Mo Hayder - Poppet

Hartwool Hospital. It’s in the north of England near Rotherham. He races through the text, muttering the words under his breath like a reception-year child on his early reading books.

Multiple episodes of self-abuse were attributed to the influence of the so-called ‘B ward sitting demon’. Rumoured to be the ghost of a past matron, a dwarf who abused the patients …

AJ’s pulse beats strong and loud in his ears.

A suicide attempt in which the patient tried to cut off his own nose …

Patient X reported an incubus crouched on her chest when she woke …

Staff absences and resignations were occasionally blamed on the fear there was a ghost dwarf or an unknown entity that sat on the chests of patients …

… hallucinations and delusions of haunting …

… this crude image of a dwarf squatting on a patient’s chest was produced by one of the patients in 1997 …

He stares at the image. A line drawing of a dark shape crouched on the chest of a supine patient. Next to it a photo of a gravestone in the grounds of the now-abandoned hospital.

Our sister Maude, an unfortunate dwarf,

who departed this life and was born into the spirit life,

18 September 1893

AJ glances to the page header – Hartwool Hospital. Rotherham. His pulse is deafening now.

Hartwool Hospital is the place Melanie worked before she came here. The place she was transferred from during the Care in the Community upheaval.

The place she worked with Jonathan Keay.

PENNY PILSON HASN’T returned Caffery’s call, so he drives carefully back down the valley, over a rickety bridge, and up to the Old Mill. The shutters are all still closed. He knocks and tries to peer through the sweetheart holes but it looks dark in there. He’s getting back into his car when there’s a noise – a shuffling inside the house – and the door opens a crack.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

Penny’s wearing a knitted cardigan and denim cut-offs, and has her arms crossed with her hands tucked under the armpits. Her feet are naked and her hair is ruffled and smeared as if she’s been kneading it with greasy hands.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes.’ Her face is quite clear of make-up, but as Caffery approaches he’s sure it’s more than just the nakedness that’s different. It’s not the same nervousness she had yesterday, it’s different. It’s a kind of new reserve. As if she’s holding something back.

‘You sure?’

‘Of course. I was in the bath, that’s all.’

He nods. He’s a bit taken off guard by her. ‘I left a message earlier.’

‘I know – I’ve been so busy all day – I was going to call when I’d had dinner.’

He assesses her carefully. She hasn’t invited him in, and she’s positioned herself to fill the gap in the door so he can’t see past her. ‘I had a question. I’ve been up there –’ He lifts his chin, indicating the direction of The Wilds. The old yew tree. ‘And I think I’ve found where he’s living.’

‘Oh?’

‘The Wilds?’

‘Yes. You’re right. He used to go there when he was living at the farm.’ She gives a blank smile and begins to close the door.

‘Wait.’ Caffery puts a hand up. ‘Just a minute – I’ve got another question.’

She hesitates. Then, almost reluctantly, she opens the door again. He gets a glimpse of the passage beyond. No lights on. A strange smell. Maybe something she’s cooking. Her fingernails are bitten and raw.

‘I found something I wanted you to look at.’

From inside his jacket pocket he pulls out the doll. He’s wrapped it in a plastic carrier bag, and now he carefully opens it and holds it out for Penny to inspect. She stares at the doll, her throat working.

‘Yes,’ she says tightly. ‘That’s his work.’

‘Do you know who it could be?’

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t really want to look at it any more. If you don’t mind.’

He wraps the doll and returns it to the inside of his jacket. Penny is a different person from the one he met yesterday. She doesn’t want to have anything to do with him. His memory flits over the affair – her dalliance with Graham Handel. Maybe that’s what’s happening now. Maybe she’s got someone in the house she’s ashamed of.

‘I’ll be on my way then.’ He is about to turn away when she leans forward and whispers fiercely at him.

‘ Mr Caffery? ’

‘Yes?’

‘ Things are not what they seem .’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Just that.’ She straightens. ‘I’ll say goodbye now.’

And before he can ask her what she means she steps back inside and closes the door, leaving him standing there, bewildered, not entirely sure what has just happened.

He drives back to MCIT, wondering if he should turn round and go back. What the hell did she mean – Things are not what they seem … He parks in his usual spot under the flyover and goes upstairs. The doll in his inside pocket presses against his chest – as if it is digging its fingers into him. He hates the thing. He’ll be glad to see the back of it. In his office he puts it on his desk, the plastic carrier bunching around it like a nest. While the rest of the office block hums gently as various team members come and go, as the necessary phone calls go out, as the superintendent gets on to the surveillance team, Caffery moves the vast lens of his microscope lamp and positions it over the doll.

Using one gloved finger, he lifts the chain that has been used to bind the doll’s arms. It’s a bracelet – and now he has the chance to study it carefully he sees there is a silver pendant tucked inside the chain. He takes one or two photographs of the doll as it is; figuring there’s nothing to lose if he pulls it out, he uses the nail of his little finger to get leverage on the object. It springs free and falls across the gagged face of the doll.

Two letters in curlicue script. The letters are M and A.

In his pocket his phone rings. He pulls it out and sees AJ LeGrande’s name flash up on the display. ‘AJ, hi.’

‘Can you talk?’

‘I can.’

‘I’ve got a name.’

‘A name for … ?’

‘I keep thinking – whether Handel had some place he could hole up. Someone who could help him?’

This is so apposite – so like having his mind read – Caffery lets out an incredulous laugh. He stops studying the doll and sits down – pulls over a Post-it pad and finds a pen.

‘Go ahead?’

‘Jonathan Keay,’ says AJ. ‘K-E-A-Y.’

‘Keay. Who is?’

‘Who was an ocky-health person here – occupational therapy? Until about three weeks ago. No idea where he’s gone.’

‘Fine.’ Caffery keeps writing, the phone jammed under his chin. ‘So … details?’

‘Out of date. I’ve got an address – but I’ve just been told he’s not renting there any more and the mobile I’ve got is a dud too. Just tried it.’

‘DOB? National insurance number – should be on his records.’

‘Yes, but that’s HR and I’m not authorized to get into them. I’ve got an old landline – haven’t tried it. Looks years old.’

Caffery scribbles down the number – some UK area codes still work off the telephone keypad where letters are assigned to numbers, so a town name beginning Adi … would read 0123. The number AJ gives him is local – in fact he recognizes it instantly as somewhere near Yate. Using his right hand, he drags across his keyboard and wakes his computer up. Starts tapping out an email.

As he types he talks. ‘Why are we looking at Keay?’

‘Um – because he was … I don’t know. Sort of secretive. He used to talk to Isaac, in private, maybe. I’m not sure, but that’s how I recall it. Also Keay was working in Hartwool Hospital.’