Dead Man Talking

by TM Simmons

  Chapter 5

  Sir Gary leaned against the weeping willow while a half-dozen bobbies scuttled about. Not one of them tried to drag the corpse out of normally crystal clear water. Something about some medical examiner having to declare the body dead first. As if the fact the corpse was missing its head didn’t prove it couldn’t revive and swim out on its own. He crossed his arms. Jack, the one who arrived first, had turned on the underground pool lights. A little later, Jack met the sheriff out front and the two of them had, as they called it, secured the crime scene.

  The bobbies had no idea who the corpse was — wouldn’t have until they found the missing head or figured out some other way to identify him. Had they asked, the ghost could have told them a little, although not a name. The corpse was dressed identically to the man who skulked around Esprit d’Chene the other night — same bib overalls, hole in the right knee. He’d slinked off about the time the ghost decided to get...ghostly with him.

  A clean swipe of a sharp scimitar obviously did the deed. Sir Gary had always been good with a sword, and he’d committed a similar act once on a pirate captain who tried to board a Gavin Shipping Company ship.

  Bloody hell. Why did that trespasser have to get killed at Esprit d’Chene? The ghost’s plans were set, Alice agreeing to help him — with a nudge — and now this. Alice was on her way, but not to assist him. With a murder investigation in the works, all sorts of delays could interfere in his carefully orchestrated scheme. And damn, he was tired of this half-life, half-death. Ever since he’d read how Alice helped another wandering soul transcend the veil, he’d known only she could help him move forward on his journey. Her books were very enlightening; she knew her ghost business. He’d tried to use them on his own to overcome whatever blocked his path, but nothing worked. He knew he was dead, unlike some of the poor souls she wrote about. He didn’t think his problem was someone across the veil he didn’t want to meet up with. He’d never lacked courage to face his enemies.

  No, he concluded from his reading that something tied him to this realm. Perhaps it centered on the mystery of his death, a memory blocked completely, like the selective amnesia portrayed on that television movie. Alice could get to the bottom of it, if she had sense enough to let the bobbies to do their job and not allow a deterrent like a new murder keep her from concentrating on him. He’d worked hard, and by gad, he had first claim on Alice’s time.

  Jack ended a conference with the sheriff over by the far side of the pool. The sheriff walked toward the front of the house where several police cars were parked, while Jack strolled over to where four other bobbies waited for instructions, near where Sir Gary stood. The ghost stifled a chuckle at their ignorance of his perusal. It was a perfectly spooky night, excellent circumstances for one of his ghostly witticisms. Hell, he had to have some fun once in a while. He could imagine their fright if he let out a moan, since the body floated within a few feet of them. They’d scatter, thinking the corpse revived, even without its head.

  Or maybe he would yell, “Over there!" Probably all six bobbies would yank their pistols free and splat belly-down on the concrete, eyes searching for the killer. A brief snicker escaped at that perfectly stupendous vision. Only Jack grabbed at his pistol, hidden on his back beneath the orange vest. The detective stared at the willow, tempting Sir Gary to reveal himself, but discretion won. Jack relaxed his hold on the pistol. Interesting, though, that only Jack reacted.

  “Franklin,” Jack said to a thirtyish, balding bobby with a protruding stomach, “take your patrol car out the back lane and around to the main gate. Stop anyone from driving in here until we search the grounds more thoroughly.”

  Franklin hurried off. Next Jack directed two bobbies to scour the grounds near the pool with the high-power-beamed flashlights they carried. “Go slow,” he warned. “And keep your eyes open. I doubt the perp’s still around, but stay together.”

  Jack left the bobby by the pool to keep an eye on the corpse, then headed into the manor house. Sir Gary glided along behind him. Obviously, Jack couldn’t see him, but the detective certainly heard the snicker, and that intrigued the ghost. Sir Gary had gleaned from Katy that Jack and Alice had been married, and it seemed strange that a ghosthunter would hook up with a non-believer. However, he’d only recently delved into the complexities of this ghost business himself, so maybe there was a method to the madness of that failed state of bliss. His own marriage hadn’t been any bed of roses, but back then, divorce wasn’t an option. Not for him, anyway, since his wife needed extensive care. He remembered all of his life up until the last hour or so, but no matter how hard he focused, the only hint he recalled of his death was that it wasn’t supposed to happen that way.

  In the kitchen, Katy paced and sipped her second drink — the weak one Jack had made. Sir Gary didn’t much care for the way Jack mixed bourbon and soda. Everyone knew bourbon should be poured in last, allowed to steep through the soda, and Jack had mixed it backwards. At least the tears on Katy’s pretty face had dried. Her blond hair remained tousled, somewhat charmingly, were the cause the result of a enjoyable situation. A tumble with a lover perhaps.

  Pleasantly surprised to see Katy move in after he ran that other old fart off, Sir Gary studied her for a few weeks before he revealed himself. A woman of Katy’s breeding and appearance would have set the entire Ton on its ear back in the days when he squired his share of eligible women around the London ballrooms. Truth be known, a few ineligible ones also succumbed to him. The first time he materialized to Katy, he’d thought her another easy conquest, but she soon overcame her initial awe at his illustrious presence. Over time, he’d realized Katy’s relationship with Alice explained her fascination and lack of fear.

  “I have no idea who he is, either,” Katy was saying when he tuned into their conversation rather than his admiration of his house partner.

  “He?” Jack queried.

  When he pounced on that one word, Katy frowned. “I did see what he...it...whoever...was wearing,” she said testily. “The body looked male. Haven’t you at least confirmed that?”

  “No,” Jack said. “But you’re probably right.”

  Katy emptied her drink tumbler. “I wish Alice would get here.”

  “It’ll take her two, three hours,” Jack said. “Can I call someone closer?”

  “No! Good lord, word will get out soon enough. Every gossip in the county’s going to be gibbering about me.”

  “I’d think that your reputation would be the least of your worries,” Jack mused. “There’s a murdered man in your pool. Someone’s lost their life.”

  Katy’s peaches and cream complexion blanched a pallid, curdled-milk color with spots of sickly flush on her cheekbones. “M — murder?”

  “I thought you’d figured that out." The cop’s eyes bored into Katy.

  “I...I hoped...maybe he’d just drowned. All the blood, I know, but maybe he’d...injured himself when he slipped and fell.”

  Jack didn’t bring up the fact of the missing head just then. Sir Gary gave him credit for that. As he suspected, Katy hadn’t noticed.