Fear No Evil (Debbie Johnson)

by Debbie Johnson

  I parked the Suzuki as close as I could to Tantastical without ram-raiding it. Maybe I’d scare the girl on duty by popping in for a fifteen-minute bronzer later on. I could lie back and think of… well, I was spoiled for choice at the moment.

  I pushed the buzzer on the intercom panel, which was underneath a tiny plastic panel announcing the presence of Simon Solitaire and Partners.

  ‘Hiya!’ came a cheery Scouse voice from the other end. She’d obviously not been to receptionist college, but then again, Solitaire didn’t really need a receptionist. He only had the one client.

  ‘Hiya!’ I chirruped back. ‘Wigwam sent me!’ I raised my voice slightly on the last couple of syllables, as though I was saying something really exciting. The accepted tone of Liverpool gals the world over.

  The buzzer hummed, and I pushed the door open. A narrow flight of stairs led up to a one-room waiting area. The telly was on, and the girl behind the desk was watching ‘Cash in the Attic’, filing her acrylic nails. She had very long, very fake yellow-blonde hair, and a bright orange tan that she may have got downstairs. Her spider-leg eyelashes appeared to be stuck on with blobs of superglue, and a pair of humungous boobies protruded from her chest like mutant grapefruits. I wasn’t sure there was a single part of the woman left as nature intended.

  ‘My name’s Jayne McCartney,’ I said, approaching the desk. The receptionist looked a bit confused. Which was probably less confused than she normally looked.

  ‘I thought you said Wigwam sent yer?’

  ‘Yes. But he allowed me to keep my own name. Is Mr Solitaire available?’

  Her overly plump lower lip was trembling a bit. I’d obviously ruined her day, and she tapped out a number on the phone with the prongs of her nails. I don’t know why she bothered – I could see him through the frosted glass in the room behind, a silhouette sitting at a desk.

  ‘There’s a someone McCartney here to see you, Mr Solitaire. No. I don’t know. She says she’s here for Wigwam. Yeah.’

  She flicked a gaze at me, and I knew he was asking if she’d seen me before.

  ‘No. I never. What do you want me to do?’

  I got fed up of this farce, and walked round the counter to his door. She spluttered and stood up and tried to beat me to it, but was hampered by her stiletto heel getting caught on the footrest of her chair. I was in before she’d recovered her balance.

  Solitaire looked up at me, frowning and immediately assessing risk. We’d seen each other before. Our eyes had often met across a crowded court room. He’d know my face immediately so there was no point pretending to be anything other than what I was.

  He nodded at the receptionist, who’d finally managed to teeter into the room.

  ‘It’s okay Gemma,’ he said. ‘Go back to work.’

  Work. Yeah. Watching daytime television. Why couldn’t I get a job like that? My boobs aren’t big enough, I suppose.

  ‘Miss McCartney?’ he said, gesturing to a chair. I noticed he’d dropped the D.C, which meant he knew I wasn’t here on official police business, but still agreed to see me. Using my superior powers of deduction, I figured out that he knew about my work, and the fact that Eugene and Wigwam were on board with it.

  I sat down, glanced around. There was a law degree in a frame on the wall. I couldn’t read the name of the university – it was in very small type, and entirely possibly fictional. There were three huge metal cabinets lined up against one wall. I wondered if all the alphabetical files in there were marked with the letter ‘C’.

  Solitaire is a strangely attractive man. Strange given that he’s about five foot seven, skinny as a snake, and in his fifties, that is. But he has what I suppose you’d have to call charisma. Even in court, defending one retard after another, there’s something enjoyable about watching him work. A certain grace, a certain charm. Or maybe it’s just boredom – sitting in a court room for hours on end is really bloody dull. You have to find something to occupy your mind.

  ‘It is, yes. Thank you for seeing me, Mr Solitaire.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you gave me much of a choice, did you?’ he said, smiling. ‘But now you have me, how can I help?’

  ‘I presume you’re aware of the work I’m currently engaged in. Work which Mr Casey Senior and Mr McIver are fully aware of, and fully supportive of?’

  ‘I am. It was terrible when Geneva died, and Eugene’s not been quite his usual self ever since.’

  That could only be an improvement, I thought, while I weighed up my next question.

  ‘I presume you knew her? Geneva?’

  ‘I did,’ he replied. ‘She was a fine young woman. Knew exactly when to ask questions, and exactly when to stay quiet, which is quite an asset in our line of work. She had plans to enter the legal profession herself, as you know.’

  ‘And what did you think of that, Mr Solitaire? Wouldn’t it have cut into your business somewhat?’

  I thought he might find that insulting, but I’d underestimated the thickness of his skin. He laughed, and leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Goodness, no. Come on, Miss McCartney – you know your stuff. There is, and always will be, plenty of business to go round. I’m highly unlikely to run out of work with the Casey family, am I? In all honesty, I could have done with a helping hand, and that was the plan. For her to join me here, learn the ropes, ready for when I retire. I’m fifty-two now, the timing would have been perfect.’

  ‘What were your plans? For retirement?’ I asked. I bet he wouldn’t end up like poor Ken Mitchell. Scumbags like Solitaire lived forever. He’d probably be chasing chambermaids round his chateau in France long into his nineties.

  ‘In all honesty, I don’t really have any. Perhaps I’ll read more books. Or travel. Or buy a trout farm. I really can’t imagine. Now, not that it isn’t a pleasure to sit and chat with an attractive young woman like yourself, Miss McCartney, but how is this relevant? I have to be at Crown Court in just under an hour to meet with our barrister.’

  ‘Are you married?’ I asked. ‘Kids?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I suppose you’d say I’ve been married to my job for many years now. Which of course means I’m on the market, if you’re interested?’

  His grin was quick and sly and devilish. He was the kind of naughty man your mother warned you about. He probably drove a sports car and smoked expensive cigars and kept S&M outfits in his wardrobe next to his dinner suits.

  ‘No thanks. I’m gay,’ I lied, far too easily. Maybe Dan had a point. ‘Do you think there’s any truth in it? That Geneva was killed by some kind of supernatural force?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I believe in the power of man and woman to make their own choices. I believe in the things I see happen every day, which are quite strange enough. I also believe that every now and then, somebody very tragically trips down a flight of stairs. That’s cold comfort to Eugene who, as you know, likes to think he controls the whole planet. Or at least the part that lies within the geographical boundaries of Merseyside. But if you can help him lay this thing to rest, I’ll be the first to shake your hand. I for one would like to have the old Eugene back. These young fools get themselves into all sorts of trouble without a steady hand at the helm. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some preparation to do for my case.’

  I stood up to leave, lurked by the door to thank him. I’d seen Columbo do this a million times and it always worked for him: ‘One more thing, Mr Solitaire. Have you ever heard of a man called Jason Quillian? Low level drug dealer, operates in and around Thelwall. He was arrested for possession with intent earlier this week, claims you’re representing him.’

  The lawyer looked up from his files, eyes squinting together as though trying to place an unfamiliar name.

  ‘Quillian? No. I don’t think so. He’s not one of ours, is he? Maybe you should check the court records, but I can assure you he’s not on my list of lost souls.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘We’re going back in,’ said Dan.

  ‘Not with m
e, you’re not,’ replied Tish. ‘Seeing that creature by accident is one thing. Taking my plate up for seconds? I don’t think so.’

  ‘We assumed you were fearless, Tish,’ I chipped in, returning to the table from the bar, bearing a tray of drinks.

  ‘Never assume,’ she replied, smiling sweetly. ‘It makes an ass of U and ME.’

  I pulled a face. She got told that by her news editor in her first week as a reporter and never tired of quoting it.

  ‘Anyway, I am fearless. Just not stupid. I leave that to you, darling.’

  I accidentally spilled a generous slosh of wine over her lap, soaking her Calvin Klein jeans and making her shriek. Dan handed her a tissue and she mopped it up, glaring at me. That’s what friends are for.

  Adam was there, wearing a T-shirt that had arrows pointing to his biceps and a slogan that said ‘get your tickets to the Gun Show here’.

  I’d spoken to him on the phone earlier and invited him out for a drink at the Pig’s Trotter. I’d asked how he’d been getting on with Betty, and the sigh at the other end spoke volumes.

  ‘She’s immune to my charms, Jayne. I’m coming to the conclusion she must be a lesbian.’

  He was only joking, and I decided not to enlighten him. Let him keep practising. Betty was more than capable of shutting him up if she wanted to. She was taller than him for a start, and she had that weird mystical voice thing going on. She’d gone home tonight, to see her partner and kids. Justin had taken the opportunity to nip back and visit his girlfriend as well.

  ‘Oh,’ I’d said, ‘Justin has a girlfriend? I thought he was getting on all right with Sophie.’

  ‘Not his type,’ said Dan. ‘He likes his women with a bit more meat on their bones. His current belle is the reigning Miss Big But Beautiful Barnsley. They met at a convention.’

  ‘Crikey. Justin’s a chubby chaser?’

  ‘Yes. And proud of it. He likes squeezing them on the back of his motorbike and going for romantic picnics in the countryside with an extra large blanket and a multipack of Kit Kats.’

  ‘Are you winding me up?’ I asked.

  ‘Would I do something like that?’

  ‘I’m not totally sure,’ I replied. ‘But I think yes, you would. Well, it’s good they have, you know, lives to go back to. When they’re not following you round the country on your crazy Jedi Knight campaigns.’

  ‘I’m not a Jedi Knight,’ he said.

  ‘No, but you’d look pretty hot in the robes,’ added a dried-off Tish. ‘Have you ever thought about it? Jayne – I can see you in some Princess Leia buns…’

  ‘Nah,’ I said, making a start on my pint. ‘I was always a Han Solo girl myself. Anyway – Dan. Are you sure? I’m not convinced going back right now is a good idea. Isn’t it a bit like covering yourself in raw steak and jumping in a pool full of piranhas?’

  ‘Look, Your Worshipfulness, let’s get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me,’ he said.

  It took me a moment to place it, and another to dredge up the right response.

  ‘It’s a wonder you’re still alive.’

  We grinned at each other, and it felt like we were the only people in the pub. Or the city. Or even a galaxy far, far away.

  I saw Tish rolling her eyes at Adam, who was obviously holding back a giggle. Goodness me. Was there any better way for a man and a woman to flirt than in the words of Han and Leia? If there was, I had yet to discover it. I’d happily have thrown Dan over my shoulder and carried him back to the flat for wild wookie nookie right there and then.

  ‘But on a serious note,’ he continued, completely spoiling the moment, ‘we need to go back. Eventually. First I need more time, more knowledge. And we’ll make sure Justin’s with us and ready.’

  ‘What good will that do? Does he have superpowers or something?’ asked Tish.

  I’d wondered the same myself. He’d been a dab hand at chanting last time, but so had Betty. He’d helped hoist Sophie to safety, but it had been Will who’d made the tackle that saved her. What was so special about Justin?

  ‘He’s a blocker,’ said Dan. He stared at our blank expressions and sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll try and explain it. If a demon possesses someone, they usually stick with that body until it suits them to move out of it. That might be when they’ve finished with it, or disposed of it. As an example—’

  ‘Like if they’ve made it throw itself out of the window,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly. Then, the demon can move on, either purely in spirit form, or via another body. I’ve seen it happen and it’s not pleasant. Sometimes you can see it – their eyes roll back, or they collapse, or they start speaking gibberish. But sometimes you don’t see it, and you walk out of the room thinking the job’s done, only to find it’s not. In fact —’

  ‘You could end up sitting down the pub with it!’ said Tish excitedly. I glanced around at the clientele of the Pig’s Trotter. A few lorry drivers. Some real ale aficionados. Young professionals from the flats. A random collection of toothless old men who looked like they lived in a cardboard box and ate boiled boots for dinner. Yep. Any single one of them could be a demon, I reckoned.

  ‘Yes, you could. Which is why I tend to pray straight away after an exorcism, to make sure everyone is… clean. If one of us starts foaming at the mouth at the Lord’s Prayer, it’s a fairly sure bet there’s still work to be done. Justin, for some reason, seems particularly attractive to demons. I’ve seen them try and transfer to him several times.’

  ‘Must be his sparkling personality,’ I said. Quite rightly, Dan ignored me and carried on.

  ‘And once they’re in him, he blocks them. I don’t know what it is about Justin, but they can’t take control of him. He battles them, traps them in his body but fights them with his mind. And while they’re stuck there, and with his help, it’s —’

  ‘Easier to kick their demon butts,’ said Adam.

  Dan stared at us all in turn. He had a ferocious stare when he wanted to. Must be all those years in the pulpit, turning ordinary human beings into guilt-wracked blobs of nerves.

  ‘Is it possible to finish a single sentence without you lot interrupting?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry!’ we all chorused.

  ‘It’s okay. I forgive you, my children,’ he replied. Giving us a wink. That kind of thing should be against the law, really.

  ‘Look. Here’s Will,’ said Tish, gesturing in the direction of the door.

  She started poking her hair with her fingers, fluffing up the dark waves, and I saw her lick her lips to make them extra glossy. I guessed things were still off with the Divine Richard, then.

  Will had paused in the doorway, pale late-evening sunlight casting him into shadow as he looked around for us. Tish waved a slender hand in his direction, and he walked over. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a plain black T-shirt. His hair wasn’t quite as sleek as usual, and yes, she was right, he did look pretty tasty. I saw a flicker of something – disappointment maybe? – cross Adam’s face as Will sat down. Maybe he’d fancied his chances with Tish himself tonight and now his fun had been spoiled by the untimely arrival of the handsome, charming multi-millionaire.

  Despite the casual outfit, though, Will was as tense as I’d ever seen him. His eyes were wild and distracted, darting round the room like he expected the Spanish Inquisition to dash in at any moment, waving their branding irons.

  He sat down, and you could feel the anguish radiating from him in waves. God. This would be an eight-pinter at least.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘the Son of Satan has arrived.’

  And no. He wasn’t joking. He now knew the whole story, had taken a copy of the cuttings Adam and Betty had produced, and presumably spent the afternoon reading about how his beloved ancestor chopped up kids for fun. The strain was very clearly taking its toll.

  ‘Joshua Deerborne was more than a strange old goat, it seems,’ he said. ‘Nobody alive now remembers him, but when I did some digging round in the family archives, I found he�
�d spent all that time in Europe because he got kicked out of college here. He’d gone to the same one as all the other Deerborne men, but something happened. I haven’t been able to find out what as yet – maybe never will, I’m sure it was all hushed up. A liberal dispensation of cash, probably, some new fund in the Deerborne name…and Joshua shipped off on his grand tour. Like a gap year for psychopaths. Where, presumably, he found the Devil; and brought him home with him…Those dates that Adam and Betty found. They didn’t just coincide with the building. They coincided with Joshua being back in the country.’

  Dan reached out and took one of Will’s hands in both of his. And he managed to do it in a way that didn’t look even a tiny bit gay.

  ‘Will, listen to me,’ he said. ‘This isn’t your fault. This started generations ago and it’s not your fault. If you’re going to help us stop it, you need to stay strong.’

  He nodded nervously, avoiding eye contact. ‘I know. But the thought that the money I use today came from anything… wrong… it makes me feel like giving it all up.’

  ‘You’re doing as much good as you can now,’ I said. ‘And that’s what counts.’

  ‘You sponsored my footie team,’ Adam chipped in. ‘The Dewey Decimators. We won the Libraries’ League and I reckon it’s all down to the new kits.’

  It was only small – but enough to make Will breathe again, and even smile.

  ‘You see?’ I added. ‘You can’t be all bad. Now come on, let’s all have a drink. That’s another thing you’re good for, Will – you’re loaded, so get yourself to the bar and tell Stan we want another round. In diamond-encrusted glasses.’

  The rest of the evening was assisted by the consumption of enough alcohol to fill the Albert Dock. Stan finally kicked us out at three in the morning, when he’d had enough of us playing drunk darts. Tish knocked the final nail into the night’s coffin when she was aiming for double one (again) and instead managed to hit Stan’s precious framed photograph of Barbara Windsor with her bra pinging off in ‘Carry On Camping’.