden handles. What was all that for?

  Raymond: It was used for moving heavy boxes around.

  Moles: There was one pulley above a trapdoor that looked like it might have been original. The rest were more recent. Your father says he knew nothing about them. Tell us the real reason for the ropes, Thomas.

  [very long pause]

  Moles: Look, perhaps we can come at this from a different angle. You like puppets, don’t you? You’re something of an expert I believe. There’s certainly a fantastic collection in the shop. I’ve never seen so many in one place. What is it about them that fascinates you?

  Raymond: Marionettes are my friends.

  Moles: You mean you talk to them?

  Raymond: Yes.

  Moles: You’re in your mid-twenties and you talk to them?

  Raymond: Yes. There’s nobody else, not since my mother died.

  Moles: She passed when you were little, right?

  Raymond: Nine. I don’t really remember her to be honest.

  Moles: And with her gone you turned to toys for comfort?

  Raymond: [angry] Puppets are not toys.

  Moles: OK. Sorry. Let’s get into the reason you like puppets so much. Could it be to do with the way they don’t answer back? The way you can control them? The way they do exactly as you want?

  Taylor: I know where you’re going with this, detective. I think it might be a good idea if I consulted with my client before we proceed any further.

  Raymond: You’re wrong, Mr Moles. You’ve completely missed the point. Puppets don’t always do what they’re told. They can sometimes have a life of their own. My friend Jakab will tell you that. He—

  Taylor: As I said, I’d like a word with my client before proceeding any further.

  Moles: Fine. Interview suspended at… fourteen twenty-one.

  ***

  Raymond turned and darted down a corridor. Bookshelves stood to either side, narrowing the width to less than a couple of feet. Riley had to swivel sideways to stop from brushing against the books.

  ‘Come on!’ Ahead, Raymond skidded to a halt and beckoned. ‘Try to keep up. Too many of them sausages, I reckon.’

  He slipped to the right, where a gap in the bookcase led to a room filled with crockery. Teapots on side tables. A glass shelving display with bone china plates. Huge vases tottering on wobbly stands. Porcelain figurines clustering on a wooden box.

  ‘Breakages will be paid for!’ Raymond laughed. ‘Black copper or no black copper. No discrimination from me, understand?’

  He opened a panel door in one wall and disappeared up a winding stairway.

  ‘Careful, sir!’ Enders reached out and caught an alabaster statue of a woman as the edge of Riley’s jacket snatched it over. ‘You heard what he said!’

  Riley looked down at the figurine. The woman held a robe over her lower body, her left hand caressing her right breast. ‘Aphrodite,’ he said. ‘Goddess of love. This is a copy of the one in Athens.’

  ‘A Greek page three, right?’ Enders eased the statue upright. ‘Nice.’

  Riley turned back. Raymond had gone, but the sound of his feet on the wooden stairs tapped down from above. Riley moved t
o the door and craned his neck. The stairwell twisted upwards with steep risers and narrow treads. He could barely squeeze in and had to contort himself to make any progress.

  ‘Regretting my extra slice of toast this morning,’ Enders said from somewhere behind.

  Riley muttered an acknowledgement, but it wasn’t the width that was causing him problems so much as the height. He was having to stoop to avoid smashing his head on the ceiling.

  After several circuits, he stumbled onto a small landing with three doors, one to the right, one ahead, and one to the left. An old filament bulb hung from a piece of twisted wire battened to the ceiling, the soft light illuminating bare floorboards. Raymond was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Shush,’ Riley said as Enders clattered up the last few stairs and emerged beside him.

  Nothing. Not even the sound of the busy street outside. They were entombed in the centre of the building.

  ‘This is deeply creepy, sir,’ Enders said. ‘I’ve met some right weirdos while working with DI Savage, but this guy beats the lot of them. We’re probably only twenty metres from the crowds on the Barbican, but you wouldn’t know it. Raymond could do anything in here, and nobody would be any the wiser.’

  ‘I don’t want to alarm you, Patrick, but he’s got form, remember?’ Riley tapped the DC on the shoulder. ‘And if I get chopped up and put in a freezer because this nutter’s got a thing about the Black Farmer’s sausages, then I’m blaming you for suggesting this little jaunt, right?’

  Enders tilted his head back and sniffed. ‘Talking about food, can you smell something?’

  Riley sniffed too. There was a faint odour of meat and onions. ‘Yes. Something cooking. Probably from one of the takeaways.’

  ‘It’s disgusting. Not what I’d be buying for lunch.’ Enders made a face and then waved his hand round. ‘Which way? One, two or three?’

  ‘We could split up? You know, like they do in the movies?’

  ‘That never ends well, sir.’

  ‘You’re right. Let’s take the centre one.’

  The middle corridor was wider than the other two, but the only light came from the bulb on the landing behind them. As they inched along, their bodies cast deep shadows ahead. After a few steps, the darkness forced Riley to put his hands out to feel his way until a flash of light came from over his shoulder. Enders had pulled his phone out and activated the torch.