The Lost Puppeteer

By Tor Johnsen

On a remote beach in Pembrokeshire, DCI Alice Liskin meets the retired business man, John Thorpe, who has discovered the body of a young woman with a crushed skull. The body fits in as number 3 in a series of identical murders, and she soon finds out that Thorpe is more involved than it first appears.
Alice and her team struggle with the lack of identities and motives. The only obvious connection between the murders is Thorpe.
Towards the end, Alice Liskin is left with some astonishing evidence. She finally discovers the truth, and is left with a dilemma ...

The Lost Puppeteer carries on the tradition of Scandinavian mystery novels, but is set in the UK.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tor Johnsen
• Release date: Mar 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458054296

Tor Johnsen

My author, Tor Johnsen, blond with blue eyes, was born in Norway. He's been living in Wales, UK since 2006. Something that just might have influenced his choice of some of the locations in his first novel about me.He claims to have 'always been writing about something', but his first novel came about last year as a request from his daughter. He decided to write it in English as a 'language skill project'. 'The Moon and All' is a book for children, never submitted to publishing. I'll try to persuade him to do that, but I can't promise you anything.His first mystery/crime novel was finished this year, and is now available for pc's and e-book readers.The next story about me is well on the way. Not quite finished yet, but you might get a little sample of it on my website, quite soon. The working title is 'Yesterday once more', but that might change. I can reveal as much; this will be a more traditional 'whodunit'.There will be clues along the way, so you might beat me to it! (Guessing doesn't count!)Yours sincerely,Alice L

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The Lost Puppeteer

By

Tor Johnsen

Copyright 2011 Tor Johnsen

Smashwords Edition

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***

Part 1 - The Puppeteer

(May 13th – June 1st)

Prologue

The room was dark, with a sweet smell of incense. The only light came from a white candle in front of a crucifix put upside down on a little shelf, and the only sound was low, chanting voices, repeating;

'Angel of darkness, Angel of light,

help me see clear, prepare me for fight.

I pray for more prey, a helping of souls,

so I can continue fulfilling your goals.

I'll do what you tell me, a blow to their head,

You'll get them all then, 'cause then they'll be dead!'

The candle burned out and the whisper ended.

Chapter 1 - Cadaques 2009

Some people would say that she probably did it on purpose. Others would call it a pleasant accident. Anyway, the fact is, trying to carry her drink from the bar, back to the beach where she was sunbathing with some friends, the big-busted girl dropped the towel she was covering herself with. In her struggle to pick up the towel and trying not to spill her drink, some would say that she lost quite a bit of her dignity as well. The incident caused some indignant looks and a lot of smiles and laughter. Even some applause. The only ones who didn't notice it at all, were two blond men, sitting to the left side of the main entrance of the bar, totally lost in their conversation.

'… Then I sold my company to this big, international corporation, just because I ran into an old friend from uni. Luck, or faith, I don't know, but it allowed me to follow my dream. To study and teach pagan meditation. It doesn't pay well, in fact I usually don't charge more than I need to cover the cost of food and accommodation, but it's so rewarding in other ways. Teaching others is the best way to learn, and I don't need the money anyway. But what about you, my dear brother? How has life treated you? I'm so truly happy to have found you at last! Tell me about you!'

The other man looked down at his beer, studied the paths of the dewdrops on the cold glass, thinking about where and how to start. 'I wasn't quite as fortunate as you when it came to foster parents. My 'dad' had his own view on rules and regulations, and they didn't coincide with the views of the government and the tax authorities very well, so we had to leave the country rather hastily. After more than ten years of changing jobs and homes, moving around in Europe, we ended up in Spain. His wife, I never thought of her as anything else, left us for a German dentist, and he became even more unstable. I really missed you then. Thought about you a lot. Hoping that you were better off than I was. Anyway, the lack of roots, and a proper family setting, made me a restless and quite difficult teenager. When I realized I was big enough to handle him in a fight, I gave him a good beating to pay back all the kicks and blows he had given me over the years. Then I left. Haven't seen him since, and I don't miss him.

I was adventurous, and without a proper education, I decided to try out Africa. Ended up in Tangier, where I joined the French foreign legion. From then on it just went from bad to worse. I left the legion after about five years, but stayed in the business. It was the only thing I was good at. Name a conflict in Africa that included mercenaries, and I've probably been there. About four years ago, I pulled out. Was getting too old, and had seen too much shit.

Funny that you're into meditation as well, John. After I got out of the 'business', I roamed around for a while, and one day, at the market in Marrakesh, I came across this strange man. He was a Dane called Preben, and had come there with the hippie movement in the seventies. When the hippies left, he stayed behind. Seeking the meaning of life, his, in particular, living in a cave. We started to talk, and I decided to stay for a while. He taught me how to deal with my past experiences, how to approach the future, and live within the moment, the 'Now'. He really helped me balance my mind. After about a year I decided to go back to Spain, and I ended up here. Doing odd jobs, living simple. Feels good actually. I don't need much, I have some cash stashed away in a bank, and I'm happy in my rented room, being Juan Torres, the blond one from the north.'

'I'm so sorry to hear, dear brother. You haven't had an easy life, that's for sure! Thank god you saw one of my ads in the newspaper. I realized you'd changed your name, because your old one was nowhere to be found. In my meditations, when I was trying to get inspiration on where I could find you, I've always named you Aeron. It's the name of a Welsh god of war. I didn't know why that name came to me, but now I can see it was appropriate. Is it OK if I keep using that name? Your Spanish one is so unfamiliar to me.'

His brother agreed with a somewhat bitter smile. 'It fits all right, John. Don't see myself as a god, but there have been a lot of wars.'

'I would never tell you how to live your life. You do what you must, and what you want, but we are definitely going to buy you a house, if it's here you want to live. I'm quite well off, and I don't have any children. All I have is you, and we are one. From now on, all mine is yours. We will share it, like the brothers we truly are. I would like you to come and visit me in Wales where I live, and I would like to come here as often as I can. Are you OK with that, Aeron?'

Aeron couldn't speak. Didn't find words, overwhelmed when he realized what his long lost brother just said. How it would change his life completely. He just stood up, pulled his brother to a standing position, and hugged him for a long time.

On their way to the village centre, to start looking for a house for Aeron, they took the short-cut across the beach. Walking with their arms on each other’s shoulder, they passed close to the busty girl who had lost her towel, now lying on it, but they still didn't notice.

Chapter 2 - Alice

Alice had just returned home from a Sunday lunch at her parent's house. Back at her own cosy little terraced house, she was stretching out on her sofa, contemplating the conversation she'd had with her father. After lunch they'd had their coffees out on the veranda as usual, and as usual they'd been discussing police matters. Since his retirement, she'd sensed that these conversations had become more and more important to him. He wouldn't admit it, but he really missed his job.

'He misses the action, of course, but also the routines,' she thought. 'Quitting a job that he'd loved for more than thirty years, must have left him with a big, empty space.'

Joseph Liskin had been with the police all of his working life. That was the environment in which Alice and her sister Beatrice, grew up. He'd become the role-model she looked up to, and the main reason she joined the police as well. It was in her blood, so to speak.

Today's discussion had been about the intuitive side of investigation, and was one of the few subjects where they had different opinions. Joe, advocating the importance of the objective gathering of evidence, building up to the eventual arrest, while Alice, from her own experiences, were arguing for a more combined approach. When she had told him that she had started to believe that intuition was like an awareness-muscle, and could be trained, he had disagreed.

'Practice and experience will provide you with a set of tools to analyse people's behaviour,' he said. 'That might be helpful, but it can also mislead you. Solid evidence won't.'

She didn't totally agree, but stopped arguing with him. She could see his point of view, but she'd noticed it with herself, and also encouraged it with her team; gut-feelings shouldn't be ignored. It had to be backed up by evidence, of course, but when stuck in a case, she had often experienced the 'unexplainable inspiration' that would put them in the right direction. Probably because of her upbringing, whenever the 'feeling' came along, she doubted it, though. Didn't really dare to trust in it completely. But as her experience grew, so did the belief in her intuitive side.

'What do you think, Milky Paws,' she said, looking at Mr Liskin, a quite big, silver tabby with white socks. Getting her attention, he started to purr, and gave her one of his 'I know it all, but I won't tell you' looks. Alice went out in her kitchen and opened him a tin of tuna, before returning to her sofa with another cup of tea. Earl Grey, no sugar, and a splash of milk. She let her eyes wander around the living room. It was a cosy, warm room with some colourful pictures on the walls. Reproductions most of them, but a few originals of unknown artists, bought at an art exhibition last year. Not for investment, but because she really liked them. The curtains matched her sofa and armchair, and the wooden floor had a nice, thick rug on it, under the coffee table.

'It's a good place to come home to after work,' she thought, 'but after spending time with family, or friends, it's kind of empty. Even though I have you, Mr Liskin.'

He jumped up beside her, and started to rub his head against her arm. She turned on the TV, laid back on the sofa, and dozed off with Mr Liskin purring on her lap.

Chapter 3 - Wednesday 13th of May

He had stumbled upon the remote beach just by pure chance on one of his drives from the summer cottage in Pembrokeshire. The beach itself was about half a mile long and he found its flat surface perfect.

The day was beautiful, the slow breeze from the sea brought a refreshing smell of salt, and the warm sun caressed the sand. The forecast had said that it would last, at least until the weekend.

The young woman was lying on her back, quite close to the cliffs, with her eyes open towards the blue sky.

'She is still beautiful,' he thought when he looked at her, lying there on the sand with her long, blonde hair spread out around her head like a halo. Closer to the head it seemed a bit darker though, as if it was wet. Up close he could see that her skin was grey with light-purple patches, and her inner halo was red. He slowly got his mobile out of his pocket and phoned the police.

***

Detective Chief Inspector Alice Liskin was given the details of the crime scene by one of her assistants, while she at a distance was looking at the man who reported the crime. His name was John Thorpe, he was in his late forties, about 5'11", slim, blond, and looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. He had a good tan. He was wearing a tracksuit, and by the look of it, was feeling rather miserable. He had been quite close to the body, telling his story, when the forensic officers had turned her around, and was probably not used to seeing a crushed skull up close. He had told them that he'd seen the girl for the first time yesterday, and then again today. Running past her on both occasions, then today returned for a possible chat, when he had realized she was dead. In hindsight, she probably was so yesterday as well, he told them, because she was in the exact same spot today. No, it was unusual to see somebody here. He had been using the beach for his running every other weekday afternoon for the last couple of weeks, and this was the first time he had seen anybody there.

'Nice, friendly face,' she thought to herself as she approached him.

'Hello Mr. Thorpe, I'm DCI Alice Liskin. Thank you for being so cooperative. I'm told that you come here often.'

'No problem,' he managed a shadow of a smile. 'I'm here about three to four times a week, in the afternoons, for running. Trying to quit smoking and get back in shape.' He tried to look at ease, but was clearly a bit out of his comfort zone.

'What do you do for a living, Mr. Thorpe?'

'I'm retired. Sold my little software company about a year ago, and for the moment I'm just trying to enjoy my life. Change of lifestyle, you know. Tired of working 24/7. Thought it might be OK to get a bit more out of life.'

'And you have never seen the girl before, you said?'

'No, never. As far as I know. Not noticing her, if you know what I mean.'

'Are you certain you haven't seen anybody else around here?'

'Definitely. I saw another car up where I park mine, but that was weeks ago. There are probably more people here during the weekends though, but I don't go here then. If I wanted spectators to my lack of form, I would have joined a gym.'

'Well, thank you again, Mr. Thorpe, and if you should remember anything that might be helpful to us, please give me a call. Here's my card. We'll contact you again later this week for you to sign a written statement about this. I believe we have your address and phone number.'

'Yes, you have. Is it OK that I leave, then? Hope you'll catch whoever did this soon!'

'Yes, to both,' she said with a little smile.

Chapter 4 - Friday 15th of May

'So, you're convinced there is a connection then?' Detective Chief Superintendent Ramstone looked straight at Alice Liskin. She was quite pleasant to look at as well, he thought. 42, dark hair, and a slim 5'7. Joe's daughter was more than all right. Great intuition combined with a reflective logic, and excellent at handling people. He was pleased with his senior officer.

'Let's put it this way, sir, I know that we don't have any evidence to back it up. Yet. But I can feel it in my bones. Too many similarities. We already have two people murdered, within two months. All found in open places as if the killer wanted them to be found. All women, no belongings, very little clothes, all of them seem to have been killed somewhere else. Almost nothing to be found on the crime scene, nothing that belongs to the victims, or connects them, as far as we know. When they called from the local police station in Pembrokeshire and requested help, they were put through to me, and I just knew that this was the third. And for once it was relatively fresh. I just had to go there.'

'OK. What about that Thorpe fellow? Anything there?'

'No sir, not at the moment, but I won't rule anything out. He's coming down here on Monday to sign his statement, if you want to see him.'

'No, just keep me informed. I've got wolves on my back, if you know what I mean. Did you ask him about the fountain pen?'

'That was found after he'd left. I'll check with him on Monday.'

'And Liskin, for God's sake, don't let anybody talk to anyone about the fact that we think there's a serial killer out there. I do not want any unnecessary publicity. That's all, thank you. See you next week, then. Have a nice weekend.'

***

The operation room, or the op-room as they liked to call it, was unbearably hot. The air-conditioning system had been out of order for most of the day, the water cooler was empty, and the only thing that would come out of the coffee machine was a light brown, lukewarm liquid that didn't taste of anything. They had been on the phones and on the computers since half past seven. It was Friday, past five o'clock and it had been a gruelling week.

'Let's run through it all one more time before the weekend. Niles, would you please?' Alice was trying to hold the attention of her two assistants. Detective Sergeant Niles Hawthorn, an athletic built, dark haired man of 33, opened a file and started to read in an uninspired voice that told the fact that he had read it too many times already.

'Victim 1: Estimated time of death: March 23rd, female, mid thirties, brown hair. General info: found on a public football field near Windsor, wearing pants only. Unidentified. No match in missing persons register. No forensic evidence of sexual abuse, or DNA, found on the body, awaiting further results. Death caused by a hard blow to the back of the head. Items found near by: one plastic lighter, two half smoked cigarettes and one Audi key ring with no keys.

Victim 2: Estimated time of death: April 17th, female, late thirties, dark hair. General info: found on a bench near by a lake in a public park outside Exeter, Devon, wearing a thong only. Unidentified. No match in missing persons register. No forensic evidence of sexual abuse, or DNA, found on the body, awaiting further results. Death caused by a hard blow to the back of the head. Items found near by: one male driving glove, (black, left hand, no label), one empty bag from the local supermarket containing traces of cider, five fag ends.

Victim 3: Estimated time of death: May 11th, female, mid twenties, blonde hair. General info: found on a beach in Pembrokeshire, wearing bikini pants only. Unidentified. No match in missing persons register. No forensic evidence of sexual abuse, or DNA, found on the body, awaiting further results. Death caused by a hard blow to the back of the head. Items found near by, one old plastic water bottle with traces of salt (on outside, probably blown in from the sea), one silver fountain pen with the inscription Alistair, one old rubber flip-flop.

For all victims, the time of death is just a rough estimation due to conflicting evidence such as body temperature, stomach content and livor mortis. More details will follow.' He looked up. 'That's it. I can't find any connection apart from the obvious. Gender, little clothes and no sex abuse. And by the look of the pictures they all had nice boobs, if I may add,' he said with a smile. 'Just a personal reflection.'

'Not much to work on here.' Detective Constable Paul Wallis, the youngest member of the team, looked discouraged. 'What do you think, Chief? And Niles, spare us your personal comments, please.'

'That's OK, Paul. I don't get easily offended.' Alice smiled. Even though he was the youngest of them, he was always the protective. 'If it's true that we all have an animal we resemble, Paul would be a golden retriever,' she thought, looking at his light-blonde hair. 'To the case, then,' she said. 'I believe that if we don't get some identifications soon, and assuming we have a serial on our hands, we'll be needing a miracle to prevent the next one. I'm not sure if it is a pattern, but if we look at the dates, it seems like the 5th of June is, excuse my choice of words, some kind of deadline. The dates on time of death have been cut back by 6 days every time. What we know is that the killer has wanted us to find the bodies, and has been very successful in hiding all traces. If we look at the objects that have been found, in my opinion three of them don't seem to belong to the scene. Out of place in a way. First, the key ring does not belong on a football field. Neither does a lighter, nor fags, but those are things we are likely to throw away. Key rings we lose, if you see what I mean. The same goes for the driving glove and the fountain pen, again for the same reasons. But do they belong to the killer? My problem with this is, if the killer is as clever as we think, how could he be so careless about losing personal belongings? Another thing, is there a geographical connection between the crime scenes? Who can the victims be? Why hasn't anybody reported them missing? Let's think about it during the weekend. Let's see if we can come up with some fresh angles and good ideas on Monday. Have a nice weekend both of you!'

Alice watched them clear their desks and leave. She spent some time going through her emails and sorting her papers, then she reluctantly packed up her briefcase and went home to feed her cat.

'Dear Mr Liskin,' she thought. 'The only male creature I have ever let myself get seriously involved with.'

Not that she had lacked opportunities. She just never seemed to find one that ticked all the boxes. The thought of herself being too critical had crossed her mind more than once, but she knew that she wouldn't settle for anything less than a soul-mate. Someone who intrigued her mind. Of course there was a physical side to it as well, but the difficult part was to find the right combination of body and soul. And apart from that not so unimportant matter, she was quite happy. She had her family, she had friends, and a challenging job that she thoroughly enjoyed, but on a personal level something was missing.

'It would be so nice to feel the same urge to go home after work, as I feel to get here in the morning,' she thought. 'To have someone to come home to, someone I know I can share thoughts and feelings with, and who needs me for more than opening a can of tuna.' She smiled a slightly sad smile as she left for the car