Cherringham--Last Train to London by Neil Richards Read Free Book Online

were thin connections forming in the back of his mind, threads of ideas, wisps of coincidence that he couldn’t ignore …
    And I don’t believe in coincidence , he thought.
    The tattoo on Brendl’s chest. Brighton Beach. East European gangs. And now a young Russian …
    That man on the road near Brendl’s place. A walker? A stranger? What was he doing on that road? It went nowhere. Only to Brendl’s cottage …
    And Krause, the man that Sarah had called him about, the man he was on his way to meet this morning over in Chipping Norton.
    The Puppet King.
    All these disconnected threads …
    What did all this have to do with the sad death of an old man at an English summer fête?
    On the early morning empty roads, it only took Jack around twenty minutes to get to Chipping Norton – and he relished driving the Healey Sprite in the sunshine, wind blowing.
    The little sports car flew like a fire-cracker up and down the Cotswold hills and, with the top down, it reminded him of some crazy vacation trips in his youth along the Pacific Coast Highway …
    Sarah had filled him in on her chat with Jayne Reid – and now he thought about it, he knew he’d seen Jayne and Brendl more than once in the past year on the meadows walking together along the river.
    The industrial estate sat half a mile short of the town and, as he pulled off the main road and drew in, he was struck how all these little English towns seemed to have identical, scruffy little work units on their outskirts.
    He drove slowly, inspecting each one – dog food distributor, bathrooms, pizza bases, tyres, tiles, furniture strippers, and then – how could anyone miss it …
    FunLand!
    Single storey, glass-fronted, garish colours, neon signs, balloons – and three people dressed as vegetables sitting on a bench having a smoke. Jack pulled up right in front of them.
    As he got out of the car, the carrot and the onion ignored him. The pod of peas gave him a cursory nod.
    Par for the course, he thought. If it’s a cigarette break, the customers can go hang.
    Jack went in and paused for a moment just behind the sliding doors.
    Rows and rows of party gear stretched away to the back of the cavernous warehouse, each line individually themed. He could see Irish, Cowboy, Wizard, Superhero, Fairy …
    Party music blared out of walls, balloons swung in the air and everywhere he could see signs telling him to ‘Have Fun, you’re in FunLand!’
    In the back of the store, a thick black curtain barred the way to ‘The Magician’s Cave – Amazing Tricks and Illusions!’
    Off to the right of the ‘cave’, a Punch and Judy stall. But this was nothing like the one he’d returned to Otto Brendl’s house.
    This one was decked out like Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and instead of the old familiar characters, two superheroes were propped up, slugging it out. Neon lights flickered inside it and a soundtrack of looped explosions and guitars made the little theatre vibrate.
    A placard next to the theatre said – ‘Punch is dead – long live Robot-man!’
    So this was what Otto Brendl was up against. The Puppet King.
    Jack shook his head in sad acceptance: change comes — dealing with it is hard …
    He looked around.
    As far as he could tell, he was the only customer. He went to the checkout. A plump girl dressed as a fairy sat texting on a stool.
    “Hi. I'm here to meet Mr Krause.”
    The girl looked up and stared. Then, with a sigh, she put down her phone, picked up a microphone on a stand and bellowed into it:
    “Mr Krause – to the tills! Mr Krause to the tills!”
    The words boomed out over the PA.
    Jack smiled at her. Least she didn't have to dress up as a vegetable. She put the microphone down and without looking at him again, picked up her phone and continued her zombie-like texting.
    Jack waited.
    Then Mr Krause appeared from an office at the side of the store, eyes wide as if he had been suddenly awakened.
    And the way he looked was a surprise to Jack.
    From