Beyond the Blood Streams

by Ben Oakley

  BEYOND THE BLOOD STREAMS

  A Harrison Lake Mystery

  by

  Twelvetrees Publishing, Hampshire, United Kingdom

  hello@benoakley.co.uk

  Copyright © Ben Oakley, 2019

  BEYOND THE BLOOD STREAMS

  A Harrison Lake Mystery

  by Ben Oakley

  1st edition published by

  Twelvetrees Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or be transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Cover design by Marina Luisa & Ben Oakley

  Cover image by Scott Eckersley

  Discover more:

  www.benoakley.co.uk

  hello@benoakley.co.uk

  For Marina.

  My guardian angel.

  Also by Ben Oakley

  Fiction

  Harrison Lake Mysteries

  Beyond the Blood Streams

  Portent Hotel (Aug 2019)

  Subnet Trilogy

  Subnet: Unknown Origin

  Subnet: Alien Network

  Subnet: Final Contact

  Non-fiction

  The Oculus Database

  1978: Year of the Serial Killer.

  1987: Year of the Serial Killer (Chapter 2)

  Other non-fiction

  Mentacracy: Living under the Rule of Mental Illness

  Chapter List

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Thirty Two

  Thirty Three

  Thirty Four

  Thirty Five

  Thirty Six

  Thirty Seven

  Thirty Eight

  Thirty Nine

  Forty

  Forty One

  Forty Two

  Forty Three

  Forty Four

  Forty Five

  Forty Six

  Forty Seven

  Forty Eight

  Forty Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty One

  Fifty Two

  Fifty Three

  Fifty Four

  Fifty Five

  Fifty Six

  One

  The playgrounds of our childhoods are now graveyards of industry. I used to think there was such beauty in abandonment. Now I'm unsure if the derelict buildings were simply relics of a long forgotten age or a time of mass-consumerism and false hope.

  Regardless, I found myself yet again resting on the bar of a misappropriated drinking hole in North London. I'm told it used to be a church a century ago but it certainly didn't look like it. However, the atmosphere was to my liking and Jess Ashby owned the bar, which was one of my many reasons for going there. The Ribnik had saved me more times than not.

  When she purchased the old bar, Jess changed the name to The Ribnik because it reminded her of a family holiday when she was young. I later learned that Ribnik was a small village in Bosnia and Herzegovina, can't say it's a place I've ever been but I'm open to it.

  The whisky cocktail was sliding down my throat all too easily. It was never well deserved but it certainly helped me relax and focus on what was important in life – whatever that was. I say cocktail but it's basically an inch of whisky in a tall glass topped up with another inch of blackcurrant cordial.

  The bar served me well, the quietness of the establishment was in union with the Edwardian décor. I guessed the wood of the original church was reused in some vague manner at the turn of the 20th Century. Very fitting, I always thought. It was a far cry from the madness of Camden High Street, just a couple of roads away. But I could fit in anywhere, it's what made me more accessible to talk to.

  There was nothing untoward about a reasonably good-looking guy in black trousers, turquoise t-shirt and a dark blue thin-fleece jacket. It's what I wore most of the time, I hated being restricted by tight suits and generalisations. My dirty brown hair fell to just below the ears and I was happy with it, reminded me of my youth.

  Jess and I went back about five years when she had come to me for help after escaping an abusive relationship. Some thought it strange she'd come to me but it was not without precedent. A few months before I found her I had investigated and reported on abuse in cults and how the police needed more powers in order to bring the abusers within them to justice.

  Any cult story I was lumbered with always left a bad taste in my mouth, they just took the wind out of me. Luckily, Jess hadn't been involved in a cult, as far as I knew, but she had read the story nonetheless and thus our soul lines crossed.

  I guess back then I was a soft spot, but it felt real good helping her at that moment in her life. I put her up for a month while she got herself back on her feet, with nothing but respect between the two of us. She was only 21-years-old when I'd found her outside my offices, crumpled in a heap in the entranceway. She had no identification on her and no connection to a past except her name.

  “The surprising thing about young fools is how many grow up to be old fools,” Jess said.

  “Hey,” I replied, “I'm only 41-years-old, I'm in my prime.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  She had found me via the cult story in the quarterly Oculus publication. It was a by-product of the Oculus Database; a referential effort to log and classify everything the authorities brushed aside. At any time I could be researching or investigating anything from true crime, cold cases, hauntings or paranormal oddities. It wasn't going to change the world but it just about kept me in a job – and kept me sane. The more relevant and researched stories made the quarterly and I tended to have my stories featured quite prominently.

  There wasn't much call for paranormal investigators this side of the 21st Century and so the business had evolved to be part of the Oculus. Ten years earlier, I'd lost my Private Investigator License because I'd broken the law to save a life, and apparently that made no difference. So for ten years I've been an Investigative Researcher for the Oculus Database.

  Which is why I needed a drink.

  I shook my head and felt a little dizzy because of it. I was only on my second whisky but it was getting to me quicker than usual. Sometimes it knocked me for six and it was one of those days.

  “Those roadworks near Camden affect you?” she said, shaking her long blonde dreadlocks out of her face.

  “I haven't driven in years, you know that. Public transport is all I need.”

  When I first met her she had short brown hair but now she was a completely different person in every possible way. She was a nurtured product of Camden Town itself and had been moulded through alternative music and freedom of expression. She was the epitome of a free-spirited soul, and it made me feel good inside to know she was living her life in such a way.

  I would always remember her like she was standing in front of me at the bar, right then, rather than the broken creature who had pulled herself to safety.

  “Yeah but it migh
t have affected the Tube lines,” she said.

  “Why would roadworks affect the Underground?”

  “Just saying, it might have done that's all. Been something kooky about those roadworks all week.”

  “Kooky?”

  Jess nodded her head, “I read they discovered a body in the sewer lines when they started last week. It's why there are construction tents all over that side of Camden Canal. Word on the street is they pulled another two bodies from the sewers. It's not roadworks, it's a cover-up to hide the number of victims they're finding.”

  I was never one to question Jess's word on the street but it did seem a little far-fetched. Then again, I didn't really know what they were doing on the canal, it wasn't bothering me as much as it did the road users.

  Though I entertained her thought processes; “victims?”

  “I think it's related to the Blood Streams.”

  “The Blood Streams are a myth.”

  “Surprised you of all people think that. This is one story that's clearly passed you by.”

  “There's no story there,” I said, staring into my glass with one eye closed.

  “You alright? You seem a little off today?”

  I sighed and pushed the glass away from me, “I'm alright, how's things with you?”

  “Relationship's going well and the plan's coming together.”

  “I'd like to meet him one day,” I said.

  She'd been with her mysterious guy for about a year and I'd never even seen him. I was starting to wonder if the whole thing was a facade to make me feel better, to know she had someone there for her.

  “I hope that day comes soon but if it doesn't, then you'll find me on the shoreline of a new ocean with a new life, a better life.”

  “Jeez, I wish I had your optimism.”

  “Talk to me,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “Whatever you wanna talk to me about?”

  “I dunno, it's just when you think everything's going alright, something always pops up to keep you on your feet, you know?”

  “Hit me with it,” she pleaded.

  “Council tax has gone up on the house to £3100 a year.”

  She puffed her cheeks out, “and I thought my business rates were high.”

  “I feel like they're punishing me for having a house so big all to myself. It's not my fault it's been passed down to me through the years. ”

  “You could do with a lodger.”

  “Wouldn't know what to do with one.”

  “I can't let you lose the house, Harry. I'll do whatever I can to help.”

  “I know you would.”

  “You saved me once so let me save you. Soulmates for life, remember?”

  I grabbed the glass and held it above my head, “amen to that.”

  “I'm still here if you need me.”

  “Another drink it is then,” I grinned and slid the empty glass across the perfectly clean bar.

  My phone started ringing with a soft classical piece as its ringtone. It always made me jump when it went off, it was rarely good news. Most people who have my number knew I preferred messages as a first port of call. Apart from Melissa 'Mel' Harvey, my boss, I rarely got calls but then I seldom gave out my number.

  I reached into my jacket and rummaged around for the phone, the ringtone increasing in volume the longer it went on. There was no caller identification and no sign of any number; it was simply a blocked call.

  Jess scooted over and put a fresh whisky in front of me.

  “You gonna answer it?”

  “Unknown number. Probably unpaid bills or some spam shit.”

  “Don't you wanna know?”

  The ringtone was getting louder every moment I didn't answer it and I was aware it would be annoying others around me. Then I looked around and saw only three others in the bar.

  There was a young woman with long dreadlocks, similar to Jess's, sitting opposite a mid-thirties man wearing a cap. They were having what looked like a professional conversation. An older, slightly more rotund gentleman was reading a large broadsheet at the end of the bar. They were all that made up the lunch-time clientele at The Ribnik.

  “What is it with dreadlocks?” I said.

  “It's a dreadlock renaissance, didn't you hear?” she said, flicking her dreads back over her head. “This is Camden, a new age Mecca.”

  “The new age isn't so new anymore.”

  “That girl over there with the dreads, she's starting work here tonight. She's been homeless for a while and I've given her an opportunity.”

  “I'm proud of you,” I said.

  She looked at my phone which had reached annoyance levels, “aren't you curious to know who it is?”

  I looked at the phone, I really didn't want to answer it, I couldn't be bothered with listening to inane spam or cold callers. I just wanted to relax in peace for once.

  “Not really, no,” I said honestly.

  “You can't run from everything, Harry,” she sighed.

  I pressed the bulging red cancel button and put the phone face down on the bar. “Apparently one can.”

  Jess rolled her eyes at me, “why do you come here and bug me with your incessant pessimism?”

  “I like to check in every now again, see what's new in Jess's world.”

  The phone started buzzing and the classical music faded in again, much to mine and probably the entire bar's annoyance. I looked at Jess who was nodding at the phone, silently pleading me to pick it up and answer.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, picking up the phone and looking at.

  It was the same as it was a few seconds earlier; blocked caller and unknown number. To placate Jess's woeful sense of curiosity, I answered.

  “This is Harrison Lake.”

  Silence, nothing but still air on the other end.

  I tried again, “hello, this is Harrison Lake, can I help?”

  “Who is this?”

  It sounded like a teenage girl but it was a little quiet on the other end and I couldn't make it out.

  “I just told you my name. You called me, can I help you?”

  She sounded scared and spoke with a shiver in her voice.

  “Please help me!”

  Two

  I raised my eyebrows at Jess and shook my head, before covering the phone with my hand. I stood and leaned over the bar.

  “It's a prank call, I'm gonna take it outside and see where this goes.”

  “So you're gonna hang up now, right?” She said.

  “This is the most fun I've had in weeks,” I said before walking out.

  Jess called after me, “you come back for your tab!”

  The Ribnik was located in the back streets of Kentish Town, so in effect it was my local as I lived on the south side of Hampstead Heath. Being so close to Camden centre, the area always felt busy, but the street The Ribnik was on was generally quiet. You wouldn't find many tourists inside the bar but it would have been nice to see some new faces. On a Friday and Saturday night, the place was heaving but at any other time, not so much.

  Still, the rare sunshine on a warm Autumn day was more than refreshing. We were in the last weeks of natural vitamin D before the Winter took its grip on the land. I moved to one of the outside tables which had been precariously placed on the edge of the road, mostly for smoker's since the ban had come in. I leaned on the table, not bothering to sit.

  I put the phone back to my ear, “go on then, how can I help you?”

  I looked up and down the street; partially residential, partly commercial. It was a pretty suburb of Camden, far removed from the free-spirited atmosphere of the markets, and it was a pricey area. I was lucky enough to have my townhouse in the Heath – and that was more than expensive enough just to pay the bills.

  “Hello?” the voice came.

  “Yes, hello, I'm listening,” I said, becoming more and more frustrated.

  “Oh god, I'm trapped down here. Someone is holding me here and I don't know where I am.”
/>
  “Look, lady, I've had a pretty rough week to be fair and I'm not in the mood for this. How did you get this number?”

  “Please don't go, it's dark in here.”

  “How did you get my number? This number isn't even registered.”

  “This phone has your number in it. I can't call anyone else, only this number. Who are you?”

  “What phone are you talking about?”

  “This phone, the phone I'm calling from.”

  “So your phone only has only one number and it just so happens to be mine? That's an awfully big memory card,” I jested.

  The girl started weeping and it sounded a little too real. She was a good actress in whatever this performance was about. I was eagerly holding out for the moment when she asked for money or to meet for some kind of escort scam that had been running around the news recently.

  “I have been kidnapped. He's hurt me and I think he is going to... kill me.”

  The weeping turned to full-on crying. Listening to it was pretty hard to stomach. But I was still going with; actress.

  I looked around the street again to see if anyone was looking at me but there was nothing obvious beyond the usual curiosity from fellow humans. Much to my dismay, I found myself being drawn into this pesky phone call.

  “Did Mel put you up to this? Is she messing around to get me to focus again?” No answer. “Is this someone who I've worked with before or run a story on? Come on, help me here.”

  “Please! I don't know them, I don't know you. This is the only contact I can make.”

  “I was actually quite relaxed, enjoying a drink before you rang and I wanna get back to it. So, good luck and bugger off. Go and play with someone else.”

  I turned the phone off and stood on the street, forcing air into my lungs. A lovely full breath of Asian takeaways, stale beer, and car fumes. Ah, Camden!

  The phone call was still in my head, it was a good game and I supposed it might have been real. But the whole one number thing brought it crashing out of reality. What phone only has one number in it?