than it did the main door. Someone’s been using this room on a regular basis.’
Lapslie nodded. ‘Okay. Lead on.’
As he entered the concrete room, Lapslie glanced around. It looked like it might have been a storeroom. Empty metal racking lined the walls. At the far end, lined up on one of the shelves, was what Bradbury wanted to show him. Lapslie moved close, and stared in bewilderment.
Stretching along the entire length of the shelf, standing upright, were twelve small wooden coffins. They were perfectly shaped, and about twelve inches tall. Nine were closed, and three open. The open coffins had what looked like dolls standing up inside them.
Lapslie moved forward for a closer look. The threedolls he could see were dressed bizarrely. The first wore a beautiful lace wedding dress. The second was dressed as a soldier; on his shoulder was a small carefully stitched crown indicating the rank of major. The third and final doll was dressed as an old-fashioned teacher, with a black gown, and a mortar board perched on his head. The dolls seemed to have been made of wax, or something similar, judging by the gloss of their skin. Whatever the material was, they had been well made.
‘“There will be time to murder and create”,’ he murmured softly.
Lapslie slipped on latex gloves, picked up the doll dressed as a bride and stared at it for a moment, running his thumb across the lace and the material that made up the dress. The clothing was well tailored, and the material of a fine quality. He put down the bride doll and went on to peer at the soldier and the teacher. When he leaned over and opened one of the closed coffins it revealed another doll; this one dressed as a mechanic of some sort. It was wearing stained blue overalls and carrying what looked like a small model spanner. The difference between this doll and the ones in the open coffins was that this doll had been crushed and twisted into disfigurement.
As Lapslie watched, Bradbury opened each of the coffins. Within each of them was another doll, each dressed in different clothing. There was a fireman, a nurse and six others. The neck of the fireman had been crushed, falling limply onto its shoulders. Every other doll had been badly damaged in some way. All differently, but all damaged.
Numerous questions raced around his mind. Why were some dolls inside their coffins and not others? Why were the ones inside the coffins damaged and those outside them perfectly fine? What did the costumes signify? Why had they been left here, and did the dead tramp have something to do with it? Were they just dolls someone had made for a horror film, or was there something much more sinister about them? And what was the significance of the number twelve? Twelve apostles; twelve angry men; twelve days of Christmas?
The smell of lavender reached him, and he wondered just which of the dolls might be triggering that smell in his mind: the fireman, the bride, the nurse? Or maybe it was simply coming from the cloth they were made with, somebody impregnating it with lavender to keep moths away.
He turned to Bradbury. ‘I don’t suppose we know anything about the dolls, do we?’
Bradbury shook her head. ‘No, sir, nothing. I was about to get the SOCOs to bag and tag them.’
*
‘No, don’t do that. Well not for now, anyway. Do the media know about this yet?’
Bradbury shook her head again. ‘No, sir, not yet. Seems little point in telling them now. I don’t suppose there’s much of a story in “alcoholic tramp found dead”.’
Lapslie looked at her for a moment. ‘Everyone has their story, Emma – even alcoholic tramps.’ Before she could reply he changed the subject. ‘Let’s wrap up the body ready for removal and run this operation down.’
‘Before we are sure of the cause of death?’
Lapslie nodded. ‘Yes. I’m pretty sure Whitefoot is right, but just in case, no one goes in or out until we have the final results. I want the placed resealed and any sign