Mo Hayder - Poppet

‘There’s always the police,’ he says tentatively.

‘We can’t ,’ she says wearily. ‘Maybe Isaac will just … you know, vanish into the ether. But whatever – we can’t speak to the police. Can you imagine what would happen to someone in my position if it came out I’d been lying to the tribunal? Lying? ’

AJ colours when she says the word ‘lying’. She has no way of knowing where he’s been today, but he’s defensive nonetheless. He coughs loudly. Taps his fingers harder on his knees.

‘OK, let’s say he doesn’t vanish into the ether. If we can’t go to the police, I’m not about to sit back and let him hound us. I reckon it was him in your garden. Probably the first thing he did when he was discharged was to find out where you live – he’ll have made it his business. Your house is a bad place to be right now. This might sound a bit forward – and please don’t misinterpret me, but …’

‘But?’

He hesitates. He doesn’t know how to say it. And he doesn’t know if it’s the right thing. All he knows is he wants Melanie where he can see her.

‘I live – well, I live closer to Upton Farm than you do, but Isaac hasn’t got a clue where I am. So I was thinking … why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? Give it some time for things to settle down, see where everything lands? No – it’s a crazy idea, I know, forget I said it, I was just thinking aloud, but at least check into a hotel somewhere – just to get you away from your—’

‘AJ!’

He stops talking. A smile has broken across her face, revealing her small, perfect teeth.

‘AJ, it’s fine. It’s not crazy at all. In fact, it’s a fabulous idea. I’ve been dying to meet Patience.’

THE DAYS ARE short this far into autumn and it’s pretty much dark when Caffery gets to the shop at the north end of Bristol. CCTV cameras are trained on the entrance, the tills, with three or four more above the aisles. The store is divided into Decoration/Plumbing/Electrical/Tools. At least two of those categories sit uneasily with Caffery. Even without reading the full report he knows that the things Handel did to his parents involved objects purchased from a place like this.

‘Manager.’ He flashes his warrant card to the security guy. ‘Please.’

He is shown to a small office piled with paperwork. Kieran Bolt is small and clean-shaven with eyes reddened through tiredness. He’s getting ready to go home, and doesn’t look pleased to see Caffery. He squints at the receipt for a few seconds. ‘This is for cash. I can’t give you a name from this.’

‘I don’t need a name,’ Caffery says. ‘I’ve already got that. I’m interested in what else he bought.’

‘What makes you think he bought more?’

‘Seven empty carrier bags.’

Bolt looks at him, startled, then at the receipt again, examining it as if he thinks he must have missed something. ‘Where did you say you were from?’

‘Major Crimes Investigation Unit.’ Caffery watches the manager run through the reasons a police officer might be asking questions about purchases at a hardware store. When he finally looks up again, the wariness behind Bolt’s eyes says he’s thinking National Security, terrorist threat.

‘We just sell the stuff. We don’t ask people what they’re going to do with it.’

‘Nobody’s accusing you of anything. I’m making inquiries, that’s all.’

The manager is easy to read; he’s anxious, he’s going to bend over backwards to help. ‘I can check the till receipts – if he used a credit card for anything else it should come up. But if he paid cash …’

‘That’s OK. We’ll find him on the CCTV.’

Bolt clasps a hand to his forehead.

‘Problem?’

‘No. No – absolutely no problem. It’s just …’ He checks his watch. ‘No – I’ll make a quick phone call and you’re fine. I can stay with you.’

Bolt is saying it’s going to take for ever to trawl through the footage. There are eight cameras dotted around the store, they keep twenty-one days’ worth of recordings, at a guess, and they’re open seven till eight, Monday to Saturday – and six hours on Sunday.

‘It’s OK,’ Caffery says. ‘You will get home tonight. I promise.’

WHEN AJ AND Melanie get back to the cottage, Stewart is barking like crazy. He doesn’t even seem to recognize AJ when he opens the door, he just sits in the hallway, head back, yapping at them.

‘Hey hey! Stewie? What’s up – it’s only me.’ AJ crouches beside him. ‘What’s up, Stewie?’

Stewart stops barking and sniffs AJ’s hands sullenly, his eyes rolling suspiciously up to Melanie. She regards him warily, holding her bags high out of his reach.

‘He’s … he’s lovely,’ she says uncertainly.

‘I swear he’s not like this usually.’ AJ gives the dog a scratch behind the ears. He’s panting and his heart is racing under his ribcage. ‘He’s been weird since yesterday. He disappeared for the day and now he’s acting like a nutjob – I don’t get it. What happened, boy?’

Stewart does a small, agitated circle on the floor. Then, reluctantly, he sits, tongue hanging out. AJ is mystified. ‘I’ll take him out later – run him until he’s too knackered to be neurotic. Come on – come and meet Patience.’

They carry Melanie’s bags through into the living room. AJ has called ahead and warned his aunt Melanie will be staying. Patience’s only comment was: Tell the poor girl she’ll have to like my cooking. I don’t want any of your mincy little food Nazis in my house. If she wants to live on lettuce and air, she can go live in a warren .

AJ has noted the way Patience says ‘poor girl’. As if any woman crazy enough to be involved with him must be a truly miserable specimen. Or very slutty and self-obsessed. When Melanie walks through the door in the simple white wool dress, her honey hair falling around her face, Patience’s face falls a mile. This is not what she was expecting. AJ can’t help smirking.

‘Well now,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘Melanie. It’s good to meet you.’

She shakes Melanie’s hand, letting her eyes go slowly from her feet all the way up to her face and down again. Then she releases her hand, steps back and folds her arms, appraising her, eyebrows raised like question marks. She makes a loud tut in the back of her throat, tosses her head and sashays into the kitchen, hips swinging imperiously.

‘God!’ AJ scratches his head, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. She obviously didn’t expect me to be with someone who’s as … you know … nice as you.’

‘Okaaaaa-aaay.’ Melanie drops her hands. She surreptitiously wipes the palm Patience touched against her skirt. ‘That’s fine – I understand.’ She smiles waveringly, glancing around the room. It’s in a state of chaos: Patience’s jam jars on every surface and clutches of wildflowers in milk bottles on the windowsill, the water going brown. She shoots a look at the kitchen, then back at the hallway where Stewart is sitting moodily watching them.

AJ’s spirit sinks. This isn’t going well – not well at all.

‘Melanie, listen – you’re so welcome here. We’re not exactly conventional, I know. Patience takes a bit of getting used to—’

‘I heard that,’ Patience hollers from the kitchen. ‘I’ll have to get used to her is what you should be saying.’

AJ shakes his head, gives a small smile.

‘Like I say, you’ll have to get used to my lovely aunt , but we want you to be comfortable. If you need somewhere private – somewhere you can be yourself – you can have Mum’s old room.’ He jabs his finger at the ceiling. ‘There’s a bedroom above here and a bathroom – completely private. And clean – I promise – in spite of what it looks like down here, it is clean up there – I did it myself.’