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

by Robert Wilde

  “That’s fine, I don’t really have anything else to do. So I’m really dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was expecting something different. At least it doesn’t hurt.”

  Maquire left the foursome after thanking them profusely and offering to take them out for a meal, which he suspected would be welcome. Then he raced back to the station, politely managed to palm his duties off for a bit longer, and went to see the woman who’d be able to take his description and turn it into a face. Then it was back to work, and it was only at eight that evening that he got back to his desk and found the image. Now he turned to the computer networks available to the police, and tried to find this man.

  But if he thought he’d crack the case in an evening he was wrong, and he could find no previous record of this man’s involvement. Which meant he was a little stuck, as he didn’t yet have the justification for a full scale search of the streets. He’d need to explain where the witness was for a start. So, at ten that night, he rang Dee.

  “Hi, it’s Maquire.”

  “Hi Jeff.”

  “M, well, Jeff yes.”

  “When you ring a single woman who’s in her pyjamas, it’s first name terms.”

  Maquire opened his mouth to fire back, then realised he was blushing. Best stick to work. “I’ve got so far, but I need to keep going. I have one more victim who we’d be able to safely visit, the rest get tricky. Would that be okay?”

  “I think I speak for all of us when I say we’ve not got a lot on.”

  Like your pyjamas, Maquire thought, then crushed it.

  The third site was the scene of the most recent crime, and the group were overjoyed to arrive at a building that had crime scene tape on the door.

  “It’s just like the tele,” Nazir said as he ducked under.

  “You like a good cop show?” Joe asked.

  “Oh I love a procedural.”

  Joe thought Nazir was making a sex joke, he just couldn’t work out what.

  “Right, this time it’s a man called Mohammad.”

  “Original name.”

  “Better than Dulcimer.”

  “Touché.”

  “Please tell me you’re the police.”

  Maquire smiled at the voice. “Yes, I’m Detective Constable Maquire, and this is my team. Are you Mohammad?”

  “I sure am.”

  “We’re looking for your killer, and are hoping you can provi…”

  “Stop, stop, I have been searching for a way to contact you for as long as I’ve been dead. I saw the man’s licence plate, I can give it to you.”

  “That will be superb,” and Maquire wrote it down.

  “Can I do anything else?”

  “Err,” and Maquire turned to Joe. “Can he?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “Looks like no, but while we’re here let me make a call.”

  They weren’t sure who Maquire dialed, but he was soon reading the licence plate out, and then writing something down. Then he was back with the group. “It’s not been registered stolen, and the address is a funeral parlour and associated residence on the other side of town. We have a lead ladies and gentlemen, we have an actual lead!”

  As the foursome and Maquire left the property the latter kept staring at his phone. Dee had been watching Maquire, noticed this, and asked “what’s bugging you?”

  “Eh, oh, the phone. Well, really I should be calling this in and getting the wheels moving, and soon enough those wheels will have us searching that funeral parlour. It’s just…”

  “You can’t tell anyone because you have no evidence which you wouldn’t be sectioned for.”

  “That is precisely right, and I’m really not sure what to do now.”

  Nazir, following close behind was listening, as they all were. But he had something to offer. “You could follow our proven technique.”

  Maquire raised an eyebrow, “do you mean proven as you’ve done it once?”

  “Once, but it worked.”

  “Okay, what is it.”

  “We break in and take a look around.”

  “So that’s what you did with Grell, once you knew Stuart had killed Nathan you got inside and found the skulls and the rest. Which, I feel I should point out, was both incredibly illegal and very dangerous. If he’d found you, well, you might have been cat food.”

  “There are four of us, he’d have to have gassed us.”

  Maquire just smiled at Dee and replied “Oh you’d be surprised.”

  “And now there’s five,” Nazir pointed out.

  “I appreciate what you’re saying, but I as a police officer cannot be caught breaking in places. Ever. So we need a different plan.”

  “Okay,” Dee said, we’ll regroup at our house and discuss.”

  “Agreed,” and Maquire got into his car started the engine and drove away. What should he do in this situation? He couldn’t get caught, he couldn’t, there must be some way to legitimately get into this building. If he slept on it… well, someone else might get murdered. And… hang on, the others weren’t following. Their car had turned down a different route. And while they might just be travelling peacefully home a different way, Maquire knew for certain where they’d gone.

  By going at a speed reserved for the emergency services and psychopaths Maquire was able to get to the funeral home before the group, able to jump out and examine the car parked outside. It had the registration plate all right, and it was right by the door to the flat above, where the owner’s family lived and ran the funeral business. So a positive match for the location, which was a start. And then, as predicted, Dee’s car arrived.

  “How did you get here so fast?” she said out of the window.

  “I told you this was a good idea,” Nazir said from the back.

  “We are not going inside,” Maquire hissed.

  “You’re not, but we are. Stay out of the way and we’ll report back.”

  “I can’t let you…” but he already knew what was going to happen. If he let them go in there someone was bound to get killed. He had to go, if only to keep this safe. So he sighed, went to the car, and got some gloves. He wasn’t surprised to find the other four wearing them either.

  “I suppose one of you can pick locks?”

  They all looked at each other. “Err, no.”

  “Right, leave this to me then.”

  Dee grinned at Maquire. “You can pick locks?”

  “You pick up some extra skills.”

  They went round to the back of the building, deciding not to mess with the inviting front doors, and went to work on the functional rear. A door was soon open, and Maquire took a torch out and led the group inside. They were in a small corridor, and while there were closed doors all along, at the end the light was on from the only open one. Maquire edged forward, moving stealthily, until he’d come to the door, and then he peered inside.

  Stealth went away as he exclaimed loudly “fuck!” Everyone else ran up to see.

  And what a sight. They were looking into the room where bodies were stored, and there was a row of metal doors down one wall behind which bodies were slid into cubbyholes. All except one body, that of a young woman, which was lying on the mortician's slab. She was naked, and next to her was a man fitting the description of the serial killer. Only his trousers were round his ankles.

  “Woah, woah,” the young man said, “this isn’t what it looks like!”

  Maquire regained composure. “This had better be the greatest excuse in human history.”

  The man tried his: “I was going to talk to her spirit and find out who killed her.”

  “With your trousers down?”

  “I can only do it while I’m having sex.”

  Maquire heard the mixture of smirks and choked laughter behind him. “I think you and I, and my friends here, are going to have a talk.”

  Soon everyone was dressed and sat in the lounge area reserved for grieving relatives, and everyone had a cup of tea. Then, as h
e sat deeply embarrassed, the man had a thought.

  “Why are you breaking into my father’s business?”

  “I’m, oh, fuck it, I’m DC Maquire and I’m investigating a serial killer who looks a lot like you. And if you’re George Keyes, a killer who drives your car.”

  “I knew you’d find out soon enough.”

  “Then why don’t you tell us this great excuse and what it looks like.”

  “I have a special power. A very special, perhaps unique one. I can speak to the spirit of a body if I have sex with it. But I use my powers for good. I speak to murder victims, and I find out who killed them, and then I get their revenge. All the people I killed, well, they were killers.”

  “Do you have any evidence for this?”

  “No. But I know what they tell me, and I don’t feel bad. Where you’ve failed, I succeed.”

  Maquire was too focused on Keyes to see the foursome exchanging glances. So this was where they could have ended up, avenging angels with bloody hands. Then Maquire rubbed his face and looked down. Was this chap an absolute loon, or could he be telling the truth? Was Maquire now faced with a massive investigation which would solve more murders, or was Keyes destined for Broadmoor? And how on earth could he tell anybody about it?

  “So I suppose you want to arrest me?”

  “Arrest you?”

  “Yes, you’re the police. I guess you’ll interview me for ages as it’s all mapped out.”

  “Well here’s a funny thing Keyes…”

  “But can you do it after I solve her murder.”

  “Who’s?”

  “The girl in there.”

  Maquire turned in the direction of the mortuary. “But she wasn’t murdered. Nothing involving a Pakistani girl has been called in?”

  “No, nothing’s been called in. But she was murdered. She’s just refusing to talk to me. If you let me try again with you here she might…”

  “You are not trying that again. Ever.”

  “I think we have just the solution,” Dee said.

  Soon the group were back in the room, and a sheet was over the corpse. Then Joe got the machine out.

  “What’s that?” Keyes asked.

  “A machine with more moral high ground than you’ll ever have,” Pohl explained.

  Then it was turned on.

  “Get that perv away from me! Do you know what he did!”

  “I can imagine,” Dee said.

  “I’m…”

  “I know who you are, you’re a detective. Arrest that perv!”

  “He says you were murdered?”

  “Err, yeah.”

  “Yeah doesn’t sound right,” and Dee detected something odd.

  “It’s just that, well, I… my Dad killed me.”

  Variations of ‘your dad!?’ filled the room.

  “I’d been having a, well, a physical relationship, and when I was caught one day with my boyfriend my Dad lost it. Said I’d disgraced the family. Then, well…”

  “And he would have got away with it if it wasn’t for us pesky kids.”

  “Joe,” Dee began to explain, “if you make us sound like Scooby Doo one more time I will cunt you in the fuck.”

  “So what is this? The psychic police?”

  “That’s exactly what this is,” Maquire said, beginning to feel like he was losing all grip on reality.

  “What will you do now?” Keyes asked.

  “We need to collect evidence on this young lady and her murder.”

  “No, you need to stop Dad killing my fiancé.”

  Nazir looked at the machine. “You’d think he would?”

  “He might.”

  Maquire needed air, and he needed air soon. This was expanding rapidly all around him and he still had zero proof.

  “Alright, I am going to talk to this fiancé and see if he has anything tangible, and to make sure he isn’t dead. You four are going to stay with Keyes and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, and his trousers go even less. And if I don’t come back it’s because my fucking head has exploded. Honestly, how do you lot do it?”

  “I think we’re just naturally skilled at being fuckups,” Dee confessed.

  “So how does the machine work?” Keyes asked. “Can you explain how I work?”

  “Are you sure we can’t come with you?” Joe asked desperately.

  Still not sure what the fuck was happening, Maquire pulled his car to a stop outside the address he’d been given. He looked out, and realized this was the decider. The moment he went in there he was locked in, giving away he knew something. Now was the last chance he had of turning round, driving off, and leaving this whole nightmare behind. No one need ever know, he could deny everything, it would just be criminals doing normal things. Safe, comfortable, nothing to do with ghosts or corpse fucking.

  But he knew that way more people would die, and he was meant to protect people, whatever it took. Even if it took his sanity, as he wondered whether it might.

  Right Maquire, time to go out there and sort this.

  He was soon knocking at the door, and a tall, thin man with some of the most expensive looking glasses Maquire had ever seen answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. J. Jat?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Detective Constable Maquire, and I’d like a word please?”

  “May I ask what it’s about?”

  “I have reason to believe you were engaged, and that your fiancée was murdered. If we could…”

  “Really? You think… her father, her father!”

  “Indeed. If we could speak inside?”

  Mr Jat let Maquire into the living room, where they stood conspiratorially in the centre.

  “Are you sure?” Jat asked.

  “As I say, I have reason to believe, but I’m here to see if you have any insight.”

  “Oh he did it. Now you’ve said it I realise he must have done it. She wouldn’t have killed herself like they said.”

  “She s…I believe you were caught in flagrante delicto with your fiancée?”

  Looking embarrassed, Jat said “yes” very quietly.

  “How did her father react?”

  “He shouted, he ranted, his spit went on my face. Then he threw me out, and I could hear his side of the argument as I went to my car.”

  “And you didn’t call the police?”

  “It’s not illegal for a father to shout at his daughter? Especially not after the shock we… gave him.”

  “True. Did you see him act violently?”

  “He didn’t touch her, but he was throwing his fists around.”

  “And would you say it was in his character, was he the sort of man who might kill a daughter over her affair?”

  “It wasn’t an affair, we loved each other, we’d have married whether he gave permission or not.”

  “I understand. My apologies. But…”

  “Yes. I didn’t see it at the time, but now? Now I think he’s exactly that sort of man.”

  “Right.”

  “Can I ask something or is everything private?”

  “Please do.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Well, err…” think quickly Maquire, think quickly, “err, the forensics found oddities in the method of alleged suicide. So we did some digging.”

  “Excellent. And will you be off to arrest him?”

  “I need a small meeting with my associates as we decide on further action.”

  “If I can do anything, anything at all.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Maquire did need a meeting, but he needed it with a different unit than the one he worked with in the day. After arriving back at the funeral parlour he went in, and found the five sitting round as expected.

  “How did it go?” Dee asked, offering him a cup of freshly poured tea.

  “The boyfriend thinks the father could have done it.”

  “Don’t we know he did it?” Pohl asked.

  “We do,
but I still need something to tell my superiors to arrest him. And I was given an idea, we’ll ask for a second post mortem, to look at irregularities, but even that I need to know about. Look, I’m going to make a call, get some advice,” and he took his phone and his tea into a different room.

  He returned after five minutes, sat down and looked at the expectant faces. “They’ll call me.”

  “Okay then.”

  “And don’t think you’re out of trouble Keyes,” Maquire said, catching sight of the man. “I can’t have you going round vigilante killing people.”

  “So I’m going to prison?”

  “I… Jesus, you knew about the girl, you really did kill all these murderers. If I got you to trail, you’d probably be able to argue there was no way you’d have solved all these other murders without the, what do you call it?”

  “There isn’t an official name,” Keyes said sadly.

  “I can think of some,” Nazir chipped in.

  “Well whatever you do. This could go very wrong, very quickly. Do you have any evidence of any of this at all?”

  “Do you have any of me besides what you got from that machine?”

  “No. But we can look now we know.”

  “And that’ll stand up in court?”

  Maquire put his head in his hands. “This got out of control quickly. I don’t know what’s happening.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Dee there. “Thanks.”

  “We’ll think of a solution.”

  I have a suggestion,” and everyone turned to Pohl. “Mr Jat. Tell him to make a complaint with you that he’s worried she was killed. Then use that to search the parent’s house and get a new post mortem.”

  Maquire smiled slightly. “That would work in that case. I think it would.”

  The phone rang, so Maquire flicked it on. “Hello, have you got…oh, Mr Jat, what’s wrong…shit.” The phone was flicked off.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s just broke into his house.”

  Five of them jumped up and began to exit the building at speed. Keyes, feeling involved and wanting to achieve revenge, followed.

  It didn’t take long to get back to Jat’s house, and they found the front door open, smashed.