by steve higgs
Our first task was to empty out the many bins located around the open areas of the dockyard. Anna had a map which showed where all the bins were located. The task seemed simple enough but there was a list of things to do after that.
I wondered how fast we could get the work done and how we would lose the two girls so we could snoop about by ourselves. Big Ben had a plan for that as well. As we left the room, he delivered a playful nudge to Anyanka’s hip with his own, then whispered in her ear.
She giggled at him and danced away as he tried to grab her. Anyanka was a thickset woman with wide hips and a roll of fat hanging over her belt. In her later thirties or perhaps a little older, she was no kind of catch and way below the batting average for Big Ben.
So how was it that we came to meet Dave Saunders? I need to backtrack a little to explain that. When we left the dockyard at 1617hrs, I had been on my way to visit Dave Saunders at his place in Gillingham. We found his house easily enough from the address he had given. It was not far from the Priestfields football stadium where terrace houses were packed in like sardines. Parking was difficult, but we found a spot around the corner that would take both our cars, locked them up and walked back to the address he had given me.
He had seen me coming and was unlocking the door as we mounted the steps that led to it. Welcomed inside, we could see thow he had observed our approach, the front door opened directly into the small living room where his couch was located adjacent to the only window in the room.
‘Come in, come in.’ He beckoned.
There was not much space in the room for furniture, a single arm chair, a battered looking corner table and the sofa he had been sitting on. The wall opposite the sofa was dominated by a huge wide-screen tv which we found ourselves facing as we wedged ourselves side by side onto the surprisingly uncomfortable seat.
‘Thank you for seeing us, Dave.’ I started. ‘This is my associate, Ben Winters.’
‘You know Alan Page, don’t you? He called just before you to say I should expect to hear from Michael Michaels’s son. I guess that’s you.’
I nodded.
‘Alan said you were going to be looking into what is happening at the Dockyard, is that right?’
‘It is. I want to find out what happened to my father. I don’t trust the police to get the job done.’
‘Neither would I, mate.’ He agreed. ‘So, how can I help you.’
‘I have a few questions for starters.’ I had my notebook out and a pen ready, so I pressed straight on. ‘Have you seen the ghosts?’
He nodded as he spoke. ‘Several times. Dave and me, that’s Dave McKinnon, we have heard the screams from the cleaners and gone running to find out what was going on. Sounded like people were being murdered sometimes, but when we found the source of the noise it was always someone that had been scared by the ghost. Sometimes it was cleaners, sometimes it was other security guards and once or twice it was other people working late, like folks that work in the offices. A few times we arrived quickly enough to see the ghosts vanishing in the distance.’
‘What did they look like?’
‘Like sailors from the 18th century. All white wigs and fancy white tights with one of those long coats that has all the gold brocading on it. Only… Only you could sort of see through them. They looked misty.’
I made a note. ‘Anyone ever hurt before my dad.’
‘Yeah, several people. Mysterious falls down stairs, a few accidents where the person appeared to have hit their head but would then swear blind that something had hit them. A couple of occasions where the ghosts have chased people and they have fallen in the dark and hurt themselves.’
‘What was said about that? By management, I mean. What did they do?’
‘Hushed it up mostly. There was never any proof. The victims, if I can call them that, were accused of being clumsy or of making it up to cover up their own accident. Lots of them have left. Some through indignation that they were not believed but most of them through fright that it might happen again.’
‘I see. There seem to be a lot of Eastern Europeans taking jobs at the Dockyard. What do you think about that?’ I had a vague theory forming.
‘Not Eastern Europeans, Mr. Michaels. No, it’s far more specific than that. They are Ukrainian. Every last one of them.’
‘Really?’ That didn’t sound like a coincidence. ‘Are you saying that as the old staff are being scared away, they are being replaced by Ukrainian nationals exclusively?’
‘That’s what I am saying. You can check I am sure.’
Julia Jones had claimed she was under instruction on who she could hire. ‘How come you and Dave are still there?’
‘I doubt I could get another job. Not one as convenient as this one. I can walk to work from here, the pay is okay and up until all these problems started, I never had to do anything much. Dave and I would find a quiet corner and watch movies on his iPad.’
I remembered nights performing pointless guard duties during the early part of my army career. A nook out of the wind where you could while away a bit of time was a blessing on many a cold night. Next to me Big Ben was nodding his understanding.
So, I had a Ukrainian chap as the CEO’s personal assistant, a Ukrainian head of security and the entire facility was now being flooded with Ukrainian staff as the old staff were being scared away. It was very specific, and it seemed the ghosts were being used to perform the scare tactics.
‘You’re not scared that you might meet with an accident?’
‘I am actually.’ He admitted. ‘Dave and I never leave each other’s sight these days. We are the only two left on the security detail that are not Ukrainian, and they are making it more and more uncomfortable for us to stay there.’
‘In what way?’ Big Ben asked, speaking for the first time.
Dave turned his attention to Big Ben. ‘Small stuff really. Our packed meals would go missing, our mugs got broken, we would always get the crappiest duty and if it was raining, we would have to be outside all night. I think Dave would have left if I hadn’t begged him to stay a bit longer. If he goes, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to continue.’
I thought for a moment. I would have more questions, but I didn’t have any more at the moment. Dave was clearly prepared to aid us in our investigation, so I outlined what Big Ben and I would be doing and when and where. He had no questions for us, so it was time to go. We were starting the cleaning shift at 2000hrs so were getting short on time to change and eat and get back to the Dockyard.
‘Anything else you want to know?’ He asked.
I shook my head, but Big Ben said, ‘Yeah. Are there many fit girls working there at night?’
I slapped him on the arm with my notebook.
That had ended the chat with Dave, who had then promised to look out for us at work and would give us whatever help he could. Big Ben and I had met back at the Dockyard fifteen minutes before we were due to start our shift. I used the time to feed myself and to feed and walk my dogs before dropping them off with Mrs Comerforth.
Now, as Anna led us to the wheelie bin we would be pushing around to empty the bins into, I wondered how we would slip away. The answer, at least initially, was that we wouldn’t. The cleaning still had to get done, otherwise Big Ben and I would last no time at all no matter who he shagged next.
Our presence had been spotted by several of the Ukrainian security guards. They were eyeing us warily while they discussed us in their native tongue. We were not followed though, so soon enough, with Anna directing our actions, we were emptying bins into the big wheelie bin and then pushing it to the next destination on the map. It was easy work, but monotonous. As Big Ben and I emptied each bin by yanking out the bag inside and tossing it into the larger receptacle, Anna put a fresh bag into each bin and placed it back where it came from. The simple task would be unpleasant in the rain, but tonight it was still and dry and really not that cold. It could have been much worse.
The girls were chatting co
nstantly in Ukrainian while Big Ben and I were mostly silent, but after ten minutes of the slow, boring task Big Ben sidled up to me and whispered, ‘We need to lose the girls.’
‘Yup.’ I nodded.
‘How about we shag them and offer to leave them tackling one of the easier indoor tasks while we race around and get this done so we can sneak off.’
I glanced at Anna. She was smiling at me.
‘I reckon you’re well in there, mate.’ Big Ben observed.
It didn’t sound like a thing to be happy about to me. Anna was no more attractive than her friend Anyanka. Not that I was being judgemental, I just didn’t wish to put my penis anywhere near her. Besides that, I really couldn’t see how I converted pushing a wheelie bin around into us all taking our clothes off for sex.
‘How about an abridged version of that plan where I don’t have sex with anyone?’ I suggested.
‘Really?’ Big Ben looked confused. ‘I thought you were still suffering a dry spell. You said you hadn’t shagged Natasha yet. Haven’t you been on like seven dates now?’
‘Six actually.’
‘Six dates? With a girl as hot as Natasha? A girl that you were lusting after for months. Yes, you were!’ He snapped when I opened my mouth to disagree. ‘You do realise that life will be simpler for you if you just come out of the closet.’
‘Suck it, douchebag.’
‘There you go. Telling other men to suck it. What more proof do you need? Just get yourself a tee-shirt that says, “I love cock” and wear it proudly.’
‘You are not helping, and I am still not going to have sex with Anna in order to distract them.’
‘Okay, length-lover. I’ll just have to do them both while you empty the bins.’
He peeled off and fell back a couple of paces to where the girls were chatting as they followed us. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, however, the result of his words was that Anyanka took his hand and began tugging him toward the nearest building. Anna didn’t go with them though.
As Anyanka was fiddling with a large bunch of keys on her belt, a bunch that I had not spotted until now but most definitely wanted to get my hands on, Big Ben was gesticulating to me urgently. Quite exactly what message I was supposed to perceive was lost but it was probably something along the lines of, “Sorry, I tried, but you are going to have to shag her yourself.”
Not happening, I told myself as Anna came toward me, smiling in what I assumed was supposed to be a demure way.
It could be worse, I told myself. I could do this. It might even be nice. I was trying to gee myself up for the task, but no matter how I phrased it in my head, I still couldn’t get Mr Wriggly to engage. It was like turning the ignition key, but the starter motor was broken. Bottom line: Anna was short and ugly and she smelled a bit odd. She also had missing teeth, a misshapen nose and a large hairy brown mole on her right cheek. Nature had not been kind to Anna, but my sympathy couldn’t extend far enough to give her an orgasm.
‘Hello, Tempest.’ She smouldered at me while lounging herself against the wheelie bin. They didn’t give us a uniform to wear, I guess that cost them more, so all the staff wore whatever crappy clothes they had at home. Anna had chosen a torn and dirty coat to ward off the cool night air and partnered it with ripped jeans, that were skin tight on her bulging thighs, and a pair of ratty trainers for her feet. Not that putting her in a fresh outfit from Victoria’s Secret would have made a difference, but the bag-lady look wasn’t doing her any favours.
She gave up on the indirect approach, pushed herself off the wheelie bin and advanced on me. Mr Wriggly hid beneath my right testicle.
‘I think our friends are getting warm and comfortable inside. Wouldn’t you like to do that too?’
I really wanted to blurt out that I would rather take a cheese grater to my balls and then douse them in vinegar before setting them on fire, but I kept the less-pleasant thoughts locked inside my head.
Instead, I said, ‘I, um. I like cock?’ It came out more as a question than anything else as if I was asking if she would believe my lie.
Her face was sceptical. ‘Your friend said you were shy and that you have a small penis, but I should be sympathetic and let you try your best.’
I was going to kick him in the nuts.
‘Sorry, no. I’m just gay. Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.’ I said, trying to get myself into the role.
‘Oh. Oh, well. I guess I misunderstood.’ We sort of looked at each other for a few seconds, waiting for the other to speak.
‘Shall we continue with the bins?’ I asked as I grabbed the wheelie bin again and started pushing it toward the station of bins I could see in the distance.
‘I should, ah. I should wait for Anyanka.’ Said Anna, then thought better of it. ‘Maybe I should check on her actually. Make sure she is alright.’ Clearly, she had struck out with me and fancied her chances elsewhere.
Fine by me. As she hurried in the direction Anyanka and Big Ben had gone, I revelled in finally being alone. I checked my watch: 2022hrs. It was dark near the water, but the floodlights I had seen during my earlier visit were still on, bathing the Dockyard in pools of bright light. I figured I could bluff that I was looking for a toilet if anyone wanted to know why I had wandered off, so I abandoned the wheelie bin, orientated myself against the map in my head and started jogging toward the rigging room.
Whispers in the Rigging Room. Monday, November 21st 2031hrs
I was being careful not to make any noise as my feet hit the cobbles, a task made easier by wearing an old, soft pair of trainers. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself and knew that if I was a security guard at night, I would react to the sound of a person running.
My stealthy movements would also allow me to hear others who were not trying to mask their progress. I could hear women chatting and laughing around the corner ahead of me as I approached it. I paused, checked around the corner and crossed between buildings while they were not looking my way. I had covered more than half the distance to the rigging room but had not yet seen any security guards. Perhaps they considered the site to be safe and were more relaxed than I expected. It could be that they were all hiding in the warm somewhere.
I reached the rigging room and slipped inside. The lights were off inside the long, thin room suiting my intentions perfectly. Light pouring through the windows from the flood lights outside provided enough illumination to see by and plenty of shadows for me sneak through.
No doubt it was set to be cleaned at some point this evening, the crew assigned to it on other tasks first. Alan had said there were whispers in the rigging room, which was cryptic and non-specific, but I had to acknowledge that those two things were my wheelhouse – an area where I generally operated.
Creeping through the room, dodging around ancient wooden equipment and stacks of rope positioned to give the visitors the look and feel of the room when it was in use a few hundred years ago, I could detect no noise. It was a long room though, so if I was listening for whispers, I should expect them to be hard to hear.
Every few yards I stopped to listen, stilling my breathing to prevent it interfering. Several minutes had elapsed when I judged I was over half way and then I heard it.
I froze on the spot, straining my senses. Nothing. Then it came again, a murmur of human speech too faint to understand. I turned slowly in place trying to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. Down the centre of the room ran what was essentially a raised table on which the rope was worked, the vast lengths required to rig a boat needing to be completely laid out in order that connections could be made at appropriate points along it. I climbed over it now to the other side in search of the noise.
The voices were intermittent which made them far harder to find and my paranoia was telling me I had already taken too long on this task and was going to be missed soon. I was committed though, the noise I could hear was part of this mystery.
It sounded like an echo. The realisation that the garbled sound I could hear had a cer
tain quality I associated with being underground put me on all fours on the floorboards. I began crawling around the floor, moving a few feet and pausing to listen, then repeating the motion, each time waiting for the noise before moving again.
It was coming from more than one place. It had to be and that was why I couldn’t pinpoint it, then as I moved forward, I caught the whispered voice right by my ear. It was coming from a pipe.
I turned to face it and sat on the floorboards to inspect what I had found. There was a pipe coming out of the floor. To the touch it felt like it was made of lead, which made sense given the age of everything here. It rose to a height of about three feet and was tucked between wooden boxes that might have been built as tool chests or part stores but were fixed to the floorboards. They did a great job of concealing the pipe which was probably easy to see if the lights were on and all but impossible without.
I placed my ear over the hole to listen and was rewarded moments later by more voices drifting out of it. Even with the sound going directly into my ear I still couldn’t make out what I was hearing.
I sat back to consider what this told me. The first answer was that there was something beneath the Dockyard. Was there a cellar underneath the rigging room and all I could hear was a couple of guards playing cards where they thought they would never get caught? Or was it more than that?
I checked my watch again. Too much time had gone by for me to hang around any longer or to begin searching now for a way into whatever was beneath me. Maybe I would be able to slip away again later.
At a slow jog, I made my way back along the room to the door I had come in through and made my way back to the wheelie bin.
Ghosts. Monday, November 21st 2105hrs
I found Big Ben and the girls not far from where I had left them. Anyanka’s hair had a dishevelled look to it that I made no comment about.