Free Cherringham--Last Train to London by Neil Richards Page B

she could still see signs of the fight everywhere. She looked at the big basket of puppets – at least the intruder hadn’t taken them.
    “So what do you think now, detective?” she called up the steps. “Case still over?”
    “No,” came Jack’s voice. “Case definitely not over.”
    Sarah knelt down by the basket and undid the buckles, raising the heavy lid and folding it back. From inside the basket, Otto’s puppets stared at her. Punch, Judy, the Policeman, the Devil …
    Although they grinned, she felt they were accusing her.
    She reached in and picked up Judy and Punch, then went back up the steps, through the damaged wheelhouse and out onto the deck.
    “Grab a coffee,” said Jack, pointing to the big cafetière that stood on the table.
    She laid the two puppets down on the table and poured herself a drink, then sat back in one of the deckchairs.
    She took a sip and watched Jack.
    “So,” she said. “Can you figure this out? Because I can’t.”
    “I know,” said Jack, putting his coffee down. “We’re missing something here – aren’t we? Something really major. There’s Otto’s secret life, his puppets, the break-ins, the guy attacking me.”
    “You say he went straight for the basket?”
    “Yep.”
    “So he knew what was in it. And he knew you had it. He must have been following you. Maybe this is all about the puppets. The Punch and Judy …”
    “You thinking – what if there’s something valuable inside them?” said Jack.
    “Romanian Crown Jewels?” said Sarah, smiling.
    She picked up the Judy. Slipping her hand inside the puppet, she pushed her fingers and thumbs deep into the arms and head. She turned Judy’s head to look at Jack and waved the little arms.
    “Well, that’s not the way to do it,” she said. “Nothing in this one.”
    She slipped the Judy off her hand and put it back on the table.
    “I’ve also been thinking about this whole Securitate thing,” she said. “What you said yesterday about the KGB. You know their reputation …”
    “Yeah?”
    “Jack – do you think that possibly … Otto’s death wasn’t a heart attack?”
    “Whoa. You mean poison? That’s quite a leap. I mean, no real evidence. Though there was that frothing at the mouth …”
    “Yeah, I saw that too,” she said. “I’d almost forgotten. That was strange.”
    “But I’m no forensics expert,” said Jack. “Could be a result of congestion, something normal. And also – how would you administer poison to a guy who’s sitting in a theatre made for one, surrounded by screaming kids?”
    Sarah reached out and picked up Punch. The face grinned at her, somehow all-knowing.
    “You know Grace did some research for me?” said Sarah. “She couldn’t find anything on the tattoo. But she did say that poisoning – often undetectable – was one of the favourite methods used by the Eastern bloc security services.”
    Jack didn’t answer. She knew him well enough by now to know that this meant he was taking an idea seriously.
    She lifted up the Punch and slid her hand inside the blue-and-white striped costume. Just as her fingers reached for the little hole inside the head, Jack suddenly leapt forward —
    “No! Sarah!”
    “Ow, Jack, that —”
    He grabbed her arm tightly – then carefully pulled the puppet from her grasp. “What the —”
    “Sorry Sarah,” he said, laying the puppet carefully down on the table. “I suddenly had a thought – what you were just saying – about the Securitate …”
    She watched as he got up quickly and went over to a locker at the side of the wheelhouse. He pulled out a toolbox and brought it over to the table.
    “You ever heard about that guy – Bulgarian I think he was – got murdered in London by the KGB using an umbrella?”
    “An umbrella? No – I’m sure I would have remembered …”
    “Probably before your time,” said Jack, taking out a pair of cutters. “Anyway they jabbed him with an adapted umbrella. It stuck a pellet in