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

by Robert Wilde

  Joe nodded, sure that meant something but unable to decide what.

  “Well it’s nice to meet you Murphy,” Dee said, keeping her composure but accidentally letting Murphy read her through her actions, “but we’ve finished and were just heading back to our digs.” She smiled at him, walked past, and so they all stood and left.

  When out on the street Nazir hissed “who the fuck was that and how does he know us?”

  “I don’t know, I really don’t,” Dee confessed, “But we’ll have to work on looking less fucking obvious.”

  “I’m sure I’m missing something here,” Joe added.

  “We’re all missing something Joe,” Nazir backed him up.

  The group went down the street, bought some sandwiches from a shop they passed, and went back to the Bed and Breakfast to eat them. The owners were surprised, especially as they’d only just finished the laundry, but the group said they’d come back to make a few phone calls, real life was intruding, and they’d be on their way out to explore soon enough.

  They sat morosely for an hour, as Joe recalled his brief encounter with Murphy – literally a passing touch – and found little online insight, and little in this case meant the occasional appearance on the web of the name and nothing else. He certainly didn’t have a website all about his business.

  But soon this worry was calmed as the group focused on the task in hand. So they went for a long walk that afternoon, had a solid meal for tea, and waited for it to get dark. Then they split into a pair of twos and threaded their way through the night until they both met up behind the workshop.

  “What’s the lock like?” Joe asked.

  “You’d expect something old on these, but there’s a relatively recent one fitted.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, just give me a little time.”

  Soon they were in, holding torches they’d taken from the car. Dee led them over to the relevant end, pulled the covers off, and soon everyone was able to examine the bonework.

  “It looks even weirder in real life,” Nazir mused.

  “How do we take pictures in this darkness?” Joe asked, holding a camera.

  “We can’t risk the light’s going on, do the best you can,” Dee said, as she made a written inventory of the suspect goods. Then she saw Nazir pick up the lamp. “Maybe we should leave it all for when the police come, we don’t want him getting any warning.”

  Nazir looked at the lamp. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  Feeling he’d taken all the photos they needed Joe dropped his rucksack to the floor having removed the machine. “Let’s see what’s going on here.”

  “Will there be ghosts here?” Pohl asked.

  “Let’s see if they can go with their bodies.”

  The device was switched on, and they got their answer. “Don’t just stand there, go and kick him in the balls!”

  “Hello?” Joe replied.

  “Hel…yes, alright, hello. Who are you?”

  “We’re investigating what’s going on here.”

  “He’s stolen all our bodies and turned them into fucking antiques.”

  “They’re not antiques if they’re new…” then Joe realised he was being stared at.

  “We’re on the case now, our report will go to the police the next day.”

  “Good, finally. But just for me can you go and kick him in the balls?”

  “How long ago were you taken?” Pohl asked.

  “I’ve been here a month. Everyone who was here when I arrived has now moved on as they’ve been sold.”

  “What happens when he uses the bone on more than one piece?”

  There was a telling pause and then “Besides them getting really upset?”

  “We take your point. But we assure you this will be over soon.”

  The group sneaked back out of the workshop, happy with their evidence, and decided to have a drink to celebrate. There were no shortage of pubs in the town, many filled with off duty craftspeople who gave the foursome an odd look whenever they walked in, but this was ignored and soon Pohl was on the lemonades, the rest booze and Joe was feeling more maudlin than usual. Dee, with great reluctance, decided to call it a night, and they all walked back to the Bed and Breakfast.

  They arrived to find the door unlocked and hanging open, which was unusual because they’d normally unlock it with their guest key, and the people who owned it didn’t seem the forgetful sort. Bundling themselves into the hallway they looked about, but the lights seemed off and no one was making any noise. They then exchanged glances, although as they were new to this they didn’t really know what the glances meant, but Dee led them through the breakfast room, into the kitchen, where they all picked up a pan, and proceeded up the stairs to where their rooms were. Both doors were hanging open, also unlocked. Whoever had been in was skilled at this, they could probably get in through anything. Which was something to remember.

  Feeling certain what they’d find, Dee swung her door open and turned on the light. They weren’t surprised to find the room a mess, as if a small whirlwind had torn through it, although they knew it wasn’t a whirlwind, or at last at six foot tall fleshy one. Dee went straight over to where the order book had been hidden, and found it missing.

  “Bastard’s been here while we’ve been round at his place” she concluded aloud, and entirely accurately.

  “Although he wasn’t as careful,” remarked Pohl.

  Nazir stuck his head in. “Your room shaken to shit as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought this chap was careful about sneaking about. Neatness, closing locks, that sort of thing,” Joe said entering Dee’s room.

  “That’s when he doesn’t want to get caught. Tonight he’s obviously been panicking. Big time,” Dee finished, starting to pack her clothes back into her bag before Joe had time to perv over her knickers.

  Joe, for his part, was trying to desperately ignore the pants now on the floor. “Shouldn’t we call the police? There might be fingerprints?”

  “Oh we’re going to the police alright, we’ll be in their office as soon as someone will see us. Then we’re going to nail this bastard.”

  “Do we call the police here?”

  “No sense in terrifying the people who run here with a break in.”

  “That’s unusually humanitarian of you,” Nazir smirked.

  “No need to explain to them a body stealing twat has been creeping about while they’re asleep.”

  “Should we check they’re not murdered?” Joe asked.

  “They’ll be alive, this guy only steals stuff, he doesn’t kill anyone.”

  “Yet,” Joe persisted.

  “Alright, you go take a look. We’ll tidy up quick. And someone go and lock the back door.”

  Mercifully for all parties involved, Joe found everyone else in the building still alive.

  Due to government austerity, the town didn’t have its own police station, and the group had to drive to find one. They decided to let Dee do the talking as she was used to trying to get details out of coppers, and send only Pohl with her so they didn’t seem mob handed.

  Dee was soon ushered into a room to meet a police officer who looked half asleep and in desperate need of a dietary change, but who presented her coffee without asking and also had his book out. Part of police work is assessing whether the people you’re talking to are lying or telling the truth, and while even people being honest can be misleading – the human brain was notoriously bad at gathering and retaining accurate information – you could still tell the bullshit if you knew what you were doing.

  But what really confused the officer was that, by all standards of interpretation, Dee seemed to be telling the truth, had utter conviction. So when she explained the body snatching was due to a craftsman turning the bones into objects he sold had to balance the utter bizarreness of the claims with his common sense telling him it was all bullshit and the way Dee seemed to be entirely true to her own mind.

 
; “How did you discover this Miss Nettleship?” he asked.

  She explained she was a journalist who had read about the case, had strayed into the workshop accidentally while on holiday, and found what she’d found. Now the officer could tell she was lying, which was a little odd because this was the only rational thing she’d said, so what was she hiding?

  “Here are the photographs,” Dee said, bringing them up on her laptop. The officer looked closely, and couldn’t tell if that lamp was something photoshopped or taken from a Nazi crimes website.

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ll go and take a look Miss Nettleship.” The next day, most definitely the next day.

  The officer wasn’t expecting to find anything at the workshop, but he wasn’t expecting to find nothing. He thought he’d have a chat with the staff, look at their stuff, poke about, and come away to conclude Dee was losing it. What he actually found was space, dust, and a complete lack of tools, products, materials or craftspeople. The place had been stripped out and everything was gone.

  Which, the officer had to admit, was pretty damning. People didn’t just quit their home of eight years and vanish overnight for the fun of it. So maybe Dee had been right, which meant a load of interviews and forensics. But if she’d been right the chance had been lost. The man was gone. Very gone. And it was his fault for not getting down there immediately.

  “We fucked up,” Nazir concluded as he leant back in the coffee shop’s antique chair.

  The group had spent the morning giving testimony to the police, and the officer in charge had to admit their stories all matched, and seemed reasonable, even if he didn’t believe it. They knew something else, but it wouldn’t be anything a police report really wanted to deal with.

  “We should have called the Police the moment we were in the workshop,” Pohl sighed.

  “Alright, I concede, we got this wrong.” Dee looked into her coffee.

  “Is there any chance of them finding him?” Joe asked.

  Nazir tapped his laptop. “It’s not looking good. They have no leads. Someone saw a van being filled, a big van, but no number plate and the description was ‘white’. They don’t have a Scooby.”

  “Buggeration.”

  On the plus side, we’re all still alive,” Nazir said to cheer the mood.

  “I don’t think we should feel too down about this,” Pohl said, deciding Nazir’s approach was right, because Dee and Joe looked like something had just punched them. “We are new to this. Very new. We have no training in law enforcement, we all come from other areas. We are learning, and you can’t do that without making mistakes. So, yes, we missed our chance to go to the police, we thought we were able to work to our own timetable. But we can revise that now, we can evolve, or develop, or however you want. We’ll be more attuned to necessity next time.”

  “Here here,” Nazir said.

  Dee rubbed her ear. “Maybe we should give Maquire a call, see what he can recommend.”

  Nazir now decided it was time to cheer her up through some banter. “You just want to spend time with him because you fancy him.”

  “What? I do not…” and she went a little red. “I mean, he’s nice, but…hang on, you don’t fancy him too do you?”

  “I’d shag him,” Nazir confirmed.

  “I will not have my crushes being perved on by my gay friend.”

  “So it is a crush!”

  “No…bugger.”

  Dee turned to escape Nazir’s smile and saw Joe looking sadder than ever.

  But Pohl thought there was something useful here. “She might have a point. Maybe we should immerse ourselves in the police, even if we shouldn’t be asking Maquire for training.”

  Nazir nodded, “we can just watch as much crime drama as we can get our hands on.”

  “Sorry?” Joe said.

  “We’ll have to stream our way through Brit police procedurals. Even US ones. Pick up tips.”

  “Oh,” said Dee, sensing a chance for revenge. “Is this how you spend your evenings in, marathon watching television?”

  “Yes, miss crossword and a crate of booze.”

  “Nothing wrong with expanding your mind.”

  “Whilst killing it.”

  “I can finish a Times crossword when pissed.”

  “I’ll be sure to ring you if I ever need that done.”

  “Something for the skills list!”

  A six foot tall gentleman with black hair but a greying beard had parked a white van up at a motorway service station. He had gone in, bought a burger and coke, sat down, consumed these quickly and nervously, and then ordered more, because the coke might wake him up and the burger might give him energy. He’d not slept since yesterday morning, and felt so wired he could be used to run broadband. After the second round of burgers he looked at his watch, knew the time was coming soon, and exited, heading for an appointment in the coffee shop. He’d have happily met the man and had a Mc whatever the deserts were called, but his patron had strong views on ‘junk’ food.

  On entering the café the man found his patron already sat there, coffee on the table, and so he went over. They did the handshake of people with something difficult to say, and as a coffee was delivered they spoke.

  “What happened?” the patron asked.

  “I was removing materials from the mausoleum, as I’d done many times before, when someone comes in. Some widower or something, actually comes in during the middle of the night and finds me. I scarper, thinking it’s dark, he might not know, so I began getting ready to leave. The police realised I’d been right through those vaults, sacked the caretaker, and went looking.”

  “And they found you?”

  “No, it was all as I felt it would be. They didn’t have any inkling.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “A group of tourists. They can’t have been tourists, they must have been looking, because they found me, worked out what was happening, took my order book. I had to burn all my connections to track them down, get my book back, pack and leave ahead of schedule.”

  “Can they follow you?”

  “I doubt it. The police will find an empty room.”

  “Prints?”

  “Maybe, hard to clean a place like that. But even if they do I’m not on any records. They’d have to find me. And I’ve been working on cleaning it since the widower.”

  “You’re confidant the link has been severed?”

  “Yes. I cleared out just in time.”

  “Perhaps you should have left the moment you were spotted in the mausoleum.”

  “I moved in good time. I think the caution worked.”

  “So you’re looking for a new home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps this is an opportunity. A fresh source of material for you.”

  “I could look at it that way. I have a shortlist of possibilities.”

  “But you need money to set up.”

  “Yes, as before.”

  “That won’t be a problem. We’ll get you productive again very soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Bring the van to my house, hide it there, get some sleep. But first, I have a request.”

  “Yes?”

  “How much do you know about these ‘tourists’?”

  “A little.”

  “Good, can you write it all down for me?”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, just something I want to pursue. Just a little something.”

  Pohl was sat in her room, putting the skills list into a sortable Excel format, but this was precisely the sort of time wasting job she’d have been expected to do at university instead of spending the precious hours on research or talking to students, and she was still so ingrained into that life it seemed the obvious thing to do. Although it would help if she stopped thinking of the younger group members as children, or even students, and as co-members of an investigative team.

  She heard Dee calling up at her, so Pohl stood, went to her door and
peered down the stairs. “Yes?”

  “This just arrived for you,” Dee said, leaving a small envelope on the end of the bannisters. They had been together only a short time, but already Dee had learned not to just throw Pohl’s post up for her to catch. One damaged book cover later and that wouldn’t happen again.

  Odd time for the post, Pohl thought as she trotted down to pick it up, although they courier everything at all times these days. She missed when you could guarantee post would be here at ten am, and if it wasn’t there then it wouldn’t be coming and you could get on with things.

  She found herself holding an envelope which had been almost entirely covered with brown tape, necessitating a trip to the kitchen for scissors. She carefully cut in, and found why the envelope was concave: there was something thin and tubular inside. Pulling it out she found a white whistle, clearly hand crafted. Putting it to her lips she blew, heard a pleasant note, and had a sudden realisation. She hadn’t ordered a whistle. There was no whistle coming. So why was she holding a wh…ivory?

  Oh Jesus it was bone wasn’t it.

  Moving the whistle away from her lips fast enough to kill a pig on impact, Pohl looked round it. It sure looked like bone, and where would a hand crafted bone whistle come from? Clearly the man they’d been trying to get arrested. The next step was to examine the envelope. No letter inside, no writing except the address. And here was the problem. For not only did whoever sent this know her address, it had also been hand delivered as there was no postmark, stamps or courier’s address.

  Pohl went into the lounge, where Dee was sitting reading. The situation was soon explained, and Dee came to the same conclusion. “The fucker knows where we live.”

  “Definitely. And this is to taunt us.”

  “I think we screwed this up badly,” Dee said.

  “I wonder why he picked me?” Pohl wondered. Surely a man would go for the young, fitter model?

  “But we may have an opportunity here.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s still a link. He’s not gone entirely. If he’s out there watching, we can find him and watch back.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”