by Stan Mason
‘That’s not a pleasant prospect,’ complained the architect miserably, realising the seriousness of the situation. ‘I may never find the man. It means I’m stuck with her vision for the rest of my life. There would be no peace for me.’
‘There is a way round it,’ suggested the medium helpfully. ‘You can sell the house and move somewhere else. Her spirit can’t follow you. It will still remain here.’
He brightened up considerably at the comment. ‘And you say that her spirit will be freed when the killer dies.’
‘That’s what happens. Spirits don’t remain in limbo for ever, otherwise there would be crowds of them queuing up to get into the next world.’
Hunter allowed his mind to dwell on the future. He was loath to sell his house but if push came to shove it was not the worst thing in the world to happen. At least he would be free of his wife’s apparition... he wouldn’t be watched all the time which was a consideration that extremely unsettled him. Perhaps selling the property would be the best idea after all.
‘I can’t assist you in your quest any further,’ exclaimed the medium breaking into his thoughts. ‘You see, the aura of your dead wife is here, not that of Amy. I’m talking to the wrong spirit. But I would like to stay here at night until her apparition appears again.’
‘For what reason?’ he asked. ‘If she can’t help me why do you want to see her?’
‘I’m a medium,’ she replied deftly. ‘Any paranormal incident is of importance to me. Please let me stay.’
Hunter felt most discomforted by the fact that the woman would be resting in an armchair in his bedroom night after night until his dead wife reappeared. Reluctantly he agreed to her request although he felt that he ought to have dismissed it out of hand.
Some time later, Ellen expressed her wish to go home and the architect offered to drive her there.
‘Do you think she’s a good medium?’ he asked pointlessly as they drove along in his car.
‘I’ve known her for many years,’ related the school mistress easily. ‘She’s done some very good work. Tell me, why did you go to see the Headmaster today?’
‘I was trying to track down a past pupil by the name of Mervyn. It worked out he was Mervyn Jones. But when I went to find him, the house where he lived was condemned. I’ve no idea where he is now.’
‘I know,’ uttered Ellen simply.
Hunter’s foot lifted itself slightly from the accelerator in surprise. ‘You do?’ he managed to say.
‘His mother employed me to give him extra lessons after school about four years ago. I used to go to his house to help him. They’d just been evicted by a property company who wanted to build apartments on the site.’
‘That’s terrific!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘Now there’s no reason why he should be in the frame but I don’t want to leave any stone unturned.’
‘He lives at 18, Sanctuary Close as far as I remember. It’s right next to a cemetery.’
Hunter was delighted to find another lead so swiftly. It was sheer luck that he had met up with the school mistress, notwithstanding that the way he felt about her indicated that there was chemistry between them.
They arrived at her home and she alighted from the car. He went with her up to the front door and took her hand.
‘Will you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?’ he asked staring directly into her wide beautiful blue eyes.
She paused to reflect for a moment and then nodded. ‘I’d love to. Pick me up at seven o’clock from here.’
He smiled at her nodding his head and was about to move forward to kiss her on the lips but decided against it. If there was to be a relationship between them, they would need to take it slowly. It was supposed to be a sad time for him. He was grieving for his dead wife, not searching for a new mate!
***
The medium left at an early hour the following morning. After eating a light breakfast, Hunter drove to Sanctuary Close to seek out Mervyn Jones. The man opened the door and stared at him bleakly. It seemed to Hunter that he was seriously affected by drug abuse. Unshaven, unkempt, bleary-eyed and having trouble standing up, the interview was definitely going to be short and sharp.
‘What d’ye want?’ demanded Jones tiredly.
‘I’m an investigator looking into Amy Chester’s death,’ he began as he faced the man.
The ex-pupil of Lampshire Secondary School stared at him for a few moments trying to absorb the information into his drug-filled mind. ‘I told the police everything I know which was nothin’.’
‘You were her boyfriend at one time, I understand.’ The remark seemed to fade into infinity as Jones placed his hand on one side of his nose, pressed it, and then inhaled deeply.
‘I’m busy!’ he snapped. ‘Come back some other time!’
He went to close the door but Hunter placed his foot forward to prevent him shutting it. It wasn’t the first time such action had been necessary during the investigation.
‘I just want to get a clear picture, Mr. Jones and eliminate you from the suspects.’
‘Don’t you know I was in Newcastle when she died,’ he snarled angrily. I was visiting my sister! The police checked it out. I wasn’t anywhere here around when it happened.’
At that point he was joined by a young woman who was clearly under the influence of drugs. Her eyes were black and she was as unkempt as Jones. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself but her mind was on another planet. She looked at the architect with bleary eyes which she opened and closed twice to clear her vision.
‘What’s ‘e want?’ she muttered in a low tone with a blank expression on her doleful white face.
‘Ah, it’s nothing,’ Jones told her. Without warning, he kicked Hunter below the knee-cap, so that the architect was forced to remove his foot from the door, and slammed it shut in his face.
‘Thank you very much, Mr. Jones!’ yelled Hunter clutching his leg with pain. He was extremely annoyed at the rough treatment from the ex-pupil but drug addicts were not known for their finesse. Once again he had come to a dead end! Well at least the lead was effective in a way he never expected. It brought him into contact with Ellen Masters... the gorgeous teacher who could have been a fashion model. It was only then that Hunter recognised the serious flaw in his nature. He was putty when it came to a pretty face and he needed to stabilise himself. Otherwise, he would chase pretty women for the rest of his life. However, Ellen Masters filled him mind and his heart at the present time and there was no need to think distantly into the future.
He returned home to find a letter on the doormat from his employer. It appeared that Darren G. Murdoch, the Chief Executive wanted to speak with him urgently on a serious matter. What could that be about, he thought to himself. There was nothing he could think of for the big banana to talk to him about personally let alone seriously. He went to the office and was shown directly into Murdoch’s office by his secretary.
‘Don’t sit down!’ commanded the Chief Executive bluntly. ‘This won’t take long.’ Hunter stared at him bleakly. It had to be serious for him not to be offered a seat. ‘I understood that you’re an architect employed by this company to draw designs of buildings. Is that correct?’
The architect nodded in agreement with a puzzled expression crossing his face. ‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘When were you given the authority to sign contracts with outside firms and companies?’ The words were emitted almost as an accusation.
‘It’s not in my remit,’ replied Hunter. The scales suddenly fell from his eyes... Arabella... the decor contract!
‘Then why did you sign a contract on behalf of this company with Fashion Designs?’
‘Is that the name of the business?’ There was a moment of silence as the atmosphere in the room became tense.
‘You realise we’ll have to face a
Court action over this matter. Apparently, as an employee of this company, we have the problem of vicarious liability... responsibility for your actions... but our lawyer tells me that there are ways and means of fighting it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ pleaded Hunter pointlessly. ‘I made a real mess of everything. That woman overpowered me. She was responsible for destroying my marriage. She ruined my life.’
‘I don’t want to hear the sordid details!’ snarled the Chief Executive angrily. ‘What made you do something like this?’
‘I must have had a brainstorm,’ muttered the architect.
‘Some brainstorm!’ exploded Murdoch furiously. ‘You realise this is going to cost us!’ He paused to allow the matter to settle for a moment and then continued in a rage. ‘Normally, I’d say it would come out of your salary. However, I’ve decided that such punishment isn’t enough for wilfulness of this nature. Even suspension isn’t satisfactory... so I’m taking the drastic step of firing you.’
The architect exhaled swiftly as the shock of the decision echoed through his mind. ‘Sacking me?’ he managed to say weakly.
‘And I’m withholding any monies due to you as a result of your misdemeanour.’ The Chief Executive leaned over the desk as though he was going to vault it and punch the architect in the face. ‘You’re damned lucky we’re not suing you for misfeasance! Now get out of here! I don’t ever want to see your face again! Is that clear enough for you?’
Well one thing was for sure. Darren G. Murdoch didn’t pull any punches when he was angry. He went straight for the throat! However, Hunter felt that it wasn’t the end of the story. He dwelt on the possibility that the company might change its mind when the vacancy that he left couldn’t be filled. He was a senior architect for the company having completed his apprenticeship and gained years of further experience. Of one thing he was certain... there were extremely few good qualified architects in the pipeline. They were considered to be worth their weight in gold, and were very much in demand. In any case, he could always approach another building company for employment. He realised that it was beyond reason to expect a reference from Mr. Murdoch. Nonetheless, he could present his resume and tell the new company that he had had a serious disagreement with his superior at the old company relating to a particular design in which he had eventually been proven right. However, after that, the relationship had soured to the point where it was no longer feasible to stay with the them. Building companies were very secretive about their plans and even more so on details about their staff. His excuse would be readily accepted by his new potential employer. Consequently, he wasn’t particularly perturbed at his sudden and ignominious dismissal. It was simply another problem to be dealt with after he found Amy’s killer. The difficulty was the means to obtain finance to live his life normally without a job if the task took him a long time to resolve.
***
The architect was determined not to dwell on the matter. He soothed his fears by taking Ellen Masters out for dinner that evening. She was looked extremely attractive wearing a delightful yellow dress, that outlined her slim figure beautifully, with pointed yellow shoes, and wore a diamond necklace and ear-rings to match. It was clear to everyone that she was fascinated by Hunter and was hopeful that he felt the same way about her. Indeed, he was equally attracted to her, despite such a short time passing after his wife’s death, but he asserted that one had to move on in life. When she first entered the restaurant, he found it impossible to take his eyes off her. She was astonishingly lovely. The feelings he had for her were different to those he had for Arabella. That was sheer unadulterated lust. This time, he felt a warm glow inside him every time he thought about her. It was something he had experienced when he had first met Ruth. Now it was happening to him again. Fate had the strangest way of dealing with the associations and relationships to people on Earth. He would have never met Ellen had it not been for the vision of his dead wife and her demand for him to find Amy’s killer. Suddenly, it had stepped in demanding Cupid to fire arrows at both of them.
He stood up when she entered and took her hand warmly, kissing her fingers gently before releasing it.
‘My,’ she said, somewhat doe-eyed at his action. ‘Aren’t we the perfect Continental!’
They sat down as a waiter came over to hand them each a menu. He stood there for a few moments before realising that they were staring into each other’s eyes like two teenage lovers and he went away.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ began Hunter, keeping his voice on an even keel as he tried to be less amorous in a crowded restaurant.
‘What do you want to know?’ she responded casually, without taking her eyes from his face.
‘Your background. Your parents. Your schooling,’ he went on. ‘You know... everything about you. I want to know it all.’
‘Everything?’ She began to giggle. ‘You want to know everything about me?’ He nodded and she put the menu down on the table without having looked at it. ‘Let me see. Yes... I had a photograph in the nude on a rug when I was six months old.’ They both laughed at the remark.
‘Go on!’ he urged warmly.
‘I’m twenty-seven years of age. I own an apartment near to the school. I suppose that makes me a woman of substance. My father was in business as an importer/exporter. My mother was the Dowager Lady Boscombey.’
‘The Dowager Lady Boscombey?’ he repeated in surprise.
‘Yes,’ returned Ellen. ‘She married Lord Boscombey when she was twenty-two. He was crazy about cars and entered himself in the Monte Carlo Rally. Well, no one knows whether he wasn’t as good as he thought he was, or whether the car failed him, but he ended up over the embankment on the rocks below. So... at ripe old age of twenty-three, my mother became the Dowager Lady Boscombey. Naturally, it was only a title and she became Mrs. Masters when she remarried. However, she retained the Boscombey mansion where my parents live at the present time. The Lord left her a handsome sum on his life assurance, and as the saying goes, thereby hangs a tale.
‘Does your mother’s title pass on to you?’ he asked eagerly, wondering if he was in the presence of a celebrity.
‘Gladly no!’ she retorted seriously. ‘It’s the last thing I’d want. I’d rather be just plain Ellen Jane Masters. Take me or leave me.’
‘Oh, I think I’ll take you,’ he told her, reaching out across the table to take her hand. They stared into each other’s eyes as though they were the only two people in the world.
She was flattered that he had asked her all about herself. The men she had dated previously had bored her to tears with their own life stories, hardly caring whether she revealed anything about herself or not.
‘Tell me more,’ he went on as though he only had eyes for her and wanted to hear every detail about her.
‘I was engaged for a year to a soldier,’ she continued sadly with a slight catch in her throat. ‘He was sent to Iraq... killed by a land-mine. I was devastated. We were very much in love.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘Four years.’ For a moment she felt emotion welling-up inside her but she managed to control herself.
‘And you’ve never found anyone else during those four years?’
‘Well... I went out with a number of men on dates but I couldn’t find anyone who made me feel anything like he did. It took me three years to get over him.’
‘And now?’ His question was fired at her directly.
‘I’m holding my breath,’ she uttered in a low tone. ‘I believe in destiny and Amy’s death directed you in my path. There must be something in it. At least that’s the way I feel.’
He hesitated wondering whether to reveal his secret and decided to throw in the towel. ‘If I told you that my wife’s apparition has appeared to me on two separate occasions what would you say?’
She stared at him vacantly for a moment, her eyes blinki
ng as the comment passed through her mind. ‘Are you serious?’ she asked softly.
He paused expecting some kind of adverse reaction. ‘I assure you I wasn’t dreaming at the time. I was wide awake. She came to me twice. It seems that the spirits of both her and Amy have somehow locked together. They can’t progress to the next world until I find Amy’s killer. I know it sounds ridiculous but...’
‘I think it’s fantastic,’ she interrupted with delight. ‘It’s scary but fantastic!’
‘It’s not that great,’ he complained miserably. ‘The ghost of my dead wife’s in my house watching me all the time ... haunting me. So you see, it’s imperative that I find Amy’s killer as soon as possible. Then Ruth will carry on to the next world and let me live in peace.’
‘I’m an aficionado of the paranormal,’ she admitted. ‘There’s something out there I don’t understand and it comes with ghosts, poltergeists and other spirits. It fascinates me. Are you absolutely sure you saw her apparition?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes... absolutely certain. As sure as I’m seeing you now.’
‘Ooh!’ she gasped. ‘I felt a chill go down my spine. Do you think I could come to your house and see it... if it turns up again?’
‘I already have a medium who does that,’ he moaned. ‘She sits in a chair every night waiting. I’ll have to get rid of her soon. It’s driving me crazy with her sitting there in my bedroom just waiting for Ruth to turn up.’
An unhappy expression appeared on Ellen’s face briefly but it soon disappeared. ‘It’s your turn to tell me about yourself,’ she went on staring at his hair and then his face.
He shrugged his shoulders before going back over old territory. ‘I’m thirty-two years of age. I own a house in Penteecost Avenue. My main ambition in life was to be a racing driver. Had a friend at Brands Hatch and went there most weekends in rain or shine to drive round the track. During that period, I became apprenticed to a building firm working in the design department. Then my parents were killed in a plane crash on their way to India on holiday. I couldn’t handle both their deaths so untimely and I became a little unstable, turning to drink. Then I met Ruth. It was at a motor rally. She was a competitor’s navigator. Well the rest is history. I gave up booze and we were married for seven years ... no children. She couldn’t have them. Then, one day, Arabella stormed into my office determined to win a contract and within ten hours I destroyed my marriage. Ruth found us in bed together and went off in my Ferrari in a rage. She killed herself ten minutes later when the car crashed and burned her to a cinder. So you see, I’m far less than perfect and far from being innocent.’