by M W Foolster
"Is that what this is about? I swear to you, I haven't been anywhere near her since I moved out. And if she has claimed otherwise, then she is lying to you Inspector”
"Pleased tae hear it, Mr Sinclair. But nae, that in’t why we're here. That said, yah must have very sympathetic employers. Widnae yah agree, DS Fuller?"
"I sure would, Gov. Borrington Council, right?"
Sweating profusely and looking a nervous wreck, a defeated Jason stares at the table as he mutters,
"I never informed them. My marriage was on the rocks at the time and... It doesn't really matter now, does it? Look, what do you want me to do? Resign or something?"
The DI splutters with laughter, showering Jason with spittle.
"Whit gave yah that impression, Mr Sinclair?"
A stunned Jason raises his eyes, his gaze met by an intense and somewhat sinister glare from the DI.
"Dae we really seem that callous? Nae, Mr Sinclair, I really dinae care about yur sordid past and as far as we're concerned, the council need never know. I am here investigating the theft o' an object from the Jolly Roger public hoose A five foot ghost tae be precise."
"I... What?"
"I think yah heard me quite clearly. Yah were in the Jolly Roger last night. Correct?"
"Well, yes. It was a quiz night and I run the pub team."
"And according tae a reliable source, yah have a bladder problem. Correct?"
"NO, I bloody well do not. And if you mean my soaked jeans, the sodding tap in the toilets is faulty and when I turned it, ended up drenching my jeans in tap water."
Thumping the table with his fist again, DI Jordan leans menacingly towards Jason.
"NAE need tae raise yur voice, Mr Sinclair. It wis, after all, only a simple question. But at least we've now confirmed yur presence at the public hoose. Correct?"
“Yes, I was there.”
“Good. And you wis there wi’ Mr Kouchevski?”
“Kouch? No, we never socialise together, and he’s never been in the Jolly Roger to my knowledge.”
"He has nae ever been in there wi yah?”
Jason shakes his head.
“And as tae the matter o’ the stolen ghost?"
"Look, I was totally wasted. And really don't remember anything about a ghost."
"How very odd. Yah see, Mr Sinclair, somebody matching yur description wis seen charging around Addlington cemetery wi' the pilfered ghost. That somebody wis then seen tae escape the cemetery on an orange motor bike, riding pillion, that is. The bike was pursued to Glupton Road. And surprise, surprise, our mysterious thief wis then seen entering number 69, still carrying the ghost. Care tae explain that bizarre coincidence, Mr Sinclair?"
"I... Well... It doesn't make any sense."
A sneering DI Jordan raises an eyebrow.
"Perhaps not. But I am sure that yah can understand my predicament. Now both myself and DS Fuller consider it tae be something of a trivial matter. In fact, I'd go sae far as tae class it as nae more than a drunken prank. But that said, a theft is a theft."
DI Jordan folds his arms slowly, taking a lot of satisfaction from seeing that a clearly agitated Jason Sinclair looks about ready to crack.
"However, I would consider the ideal solution tae be this. That the ghost is returned tae the pub in time for tonight's Halloween dance. Now remind me, at whit time is it due tae commence, Mr Sinclair?"
"At 9pm."
"Excellent, Mr Sinclair. Now working on the assumption that it is returned tae the pub by 9pm, completely intact that is, then nae more need be said. As far as we're concerned, nae crime will have been committed and there'd be nothing tae investigate. That would save both myself and DS Fuller, from having tae complete a ridiculous amount o’ paperwork over something sae petty."
A smug expression on his face at seeing the relief flood through the obviously guilty male, sat opposite .
"Well, Mr Sinclair? Do yah think that's a reasonable solution?"
"Yes, Inspector."
"Good. And perhaps ya would like to relay that message on tae all o' your hoose mates. After all, and I have nae doubts, one o' yah knows the whereaboots o' the ghost."
"Thank you Inspector, I will."
"I think we've taken up enough o' Mr Sinclair's time, dinae yah John."
"Just got a few more questions, Gov."
A surprised DI Jordan glares at the DS, Jason just looking desperate to escape the room.
"Rightio, Mr Sinclair. Susan French, she is your house mate. Correct?"
"Well, yes. But wasn't you at the house earlier this morning speaking to her?"
"Yes. Yes I was."
"Then you must already know that."
"Good point. But…"
DS Fuller seemingly deep in thought, chewing hard on the top of the biro. He removes it from his mouth and bangs it on the table.
"But, Mr Sinclair."
Both DI Jordan and Jason can but sit and watch as the biro springs back up from the table and flies across the room.
"We want to know why she doesn't sleep in a bed?"
"What has that got..."
"Just answer my question... Please."
"I really don't know. Guess she likes the hammock."
DI Jordan now looking as though he's about to explode, twiddling furiously with his moustache as he watches DS Fuller leap to his feet, and start pacing the room.
"And in your opinion, Mr Sinclair, does Miss French need that much clothing? And why is it all boxed? Or. Is it because she is thinking of moving?"
"Moving? No, I don't think so. Look, how the hell would I know? Why don't you ask her."
"Believe me, Mr Sinclair, I will. Could you also confirm that she was, in fact, alone in her flat last night? Oh... And does she ever frequent the Jolly Roger? With you, I mean?"
"As far as I know, yes, she was home. And yes, she sometimes comes to the pub."
"WITH YOU?"
Jason nearly jumps out of his chair as the yelling DS thumps the table, the purple vein, now throbbing violently in the DI's forehead, looking set to explode.
"No, I mean, yes, sometimes. But not with me as such, she's a member of the Jolly Roger's quiz team."
"Is she, now? How interesting. That would certainly explain the pile of crossword books."
DS Fuller leans on the table, attempting to drum his fingers as he stares intensely into Jason's eyes.
"And, Mr Sinclair, think very carefully before you answer this question, is Susan French seeing anybody?"
"Excuse me?"
"Susan. Has she got a boyfriend?"
A perplexed Jason shrugs his shoulders.
"WILL... Will you just answer my question?"
"No, not that I know of."
A smug looking DS Fuller sinks into a PC chair.
"Oh, and the books on the shelves in here. Can I like, borrow them?"
"Well sure, the books in here are available on request. Just that they're not deemed suitable for display upstairs."
With a demented grin spreading across his face, DS Fuller mutters a thanks and gets to his feet. A still fuming DI Jordan attempts to do likewise. However…
The DI winces on finding that his backside is firmly wedged into the PC chair. Grits his teeth and pushes down on the chair arms with all of his strength, but still it won't budge. Face going scarlet and sweating heavily, he manages to struggle to his feet, but the chair is still attached to his posterior as he swings around and smacks heavily into the table. Following the collision, one of the chair's wheels is sent shooting through the air, hitting a shrieking DS Fuller in the forehead, and sending him flying back into the arms of a totally shocked Jason. He, in turn, stumbles backwards and trips over the chair he'd been sitting in, grabs hold of the DS as he's falling and the pair of them now lay sprawled out on the floor. The impact with the table sends DI Jordan spinning in circles across the room. He then manages to step into a green metal waste bin, his foot now clanging up and down on the flooring as he spins uncontrollably towards the s
helving units. An almighty bang is followed by the sound of falling books as he crashes, chair first, into the unit. At least the chair is dislodged by the impact, most of it having been smashed to pieces; but all of that circling has left his head spinning violently. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, he staggers forwards, the waste bin smacking into a still prone DS Fuller's head. That leads to the DI losing his balance, and diving belly first into the still shaken DS, and Jason. The pair of them are left gasping for air as he rolls around on top of them, and are both left coughing and spluttering when he finally rolls off, and back towards the shelving units. Another loud bang as the shelf he'd grabbed hold of in an attempt to raise himself comes crashing down. However, the DI has at least managed to get back up on his feet. Takes a few seconds to compose himself before turning to face the DS, and Jason.
"As I said, I think we've taken up enough o' yur time, Mr Sinclair."
The DI clunks towards the table and kicks the table leg to free his foot of the waste bin. Bending over to pick it up, he hands the now dented and misshapen green bin to a thoroughly bewildered Jason.
"Good bye, Mr Sinclair, and please remember whit we discussed earlier."
Jason can only nod his acknowledgement, watches as the pair of them stomp out of the room, and hears a loud slap followed by some mumbling as the door is slammed closed behind them.
17 Jessica’s Tears
Jason lingers at the door leading through to the reference library, is still undecided as to what he should do first. The conversation he’d overheard earlier is still gnawing away at his conscience and yes, he knows that his first priority should be to make an effort to find Jazz. Yes, they need to talk this through, to clear the air, but he is at a total loss as to how he’d even begin to explain himself. Peering up the stairwell, it suddenly occurs to him that he still hasn't told Jess about poor Ellie. Surely that has to be his priority. After one last look up the stairs, he tuts to himself as he pushes open the door and walks into the reference library. He spots Tammy immediately. She is sat on a large, wooden, rocking chair with a huge picture book balanced on her lap, carefully positioned so as to allow the group of approximately fifteen children to see the pages as she reads from it. She gives him a friendly little wave before continuing. Lewis and Leroy are sat together at a PC, both look across at him sheepishly, and he can't help but feel suspicious.
"Everything ok lads?"
They reply together,
"Sure is Jay."
Leroy nudges Lewis in the ribs who, with a cheeky expression on his face, looks up at Jason.
"We thought the police were here to arrest you, Jay."
He feels himself blushing,
"Why would you think that? No, of course not. Just needed some help with... With... Nothing important, just that they want to set up a police surgery in the library."
Lewis looks anything but convinced.
"Cool."
"So what you two been up to?"
"Nothin’... Just keeping quiet an’ stayin’ outta trouble, like what Tammy told us."
Looking over their shoulders at the monitor, Jason is relieved to find that they're reading song lyrics.
"Pleased to hear it. Don't suppose you've seen Jess?"
"The hippy chick. Yer, in the staffroom having lunch with Rob."
He refrains from laughing, the last thing these two need is encouragement.
"You really shouldn't call her that, Leroy."
"Sorry, Jay, didn't mean nothin’ by it."
He can't help but smile to himself as Lewis and Leroy follow him towards the staff room, and now he can hear his mobile playing.
♪Read it in the papers
See it on the news
Can't believe it's happening
Can't believe it's true
Ignoring all religions
Claim their words the truth
Justify the death count
State it's all for you
And
All I can do
Is sit and cry
Hands clasped in prayer
And I cry and I cry
All I can do
Is ask God
Why
Then come the sirens
Missiles in the sky
Cities laid to waste
As all around me die
Run and find safe shelter
Deep beneath the ground
Scared to breath too loudly
Scared to make a sound
And
All I can do
Is try to hide
Death searching me out
And I cry and I cry
All I can do
Is ask God
Why ♪
Lewis asking,
"That your mobile, Jay? Was ringing earlier an all. So that song, is it like, about World War 3 and, well a nuclear holocaust, an’ some chick tryin’ to survive it?"
Leroy frowns,
"Yer that song is real sick, Jay, but is that Jazz singing it?"
"Thanks, boys. Yep, it is all about survival following a nuclear attack. Really pleased you like it because it took me months to write it. And yep, it is Jazz singing."
Lewis looking confused as he shakes his head,
"No seriously, Jay, it is really sick."
"Thanks, lads… You have no idea just how much I appreciate you telling me that."
Both boys together, "Ok, Jay."
They turn and wander back towards the PC, Jason smiling as he watches them. He prides himself on his knowledge of street slang and knows that 'sick' means cool. Still grinning, because in all honesty, he has to agree with them, the song is 'really sick'.
"What’s with him, Lewis? What's he thanking us for?"
Lewis shakes his head,
"Beats me, brov. I dunno how his brain works, do I? Mean, that song is seriously messed up and wasn’t gonna lie about it."
Leroy nods in agreement,
"No way. We gave it to him straight. It is totally messed up. I mean, singing about war an’ everybody like, well dying and the world ending an’ all that stuff. What is wrong with him, anyways? Not like anybody wants to hear that kinda crap music, is it? Is it like their brains go to shit when they get old or somethin’? What is he, like 40?"
Lewis giggles before replying,
"Gotta agree with you on that, brov. Swear their brains deffo start to rot when they get to 30. An nothin’ like that is ever gonna happen anyways."
"Reckon not, brov. Not a normal war anyways. But am telling you, there will be a zombie apocalypse that wipes us all out, you know."
"Why you saying that?" Frowns Lewis.
Leroy explains,
"Seen it on TV and read about it. Am telling you, brov, be the zombies that get us. Well, you anyways, cause I like know how to survive an’ fight them an’ shit."
"You are so full of it, brov. I mean, you fighting anything is messed up big time," Lewis chuckles, shaking his head.
Leroy scowls at his brother, pulling a note pad from his jeans, an shoves it under Lewis's nose.
"Swear it. Got notes an like diagrams. See? You have to go for the brain when they get infected ‘cause they is already dead, and it is like, their only weakness. An’ gotta get outta town fast cause the zombie hordes will grow real fast. So I would go find myself a real big house outside of London to hide out in. An’ smash up the stairs cause they ain’t none too clever those zombies, so they can't climb ladders or nothin’. An’ got to like keep weapons an’ bottles of water an’ all your provisions in the attic.”
Lewis glancing down at the notebook, reads 'Escape London first', sneers at his brother
"So how would you get out of London?"
"Easy, brov. Hotwire a car and like get my supplies on the way, you know,"
Lewis slaps at his thigh, snorting
"You are so full of shit, brov. There is no way you could do any of that."
Shoving the notepad back into his pocket, Leroy snaps
"Go eat your mum, dork brain."
"What you saying about mum?"
Leroy rolling his eyes, and looking embarrassed
"Not, our mum."
"But you just said."
Leroy glares at his brother, and raises his voice.
"WILL you just like forget it already."
An exaggerated cough from Tammy has them both lowering their voices.
Leroy whispers,
"Don't change the fact that song is like seriously messed up, brov. But am telling you, that Jazz is seriously hot, you know. You see her in that tight skirt earlier. Man, she is soooo sexy. An’ that voice. Phew. Swear it, brov, that girl sings like an angel."
Lewis nods,
"Yer, brov, you ain’t wrong, an’ am telling you, she can come warm my bed anytime."
Both burst into laughter.
Jason, now in the staffroom, finds Jess and Robbie sat in deep conversation. Both look across at him inquisitively, Jess smiling at him.
"So what did the police want, hon?"
Decides that the police surgery sounded plausible earlier so he repeats it, and both seem satisfied with his explanation. the sound of a vibrating mobile has Jess rummaging around in her handbag. She looks up at him.
"Reminds me, hon, your cell phone keeps ringing."
A quick check of his mobile, Jason sees three missed calls from Tony, must have a guilty conscience, and drops it back into his sports bag. Robbie, somewhat dramatically, clears his throat, seemingly to catch Jason's attention. Now tugging nervously on his goatee,
"You heard about Fuker's press release, Jay?"
"Yes, Robbie, read it earlier."
"I am sick of this, Jay. We should be doing something, anything, this just isn't right."
"I know that. But what can we do, Robbie? We're not even allowed to sign a petition, let alone keep one inside the library, and you know that we can't get involved with any campaigning. It's a council building and we are council employees. Yes, the whole thing stinks but you know as well as I do that we're prohibited from getting involved."
"Telling you Jay I am so pissed with all of it. Sure, I get that some councils have had their funding cut drastically by the Government, but not Borrington. We work for one of the wealthiest councils in the bloody country so it's bullshit to use that excuse. We offer a professional service, second to none and the local community needs us now more than ever. Sickens me to think what that Fuker is getting away with. What does he know, or even care, about the essential services we offer in the library? Let’s be honest about this, as far as our so called employers are concerned, we're not valued members of staff anymore, we haven't been for years. In fact, we're no more than bloody cost codes on a spreadsheet, that this council under that Fuker's leadership, desperately want shot of. Don't generate any profit for them, and therefore, they obviously don't give a shit that we work our socks off for our customers. Their customers, because the library service it is paid for by the taxpayer, and it's the taxpayer they're answerable to. At least they should be. The fact that they've totally neglected maintaining the building for the last ten years is a bloody disgrace in itself, and to then use the condition of the building as a justifiable excuse to close us, couldn't bloody well make it up, could you? Somebody should be held accountable. Fuker should be grilled at a public council meeting as to why the building has been left to rot. I am telling you now, Jay, I won't take this laying down, no way."