Beyond Dead

by Jordaina Sydney Robinson

  I heard the doubt in her tone. “Supposed to?”

  “Yes, dear.” She nodded and threw a glance at the building. “Supposed to.”

  “Y’know,” I said, rubbing my temples, “the more I find out about this place, the more questions I have.”

  “Welcome to the Dark Side, dear.” She winked at me and, my, didn’t that just fill me with confidence about my future. She looked around us as if only just realising Sabrina wasn’t with me. “Where’s your friend? It would’ve been less taxing dragging the medium here with two of you.”

  “Oh.” I waved my hand dismissively and glanced back at the medial facility again. “She’s talking to the GBs about filing irregularities.”

  Edith’s manners slipped slightly with her surprise. “She’s what?”

  “She’s a coordinator, meaning she looks after filing the correct forms in the right person’s file, and there’ve been a few mix-ups lately.”

  “I've been dead a long time, dear, I know what a coordinator does. My question is why are the GBs questioning her about it? Why not the police?”

  “I think the police were questioning everyone.” I wasn’t liking the worry lines creasing around Edith’s eyes. Especially not when Pete’s words of panic hadn’t quite settled into the recesses of my memory yet.

  “The GBs are not an extension of the police force,” Edith enunciated clearly. “To be questioned by one of them is not the same as being questioned by the other.”

  “Okay …” I drew the word out. “But I’ve been questioned by them a few times.”

  Edith’s eyes became impossibly wide. “About what?”

  “Mainly about the dead bodies I found in my locker.” I waved that away because that was old news now. “But really, just in general.”

  “You’ve found dead bodies in your locker?” Edith blinked. “Bodies, plural?”

  “Yup.” I sighed, shuffling along slightly to a flatter section of wall. “I suppose you want the whole tale?”

  Edith didn’t interrupt once while I related the key factors. I neglected to mention the breaking into the secret records room or knowing that David from our GA meetings was a GB, but I laid everything else out for her.

  “You’ve had quite the induction into the afterlife, haven’t you, dear?” she asked when I was done.

  “It’s been an eventful few days.”

  Edith tapped her chin in thought while I sat silently and waited. “Are you supposing the person or persons who killed Jim also killed Fenton and the girl at the party, possibly mistaking her for you?”

  “Maybe. But since everyone was masked I think it’s more likely that she knew her killer. Though I’m not sure that isn’t just wishful thinking.”

  “I think you have a point, dear, about her knowing her killer. Especially when you consider the issues with filing in the coordinators’ department and the mystery girl and her arrangement with the psychic.” Edith nodded to herself. “I think that’s a solid theory. Someone is slipping information to this limited psychic about relatives of his audience members. Jim was sent to investigate and was murdered when he got too close, then …”

  I gestured to Edith. “That’s where we get stuck. The only reason I can see for murdering Fenton is that he stumbled on the same information Jim did and that Bertha either witnessed his murder or found incriminating evidence on the killer or killers.”

  “Or maybe they thought you did, since it looks like everything keeps coming back to your area, and that’s why they tried to kill you at the festival,” Edith finished, a little too excited for my liking, and slapped my knee. “This is fun!”

  “Maybe for you.”

  “Oh, yes, sorry, dear.” She tried her best to compose her face and patted my knee more gently this time. “Maybe Fenton and Bertha were murdered for different reasons, completely unconnected to Jim.”

  “Who’s been murdered?” Madame Zorina appeared by the side of us, her shoulders drooped and her face sunken.

  “Where’s my Barry?” Edith looked in Madame Zorina’s wake and sighed. “Didn’t he believe you? He always was stubborn, just like his father.”

  I didn’t say anything but I doubted Barry’s father was where he got his stubbornness.

  “No.” Madame Zorina rubbed at her eyes, smudging her makeup. “He believed me.”

  “So where is—” Edith stopped mid sentence, her mouth hanging slightly ajar. “He … he …?” Edith pointed directly upwards.

  “Ascended. Transcended. Got beamed up.” Madame Zorina waved a dismissive hand in front of her face as if she still didn’t believe what she’d seen. “Call it whatever you want, but he’s gone. In a blaze of glorious white light that damn near blinded me.”

  “Well, good for you, son,” Edith said, giving the sky an enthusiastic punch. “I’m proud of you.”

  Madame Zorina rubbed carelessly at her face with both hands. “Can one of you please point me in the direction of the nearest bus station?”

  “I’ll take you home,” Edith volunteered.

  Madame Zorina backed away quickly. “I’d rather walk.”

  I got up from the wall, dusted the seat of my trousers and caught up with her. “I thought you’d be happier. Now you can make your anonymous phone call and get what he left you.”

  “No. No I can’t,” she snapped as she turned to face us, her tiredness making her sound like a petulant child.

  “How come?” I asked.

  She rubbed at her eyes again as if the memory of the glare still blinded her. “That goddamn stupid white light took him before he could tell me.” I wasn’t entirely sure of the wisdom of that type of cursing, so I casually stepped back from her. I didn’t want to be too close in case she got struck down by lightning or whatever method the supernatural world chose. Guilty by association and all.

  Edith glanced between us. “Before he could tell you what?”

  “Before he could tell me who killed him,” Madame Zorina whined.

  “Oh, I know who killed him,” Edith said with an almost ambivalent toss of her head, the tiniest flicker of malice shining in her eyes. “It was Ollie Oakes.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Who the hell is Ollie Oaks?” Madame Zorina stared at me as if I’d duped her but I shook my head, equally bewildered.

  “He’s a builder,” Edith explained simply, as if that should be all we needed to know.

  “Well that’s just fabulous,” Madame Zorina snapped when Edith didn’t offer any further information. “Perhaps I’ll get him to repoint my back wall.”

  “He built my Barry’s pool,” Edith said. I didn’t know if she was purposely eking out the information or if being dead so long had dulled her sense of urgency.

  “He didn’t drown,” Madame Zorina screeched. “He was bludgeoned to death.”

  Edith’s eyes narrowed at Madame Zorina’s words. A couple approaching us faltered when they saw Madame Zorina yelling at no one and not so subtly crossed the road so they wouldn’t get too close to the crazy woman.

  “I don’t know why I was ever worried about your tact,” I said, watching the couple casting furtive looks at her. “You’re quite clearly very sensitive to people’s feelings.”

  “You’re right.” Madame Zorina took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a strange few hours. If you explain to me how this Ollie Oaks is responsible I can inform the police. Anonymously, of course.”

  “Bad workmanship.” Edith pressed her lips into a hard line and I wasn’t sure if that was a reaction to Ollie’s sloppiness or Madame Zorina’s demands.

  “You’re going to need to give me a little more to go on,” Madame Zorina pushed.

  Edith sighed irritably. “He wasn’t bludgeoned. This Ollie Oaks person built a pool for my Barry. It was shoddy work so Barry called him back to the house to show him. Long story short, this builder brought a bag full of tools, thinking it would be a quick fix I presume, and left to get some cement. Barry tripped on one of the faulty pool tiles. He landed face u
p in the unorganised bag of tools and a small chisel pierced the back of his neck, just underneath his skull. When he fell, his shoulder knocked the table and the lump hammer Mr Oakes had placed there after using it to loosen the tile Barry tripped on. It cracked him right between the eyes, effectively hammering the chisel right through his neck.” Edith told the story in a factual tone but expelled a heavy, calming breath when she’d finished.

  “I’m so sorry.” I gently squeezed her upper arm, thinking that’s probably the limit to the affection she’d want.

  “Oh, that’s awful,” Madame Zorina sobbed. She blew her nose loudly on her hankie and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “So terrible. Poor Porscha.”

  “Oh, now it’s ‘Poor Porscha’?” I mumbled.

  “Yes, well. When your number’s up, it’s up.” Edith resumed her composure as she watched Madame Zorina sob into her hankie. When she showed no signs of stopping, Edith patted her arm. “There, there, dear. There’s no need for tears.”

  “I’m going to the police with this.” Madame Zorina sniffed, looking quite the fearsome figure despite her dishevelled appearance.

  “I would appreciate that. Thank you.” Edith inclined her head politely but I had the impression that she was already dealing out Ollie Oaks’ punishment in her own special way. “Now, let’s get you home.”

  Edith placed a hand on Madame Zorina’s shoulder. The psychic paled at the thought of the return journey, and both of them disappeared.

  I tunnelled back to the bureau and handed my completed assignment sheet in with a couple of minutes to spare before the deadline. I wasn’t exactly sure what happened if you overshot the deadline, but Alex hated me so much I didn’t want to contemplate it. I was tempted to hang around the locker room or take an extremely long shower or something, anything to put off going home, but I decided against it. Showering in public was nearly as bad as going home.

  I made it all the way to my room without being accosted by anyone. No movie night, no awkward questions from Oz, I could just have a long soak in my private bathroom and sit around doing nothing until bedtime. I slipped out of my jumpsuit and wrapped myself in a towel. I didn’t have music or a book; I’d have to add those things to my ever-growing list of demands that Oz didn’t seem to be procuring for me. Just being on my own for a few hours would be enough.

  “I’m in here!” Clem shouted as I pushed my bathroom door open.

  “I can see that,” I snapped, watching him trying to cover his modesty with a clump of bubbles I personally thought was excessive. “The question is why?”

  “Felt like it.” He pointed around the bathroom, his pale blue shower cap scrunching as he turned his head. “It’s nicer than mine.”

  There was nothing I could say. I closed the door on him, changed back into my jumpsuit and headed back down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I flopped into a deckchair on the patio and exhaled in the solitary peace. Seconds later Oz tunnelled in the middle of the garden.

  “Everything okay?” he asked as he strolled towards the house.

  “I’m telling you now,” I said, looking over the rim of my mug at him, “I’m not going to make it ten years like this.”

  He patted my shoulder as he walked past. “Everyone feels like that for the first few years.”

  Ten minutes later, Petal and Pam came out into the garden talking about all the plants that had petals that Petal could possibly be named and after. They asked me to weigh in on certain suggestions. I gave the briefest possible answers I could. They didn’t even have the good manners to let me plan their murders in peace.

  ∞

  “Do I have a tale for you?” Sabrina sat down beside me on the bench in the canteen the next morning with her mug of practically black coffee and slice of honey-covered toast.

  “I hope so, because I’ve got one for you,” I said, before stirring a little more sugar into my tea. “So what happened?”

  “You can’t say that to me then expect me to tell you mine first.” Sabrina looked appalled. “I was interrogated yesterday. Have a heart.”

  I rolled my eyes at her dramatics but relayed the events of the previous evening to her.

  “Huh. After all that, he was killed by a loose pool tile.” Sabrina shook her head in disbelief. “You couldn’t make that stuff up.”

  “Your turn,” I prodded, sipping my rapidly cooling tea and checking the big wall clock for the time. I didn’t want to be late starting my assignments, especially if Alex was handing out the sheets. If I sneezed at the wrong time he’d probably report me.

  “Well, Officer Leonard questioned me, very politely I might add, for over half an hour about the filing incident, occasionally slipping in remarks or questions that linked to the murders, but nothing I couldn’t spot and avoid.” Sabrina sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I don’t think he knows that much about the murders. It felt like he was trying to imply he knew more than he did and for me to confirm his suspicions. Which I didn’t, of course.”

  “Well, that’s great, but as exciting tales go it’s a bit of an anti-climax.” I slapped the table. “Think mine’s the winner.”

  “Oh, that’s not the tale.” Sabrina shook her head, a flicker of excitement lighting up her eyes. “Because the GBs filed the forms first, they got to interview anyone they wanted before the police could question us all about the filing irregularities. As there were so many of us, they kept us in the police canteen, so once the GBs were done with me I was dumped back there.”

  I waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. “I’m assuming there’s a point in there somewhere?”

  “Yes, Miss Impatience.” Sabrina tapped the back of my hand lightly with her spoon. “Because they had nowhere else to put us I got to see who else they wanted to talk to.”

  She was as bad as Edith. “Who else did they want to talk to?”

  Sabrina smiled smugly and sipped her coffee. “No one.”

  It took me a few seconds to process that her answer didn’t correspond with her expression. “Soooooooo, you’re pleased because we’re the only suspects in a triple homicide?” I nodded. “Yes. I can see why you’re so happy about that.”

  “You’re missing the point,” she snipped primly over the lip of her coffee cup.

  “Oh, so there is one?”

  “Because I was the only one questioned by the GBs,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard me, “I was able to spread disinformation amongst the rest of the department. About what the GBs knew, their suspects, ways and means to catch them, etcetera. If my devious plan has worked, when we stake out Fenton’s place tonight, we should have our killer.”

  I had numerous reservations about this plan, least of all waiting in a dead man’s house for his killer to show up. “What kind of disinformation did you spread?”

  “Oh, that the GBs were drowning in suspects for Fenton’s murder, what with him being a GB informant and all, but they needed to find his notebook for proof before they could make any arrests.”

  “The notebook that I have?” I whispered, though no one was sitting anywhere near us.

  “Yes.” She nodded once and nibbled at her toast, washing the smallest bit down with a large slurp of coffee.

  “Which the killer will assume is at his house because it wasn’t with his body? But won’t the police and GBs have searched the house already? Won’t that suggest to the killer that it’s not there either?”

  “If that notebook implicated you, wouldn’t you take the chance to search his house?” Sabrina asked. “Just in case.”

  “Yeah.” I said after a moment’s thought. “I probably would.”

  “See.” Sabrina nodded, grinning happily. “They’ll come right to us.”

  “And we want the someone who’s killed three people to come to us? We’re thinking this is a good plan?”

  “Yes.” Sabrina pursed her lips at me. “It’s not like we’ll be greeting them at the front door and offering them tea and scones while they look.”

  “So.
” I adjusted my ponytail. I was already getting a headache and I was hoping it was only from a too tight bobble. “When they come in to toss the joint for this notebook, we’ll be …?”

  “Hiding.” Sabrina sipped her coffee contentedly, confident in her plan.

  “Okay. Then what?”

  “Then what, what?” she frowned. “Then we’ll know who the killer is.”

  “And then? What do we do with that knowledge?” I rested my tea on the saucer. “I don’t fancy explaining to Officer Leonard how we came across the information.”

  Sabrina smiled as if she’d been waiting for me to get to that point. “We tell David.”

  “Who’s David?” Pete sat down and immediately began tucking into his massive cooked breakfast. Watching him eat always gave me indigestion, though it did confirm that we couldn’t alter our weight, for good or bad. At least I was pretty sure it did. Unless he exercised. A lot. I’d have to ask Edith, she’d tell me the truth.

  “As in David and Goliath.” Sabrina stared at Pete’s breakfast. “How do you survive on such small portions? You should go back for seconds or you might starve.”

  Pete grinned between bites. “I knew you cared.”

  “Ladies.” Charlie sat down next to Pete. “I see you escaped the clutches of the GBs, Sabrina.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Pete nodded as if he’d forgotten. “What’d they want with you?”

  Sabrina gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Nothing. Just wondered if I knew anything about the murders and if it was connected to the filing mix-up.”

  “What did you tell them?” Pete asked far too casually.

  “The truth.” Sabrina sipped her coffee.

  “Which is?” he asked pointedly, motioning with his fork for her to expand.

  She gave him a happy shake of her head, her small ponytail swaying with the movement. “That I didn’t know anything about either.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “And they were happy with that?”