by Gwen Gardner
“No prob, I can do that.” But I couldn’t. My knees buckled and I still saw double. My stomach churned again.
Looping his arm through the chin straps of the helmets, Badger wrapped his other arm around me, half dragging me out into the alley.
I grinned up at him. “You’re very kind, ya know? Helpin’ me out like this. Plush,” I slurred, “you’re cute, too.” Oh God, I thought through an alcoholic daze, please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.
We reached the alley where Badger leaned me against a filthy brick wall. Of course, I slid right down, the rancid stink wafting from the grimy ground assaulting me once again. “Hey! You!” I pointed at Badger. “Why’d you set me down here in the...” That’s as far as I got, the blood dripping down my hand having caught my attention. I brought the offending appendage closer to my face, trying to focus. Yep, red stuff. Blood red. I leaned over and barfed again. In the background Badger spoke urgently into his cell phone.
Chapter Twenty
Snug Meeting
For a minute my nightmare included a crime scene with me lying prone and surrounded by flashing police lights. But the blinking Christmas lights around the snug window eventually came into view. I lay on the bench, completely disoriented, not knowing how I got there. I tried to sit up, but wobbled back down.
I groaned.
“Good, you’re awake,” said Simon. “Can you sit up? Go slowly now.” He pulled me gently by my arm until I was in the upright position, and then squeezed in beside me. I listed against his shoulder, like a sinking ship.
I tried to focus, squinting my eyes until both of him merged into one. “What happened?” I raised a bandaged hand to my head and gazed around the table at the concerned faces; Simon, Badger, Riley and Cappy. The serving girl floated around, too, acting as if she was working. But I could tell she was eavesdropping.
My skull screamed, stomach churned and dizziness assailed me. The new bandage wrapped around my hand caught my attention. Pulling the gauze away, I peeked in. I could now add broken glass cuts to the blisters, but at least the blood was gone. I could handle the ache, but not blood.
“You’re all right, now,” said Riley. “Here, have a sip of water.” She looked as fresh as I was grubby, in a lime green cowl-neck sweater and designer jeans, her short shiny hair tucked behind one ear.
She handed a glass of water across the table. As I reached for it, I remembered. Dickey Dan’s. Stephen Clarke. The pint glass! “I...I don’t feel well.” Stale alcohol and vomit smell wafted from my grungy blue-lavender blouse, the one that matched my eyes so well. I sort of remembered wallowing on the floor of Dickey Dan’s before...crap...vomiting all over Badger’s boots.
Simon inched away and Cappy shoved a wastebasket into my hands.
I glared grumpily at the whole room in general, before stopping at Badger, who watched warily from the other side of the table.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
He nodded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t need to say anything for me to figure it out. I was a disaster waiting for a place to land.
Drunk twice in one week without ever having a drop pass my lips. I sighed. “I...I think I’m hung over.”
“I told you she was sloshed!” exclaimed Simon. “Like the other day when we were having lunch and Claude Burns...”
“I am not sloshed!” I said heatedly, followed by a gasp of pain. I pressed the cool water glass to my forehead. “Not really,” I said more quietly, mindful of my throbbing head.
“You were!” Simon laughed. “That psycho thing you do not discounted.”
“Psychometry!” I said, glowering. “The glass. Stephen Clarke’s glass. It contained his energy, took on his drunkenness, and when I touched it...” I gasped again. “I just remembered. The vision.” I looked across the table at Badger. “Remember? He said your dad shoved him when he went to his office. But that’s not all! He threatened to kill your dad. He said something like, ‘Nobody messes with Stephen Clarke - I’ll kill you first.’” I described my vision, trying not to leave out any details.
Badger slapped his palms against the table and jumped up. “I knew he bloody well wasn’t telling us everything.” He paced the small room, four steps left, four steps right, running his fingers through his hair. “The thing is, though, we can’t use it as evidence and the only witnesses were my dad and Shelly.”
“And they’re both gone,” Simon added.
“But a threat doesn’t mean ‘e went through with it,” said Cappy. He wasn’t being contrary this time, only stating a fact. I was glad he had stopped baiting the gang, and now dressed normally, in holey jeans and hoodie.
“That’s true,” said Riley. “But he can definitely go to the top of the suspect list.” She scribbled notes on the murder board, as Cappy and the serving wench looked over her shoulder.
The afternoon grew dark and someone drew the curtains. The fireplace cast a warm glow while shadows danced on the walls. I excused myself to go to the ladies room, erm, I mean loo. Making my way down the badly lit hall, a shadow turning the corner caught my eye. But when I reached the corner, nobody was there. I shook my head. I must still be buzzed from the Psychometry reading.
Riley brought sandwiches and hot tea and coffee for our dinner. The aroma made my stomach turn.
Badger filled in the gang about our lunch with Dexter, and the information he gave us about how in addition to being insanely jealous, Nat was also physically abusive – something the police didn’t know about, as his ex-girlfriend had not reported the abuse to the police.
“And let’s not forget your vision when you shook Nat’s hand,” added Badger. “That confirms it. We know he’s violent whether the police know it or not.”
“Will we tell the police?” asked Cappy.
“No,” said Badger. “Dexter already did. Besides, they’ve botched this investigation enough as it is. Nat goes to the top of our list, along with Stephen Clarke, that’s all.”
“Yes,” I said, “but let’s keep our minds open. We still have a lot to investigate and we have no evidence against Nat or Stephen except that they’re both jealous and potentially violent. Remember, we don’t have physical evidence that implicates either of them.”
“I ‘ad another thought,” said Cappy. “I don’t know if it makes any sense or if I’m totally off base, but...” His face flushed mauve.
“Go ahead.” I encouraged Cappy to continue. The youngest in the group at fourteen, he was smarter in many ways. Especially when it came to street-smarts and criminal activity, the little guy could probably teach us a thing or three.
He continued. “I was wondering. Could it have been an ‘onor killing? With Nat, I mean. I don’t know if ‘e follows his cultural traditions or not, but sometimes, when something big is going on, you go back to yer roots.”
Nobody spoke for an eternity. Cappy squirmed, examining our faces for signs of derision. But the silence was only shock that we hadn’t come up with the idea sooner. Then Simon pounded his fist on the table and everyone started talking at once.
“That’s brilliant,” Simon exclaimed. “Why didn’t we think of that before?”
“Yes, why haven’t the cops investigated that line of thinking?” said Badger, a tone of amazement in his voice.
“That’s brilliant, Cappy,” said Riley.
Cappy flushed an even brighter red and looked down at the table.
“How do we go about checking on something like that?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure his family wouldn’t appreciate us asking them those questions.”
“Not to mention the fact that they’re probably in on it. It’s not only about him, but the honor of the whole family,” added Simon.
We sat thinking for a minute.
“I know!” exclaimed Riley. “We can ask Padma. She was Shelly’s best friend. She’d know.”
“Brilliant!” said Badger. “We can look for her at the MEC.”
Riley scribbled additional notes
on the board.
“Right then. Who’s free tomorrow?” asked Badger.
I raised my hand.
“Indigo. Who else is free?” Badger looked around the table for other volunteers, but they all had to work. His gaze shifted back to me and we locked eyes. “No!” he said loudly. “No way!”
“Why not?” I argued. “What harm could I come to?”
“Because, you – you’re – it’s just that...”
“I’m what? Free?” I dared him to say it - that I was accident prone.
He hesitated. “Yeah. Free.” He didn’t look happy.
He didn’t trust me anymore. After all, hurricane Indigo blew through and left disaster in her wake. But I’d prove to him those were just flukes.
“All right,” said Simon. “Let’s move on with the meeting. I don’t have much to report. Felicia confirmed the information we had on Stephen, that he blamed Bart for his failures.”
Cappy went next. “I don’t have much to add, except that Billy came into Butch’s today. He bought a couple of steaks and talked to Butch about repairing the starter on his van.”
“Good,” said Simon. “That establishes a link between Butch – still a suspect, I should add – and Billy, another suspect, in my book, even if we don’t know yet how he’s connected. And Billy is also linked to Gerry Puttock- he was in Puttock’s Pub when Cappy and Indigo made a delivery. We still don’t know what they were arguing about.”
“This is getting confusing,” said Riley, frowning at the investigation board.
Simon leaned over and read the board upside down. “It sure is,” he agreed. “Look, why don’t you use a red pen to draw arrows to everyone that Billy is linked with. And then do the same with everyone else, only with a different color.” He watched as she drew the lines. “That’s better.”
“Now it looks like a roadmap.” Riley frowned. “But I suppose it will all make sense at some point.” She smiled up at Simon. “Thanks.”
“Okay. We have four suspects,” said Badger. “Nat, Stephen, Butch and Billy. And possibly a fifth – we need to find out what Gerry’s connection is to Billy, and then perhaps more importantly, what the connection is between Billy and Dad.”
“Right, so who’s next?” I asked. I had a trying day and wanted nothing more than to adjourn this meeting so I could go home and get cleaned up.
“Me,” said Riley. “I have updated police reports.” She passed the reports for both Bart and Shelly to her left, and gave us a brief synopsis. “Nothing can be substantiated. It’s mostly hearsay and opinions. We already know or have found out most of the information on our own. Butch’s argument with Dad was reported by both Mom and Butch. Butch implicated Gerry – he says Gerry’s always been jealous of Dad because he used to have a thing for Mom. Evidently they use to date before Dad came along.”
Riley cringed and I didn’t blame her. I don’t know what he was like as a teenager, but as an adult, Gerry Puttock was pretty gross.
“And there’s your link,” said Simon, “between Bart and Gerry. If Gerry is jealous because Bart stole Claire away, then that’s another possible motive for murder - if it’s true.”
“But that was so long ago,” said Badger. “Why wait eighteen years?”
“That’s what Gerry said,” added Riley. “He says as soon as Dad came on the scene, mom had eyes for nobody else. But I’ll add it to the board.” She shook her head. “Eventually all of this will have to make sense, right?”
“Someone will ‘ave to pump Butch for more information on that story,” said Cappy. “I’ll see if I can find out anything.”
“What about alibis?” I asked Riley.
“Nat was at home, Stephen was at Dicky Dan’s, Butch was at work, as was Gerry,” she reported, looking at the board. “And Mom and Badger were both home that morning. The other clients, Andy Hall, Felicia Bartlett and Dexter Najeem have all been interviewed, and all have alibis.”
“And have they all been corroborated?” I asked.
Riley shrugged. “Somewhat, but too much time has passed and memories start to fade. Neighbors confirm that Nat and Shelly argued – she left, and he left shortly afterward for Puttock’s – a link by the way, between Gerry and Nat.” She drew a green line between Nat and Gerry. “Gerry was busy opening the pub and Butch made deliveries. Andy was working, corroborated by his secretary. Dexter was out of town, and Felicia at home alone.”
“So any of them could have done it,” Simon put in, shaking his head in frustration.
“We have to confirm their alibis,” said Badger. “Cappy, can you look into Butch’s records? Check the delivery schedule. Find out if Butch really was making deliveries. Make sure everyone got their deliveries that day – look for any gaps in timing when Butch’s whereabouts can’t be confirmed.”
Cappy nodded. “Right-O.”
Badger looked through his notes. “The critical time period is between eleven o’clock a.m. and when Mum spoke to Dad a few minutes before twelve o’clock p.m. That’s the closest timeframe we can get.” He thought for a minute and then turned to Simon. “You know the waitress at Puttock’s, don’t you?”
“Yes, the lovely Patricia,” said Simon, wiggling his eyebrows.
Riley frowned. “You mean the bleached-blonde with the IQ of candy floss?”
“That’s right,” Simon grinned. “Brains aren’t everything, you know. Patricia has other attributes.”
She started to argue, but Badger broke in. “Focus, you two. Simon, do you think you can get a look at the books for that day? See if you can find any credit card receipts from Nat.”
I had to admit that Simon was girl-crazy, and didn’t get serious about any one girl. He was afraid of getting hurt. After all, people went so quickly in our lives.
“What if he paid in cash?” said Simon.
Badger sighed. “Then we probably won’t ever know for sure if he was there or not. And confirm with Patricia who opened up that morning. Wait a minute,” he snapped his fingers. “Check all receipts during that time period. Even if Nat paid in cash, someone else who was there may remember him being there.”
The serving girl gathered unseen pint glasses as she drifted around the table, peering at the investigation board. She listened in shamelessly to our meeting, taking in all the details of our case.
A ping sounded in the room and everyone began checking cell phones and shaking their heads before replacing them in backpacks, messenger bags or pockets. Riley worked the buttons on her cell phone quickly with both thumbs and opened the new message. She was silent as she read, her face becoming pale and still.
“They’ve found his car,” said the serving girl, standing over Riley’s shoulder reading the text on the phone. For a seventeenth century spirit, the girl was endlessly fascinated by modern technology. Of course nobody heard her comment except me.
“They found the car,” I said to the room, watching Riley with concern and wondering, once again, how she came by her information. Riley had an inside line to the police, where she had the most recent information available when it came to the official investigation.
Everyone looked at me, before turning their glances to Riley.
“They found dad’s car?” Badger asked Riley.
“Yes, but how did you...” Riley began.
I pointed to the serving girl standing next to her. She smiled and curtsied. “I’m Hannah, Miss.”
“Hannah.” I supplied her name to the group.
They gaped at me.
Speaking to spirits was still a strange idea to them. Heck, I agreed with them. But what’s a ghost whisperer to do?
“No big deal,” I said. “It’s not magic or anything. She read the text over Riley’s shoulder out loud, and I repeated what she said.” I shrugged my shoulders with palms up. “Simple.”
“Yeah,” said Badger, gazing around intently, trying to see Hannah with his own eyes. “Simple.” He rejoined the others in studying me.
My face grew hot and I cursed those trait
orous cheeks that I knew must be fire engine red.
“Yes, they did find his car.” Riley confirmed my information, then snapped her phone shut and replaced it in her bag. “And you’ll never guess where they traced it back to.” She looked around the table.
“Where?” asked Simon.
“Billy Radcliffe.” I answered for her again, the faint whisper of his name sounding in my head.
Riley nodded as all eyes turned to me. Again.
I shrugged.
Riley continued. “But apparently he had a receipt that showed he bought and paid for it. The identification number had been altered.”
“But they’ve got him in custody now, right?” asked Simon. “I mean, he got caught with the victim’s car.”
“Nope.” Riley commented matter-of-factly. “He was questioned and released. They’re doing forensics on the car now.”
Protestations erupted into the room.
“But how?”
“How can they have...?”
“I don’t understand...”
“He has the title to the car – he’s the owner.” Riley raised her voice to be heard. “They’re in the process of tracing the man who sold it to him – a man named Gary Feldman.”
“I’ll bet they won’t find ‘im,” Cappy commented, leaning back in his chair.
“Why do you say that?” asked Badger.
“Because ‘e don’t exist, does ‘e?” Cappy answered. “We know ‘e didn’t buy that car legally, if at all. And ‘owever he got the car, you know you won’t find a real name anywhere in the paperwork.”
“So they can’t be traced,” added Simon. “Makes sense.”
“You can bet he knows who he bought the car from, though,” said Riley. “I think he’s guilty as hell.”
“But the question is, how is he involved?” I said.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ghostly Intervention
On Tuesday morning I dressed carefully for my meeting with Padma. I wore a long-sleeved, pink frilly blouse and a mid-length black skirt. Sheer black tights and a pair of black boots showed off my long toned legs, a fortunate side effect of running. I turned sideways and looked at my rear. The unfortunate side effect of running was my bubble-butt. I shook my head and tried not to dwell on it. Turning face-forward again, I lamented the fact that my skin was so pale, but with makeup and blush, I might...