A Spookies Compendium

by David Robinson

  Lights came from behind. Pete stuck out a thumb. The car rushed past, splashing him with slush and snow. He cursed. Twenty metres on, the vehicle stopped. He hurried along, yanked open the passenger door, and, leaning in, looked into a pair of smiling, china blue eyes.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” said Andrea Keynes.

  “Thank God,” Pete said, climbing into the passenger seat. “You’d better get a move on or Kevin and Sceptre are dead.”

  Keynes pulled off, peering through the heavy snow into the darkness. “The manor is about a kilometre.”

  “You got backup?”

  She shook her head. “I overheard your buddies at the station. Locke showed them the door. I figured I could do worse than tag along. I’ve been parked down the road for the last hour. Then your car came past, followed by Wilcox’s van. Trouble was, I’d been parked there so long, I was bogged down in the snow. It’s taken me ten minutes to get out of it.”

  “Just as well,” said Pete. “Wilcox is armed.”

  She tutted. “I’ll bet his van isn’t insured either.”

  Pete laughed. “Have I told you I could be the best thing that ever happened to you?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Madam?”

  At the sound of Fishwick’s voice in her head, Sceptre emerged from a disturbed reverie of the way the coming events might play out. “Yes, Fishwick.”

  “Madam, Wilcox and his friends are quite close and Mr. Brennan is with them. He was in some difficulty, but he got out of it with my assistance.”

  Sceptre smiled. “He will not thank you for it, Fishwick. He doesn’t believe in you.”

  “No, Madam, but I believe in him. He has the same selfless dependability my father had.”

  “Thank you, Fishwick. How long will it be before they get here?”

  “A matter of only a few minutes, My Lady.”

  “Then we must prepare. Can you arrange reinforcements amongst the other spirits here?”

  “I shall try, Madam. There is one other matter.”

  “Yes?” asked Sceptre, her interest aroused.

  “I have to confess, Madam, that I disobeyed your orders.” Fishwick sounded almost embarrassed. “You asked me to check out Flutter-Bys. A moment or two later, Bilks flew off so rather than obey you, I followed him. As it happens, he was going to Flutter-Bys. When he got there, he tore all the contents from the cold store in the cellar. It’s quite a mess, I’m afraid, and the missing DVDs are all over the floor, mixed with the foodstuffs he scattered everywhere.”

  “I see.” Sceptre considered the information. “That should be useful to the police, but tell me, Fishwick, why did he do it?”

  “I believe, Madam, he was looking for his mobile telephone,” replied her butler, “which has been hidden in that cold store since he died. I also get the feeling that he was beaten almost to death in the cellar and left in the cold store, where he probably expired. Before he did, however, he hid his cell phone in there. It would be one way of hinting to the police, that he had been there.”

  Sceptre immediately agreed. “That sounds likely, Fishwick. Thank you for the information.”

  *****

  Kevin shivered in the chill and looked worriedly around the attic nursery. “Why did it have to be this room?”

  Over by the window, Sceptre gazed down onto the rear courtyard. “Because we can see the stables from here, and that’s probably where they’ll come in.”

  Kevin’s mind was occupied with the room, not the view. “Yes; we can see the rocking horse, too, and the writing on the wall.” His eye travelled around the room to the dripping, crimson message, WGJAMW, on the wall. “Sceptre, you never told me how you worked out it was Wilcox.”

  “Fishwick suggested it. Bilks paid Wilcox a visit in the early hours of the morning.”

  “Good old Bilko. He was probably trying to rob the safe.” He toyed idly with the mouse pad on his computer, his eyes darting everywhere, his hands shaking.

  Sceptre looked at him, a sympathetic smile crossing her lips. “Kevin, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I was just asking…” His face, already showing his agitation, now reflected his full-on fear. “All right, I’m scared. We’ve got a house full of spooks who’ve had it in for me since we first came here, and a shed-load of gangsters on their way to put us out of it for keeps, so I’m a bit jittery.”

  “There is nothing to be afraid of,” she tried to assure him.

  “How about death?”

  “Since none of us really understands death,” Sceptre pointed out, “you can’t be afraid of it. It’s dying you’re afraid of.”

  “Oh, well, it’s important to get these little details right, isn’t it?” Kevin’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I’m a young man, Sceptre. I don’t want to die yet. There’s so much I haven’t done. Got married, had kids, won the lottery, been to Brighton. See, I’ve never been to Brighton and I think everyone should go to Brighton at least once in their life, don’t you?” He played with the computer again, moving the mouse pointer around the screen. “I mean, what would my old mum say if she knew I was sitting here, in a spooky old house, waiting to be murdered by a gangster? I know what she’d say. She’d say, ‘Don’t be silly, Kevin, and eat your rice pudding’. That’s what she’d say, cos she was sensible, my mum.”

  Sceptre returned to the window and looked down. Once she realised he was prattling to soothe his nerves and would keep talking whether she listened or not, she tuned him out. She, too, was afraid, but she was only afraid of failure, not death. She had visited death once, 24 hours ago, and whatever terrors it may have held for her before were gone.

  “They’re here, Madam,” Fishwick said suddenly.

  Sceptre snapped from her thoughts and looked through the window, down into the rear courtyard where the gates had been opened and a large van nosed through them.

  She turned from the window and cried, “Come on, Watson. The game’s afoot.”

  “Watson?” Kevin said in complete befuddlement. “Who’s Watson?”

  *****

  Stopping his van in the stable yard, Wilcox climbed out and slammed the driver’s door. He walked to the rear and rolled up the shutter to let Groom and Lawson out. Groom was still groggy from his encounter with Pete while Lawson worked at his hand where Pete had crushed it. At least nothing seemed broken.

  Leaving Pete’s car outside the gates, Nicky and Johnny walked into the stable yard as Wilcox began to marshal his forces. “Lemmy, you stay here and look out for the van. If Brennan tries to get in this way, stop him, and if Keeley or that bitch tries to get out, deal with it.”

  “I can deal with them two,” Groom agreed, “but I’m not sure about Brennan.”

  “Just do it.” Wilcox drew Tate and Nicky into the briefing. “This is a big house. They could be anywhere inside, so when we get to it, we split up. Johnny, you stick with Nicky; Sylvie, you can stay with me.”

  Unable to speak because her jaw was swollen where Pete’s foot had connected with it, Sylvie nodded.

  “What about me?” Lawson asked.

  “You’re watching the ground floor, Tommy. Just keep an eye out for any of them trying to leg it and for Brennan turning up.”

  “Now listen, Ronnie, I don’t think I can take Brennan on my own.”

  “You have a shooter, haven’t you? If he shows up, just blow him away.” Wilcox took out his automatic pistol and cocked it. “Remember, all of you. No prisoners. We ice them all.”

  “What about plod?” asked Tate. “Brennan could have already called them.”

  Wilcox rolled his eyes, as if praying for patience. “You’re as bad as these two.” He gestured at his henchmen. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There are no phones, and I’ve got this.” From his pocket, Wilcox took out Pete’s mobile. “Besides¾” He gestured at the falling snow “¾the filth would never make it in this lot. Talking of phones, Sylvie, you still got Bilko’s?”

  Sylvie dipped into the pocket of her anorak and broug
ht it out. She tried to smile, but it hurt where Pete had kicked her, so she contented herself with a grimace.

  “Great,” said her husband. “We leave it on one of them as evidence, and don’t forget to wipe everything down after we’re done. Don’t leave any prints. All right, let’s get to it.” He crossed the courtyard to the rear doors and tried them. “Locked. Tommy?”

  Lawson dipped into his pocket and came out with his lock picks. He bent to the door and, in the space of a few seconds, had tripped the lock. He stood back as Wilcox opened the door and led the way in.

  He felt around for a light switch and flicked it on. The Long Gallery was promptly illuminated, although dimly, the free-standing exhibits casting long shadows into dark corners. They became aware of the heavy breathing.

  “WIGJAM... WIGJAM... WIGJAM...”

  Lawson began to quake. “Oh crikey, there really are ghosts here!”

  Wilcox snorted. “Ghosts, my foot. They’re using that PA system, same as we did with them. Tommy, get into the private rooms and shut it down.”

  “On my own?” The thug found his courage seriously on the wane. “With Brennan knocking about somewhere?”

  “You want someone to hold your hand?” Wilcox sneered. “Just get in there.”

  They emerged into the grand entrance hall. As Lawson made off to the private apartments, Tate spotted the cable drums and lines leading up the stairs. “They’re waiting for us, Ronnie.”

  “Then let’s not disappoint ’em, eh?”

  *****

  “I shall do nowt of the kind.”

  Fishwick sighed at Sir Henry’s refusal to help. “Sir,” he said with great respect, “my mistress and her friend are in great danger from these intruders. If we do not help, they may be killed.”

  “If yon wench were around in my day, I’d have saved her all right; for myself,” declared Sir Henry. “But if they can get her outta my house, it’ll do for me. I’m off to my room.”

  “He’s got a one track mind,” muttered Fishwick as the old squire moved off.

  “Pay him no mind,” said Aggie as she approached Fishwick. “He’s a miserable old bugger. I’ll help where I can.” She cackled. “I can make that rocking horse do things a real horse couldn’t.”

  “Thank you, Miss Aggie.”

  *****

  Lawson’s hands shook visibly as he opened the door to the private apartments and made his way stealthily along to the control room.

  His mind was still full of the strange events in Flutter-Bys’ cellar in the early hours, and the manor gave him the willies. He had been all right when Groom was with him. Now, alone, with Lemmy left behind at the gate looking after the van, Lawson was afraid. Reaching the control room, he yanked the wires from the computer, then sighed in relief as the room fell silent.

  Then the breathing returned, deeper, heavier, more rasping¾and closer. Lawson froze, his eyes fixed on the computer screen. In the blank screen, he made out a dim reflection of his terrified features and something else: a huge shape forming somewhere behind him.

  “WIGJAM!” The voice bellowed in his ear, the furious roar of an enraged lion.

  Visions of Flutter-Bys’ cellar filled his mind. With a cry of sheer horror, Lawson turned. Before him was a huge, monstrous form; a man but larger than a man; a bear, but larger than a bear. His heart leapt. His limbs trembled. He could not even decide what it was. Gripped by a dread he had never known in his life, he ran blindly from the room.

  Hurtling through the apartments, he came out into the entrance hall, the shape and voice following him. He glanced frantically to his left and the front door, then to his right and the Long Gallery, and then up the stairs. Deciding that discretion was the greatest part of valour, he ran for the front door and yanked it open.

  An even more fearsome spectacle met his eyes. Blood-scarred wrists bared and held forward, eyes blazing with fury, ham-like fists clenched, the terrifying figure towered over Lawson... and the thug’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed.

  *****

  Out by the stables, Lemmy Groom leaned against the front of the van, where the radiator could warm his back, and lit a cigarette.

  He was still light-headed and seeing occasional stars after the pasting from Brennan, but he looked forward to Wilcox, Tate and Lawson bringing out the three bods, and he hoped that the ex-cop would still be alive when they did. He wanted to press that pistol against Brennan’s head and squeeze the trigger. The ultimate payback.

  Smiling at the thought, Groom drew in a lungful of smoke and expelled it with a hiss into the night.

  There was a rattle from the ground a few metres away. Groom looked to the left of the van where a stone skidded across the snow. He looked down the offside, to the right of the van, and saw nothing, no one. Next he checked down the nearside. Still no one. He crossed to the stone, bent to examine it. Nothing special, nothing spectacular.

  “Just a boring pebble,” he muttered. He looked up at the manor towering above him. “Probably fell off the roof.”

  He turned and found himself looking into the smiling eyes of Detective Constable Keynes.

  She winked. “Hello, Lemmy.”

  Groom reached under his arm for his pistol. Keynes brought her knee up between his legs and he sank to the ground. While he concerned himself with trying to pull in a deep breath so he could control the pain, she searched beneath his arm and removed the revolver.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ex-con carrying a firearm. You’re looking at a long stretch, Lemmy.” She gripped his wrist and slapped her handcuffs around it, then dragged him to the vehicle, where she forced him to stand up, and then snapped the other manacle over the tubular arm of the wing mirror. Left with his arm high in the air anchored to the lorry, Groom could do nothing except hang there, gasping in agony.

  Keynes removed the ammunition from the pistol and slipped the weapon into one pocket, the bullets into another. She moved to the driver’s door, opened it and took the ignition keys from the lock, then, with a smile at Groom, entered the house.

  *****

  Keynes moved quickly through the Long Gallery to the entrance hall, where she found Pete standing over the unconscious Lawson.

  “I hope you didn’t hit him too hard,” she commented, taking another pair of handcuffs from her coat pocket.

  “I didn’t hit him at all,” said Pete. “He took one look at me and fainted. I seem to be having that effect on people just lately. Day before yesterday, even Kev was bowing to me.” He smiled at her. “Will you be that submissive for me?”

  Keynes scowled. “Knock it off, Brennan. We have business to attend to.” She nodded at Lawson. “Is he armed?”

  “He was.” Pete held up a revolver, now emptied of ammunition. Dropping the pistol back into his pocket, he rolled the inert Lawson over onto his abdomen and pulled both hands behind the gangster’s back while Keynes handcuffed him.

  “So, where’s the party?” she asked.

  Pete nodded at the cables. “Looks like it’s upstairs. Shall we join them?”

  *****

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  In the middle of compiling a report on the afternoon’s football hooliganism, Chief Inspector Locke was not happy to be disturbed by PC Robb. “What is it?”

  “Well, sir, we had a call from Sceptre Rand about half an hour ago.”

  Locke groaned. “Not again.”

  Robb grinned. “You’ve met her, sir? Only I have too, earlier in the week...” Locke scowled, and Robb wiped the smile from his face. “Well sir, she gave us a mobile telephone number, saying it belonged to Bilko, er, Steven Bilks, that is, and she told us to get a GPS track on it.”

  “And you took her seriously? Bilko is dead and…”

  “Yes sir, I know that, but being as it’s a murder investigation, the Sarge thought it best to check, so we contacted the mobile company and asked them to verify the details, which they did, and we asked them for a GPS location.”

  “Yes? And?”

  “Well, it�
�s odd, sir,” said Robb, “so we thought you’d better know. The thing is switched on, and it’s on the move.”

  Locke suddenly became alert and interested. “Where?”

  “Along Melmerby Lane, sir. Towards the manor house.”

  Locke stood up and reached for his overcoat. “Right. Where’s DS Keynes?”

  “Dunno, sir,” Robb admitted. “She went out a couple of hours ago.”

  “Tell Sarge to get me a team together,” the chief inspector ordered. We’re going out there.”

  “Yes, sir. Only, er...”

  In the act of putting on his coat, Locke paused. “Something wrong?”

  “Well, it’s snowing quite heavily.”

  “Snowing?” Locke demanded indignantly. “Who gives a damn about snow? Where would we be if Monty had told Winnie that he couldn’t face Rommel at El Alamein because it was snowing? Get that crew together and move it.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir?”

  “What is it, man?”

  “Did it really snow in the desert, sir?”

  *****

  “They’re up in the attics. Look.” Tate pointed to the cables disappearing under the door to the attic stairway.

  Wilcox tutted. “It’s easy to see why Jimmy uses you as a gopher. You haven’t got the brains for nothing else. Running the cables like that could be a dupe.” He waved vaguely at the doors along the first landing. “We have to check these rooms too. You and Nicky see to them; me and Sylvie’ll go up to the attics.”

  Johnny huffed. “Well, running the wires up the stairs from the ground floor could be a trick, too. They might be down there.”

  “Which is why I left Tommy there and Lemmy out near the van. Now get on with it. Come on, Sylvie.”