The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1)

by Robert Wilde

  “It is, I always planned to knock a Jack the Ripper book out if I had to urgently raise some money,” Dee confessed.

  “But we couldn’t prove any of it without admitting the machine was involved,” and Joe looked sad. “We need to answer questions without giving anything away.”

  Nazir summed up. “So, basically, unless we can find a ghost to lead us to buried treasure, we’re having issues.”

  “No one said this was going to be easy,” Dee shot back, “although we could at least come up with a name we can use.”

  “Now there’s something we really need to think about.” Everyone looked at Pohl. “It doesn’t do to rush major decisions, our name will influence everything.”

  “So you’re saving the Corpse Quartet isn’t going to cut it.”

  Joe felt pleased with himself until Dee said “you just made that up didn’t you.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “It shows. We’re agreed we’re going to mull on all this then?”

  Three yeses.

  The Estate Agent had been doing his job for twenty three years and seen just about everything this part of Britain could throw at him, so this nice young couple didn’t seem all that odd. They certainly weren’t the touchy feely sort who had to hold hands every few minutes, and there seemed a distance between the two, but there were also looks and glances as if some secret was below the surface. It led the Agent to conclude maybe one of the pair had been married, divorced, and was starting again. As to which one, he suspected the red head. Although quite why the man seemed to be carrying a large rucksack round with him when all they were doing is looking at an empty property he didn’t know. It reminded him of the fellow who carted a big teddy round for the whole trip and then asked it if the rooms were big enough.

  For her part Dee was growing certain Joe was enjoying pretending to be her fiancée just a little bit too much, and he’d have to be put down later. He was being helpful, and polite, and soon they’d get to the whole point of him being there, but she was sure he’d have held her hand if she’d let him.

  Joe meanwhile was having a great time smiling at Dee and imagining they were starting a life together. Which, in some way, they were, just not the one the Agent had envisioned.

  “And that’s the end, is there anywhere you’d like to see again?”

  “I’d like to see the kitchen once more,” Dee smiled, hoping that some 1950s clichés would prove believably distracting, “while my partner needs to go and measure up the bedrooms.” At this point Joe produced a notepad and laser measure from the top of the bag.

  “Of course,” and the Agent believed he had a better chance of completing a sale with Dee, “why doesn’t your partner attend to that while we talk.”

  Joe smiled, walked slowly upstairs, and put his bag carefully down. Then he removed the machine, switched it on, and asked “is anybody there?” He was aware of the cliché.

  Ten minutes later and the Agent was saying his goodbyes, and Dee was saying she liked the property but would have to discuss it with her partner. Then the pair were in her car.

  “Did you really like?” Joe asked.

  “Me? Yes, big rooms, needs work doing, which I like, a garden to potter in. All good. I’d put an offer in if the rest fits.”

  “Ah.”

  “And you’re the rest, so spill.”

  “The house is haunted.”

  “Okay, I might be able to cope with that. Who by?”

  “A man called…”

  “Nope, not moving in there.”

  “He’s a nice man…”

  “I am not sharing my house with a male ghost. It took me four days to even have a shower in my current flat, and I wince every time I have to take a piss.”

  “This one didn’t sound like a peeping tom or anything.”

  “Still no.”

  “But you’d share with a woman?”

  “Yes. The showers at school obviously had one use. Actually that’s a good way of thinking about it, sharing. My roommate the ghost.”

  “But still not him.”

  “Nope. My tits are a guest appointment only.”

  Joe felt like he’d never get an invite. He was right.

  In the absence of a plan, or anything approaching a plan, the group had agreed to meet up for a shared meal and some chat. No agenda, just four people who’d all shared an experience, and shared a secret, relaxing in the company of the only people they could now truly relax in. Dee’s place was chosen again, because she’d be moving soon and they had the strangest sense that they should get the most use out of it before it became a fading memory.

  But while it was Dee’s house, it was Nazir doing the cooking. He’d produced a wonderful risotto with minimal mess, which was good because Dee was hovering to point out where all the dishes and equipment was and to be amused if he messed it up.

  Soon they were just waiting for Pohl to arrive down from Cambridge, and when the door rang Dee dashed to open it.

  “Hello, glad you could make it before we were so starved we began,” Dee joked, grinning throughout.

  “I’ve had a thought about that,” Pohl said, kissing Dee on the cheek and handing over a bottle of wine.

  “Oh?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, when you move, obviously when, can I move into your spare room? It will be much easier for me to stay there than have to travel up and down from Cambridge, especially if we need to do something quickly.”

  “You see Dee,” came Nazir’s voice from the kitchen, “she’s ready to react at a moment’s notice. A coiled spring. We just need to find a ghost with problems.”

  “Any progress on that?” Pohl asked, as she waved at Joe through the internal doors; he was looking at one of the many books.

  “We’ve found a few ghosts while we’ve been house hunting, but all the nice places have weirdos or men in.”

  “I’m glad you’re making the distinction,” Joe said to Dee without looking up.

  “Not for you,” Dee replied.

  Soon the meal was served and everyone tucked in.

  “Sorry, I forgot to say, I’d love you to move in, it’d be nice to have someone else around.”

  You could have had me, Joe thought morosely.

  “Excellent, and thank you. I’ll try not to act like your mother.” Although she meant to act exactly like her mother. But she saw Dee wince and asked cautiously, “Sorry, what did I say?”

  “My parents, they… died young. I didn’t know my mother.”

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” and Pohl reached a hand out to touch Dee’s arm. She wasn’t sure if people hugged at this point or not.

  “It’s okay,” Dee explained, “I’ve had years of therapy to get over it.” But she noticed that Joe had raised a questioning eyebrow, so she kicked him under the table. The eyebrow went down, Dee tried to look innocent.

  “I hope it wasn’t anything bad,” Pohl said.

  “Is there anything which kills people young which isn’t bad?” Nazir asked.

  “Oh…”

  “Actually, if we’re going to be working together on this, perhaps I should tell you. Clear the air. Joe knows, might be helpful for everyone else.” And so she told them, about the uncertain death of her father, about the hidden memories, about her desperate search to uncrack her mind and the shrinks who’d accompanied her on it. Then she told them about Joe’s attempts to help, how the machine found the soul, but how it seemed to be in pieces. And when she’d finished, her glass has been drained twice.

  Another morning without employment for Dee and Joe, another trip round properties for sale. The meal the night before had included a discussion of whether it was the right time to be changing property, given her job situation, but Dee was adamant she wasn’t being wank fodder for a ghost any longer than she had to, and it was lucky for Joe she wasn’t actually in his spare room. He’d rather hoped she’d have moved a door further down his landing, but spare room would have been a good start.

  Dee had
n’t been put off in this quest, which was why a young lady was showing them round a maisonette. The rooms seemed a fair size, although the property was empty apart from built in fitted wardrobes and the occasional light fitting which someone seemed to have forgotten.

  “They might as well have taken the door handles off,” Dee commented, and she could see why only daylight appointments were being accepted.

  “Thorough,” Joe confirmed as they saw someone had taken the cork tiles from the bathroom. “Someone’s careful with their money.”

  Which reminded Dee, so she asked the young Agent, “what happened to the last owner?”

  Looking distinctly nervous, she tried to flannel, “well, err, they, err…”

  “Stop flannelling, are you trying to tell us they died?”

  “Yes, but really you can’t tell.”

  We’ll be the judge of that, Dee thought.

  It was then that the Agent’s phone went off, she checked the caller, raised an apologetic hand, said “I have to take this,” and rushed out of the room. And down the stairs. And from the sound of it the front door too.

  “Let’s get on with it.” Dee instructed as Joe deposited the rucksack carefully on the ground and took the machine out. It was on in a trice and Joe asked “Is there anybody there?”

  “Could you not have thought of something original?”

  “Sorry Miss Writer For A Living.”

  “Hello,” came the digital voice.

  “Are you male or female?” Dee asked.

  “Male?”

  “Okay, turn it off, “ and Dee stood to go.

  “Wait, wait, you’ve got to help me!”

  That got Dee’s attention. She turned and crouched down. “Go on.”

  “I’ve been killed!”

  “Oh really,” and Dee started recording.

  “My brother did it, he killed me to inherit my estate.”

  “A large estate?” Dee did the questioning, as she was trained to do.

  “Yes, I’d won the lottery and not had a chance to spend it.”

  “And who killed you?”

  “My brother.”

  “Harsh,” Joe commented.

  “I see, and he’s got all your money?”

  “Actually no. He didn’t realise, but I’d left all the money to Tompkins.”

  “And that’s your partner?”

  “What? No, Tompkins is my cat. Was my cat. Is my cat.”

  “Joe, stop smirking at the client. So your cat is, what, a millionaire and your brother is getting away with murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want us to prove this and take it to the police?”

  “No,” and the digital voice did pick up on the sound of sighing, “I want you to kill him. I want revenge.”

  “I don’t think we can do…” Joe said, but the voice cut him off.

  “I can reward you. He hasn’t got all my money.”

  “We aren’t killers…” Joe went on.

  “How much money?” Dee said.

  “Enough to buy this house.”

  “But there are four of us…”

  “Enough to buy a quarter of this house.”

  “I see…”

  “We’re considering this?” Joe asked Dee.

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do, we’re going to call the group and consider this.”

  “Just don’t harm Tompkins,” said the voice, concerned about something living at least.

  Pohl relaxed back into one of Dee’s armchairs, looked at the cup of tea in her hand, and knew that the host wouldn’t mind her bringing her own china. Which she’d done, which was how Dee had seen an eggcup for the first time in about twenty five years. But Pohl hadn’t bought her own tea as Dee’s selection was always good, and she took a little sip of the piping hot drink. She was thus a little surprised by what was said next.

  “How do we all feel about murder?”

  The foursome were all sat round, all with drinks, which was why Nazir almost choked on his. “What did you say Joe?”

  “Murder, any, err, major objections?”

  Nazir thought, for a second, that someone had discovered something they shouldn’t, but Dee took over.

  “We’ve been hired. If we want to be hired. But there’s a problem.”

  “You found a ghost which wants us to kill someone?” Pohl deduced.

  “That’s it, yep.”

  “You best tell us the whole story.”

  And Dee did, with Joe adding the odd point, Estate Agent, Ghost, Cat and all. Finally there was silence. Then Nazir gone to grips with it. “Tompkins is a stupid name for a cat.”

  “I think the elephant here is asking us to kill someone, rather than changing the cat’s name.”

  Dee nodded at Pohl to agree, but Nazir said “a cat which could buy us all up. I expect at least something fluffy.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Dee replied to Pohl, “that we’d discuss it.”

  “And we’re sure he was murdered?”

  “No, we would have to establish that to our satisfaction, if not the laws’. I just didn’t see any point in doing so until we’d had a chat.”

  “I agreed with her,” Joe added.

  “So I assume none of us have killed anyone,” Pohl said to lead things, and there were murmurs of no. Nazir didn’t say anything, but no one noticed. “And I assume no one is desperate to kill anyone?” Now all the other three said “no.” “But could any of us kill to balance the natural order of things?”

  “The what?” Joe thought the Professor would have been dead against the idea. As it were.

  “Well, the law doesn’t get everything right, and sometimes honour, or nature, or the preservation of order and safety demands extreme action.”

  “You got all that from classics didn’t you?”

  Pohl smiled back at Dee. “Yes dear.”

  “Everyone goes after revenge in all the movies?” Joe wondered out loud.

  “That’s the modern version of what she said,” Dee replied.

  “Right, look,” Nazir took over, “say you want to kill someone. Say you have reasons, passionate reasons. Do you think you could live with it afterwards? The questioning, the guilt?”

  “Tell Tale Heart,” said Pohl.

  “I’ll assume that’s agreeing with me,” Nazir winked.

  “He’s got a point,” Dee conceded. “I’m not sure I want to find out.”

  Nazir continued, “this ghost was very specific about killing the man. But why not solve the mystery, take it to the police. We’ll be doing something good even if we don’t get paid.”

  “That’s not monetizing” Dee laughed.

  “Neither are we mercenaries.”

  “Okay, so say we solve this,” and Joe was thinking out loud. “We use it to build on, help us get other mysteries that might pay.”

  Dee looked over at Pohl. “What do you think?”

  “On balance,” and Pohl looked at her young charges, or at least people she considered so, “I think we pursue the legal route until we have no other option.”

  Everyone nodded along.

  The next hour was taken up with chat from the group, dominated by Dee describing all the houses they’d seen. The emphasis was on all the bad things, from the house whose kitchen seemed to have been bombed in the war and never rebuilt, to the one where a mouse at been sat in the middle of the floor looking at them, making it absolutely clear who was in charge in there. Dee had rejected both of those, but there were also the houses Dee had said no to because the spectral tenants weren’t up to snuff.

  “There was one woman who was crying, just crying all the time she spoke to us,” Dee said. “That really killed the vibe of the whole place.”

  “If there really are ghosts,” Pohl pondered, “does that mean there really are ‘vibes’?” She said it as if the term was dirty and needed careful handling.

  “We don’t know,” Joe began to explain, “it’s an area where more rese
arch would come in handy. Targeted research of course, knowing what we now know to be true.”

  “One day Joe you’ll be given one hell of a research grant.”

  “Or laughed out of the room,” Dee helpfully added.

  For the last ten minutes Nazir had been tapping away at his laptop, and now he had something to say. “I’ve looked this chap up, Stuart Grell. Brother of Nathan Grell, who died a few months ago.”

  “Do tell…” and the other three leant forward.

  “Nathan didn’t have much of a web presence until he was in the papers for winning the lottery, when he told everyone the win would change him, but he hoped not too much. I suspect he didn’t mean dying. Anyway, he was found dead at his flat a few weeks later, having hung himself. He appears in the papers again then, a tragedy of a man who couldn’t cope with the money. One paper asked if the lottery should be banned.”

  “Figures,” Dee sighed, thinking of her colleagues.

  “Stuart Grell, on the other hand, has quite a web presence as he runs his own business buying and repairing flats. You could do with his services Dee.”

  “Can you repair my kitchen and kill my editor, I’ll, give him a call.”

  “But here’s what’s really interesting to us. When Nathan died Tompkins inherited the millions, the man’s last appearance in the papers. But Tompkins needed a carer, a regent to spend the money. So, basically, Stuart is Tompkins’ Guardian and decides how to spend all the cash.”

  “So he did get the money!”

  “Yes Joe, he really did.”

  “Do you think we should tell Nathan that?”

  Pohl replied to Joe this time. “Then he’ll most definitely want him killed.”

  “Imagine oweing your new fortune to a cat,” and Dee didn’t sound pleased with the idea.

  “How hard can it be to give it the best food and making sure it’s pillow was fluffy?” Nazir wasn’t a cat owner either.

  “Lots of money left over for the guardian,” mused Pohl.

  “If you don’t feel demeaned.”

  Dee snorted and replied to Nazir “actually, I think I’ll be demeaned by a cat for several million quid.”

  “I think I could cope,” Joe revealed.

  In a moment of government approved car sharing almost unheard of in the country, Pohl and Nazir were sharing a vehicle, the former dropping the latter off home as it was en route.