Read Cherringham--Last Train to London for Free Online Page B
Authors: Neil Richards
saw Otto as a threat?”
“Of course,” said Jayne. “It was all about money for him! But also he wanted Otto’s puppets so he could sell them, had some secret buyers lined up. He offered Otto thousands. Every week he phoned. Kept coming into the jewellers, making trouble, trying to force Otto to sell. Otto told him where to go. Nicely, of course. Otto was always too nice.”
For a second Sarah wondered what she was doing here.
The plan had been just to make sure there was nothing untoward in Otto Brendl’s life that could come back to haunt Mrs Harper. But now, it seemed she was tumbling into a bizarre puppet war …
“Do you have any proof of all this? Anything we could talk to the police about?”
“I don’t need proof ,” said Jayne, and Sarah could see her anger flash across her face.
Another sniff. Jayne Reid was a force to be reckoned with …
“Krause is evil. He did it. He stole Otto’s puppets. End of story.”
10. The Puppet King
“In your basket, Riley,” said Jack. “You know the deal.”
Riley gave Jack his most pleading expression, then turned, whining, and slouched down the wheelhouse steps into the saloon.
In the time that he and the Springer Spaniel had lived together on the Grey Goose, Jack had learned to ignore these looks – but he never liked to be parted from his dog for long.
He padlocked the wheelhouse and walked the short gangway to the river bank.
“Gonna be a scorcher, Jack!” came a voice from the next but one barge. Jack squinted against the bright early morning sun. There in a deckchair on the fore-deck of the old Magnolia was Ray Stroud, shirt off, tin mug of tea in one hand, a roll-up cigarette in the other.
Maybe it was tea. That the cigarette was tobacco was more doubtful.
As far as Jack could tell, Ray was the only genuine hippy left in the Cotswolds and a handy ‘in’ to the shadier activities of the area. Handy too, when Jack needed help on the boat – though the price was often a hangover the next day.
“Yep, warming up nicely,” said Jack as he headed down the riverbank towards the old bridge car park. “You up to much today?”
“Might tickle a few trout this arvo,” said Ray chewing on the roll-up that was glued to the corner of his mouth. “Then it’s happy hour down the Ploughman’s. Suppose I’ll have to go. Can’t let them down now, can I?”
“I’m sure you can’t,” said Jack grinning.
Ray spat into the river.
“See you locked up there, Jack.”
“Always do,” said Jack, pausing.
This wasn’t idle chatter. He could see Ray hesitating, as if he had something to share. Then:
“Only I heard there was a fella asking after you last night, up at Iron Wharf.”
“Oh yeah?”
“So I hear,” said Ray. “Asking which of these boats might be yours.”
“Really? I’m obliged to you for the information, Ray.”
“’s what neighbours are for.”
“And … don’t suppose you … heard any more?”
Ray pulled himself up from the deckchair and tossed the dregs of his cup into the river.
Then he crossed the deck to be nearer to Jack.
Jack edged closer to the barge – he knew that any exchange of information with Ray had to be treated seriously, respectfully.
“What I heard was … that this fella doing the enquiring was a young’un. Had an accent. Russian, or somethin’ – they reckoned.”
“Uh-huh,” said Jack taking this in.
“And what with you being American, Jack – well you’ll know what that means.”
“I surely do,” said Jack, not knowing at all what that meant.
Jack stared at Ray, who nodded slowly, then tapped his nose.
“Good to be prepared, eh Jack?” he said then turned on his heels and went back to his deckchair.
“How true. And thanks Ray.”
Jack too turned – and carried on down the river bank past the other moored boats and barges.
On any other day, he might have treated Ray’s little chat as a symptom of overheated local imaginings, fuelled by whatever.
But right now there
“Of course,” said Jayne. “It was all about money for him! But also he wanted Otto’s puppets so he could sell them, had some secret buyers lined up. He offered Otto thousands. Every week he phoned. Kept coming into the jewellers, making trouble, trying to force Otto to sell. Otto told him where to go. Nicely, of course. Otto was always too nice.”
For a second Sarah wondered what she was doing here.
The plan had been just to make sure there was nothing untoward in Otto Brendl’s life that could come back to haunt Mrs Harper. But now, it seemed she was tumbling into a bizarre puppet war …
“Do you have any proof of all this? Anything we could talk to the police about?”
“I don’t need proof ,” said Jayne, and Sarah could see her anger flash across her face.
Another sniff. Jayne Reid was a force to be reckoned with …
“Krause is evil. He did it. He stole Otto’s puppets. End of story.”
10. The Puppet King
“In your basket, Riley,” said Jack. “You know the deal.”
Riley gave Jack his most pleading expression, then turned, whining, and slouched down the wheelhouse steps into the saloon.
In the time that he and the Springer Spaniel had lived together on the Grey Goose, Jack had learned to ignore these looks – but he never liked to be parted from his dog for long.
He padlocked the wheelhouse and walked the short gangway to the river bank.
“Gonna be a scorcher, Jack!” came a voice from the next but one barge. Jack squinted against the bright early morning sun. There in a deckchair on the fore-deck of the old Magnolia was Ray Stroud, shirt off, tin mug of tea in one hand, a roll-up cigarette in the other.
Maybe it was tea. That the cigarette was tobacco was more doubtful.
As far as Jack could tell, Ray was the only genuine hippy left in the Cotswolds and a handy ‘in’ to the shadier activities of the area. Handy too, when Jack needed help on the boat – though the price was often a hangover the next day.
“Yep, warming up nicely,” said Jack as he headed down the riverbank towards the old bridge car park. “You up to much today?”
“Might tickle a few trout this arvo,” said Ray chewing on the roll-up that was glued to the corner of his mouth. “Then it’s happy hour down the Ploughman’s. Suppose I’ll have to go. Can’t let them down now, can I?”
“I’m sure you can’t,” said Jack grinning.
Ray spat into the river.
“See you locked up there, Jack.”
“Always do,” said Jack, pausing.
This wasn’t idle chatter. He could see Ray hesitating, as if he had something to share. Then:
“Only I heard there was a fella asking after you last night, up at Iron Wharf.”
“Oh yeah?”
“So I hear,” said Ray. “Asking which of these boats might be yours.”
“Really? I’m obliged to you for the information, Ray.”
“’s what neighbours are for.”
“And … don’t suppose you … heard any more?”
Ray pulled himself up from the deckchair and tossed the dregs of his cup into the river.
Then he crossed the deck to be nearer to Jack.
Jack edged closer to the barge – he knew that any exchange of information with Ray had to be treated seriously, respectfully.
“What I heard was … that this fella doing the enquiring was a young’un. Had an accent. Russian, or somethin’ – they reckoned.”
“Uh-huh,” said Jack taking this in.
“And what with you being American, Jack – well you’ll know what that means.”
“I surely do,” said Jack, not knowing at all what that meant.
Jack stared at Ray, who nodded slowly, then tapped his nose.
“Good to be prepared, eh Jack?” he said then turned on his heels and went back to his deckchair.
“How true. And thanks Ray.”
Jack too turned – and carried on down the river bank past the other moored boats and barges.
On any other day, he might have treated Ray’s little chat as a symptom of overheated local imaginings, fuelled by whatever.
But right now there