Walking with Ghosts

by Baker, John

  ‘You sure?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I should go in, as well. I said J.D. could come with me today. I’m gonna see the woman who used to be Edward Blake’s secretary.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Time to go.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Janet said. She followed him outside, grabbing a coat from a hook and putting it on while she waited for Geordie to lock the door. Barney looked up at her, his head cocked to one side. Banks of dark cloud had stacked themselves up over the playing field — shadowy, heavy. But to the south the clouds were grey, blue, fluffy. Over the ditch at the bottom of the garden there was a huge tree. Geordie didn’t know what kind of tree it was. He made another mental note to look it up in a book.

  When Geordie looked back a couple of years, to the time Sam had picked him out of the gutter, he sometimes thought it was a dream. But it wasn’t. He had been a homeless down-and-out, and for some reason Sam Turner had pulled him out of it. Geordie would never understand why. And he’d never stop being grateful.

  Look at him now - not only Janet, and a house with real radiators for the winter, but all this nature as well: trees, and birds, horses in fields.

  They hadn’t switched on the heating yet, because it would cost money and it wasn’t really cold enough. But when they’d moved in during the summer they’d run it one day, just to make sure it worked. The whole house had been unbearably hot. They’d had to open all the windows and take off their clothes.

  At the end of the track they waited a couple of minutes for the bus, and sat together on the back seat, looking out at the other commuters making their way into York.

  In the city, Geordie left Janet outside the remainder bookshop where she worked, and walked on to the office.

  J.D. and Marie were already there, standing close to each other by the window. They turned towards him as he came in, both of them with a sheepish smile. Marie looked like Janet sometimes looked on a Sunday morning after a late Saturday night and a bit of a sleep in. J.D. just looked rough. His beard was pointing in a dozen different directions. But he jerked into life when he saw Geordie.

  ’Ready when you are, partner,’ he said. ‘I just have to shake the dew from my lily.’ He made his way to the door, and along the corridor to the lavatory.

  Geordie looked at Marie, and she hit him with a quick smile and a shrug of the shoulders. ‘Yeah, he’s a bit naff,’ she said. ‘But he knows how to treat a girl.’

  ’I like him,’ Geordie told her. ‘And I’m glad for you.’

  ’Yeah, yeah,’ said Marie, embarrassed. ‘I’ve shelved all plans to join a convent for the time being. Jesus’s got enough brides to be going on with. I don’t think he’ll miss this one.’

  ‘I could do without him for today. J.D., I mean. If you’d rather he went with you?’

  ‘No, Geordie. You take him. I want space. I mean, I really like him, but I need to breathe as well.’

  J.D. returned and went to Marie. He put his arm around her waist and looked at Geordie. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I’ve been stabbed with a white wench’s black eye, and shot through the ear with a love song.’

  Marie pushed him away, clasped her hand to her breast. ‘Be still, my beating heart.’ She turned to Geordie. ‘Mercy,’ she said. ‘Get him out of here.’

  ‘Where we goin’?’ J.D. asked.

  Geordie waited for the car in front to peel off into Lord Mayor’s Walk, then accelerated along Clarence Street. ‘Wiggington,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not going to be dangerous, is it? I’m not a coward, but dead men sell no tales.’

  It took a while for Geordie to get the joke. And when he got it he didn’t think it was funny. Still laughed though, to be polite.

  J.D. turned his head towards Geordie, as if expecting more. But Geordie concentrated on the driving. It was true what he’d told Marie, he did like J.D. Or at least he had liked him when they first met. But now that the guy was having a steamy affair with Marie, Geordie was having to reorganize all his preconceptions. And that took time.

  Geordie didn’t have any claims on Marie. He didn’t like her like that, anyway. She was thirteen years older than him, and even if they’d been the same age it wouldn’t have made any difference. She wasn’t his type, and he was sure that he wasn’t her type either. They were friends. And that was the problem.

  Marie lived alone, and had done since her husband, Gus, had been blown away by a particularly nasty psychopath. After that episode Geordie didn’t think she’d ever have anything to do with another man. But over the past months he’d had a couple of dates. Nothing serious. The odd night 0n the town. She might’ve gone to bed with one of the guys. The soft one, whatever he was called. Stuart? Yeah, Stuart.

  All of that Geordie had taken in his stride. Marie deserved a few breaks. A woman living alone, not out of choice, but because she’d been made a widow far too early. That was not something you’d wish on anyone.

  ‘I like her,’ J.D. said, as if he’d been reading Geordie’s thoughts. ‘I like her, and she likes me. Neither of us have got anybody else. We both want this, for Christ’s sake. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Geordie. ‘It’s great.’

  ‘So what’s with all the downcast looks and the long silences? Shit, as soon as you saw us together you brought out the morgue atmosphere. I’m telling you, friend, something’s bothering you, and if it isn’t me and Marie, what is it?’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ Geordie admitted. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, though. It’s like Marie’s been a friend of mine for ages. And I knew Gus as well, her husband. She tell you about that?’

  ‘How he bought it? Yes.’

  ‘Well, what it is, I don’t want her to get hurt.’

  ‘Why should I hurt her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘D’you think everybody’s gonna hurt her? I mean guys. You think her other boyfriends are gonna hurt her?’

  No.’ Geordie took his eyes off the road and looked over at J.D. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t explain it.’

  OK, I’ll tell you, Geordie. What you saw between us this morning was passion. And it’s passion that you’re afraid of. Passion that you think might hurt her.’

  ’You think so? I didn’t think that.’

  ‘OK, maybe you weren’t aware of it, but that’s what sent you looking for a nervous breakdown. And you might be right. Passion is a powerful force. Marie might get mauled by it. And me. All of us. But if that happens, you won’t be able to stop it. Marie and me are thinking about each other all the time. We’ve been waiting years for this, and now it’s come. It’s like toothache. You can’t get away from it.’ Geordie was quiet for several minutes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘It was a gut reaction. I’m glad for her. Glad for both of you. Me and Janet was like that at first.’ He laughed, ‘We still are sometimes.’

  They entered a large estate in which the houses were of different sizes, but looked alike. The roads were designed with a gentle curve to them. Geordie stopped at the edge of a perfectly trimmed lawn, and he and J.D. walked along the path to the house.

  The woman who opened the door was under forty. She had blond hair cut short, and wore a lumberjack checked shirt and baggy jeans. She smiled and raised her eyebrows in the most wholesome way imaginable.

  ‘I’m Geordie Black, and this is my associate, J.D. Pears. We have an appointment to see Ms Marsh.’

  ‘I’m Polly Marsh,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I think I was expecting someone a little older.’

  ‘I get a little older every day,’ Geordie told her. He was pleased with that. It came to him naturally, out of the air. And it was the kind of thing Sam would’ve said. A bit of spontaneous funny to put everyone at their ease.

  They followed her through a small reception area into a long living room. She turned to face them, and waved in the direction of a plush-looking sofa. ‘Just one thing,’ she said. ‘It’s Miss, not Ms. I’m still in the market for a husband, and they tend to get sca
red off easily when there’s an element of confusion.’ The bright wholesome smile again. ‘Now, tea or coffee?’

  She got them settled, brought up a long, low coffee table with a glass top. Served tea and coffee and biscuits, and hose long Italian breadsticks in a flower vase. On a separate plate lay a broken-open chocolate orange, with some of the sections stuck together.

  Geordie felt it would be wrong to dive in with questions right away in front of such a spread. It would be more natural to sip the coffee and make small talk for a while, nibble a biscuit, wait at least until J.D. had finished up the chocolate orange. But Polly Marsh didn’t want to wait. ‘You’re private detectives?’ she said.

  Geordie didn’t want to explain who J.D. was, so he nodded and let her assume whatever she wanted.

  ‘I did have a visit from the police,’ she said, ‘when Mr Blake was “helping them with their inquiries”, and they said they’d be back. But I never heard from them again. I thought it was all over.’

  ‘We’re working for the insurance company,’ Geordie told her. ‘You were Edward Blake’s secretary for how long?’

  ‘Fourteen months. He head-hunted me. I was his solicitor’s secretary before that. One day he asked me how much I was earning, and when I told him he offered me another thousand a year and a car.’

  ‘What were your duties?’

  ‘General Girl Friday. Everything was filtered through me. I arranged his appointments, got him off the hook when he couldn’t make them. Fixed his travel arrangements, hotel accommodation, made sure he was met at airports, railway stations.’ She sighed lightly. ‘I organized his life. His professional life.’

  ’Did you travel with him?’

  ’Sometimes. Not often. When he was away, I looked after e office. Maybe once every couple of months I would go with him. Once to Paris, and to Antwerp, several times to London. There was never anything improper about it. If re was any spare time we went our different ways.’

  ‘What about his wife?’

  ‘India? Poor girl, it was a terrible shock.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘Yes, I met her from time to time. When she came into the office. She was always friendly. Younger than him, of course, and very beautiful.’

  ‘Did she accompany him on his trips?’

  ‘Once, when he went to Washington. That’s the only time I remember. I was hoping he’d take me along on that one But it wasn’t to be.’

  ‘What were they like together?’ Geordie asked. ‘Would you say they had a good relationship?’

  Polly Marsh hesitated. ‘They didn’t argue. He’d kiss her on the cheek when she arrived, and again when they parted. They were - conventional - I think is how it’s described. They didn’t have arguments, or appear to disagree in public.’

  Geordie leaned forward and picked up a clump of chocolate orange. He teased one section free, and replaced the remainder on the plate. ‘I’d prefer it if you’d be open with us, Miss Marsh. Whatever you have to say will go no further.’

  She touched her nose. ‘They were rich, and they were different ages. Mr Blake is a businessman, he’s involved in everyday hassles, and that’s what he likes. He rolls his sleeves up and sweats about money. But India was something else. She was into culture. She’d never had to worry about money. Her life was music and theatre. Books. I never saw her without a book.’

  ‘You’re still expecting me to read between the lines.’

  ‘It wasn’t a love match. Their marriage was a social convention. A front.’ Geordie watched her clench her fists. She looked into his eyes. ‘But half a love is better than none.’

  Geordie thumbed through his thoughts. ‘Did he kill her, d’you think?’

  Polly Marsh drew in her breath. ‘No, I don’t think he’s capable of that.’

  ‘Then who do you think was responsible?’

  ‘Oh Edward Blake,’ she said. ‘He didn’t do it himself. He probably paid someone else to do it.’

  Geordie glanced over at J.D., then turned to face Polly Marsh again. He licked his lips. ‘But why, Miss Marsh? What possible motive could he have had?’

  Polly Marsh had her legs crossed. Now she uncrossed them and looked into Geordie’s eyes. ‘India Blake was a good woman,’ she said. ‘She was young and healthy and full of life- And I think she would have continued to stand by her husband for as long as he wanted her. But Edward Blake is a cold fish emotionally. All her needs couldn’t possibly have been met by a man like him.’

  ‘You think she may have had an affair?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the wholesome Miss Marsh. ‘No doubt about it at all. She was seeing someone else.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not even a description, I’m afraid. I didn’t actually see her with anyone else. But I overheard a telephone conversation. A couple of weeks before she disappeared, she made an appointment to see a man. Mr Blake was away, and she came into the office one lunchtime. That wasn’t odd in itself. She’d often slip in if she was in town. But she asked me to give her an outside line, and—’

  ‘You overheard her conversation?’ said Geordie.

  Geordie noted Miss Marsh’s composure vanish as quickly as hot pee in a cold ocean. ‘It wasn’t deliberate. I was doing something else, and the conversation got taped.’

  ‘That’s OK. Relax, Miss Marsh, I’m not going to judge you. Do you have the tape?’

  ‘No, of course not. When I heard it later I wiped it immediately.’

  But you’re sure she didn’t mention a name? Anything at all that might give us a clue to who he was?’

  ‘No. I’ve thought about it, of course. Lots of times especially since they found the body. All I can be sure of ^ that they were lovers. It was embarrassing to listen to. They mentioned, well, body parts.’

  Geordie sat back in the sofa. ‘So you think Edward Blake found out about the affair and paid a hit man to get rid of his wife?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘You don’t think the lover could have done it?’

  ‘Yes, he could have, of course. But I was there when India Blake disappeared, and Edward Blake certainly wasn’t himself. I mean, before he went to the police. He was absolutely calm about the whole affair. I could see he was going through the motions. His wife had disappeared, and he wasn’t worried about it. Not really. He knew what had happened. Or he thought he did. He thought she was dead. He didn’t know she was still alive, slowly starving to death under that shed.’

  ‘And that’s when you left the company? When he went to the police?’

  ‘Yes. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t stand to be in the same building with him, let alone the same room.’

  ‘The plot thickens,’ said J.D. when he got into the passenger seat of the Montego and pulled the door closed behind him.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Geordie. ‘It’s already thicker than we thought it would be when we first unwrapped it.’

  ‘If this was a novel,’ J.D. told him, ‘Polly Marsh would be about fifteen years younger, and she’d be really hot for the PI. She’d have the evidence to put Edward Blake behind bars, and old mad Eddy, there, would be concocting some foolproof plan to put her in her grave.’

  ‘You think he did it, then?’

  ‘He’s the only suspect we’ve got,’ said J.D. ‘And the more I hear about him, the more suspicious he becomes.’

  Geordie turned the key in the ignition and the Montego roared into life.

  ’Jesus,’ said J.D. ‘I never expect it to start. This must be the oldest crate in the universe.’

  ’Don’t let Sam hear you say that,’ Geordie told him. ‘He’s very fond of it. Put him back nearly three hundred notes.’

  11

  You miscalculated, Dora. You forgot about the children. Diana and Billy miss Arthur. They don’t like living in this new house with the grimy windows. Diana wants to go back to her old school, and both of them want to play in the avenue with their friends. Billy does not sleep at n
ight. He creeps into your bed and talks about his father. ‘Where’s Daddy? Why doesn’t Daddy come to see us? When are we going home again? Why, Mammy, why?’

  Arthur’s ghost hovers over the bed. Well, Dora. The boy asked a question. Tell him why.

  ‘Shhhhhhhh.’ You hold Billy tightly, pulling the covers over your head. ‘Hush, Billy. You must try to sleep.’

  Arthur had been reading The Pied Piper of Hamelin to him before you moved. Billy cries for the lame boy who was left behind when the door in the mountain-side shut fast.

  It’s dull in our town since my playmates left!

  I can’t forget that I’m bereft...

  He is quiet for a while, but never still. He cannot rest. His legs move all the time. You try to hold them down, but he struggles against you. His legs are like snakes in the bed.

  ‘Billy. Be still.’ You whip back the covers and slap him-You feel his eyes in the darkness, they are pinned to his face with staring pupils. He holds his breath until you think he is dead.

  ‘Billy.’

  Silence.

  ‘Billy-’

  Then he speaks with his father’s voice. ‘I want to go home-’

  Diana sits by the window. Her new teacher is not the same as Miss Carson. ‘She’s horrible. She’s older than you.'

  ‘Shall we go for a walk?’ You force a note of gaiety into your voice.

  Diana grunts by the window. Billy lolls, half on and half off his chair.

  ‘We could walk by the river. There might be some boats.’

  In the distance a longboat’s siren seems to echo your words. The children are paralysed.

  Billy slowly brings his eyes in line with yours. He stares you down. He is eight years old and he crushes you with his eyes. You step back, until the wall is behind you, feeling the crumbling plaster with the tips of your fingers.

  ‘I just thought...’ Your words won’t come any more.

  ‘I want to see Daddy.’ Billy’s eyes are still gripping you.

  ‘So do I.’ Diana has turned to you as well.