The Medium

by David Hatton

  ‘I haven’t done anything!’ Michael snapped. ‘I’m the one who came to you in the first place but you said you couldn’t do anything. I’ve been with Jackie Wallace and a group of people all afternoon, I’ve not had a chance to murder anyone! They’ll be my witnesses. Ask them.’

  ‘But before then you were with Pamela?’

  ‘Yes… I walked with her to the police station.’

  ‘To which she didn’t turn up. Where did she go?’

  ‘I don’t know, I was in the pub next door. I know it doesn’t sound great but there must be CCTV! We were outside the station and I was then in the pub next door. Ask them!’

  ‘Mr Walker, we’re going to hold you for further questioning. You may wish to instruct a lawyer.’

  Michael zoned out. He felt dizzy and nausea smacked his stomach. The room around him clouded and he sat back. Sweat poured from his head and a drum-roll commenced in his chest.

  ‘Do you understand?’ Robinson asked. Michael nodded his head and was taken to a nearby cell. He was stripped of his laces, his phone and wallet. The door slammed shut behind him, a small window opened and a set of eyes peered into the cell. He collapsed onto the floor and stared into a bleak future.

  Four hours passed. During that time Michael had little communication except for an offer of water and food, which he declined. Outside, the doors banged but his screaming neighbours failed to distract him from the chaos circling his head. The brick walls were scratched from previous occupants. A toilet bowl sat in the corner; it was blocked and the stench made Michael retch.

  A click of a bolt and the squeak of a door brought some hope. Outside, Robinson stood. His tie had since loosened and his collar had torn open.

  ‘You’re free to leave, Mr Walker.’

  ‘Oh?’ He looked up. Despite his innocence he was surprised by his release.

  ‘Your story checks out. We looked at the CCTV. Pamela watched you walk into the pub and she walked off in the other direction. You were then with Jackie Wallace after leaving the pub. She’s confirmed that. For now, we’re eliminating you from our enquiries but we may have some questions later.’

  ‘What will happen to Theodore?’

  ‘I can’t discuss that at the moment but I’ll keep you informed as and when we can. But we will take your statement seriously, rest assured.’

  Michael collected his belongings. Outside, Manchester had darkened and he strolled a gloomy route home alongside the towpath.

  He checked his phone. Several missed calls were listed from a number he didn’t recognize. As he was examining the logs, a call came through from the device again.

  ‘Hello, Mr Walker.’

  ‘Hi, who’s this?’

  ‘This is Nathan. I’m calling from the Castlefield Reporter. I wondered if you’d be willing to do an interview regarding your wife… and more interestingly the fact that they’ve found her sister in the same canal today.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not talking to the press,’ he grumbled, ready to shut off the caller.

  ‘I understand that, Mr Walker, but if you do agree to an interview, we’ll pay for the search to find Suzanne.’

  Tears rushed down the face of a shaky Jane. Her husband clasped on to her hand as they rubbed the creased photograph of their daughters. They sat in their living room, the television continuing to hum in the corner. To their left, a police officer sat beside them, taking notes and making an attempt to console the couple who’d lost everything. His helmet rested beside him.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve lost them both. Why us?’

  ‘It’s so unfair,’ Ted said, rubbing her back.

  ‘I just can’t believe it. First Jason, then Suzanne and now this. What did we do to deserve this, Teddy bear?’

  The police officer received a call. He coughed an apology and excused himself from the living room.

  ‘Who could do this to us, Ted?’

  ‘It must be Michael. There’s no other explanation. Suzanne… in Manchester. Now when Pamela visits Manchester… she’s gone too.’

  ‘Well there is one other explanation…’ Jane pushed her husband away and grabbed a hanky, wiping the moisture from her nose.

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’ Ted asked with squinting interest.

  ‘I got a call from Michael today, he had a lot to say… about you as it happens.’

  ‘Me?’ Ted gasped. ‘What could I have done?’

  ‘Where have you been all day, Theodore?’

  ‘What? I was at the golf course! You know that. How can you possibly accuse me?’

  ‘I don’t know if I believe you…’

  Before she could reveal any more, the officer returned and collected his helmet. He turned to the couple and tilted his head.

  ‘Theodore… I’m sorry to have to do this but I need you to come down to the station to answer some questions…’

  15.

  ‘Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.’

  - William Shakespeare (1598)

  The lone housewife cleared the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher. Her only company was the hums of her white appliances churning water around her clothes and pots. Outside, the black sky had a sprinkling of stars and a half-moon reflected the sun’s rays onto their Didsbury home.

  Elizabeth sat down at the table and picked up her book. As she attempted to read several lines of the first chapter, the throbbing pain in her head prevented her from taking in the creative lines of her favourite author. Above, the patters of feet scattered across the landing.

  The kettle boiled and she prepared a chocolate malt drink for her husband who lay in bed reading the Financial Times. Above him, a small spotlight hung over the stock market updates, while the rest of the room remained in darkness. She placed the mug beside Robert on his bedside table. Lingering for gratitude, the housewife left disappointed.

  On her return to the kitchen, she picked up a newspaper and read over the details of the search for her sister-in-law. Michael stood proudly next to Jackie; his body appeared withered and he was half the man she knew when the four of them could stomach to keep each other’s company. Below the photograph of Suzanne brought a moist drop from her eye to roll onto the paper, spoiling the missing woman’s face.

  She looked back to that last holiday. It had been their best yet. Once Jason was in bed, the four of them sat outside the villa and drank port into the late evening. They’d always got on but that holiday gave them the chance to really bond. Suzanne at her best howled with laugher to the point that their neighbours would open their windows and tell them all to quieten down. She’d spent the evening telling them about what instruments she’d found up her patients’ backsides and the ridiculous excuses they’d concocted to avoid revealing the true story behind their embarrassing mishaps. Later on she became emotional; talking about her struggles to juggle a career and motherhood, but at no point did she appear bitter as, unlike Elizabeth, she had it all. They had a simple life but a joyful one, while Elizabeth and Robert wanted for nothing financially but something was missing from their lives.

  A tap on the window distracted her from her grief. Peering at the time, Elizabeth scratched her head. Who would dare knock this late? She grabbed a sharp chopping knife and tiptoed up into the conservatory, keeping her back to the wall to hide her shadow. Glancing around the corner, she found a familiar face standing behind the window. The visitor waved.

  Relieved, Elizabeth switched on the conservatory lights and quietly opened the patio doors. She paused, listening out for her husband, but silence brought a blissful encouragement.

  ‘Jackie, what are you doing here?’ she whispered.

  ‘I wanted to follow up on our conversation earlier today. You were about to tell me something… something about Robert.’

  ‘Can’t we plan another session, this isn’t a good time. Plus I’ve already paid you my weekly allowance on today’s session.’

  ‘I won’t charge you. I’m here as a friend, not a medium.’

 
; Jackie’s usually vibrant clothing had toned down to a black coat and dark jeans. Her purple mane was hidden beneath a dark blue beanie hat with a sports branded label printed across the front. Sneaking out of the patio doors, Elizabeth continued to tiptoe around the garden taking Jackie to the back of the lawn to a small pond with a wooden bridge across it. The trickling of a fountain pouring into the pond provided a sound-guard against any eavesdroppers.

  Dressed only in her blue nightwear, Elizabeth tightened a white silk robe around herself, preventing the cool breeze from shivering her feeble bones. They sat together on a small bench beside the water feature to continue their discussion which Michael had interrupted earlier in the day. The drizzling rain and the spring of a frog did little to distract the chatty clairvoyant, desperate to break the silence of her lonely client.

  ‘You mentioned earlier that Robert didn’t want you to tell anyone that you were with Suzanne the night she went missing. Has he got something to do with her disappearance?’

  ‘He’s not a bad person. I honestly don’t know what happened to Suzanne that night. I really don’t. Although I have my suspicions but no proof.’

  Elizabeth glanced up towards the second floor of her detached home. The light from her husband’s bedroom died.

  ‘So what are you holding back?’

  ‘You see this goes back much further than Suzanne’s disappearance…’

  ‘How far back?’ Jackie’s eyes widened as she absorbed Elizabeth’s extraordinary tale. Its teller took a deep breath before she revealed the secret her family had held on to for years.

  ‘It goes back as far as Jason…’

  *

  Half an hour later, Elizabeth waved goodbye to her companion and stepped indoors, quietly closing the door behind her. As the glass entrance shut, a familiar figure reflected within the glass. She shrieked and turned around, discovering her husband in the conservatory. He wore his woolly robe, his hairy legs exposed beneath and his smooth chiselled chest sneaked out through the V-shaped gap of the cover.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Elizabeth threw a hand on her chest, gasping for air. She attempted to laugh off her fright. ‘You scared me.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I was taking the rubbish out.’

  Robert turned around and glanced into the kitchen. The overflowing bin liner remained beside the metal can. Elizabeth glanced towards the evidence. Neither of them acknowledged the lie.

  ‘I hope you’re not up to anything.’

  ‘I’m not, I promise.’

  ‘You’ve been distant over the last couple of days.’

  ‘I’m just tired. It’s hard not to be worn out. It’s been an emotional rollercoaster over the last few days with all this Suzanne stuff coming up again. It’s upsetting.’

  ‘I hope you’ve not told anybody…’

  ‘I haven’t…’ she gulped. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good, because you know both of us would be in trouble should anyone find out? Withholding evidence is a crime, it’s obstructing justice. Just you remember that.’

  ‘I haven’t told anybody,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I promise I won’t.’

  Robert marched over to his wife and held her head in his hands. Staring into her eyes, he attempted to gauge whether she was telling the truth. Elizabeth forced her eyes open and focused on her husband’s pupils.

  ‘Good… now get this kitchen cleaned up. It’s a dump in here. God knows what you’ve been doing down here.’

  Robert stormed upstairs, leaving his wife to clear the kitchen. She broke down into tears, fearing not only the police, but her husband, should he discover her over-active tongue.

  *

  On Barlow Moor Road, the rain poured down onto Jackie Wallace’s yellow Mini. The wipers viciously swiped the water from her windscreen but the medium continued to struggle viewing the road behind the heavy downfall en route to her Chorlton home.

  The road was slippery. Her car had faced a few near-misses along the winding road connecting Chorlton to Didsbury. The restaurants and bars lining the street had closed for the evening and only her headlights guided her way home. The petrified glare of a fox caused Jackie to swerve off the road, narrowly missing a lamppost.

  Despite the daunting drive, Jackie continued to smile. The evening had taken an interesting turn. Elizabeth’s revelations had been quite the eye-opener. She began to form a plan. She had everything in place, now she just had to find that body.

  16.

  “The scientific fact of clairvoyance, telepathy, soul-flight, psychometry, and prophecy are all well established by incontrovertible evidence yet to mention them in certain circles is to ostracise yourself.”

  - Benjamin Fish Austin (1899)

  The summer heat evaporated the previous evening’s downfall. A crowd of journalists and morbidly curious onlookers surrounded the diving team. The white bridge connecting Castlefield to Salford was cut off as the head of the operation directed the divers. Behind the red tape, the cast and crew of the soap opera filming earlier in the week stared on, furious that their production had been stalled.

  On the other side of the canal, Michael Walker perched on a bench watching the proceedings. His impatience grew as his hopes were dashed with every bob of the diver’s head, who surfaced for further instructions. Dressed in a black rubber swim-suit, goggles and an air tank strapped to his back, the diver returned to dry land and snacked on his lunch before throwing himself back into the water.

  Michael’s attire was scruffy. The blue t-shirt he’d slept in the previous night stank of his perspiration and his jeans had worn at the knees. A tap on his shoulder awoke him from the abyss. He looked up and found his brother towering over him, his shadow covering the bench Michael rested upon.

  ‘Hey.’ Robert glumly greeted his brother.

  ‘Hi, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I couldn’t let you go through this alone.’

  ‘Well thanks for coming. It’s good to have your support.’ He tapped the bench, inviting his brother to take a seat. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  Robert took the seat and threw a newspaper on his brother’s lap. On the front page of the Castlefield Reporter, the headline ‘Newspaper funds search for missing person’ took centre stage.

  The Castlefield Reporter is proud to announce that it is funding the search for a local missing woman. Suzanne Walker disappeared in December, leaving her husband, Michael, behind. While hope was once lost, psychic medium Jackie Wallace gave a lead to Suzanne’s grieving family, indicating his wife was lying beneath the canal, but Greater Manchester Police refused to fund the search. Suzanne’s father, Theodore Buchanan, 75, has been arrested on suspicion of the murder of both of his daughters. His youngest daughter, Pamela, was found in the same canal, which Jackie Wallace claims Suzanne is within. Allegations of historic abuse against the sisters has also been claimed.

  ‘News gets out fast. They’re really exploiting this. I guess they need something. In accordance with my contract, I’m only obliged to provide an interview if the divers find a body. This is their insurance, a headline story.’

  ‘So you’re really following this up?’ Robert asked and his brother nodded. ‘You’ve really changed. A few weeks ago you wouldn’t have entertained this.’

  ‘A lot has changed since then. I’ve seen things, Robert. That woman is amazing. She’s transformed my entire belief system. I have a whole new outlook on life… and the afterlife. But even if this all ends up being a bunch of crap, she’s given me a whole new perspective and provided hope that I might finally get some answers.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Robert replied. ‘What do you make of Ted being arrested?’

  ‘It was me who told the police. Pamela came to see me a few hours before she was found. I don’t know, Robert, I can’t trust anyone anymore.’

  Robert raised his head but remained quiet.

  ‘You look like shit by the way.’ Michael looked his brother up and down. His suit hung loosely from his usually firm
physique and he’d let his facial hair grow out.

  ‘Thanks a lot. You’re not smelling of roses yourself.’

  ‘Seriously though, are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. I guess I’m just reliving all this which hasn’t been as revitalizing as it has been for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve been going out of my mind for months. I need this. Jason’s death was hard but at least I knew where he was. Not knowing where Suzanne is has been killing me.’

  ‘And you’re certain she’s down there?’ Robert raised an eyebrow.

  ‘One hundred percent.’ He gave his brother a thumbs-up.

  ‘Then we shall wait…’

  The diver resurfaced. He waved at the head of the operation, who held his hand in the air and spoke into his handheld receiver. The brothers rose up and ran to the search team.

  ‘What is it?’ Michael asked, but the security pushed him aside. Behind, the diver stepped out of the water and placed an item into a clear plastic bag and handed it to a lone police officer who watched over the proceedings.

  ‘I thought the police weren’t involved?’ Robert asked.

  ‘They’re not but they need to keep an eye on proceedings just in case.’

  The policeman returned to his car and opened his boot. From a distance, Michael caught a glimpse of the item which the officer had placed inside his vehicle; a handbag. The clutch was black with a gold clip. Above, two gold letters spelled out S.W.

  The Bootle Street Police Station was a little more inviting than his last visit. Michael rushed through the entrance and begged the officer on duty for an update, but his optimism was short-lived as he was directed towards the waiting room.

  He sat down beside his brother and stared at the white brick walls. Robert picked up a magazine but struggled to take in the headlines.