Mo Hayder - Poppet

‘Bring it with you – I’m going to show you what I had to do.’

They go down another passageway – it seems to Caffery that the house is a warren – until they get to a door which she opens to reveal a garage.

‘This,’ she says, ‘is where things got really nasty.’

The moon has found a niche in the clouds and has chosen this moment to scythe into the windows above the roll-up garage door. It picks out the filigree of spiders’ webs, makes them sparkle like Christmas decorations. On the walls, garden tools have been hung in neat order. Here too boxes are stacked. In the centre of the garage sits a cast-iron Victorian bath.

‘What happened?’

‘After four days – when I worked out what Thom had left in my boot – I brought the car in here. My first thought was the freezer—’ She indicates a chest freezer in the corner. ‘Then I remembered some pathologist telling me about ice-crystal artefacts. You heard of those?’

‘I think so. The heart muscle or something – you can tell if a body’s been frozen?’

‘Yes – so I had to keep her chilled. Cold but not frozen.’ She nods at the bath. ‘Gallons of ice in there until I could work out what to do with her.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I know. And I’m supposed to be the one who’s used to dealing with dead bodies. My job .’

She goes to the windows now and stands on tiptoe, peering at them – at the frames – as if they contain some hidden clue. It is freezing in here – her breath steams the glass. The moon slants sideways on her face. Seeing her now, next to the window, side lit by the moon, he realizes again how delicate she is. Whenever he looks at Flea the animal part of his brain lights up. His limbic system goes into overdrive. Sometimes it screams sex . Sometimes, like now, it screams protect. Kill anything that threatens her …

‘I taped off all the windows, but my neighbour knew something was going on.’ She’s looking at the towering wall of the neighbouring house. ‘Kept nosing around the place – I was going out of my mind. It was—’ She puts her finger to her forehead. Drops her weight back on to her heels. There’s a small pause. ‘Surreal. I still can’t believe it.’

She turns and gives him a rueful smile.

‘So that’s two counts against me – the record I was driving that night, and my neighbour. And as if those two weren’t enough, there’s more. Do you remember that bald guy – the POLSA on that job we did, the suicide on the Strawberry Line?’

Caffery remembers him well. Flea and the POLSA – an officer trained in search management – butted up against each other like a pair of billy-goats. ‘Yeah – you really didn’t like him.’

‘The feeling was mutual.’

‘You called him a combed-over old twonk.’

‘And I was right – he was a combed-over old twonk – proper jobsworth. It was a hate-hate thing from the moment we laid eyes on each other. What you didn’t see was where our relationship started – which was the day after Misty went missing from the clinic. The POLSA twonk wanted my unit to search a lake in the grounds of the clinic. I pulled the team a little earlier than satisfied him and he made a big deal of it – said if I was so confident Misty wasn’t in the lake maybe I knew something about where she was.’

‘Oh, OK – OK, so not brilliant.’

‘Not brilliant? I’m on record for speeding that night, my neighbour knows I was up to something at about the same time – her curiosity isn’t going to burn itself out overnight, you can put money on that. And I’ve been told, in front of witnesses, that I’m acting like I know where Misty is.’ She gives a deep, weary sigh. ‘And that’s before I even get started on the car.’

‘The car?’

‘The one that hit her. The one Thom was driving – the Ford. My Ford. It’s a time bomb. It only has to be forensicated and I’m screwed another way.’

In answer Caffery drains his coffee. Tips the cup upside down to see if there are any last drops. ‘I can make coffee too,’ he says.

‘Oh?’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘Well done you.’

‘I think you should try a cup. Then you can judge.’

MELANIE GETS BACK to the cottage at eight. AJ is out throwing a stick for Stewart, in the front field because it’s enclosed and the dog can’t run away. He’s checked the hedgerows for his missing shirt and found nothing. If Patience did chuck it then maybe she’s got the fury out of her system. He’s not sure whether to be flattered by or annoyed with her. All that her anger has really given away is exactly what’s been in the back of his head: that if Mel still has feelings for Jonathan then AJ could wind up getting hurt.

The second morning at her house AJ found himself alone in her bedroom while she was taking a shower. There were so many temptations in the house – her handbag left open on the kitchen table, her phone on the bedstand. He remembers now rolling on to his side, plumping up the pillow under his head and gazing at the slim blue profile of it, his pulse tick-ticking away in his temples. Every atom of him bearing down on that sliver of rubberized polymer casing.

What information did it harbour? What windows into Melanie’s head could it unlock? Something about Jonathan Keay? Would his name and photograph appear on her recents screen? Would there be text conversations, emails or even her own ruminations about him noted somewhere? AJ was eaten up with curiosity, but he hadn’t acted on it. Eventually he’d turned away, picked up his own phone and started playing a mindless app to distract himself.

Now, when Melanie’s car headlights sweep up the drive, he attaches Stewart’s lead and comes over to the car to help with her bag. He keeps sneaking glances at her. She is so so pretty. Patience is right. He’s got to be so careful here.

Inside the house is warm, condensation gathering on the windows. Melanie comes in and gives Patience a kiss that leaves AJ’s aunt completely stunned. She says nothing, but turns away and spoons kedgeree on the plate she’s been warming on the Aga. She doesn’t go crazy with the amount of food, she keeps it civilized, and maybe the conversation she’s had earlier with AJ has softened her a bit, because she’s polite and even chatty, asking Melanie about work.

Everything is rolling along nicely, and AJ is so relaxed he cracks open a demijohn of the cider he made last year.

‘Kingston Blacks. Proper cider apples.’ He fills up three Duralex glasses taken from the wonky old cupboard above the sink. ‘Scrumped from over Old Man Athey’s field.’

Melanie gives the rim of her glass a quick wipe with the sleeve of her blouse and sips politely. She’d prefer vodka, but she’s too much of a lady to say it. Patience downs her glass in one. Sets it on the table for AJ to refill. ‘You mean where Stewart thinks he wants to go and live. With the ghosts.’

AJ shoots her a look – he doesn’t want the mood spoiled, but Melanie doesn’t appear to have picked up on the reference to Upton Farm.

‘Does he still want to go in the woods?’ she asks, smiling down at Stewart, who is dozing next to the Aga. ‘He seems quieter today.’

‘I’ve just taken him in the top field. He can’t get out, but he didn’t seem to be interested in going anywhere, tonight, did you, boy?’

‘Well, he wanted to go somewhere this morning.’ Patience knocks back her second glass of cider as if it’s a thimbleful. ‘Couldn’t get him settled. Ended up taking him into town. He helped me shop for the haddock for the kedgeree.’

It’s only when she reaches the word ‘haddock’ that AJ realizes what she’s said. This morning, to cover for going back to DI Caffery, he told Melanie he’d walked Stewart. He checks over the rim of his glass to see if Melanie has registered this. He can’t tell. Her expression is steady. So he quickly changes the subject, he finds anything to talk about, imagining a huge red light bulb flashing over his head, flashing LIAR. LIAR.