Making his way back to the rear gates, he flashed the torch across to the trees fifty metres away, but the beam was too weak to pick out any individual features. All he could see was a solid mass of bushes. Even if Kevin had been right about seeing something over there, that something, like the lorry, would be long gone.
He returned to the rear yard looking grimmer than when he left. “Tyre tracks, footprints in the mud outside, but no sign of anyone. There was a woman with them, wearing high heels, of all things. You wearing them?” Sceptre pointed to her feet and flat soles. “Thank God for that.”
“Why?” she asked.
“If you’d been wearing them, the police would have fingered us straight off. And trust me, it wouldn’t matter if you were wearing spikes and she was wearing blocks, Locke would still accuse you.”
There was a moment’s uneasy silence in which none of them quite knew what to say to the others. Kevin fiddled with his mobile phone, Sceptre made a minute examination of her fingernails, and Pete paced slowly back and forth just in front of them. Each of their thoughts centred on the gruesome find under the Hessian, just a few metres away, and the terrible way in which Steven Bilks had died.
Time passed.
Sceptre cleared her throat, as if she were going to say something, then changed her mind. Kevin took out a notebook and began to work on the problem of a business name. Pete continued pacing like some caged animal, constrained by the space in which he could move, urgently needing to get out and broaden his domain.
More time passed.
“How long does it usually take them to get out here?” Sceptre’s innocent question broke the spell.
“Twenty minutes in an emergency,” Pete reported. “But I know Locke. He won’t consider it an emergency until he gets here and sees the body.”
“We should check the computers,” said Kevin. “Get them dismantled and stuff, because the plod won’t do it.”
“You can’t,” Pete told him. “You must leave everything as it is.”
“Pete …”
“Kevin,” Pete cut in, “this is now a murder scene. If we change or move anything, anything at all, you could be charged with tampering with evidence. Just sit here and wait it out. They won’t be long.” Pete paced some more. At the warehouse door, he paused and looked out at the open gates. “They were the very reason I met Lady Melmerby.”
Sceptre started from her reverie. “What?”
“The back gates. Remember, I told you I’d been here before to advise them on security after a break-in? Well, that gate was the way the burglars came in. There’s a sort of hatch in it and all anyone has to do is slide it open and they can reach in and pull the bolt on the gate. I advised them to nail it shut. Obviously, they didn’t follow my advice.”
“Yes, but …”
Pete cut Sceptre’s protest off before she could utter it. “Kev just told us he shut the gates earlier. How do you think they got in to steal the DVDs?”
“Through the hatch in the gates,” said Kevin nodding in agreement with Pete.
Another long silence fell, until it was broken once more, by Sceptre. “Fishwick knew.”
“What?” Kevin asked.
“Fishwick. He knew. He said something was going on in the stables.”
“Great. Now we have testimony from a ghost.” Pete’s frustration was getting the better of him.
“Pete …”
“Sceptre,” he cut her off, “it will never hold up in court. And whatever you do, don’t mention Fishwick’s testimony to Locke when he gets here.”
“He’s a non-believer, too?”
“He’s a practical man,” Pete advised her. “And he’s a bad-tempered sod, too.”
*****
When Detective Constable Andrea Keynes arrived at Ashdale police station, she took the passenger seat of Chief Inspector Locke’s car for the drive out to the manor. As Pete had described him to his colleagues, Locke was a gruff man in his mid-fifties. Five feet ten, with a balding head and a ruddy complexion, a man with a distinguished career in the police service, he had a voice that had once been likened to that of a town crier. His challenging manner upset everyone, colleagues and criminals alike, but no one could ever doubt his efficiency: his success was reflected in his unrivalled clear-up rate.
After receiving Pete’s call, he had ordered a scene-of-crime team out immediately and waited at the station for Keynes’ arrival.
“Don’t rush,” he told her as they drove out of the station. “There’s nothing we can do at Melmerby Manor until the SOCOs have done their initial assessment except make life miserable for Brennan and his chums.”
“Detective Constable Brennan?” Andrea asked. “Pete Brennan, isn’t it?”
“What about him?” asked Locke, stopping at a red light.
“Is it right that you fired him?”
“Correct,” Locke confirmed. “And I’ll tell you something else, when we get out here, we charge him with whatever’s happened.”
Keynes was puzzled. “Chief, he wouldn’t have called us if he was guilty.”
“What difference does that make?” Locke accelerated away from the lights. “Listen to me, Brennan is bad news, and that mate of his, Keeley, is as hooky as they come. They’re obviously not guilty of this, but they’ll be mixed up in something crooked, so just throw the accusations at them. All right?”
‘No it’s not all right,” protested Andrea. “We’re supposed to uphold the law, guv, not break it.”
“Just do as I say,” Locke insisted. “They’re up to something, even if it’s not murder, and the simplest way to find out what is to throw the murder charge at them. Especially Keeley. He’ll grass on his own grandmother to avoid having his collar felt.”
DC Keynes shrugged. “You’re the boss, but when the crap starts to fly, I’ll tell the inquiry you ordered me to do it.”
*****
Locke and Keynes got to the manor just after three in the morning, by which time Sceptre, Pete and Kevin were feeling their lack of sleep. Locke promptly accused them of the killing.
Pete refused to be browbeaten by the Inspector. Instead, he promptly retaliated. “We found him, you numpty. We didn’t kill him.”
“What were you doing here in the first place, Brennan?” Locke jabbed a finger at Sceptre. “Breaking and entering with her? Or breaking and entering her, while Keeley hung about keeping watch and waiting for the leftovers?”
“I resent that, Inspector,” Sceptre complained. “My relationship with Pete and Kevin is strictly professional.”
It was not the wisest thing she could have said, as Locke’s next words confirmed. “So you charge for your favours, do you?”
Sceptre turned vermilion with rage. She clenched her fists so hard her nails bit into her flesh.
Concerned that she might actually lash out at the Inspector, Pete stepped in to try calm matters down. “Insulting Sceptre won’t get you anywhere, Locke. We are here on pukka business.”
His words had the desired effect. When Locke next spoke to Sceptre, he dropped his acerbic veneer. “It’s Chief Inspector,” he told her, “and you may be working with Brennan and Keeley, but you don’t know them like I do. They are bad news.”
“If you don’t watch it,” Pete warned, “it’ll be Chief Inspector with a busted nose... and not for the first time. Or have you forgotten the last time we fell out?”
“No, I haven’t,” Locke responded. “Have you forgotten I said I’d wall you up for good if I ever got the chance?”
Now Pete began to lose his cool. “You are not railroading me again. We found Bilko right where you see him.”
“We’ll see what forensic has to say about the time of death,” Locke declared, “and then look into your alibis. And by the way, no one railroaded you last time. You put one on me.”
“Well, just watch you don’t give me cause to do it again,” Pete advised.
Locke ignored the threat and took out his notebook. “So, what’s this business you�
�ve got here?”
“We’re ghost hunting. Or didn’t Dave Robb tell you about Rossington Terrace last night?”
“I read his report, Brennan,” Locke admitted, “and I remember thinking that it’s another con.”
Feeling aggrieved, Kevin muscled his way into the little clutch of people. “We’re not ripping anyone off,” he snapped. “We’re didn’t get paid for that gaff.”
Locke laid a glare on Kevin. “I’ll speak to you later, Keeley. Alone.”
“Not without my brief, you won’t,” Kevin assured him.
Deciding that the time had come for frankness, Sceptre stepped in. “Chief Inspector Locke, I am Lady Concepta Rand-Epping, Countess of Marston. My family can trace its history back to Oliver Cromwell. The mere idea that I, or anyone connected with me, could be party to murder, is absurd.”
For the first time since his arrival, Locke smiled, but it was the sort of smile one reserves for someone several slates short of the full roof. “Is she for real?”
His question was directed at Pete, who nodded. “One hundred percent.”
Sceptre pressed on through their cynicism. “My mother was a personal friend of Jonathan Melmerby, which is the very reason we were given permission to investigate the haunting of this manor. And you can check that with Sir Jonathan.”
“Oh, I will,” Locke assured her. “In the meantime, tell me what you know.”
Aware that Sceptre would give Locke the plain truth, Pete got in first. “We were checking out the building for spooks when we came across Bilko’s body in the warehouse. Simple as that.”
“Not that simple,” Sceptre disagreed. “It was my spirit guide who warned us to stay away from the stables.”
Locke’s features, already doubting, turned to a mask of disbelief. “Your spirit guide?”
Pete laughed at Locke’s dumbfounded confusion. “Sceptre’s ghost even warned us about you. He said there was something nasty in the stables, and here you are. Isn’t it nice to know the reputation of Chief Inspector Deadbolt has spread to the next world?”
The slight on his surname caused Locke’s colour to rise again. “I want the lot of you down the station, pronto, in separate cars.”
His announcement wiped the grin from Pete’s face, and immediately, Locke was buried in a chorus of protest from all three.
Sceptre’s voice got through above the clamour. “And what about Pete’s car and our equipment?”
“Forensic will need to look it all over. It’ll be impounded while we examine it.”
Pete fumed. “For the last time, man, we had nothing to do with it!”
Locke smiled again: a smug smirk of evil satisfaction. “In that case, you won’t mind us checking that out, will you? Keynes!”
The final word was shouted, and the three ghost hunters frowned at the apparent irrelevance of it, until the smartly-dressed officer came into the building.
“This,” Locke announced, “is Detective Constable Andrea Keynes.”
Pete almost fell over laughing. “I don’t believe it,” he chortled. “Locke and Key. If you get married, will your kids be padlocks? Hey, Keys, your first name isn’t Dora, is it? D’yer gerrit? Eh? Dora Keys. Door keys.”
She narrowed her dark eyes at him. “Watch it, Brennan. I’ve heard all about you and I’m not impressed. And it’s Keynes, not Keys. K-E-Y-N-E-S.”
“Andrea,” Locke said, “take them down the station, and keep them in separate interview rooms, no visitors.” He focused his satisfied features on Pete. “And if they ask for a lawyer, arrest them …on suspicion of murder.”
*****
Led from the station cells, up a short flight of stairs and along a narrow corridor, Sceptre glanced into an office and took in the grey daylight breaking through the far windows. All her possessions had been taken from her, including her wristwatch, but a wall clock told her it was just after 7:30 a.m.
A uniformed female officer escorted her to a cramped, tiny interview room where the Chief Inspector was checking through Sceptre’s possessions (her purse, her watch, the keys to the hall) and replacing them in a large, buff envelope as he finished with them. Alongside him, Keynes was busy filling out fresh forms. On the table, along the wall, stood a double cassette recorder. As Sceptre took her seat, Locke pressed the start button and stated his name for the record. Keynes followed suit, after which Locke turned a benign smile upon her.
“It’s Miss Rand, is it?”
“Rand-Epping,” Sceptre corrected him softly.
Her eyes followed Locke’s pointing finger to the cassette recorder.
“You’ll have to speak up, so we can record your responses.”
Sceptre cleared her throat. “My name is Lady Concepta Rand-Epping. My friends call me Sceptre Rand.”
“Unusual name,” he chattered.
“When I was a child, I couldn’t pronounce Concepta, so I shortened it to Sceptre, and the name stuck.” Now that Pete and Kevin were not here, the Chief Inspector seemed friendly enough.
“Part of the landed gentry, eh?” he asked.
Sceptre began to wonder whether her friends had pegged Locke wrong. He was, after all, a civil servant, just doing his job.
She smiled, signalling her recognition of his interest. “The title is largely meaningless these days.”
The smile faded from his ruddy features. “Damn right it means nothing. Not when I’m investigating a murder. I don’t give a hoot if you’re the Queen’s niece, you’ll answer my questions.”
Perhaps, Sceptre reflected silently, Pete was right after all.
Locke calmed a little. “You’re the head ghost hunter, huh?”
She felt her temper rising. “I am not,” she snapped primly. “I am a psychic, in touch with the Other Side.”
“Yes,” said the Chief Inspector, “so am I. The Other Side of human nature. And I want to know why you three killed an innocent young burglar like Steve Bilks.”
“We didn’t kill him,” she argued. “He was dead when we found him.”
Locke said nothing; Keynes, who had been noting down the main points of the interrogation, now paused and along with her superior, gazed expectantly across the table.
Sceptre cleared her throat again. “My spirit guide told me something awful had happened and I was worried. Pete and I began to argue, Kevin got fed up and wandered off. That’s when he found the poor boy.”
“Your spirit guide?” asked Keynes. She sounded slightly less disbelieving than her chief, but her voice was still coloured with doubt.
“My spirit guide is an old family retainer, Albert Fishwick,” Sceptre explained. “In life, he was butler and batman to my great-grandfather. He died during the first battle of the Somme, in 1916. He has been my constant companion since I was about eight.”
Locke and Keynes exchanged cynical smiles.
“You really believe this stuff?” asked Keynes. Again there was the doubt, but it was tinged with a little more sincerity than Locke’s sneer.
“It is not ‘stuff,’” Sceptre insisted. “It is reality. An alternate reality. I work with Pete and Kevin, and Fishwick guides me.”
The reality of her predicament wormed its way into Sceptre’s consciousness. She had heard of people pressed into admitting murder charges and then being invited to plead insanity, and for a terrible moment she believed that was the way these two officers were heading. They had a dead body, and they needed to clear it up quickly. What better way than accuse a woman who claimed to be in touch with her great-grandfather’s dead butler?
Locke’s next words quelled her immediate worries. “We know all about Brennan, and we’re aware of the things Keeley gets up to,” he grumbled. Before Sceptre could challenge him, the Chief Inspector went on, “Wasn’t three o’clock in the morning a strange time to be looking for ghosts?”
“No more absurd than three in the afternoon or during the rush hour, or do you imagine we have to wait until they’re up and have had breakfast?” retorted Sceptre. With the feeling that
she had made her point, she went on, “I spoke to Sir Jonathan yesterday, and he authorised us to be at the hall anytime during the next few days.” She pointed at the envelope containing her possessions. “That’s how come I have the keys to Melmerby Manor.”
“And Bilko interrupted you, did he?” demanded the Chief Inspector.
“Bilko?” Sceptre disapproved. “Shouldn’t you use his proper name, show a little respect for the deceased?”
“Leave the lessons in etiquette to the BBC’s royal correspondent, and answer my question,” Locke demanded.
Sceptre sighed. “No, he didn’t interrupt us. We went out to investigate the stables and found him. The DVDs had gone missing and instead, we found him.”
She saw Locke’s ears prick up at that. “DVDs? What DVDs?”
*****
Pete’s biggest worry was that Sceptre would do something stupid and tell Locke the unfettered truth.
His experience of the police force told him that when being interviewed it was better to say nothing at all rather than lie. Lies could be uncovered; no comment remained no comment.
His worries centred on the pirate DVDs. Knowing Locke as he did, he knew that if the Chief Inspector learned of the contraband, he would put two and two together and come up with five... five years each for Kevin and Pete, with a few added on for Sceptre.
His worries came to a head when Locke and Keynes dragged him into an interview room and the Chief Inspector went immediately on the attack. “I’ve got you now, Brennan. Your friend Septic told us that you were guarding a truckload of DVDs when Bilko walked in.”
“Her name is Sceptre.”
Ignoring Pete’s correction, Locke pressed for an answer. “Well?”
Pete would not be moved. “I just told you, her name is Sceptre?”
Keynes butted in to prevent Locke’s temper exploding. “Just admit it all, Brennan,” she suggested. “You’ll feel better.”
Pete yawned. “Admit what? That her name is Sceptre? I just did.”
“Just shut up about her bloody name,” Keynes grumbled, “and tell us about the DVDs.”
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