by TJ Green
“Yes. And a friend of Zane from Bodmin. He hates us, too.” Avery crunched her biscuit. “We did find out something interesting about her this morning, though! She donated one of Zephaniah Job’s accounting books to Jamaica Inn!”
“Bloody hell!” Sally said. “That’s an impressive name. Who’s he?”
“He was the smugglers’ accountant. Got very rich himself, too. He was based in Polperro.”
Dan’s eyes lit up. “Fowey, Polperro, Looe. They are all very close, and very entwined in smuggling back then. How did she find the ledger?”
“In old family papers, apparently. Not that her family was in any way linked, of course!” Avery laughed. “The museum was very keen to point that out.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s not your spirit-walking witch though, right?” Dan said softly.
Avery nodded. She’d been debating that since finding out, but didn’t want to accuse her just yet. She didn’t like Mariah, but that was no reason to vilify her unjustly. “Nothing supernatural reported on the news, I presume?”
“Nope,” Dan said, having a second biscuit.
Avery thought for a moment, and then said, “I’ll wait, see if Newton or Genevieve call, and if not, I’ll call them.”
They paused their conversation when Mary, one of their older regulars, appeared at the counter with a stack of books. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry to interrupt your chat, but I’m just topping up my romance selection!”
“You never interrupt us, Mary,” Sally said, starting to serve her. “That’s what we’re here for! We’re just gassing about Looe.”
Mary’s hand flew to her chest. “Such a terrible thing. That poor man!”
Confused, Avery asked, “What poor man? I thought there’d just been a cave collapse?”
“Didn’t you hear the lunchtime news? A man was walking his dog along the cliff path this morning and never came back. They found his body just before lunch.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’d had his throat cut!” Despite Mary’s age and very proper appearance—her blue-grey hair was rigidly set in a perm that hadn’t changed in decades—she looked morbidly fascinated. “Ear to ear! It almost beheaded him!”
“Bloody Hell!” Dan exchanged a nervous glance with Avery. “That’s terrible.”
“I know. My cousin is in a right old flap about it. She lives close to the coastal path, at the top of Looe. Heard the big rumble in the night, and a very strange, bloodcurdling cry.”
By now, all thoughts of the sale had vanished as Mary leaned forward on the counter, eager to impart gossip. She was quickly joined by Fred, another local who was a very similar age.
“You talking about the murder, Mary?” he asked, leaning in next to her. “Bad business, that. Very bad. Doesn’t do to go disturbing smugglers’ remains. They’ll have their revenge, they will!”
Avery could barely believe her ears, and she almost stumbled over her words. “Well, dead men can’t kill people. Someone else must have killed that poor man.”
Fred fixed her with his steely blue eyes. “You should know better than that, my dear! You more than anyone!” He wagged a finger. “Spirits are walking this coast now. Two deaths in two days. Won’t be the last of them, either!”
“Be away with you, Fred,” Sally said impatiently, her accent broadening as she chatted.
Mary chimed in, settling shoulder to shoulder with Fred in solidarity. “Don’t be so foolish, girl. These are smugglers we’re talking about. They lived violently, and they died violently. That makes for a restless spirit. Mark my words, there’s more to this than meets the eye.” She raised an eyebrow at Avery. “You need to look after White Haven. We had our fair share of smugglers; one of Coppinger’s places, this was.” She shuddered. “We don’t want him back. Evil bastard. Anyway,” she smiled at Sally. “Ring me up dearie.”
Coppinger. Avery had read his name only hours ago.
“You free for a pint of stout down at the Bootleggers Arms?” Fred asked Mary as Sally fumbled through the sale, obviously flustered. “We can catch up on some gossip.”
“Sounds lovely,” she said, handing Sally some cash, and then turning to Avery, she waved her hands above her head in some vague gesture that encompassed the room. “Mind what I said, now. Whatever it is you do, do it bigger!”
And then she and Fred cast beaming smiles at them before heading out the door together.
Avery’s head was swimming. What had just happened? Was she just outed as a witch by two of her most regular customers?
Dan grinned. “Your face is a picture.”
“I’m glad you find it funny,” Avery said crossly. “‘Whatever it is you do, do it bigger!’”
He shrugged. “I keep telling you, people love you for it.”
“Aren’t we missing the point here?” Sally reminded them, her tone sharp. “Another man is dead. Spirits are walking the coast—horrible, vengeful, restless spirits!”
“That settles it,” Avery said decisively, “I’m calling Genevieve.”
Newton’s hands were on his hips as he surveyed the coastline below him. Looe was to his left, and it looked bright and welcoming in the afternoon sunshine. Further along on his right was the crime scene where the man had been found, and now the whole area was crawling with forensics.
Boats bobbed on the sea, white freshets breaking its smooth expanse, and he had a sudden longing for an ice cream. That, however, would have to wait. Another coastal town, another violent death. He sighed heavily, and then turned to survey the expanse of green behind him, unable to see from here the deep pit that had opened in the night. “Bollocks,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that, Guv?” Inez said, as she finished her phone call and joined him.
“I’m just swearing. Bloody paranormal bullshit.”
Inez laughed, her wide smile illuminating her face. “You could always apply for a transfer. But once you know this stuff, you can’t un-know it.”
“I know. And to be honest, I’d rather deal with this than some snivelling little thief or sex offender.”
“Oh, I’m sure restless spirits or other paranormal creatures could be those things, too.” The victim’s body had already been removed, but Inez gestured to where the white suited team, tiny from this distance, searched for clues. “Are we sure this is supernatural? It could just be a vicious murder.”
“It could. But it’s close to the cave, and the coroner reckons he was already dead before his throat was cut.”
“Does he? Why?”
“Very little bleeding. There should be arterial spray everywhere, but there isn’t. Maybe a heart attack?”
Inez was shorter than Newton, and she squinted up at him now, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand and restraining her hair from whipping around her face with the other. “Well, that could be natural!”
“Then why slit his throat? And did you see the look on his face?”
She winced and nodded. “Just like the other victim. Horrified.”
Newton recalled the wide-eyed stare and silent scream frozen on the man’s face. “And there was rust in the very ragged wound.”
“A dodgy knife. That happens.” She paused at Newton’s sceptical expression. “I’m playing devil’s advocate here.”
“He’s the last thing we need.” Newton looked inland again. “Come on, let’s see this cave again.”
Inez fell into step beside him and they walked across the springy turf on the cliff top. “Where’s Moore?”
“Interviewing the victim’s wife, but I doubt if he’ll find much out.”
“Is the dog okay?”
He smiled as he cast her a sideways glance. “He’s upset. We found him whimpering at his master’s side, but is otherwise unharmed.”
Within minutes they ducked under the police tape and after a short walk reached the sinkhole, looking down the rubble-filled sides. The whole area was an uneven circle with a sheer drop on some sides, but in front of them was a gentler gradient, allowing for a safer descent to
the cave itself. On the far side was the section that had been least affected because of the over-hanging rock that sheltered the remains and the old chests.
The area had been thoroughly checked that morning and declared safe—to the police, at least—which was why a couple of police climbers had descended to investigate. A safe route had been marked out, and Newton glanced at Inez. “I’m heading down there.”
“Newton! There could be a bigger collapse.”
“Maybe, but I want to see it for myself. Stay here if you want.”
“I don’t think so!” she declared, gesturing to her trainers and jeans. “I can manage.”
Inez Walker dressed smartly most of the time, but Newton noticed she had a distinct leaning towards jeans, trainers, and sweatshirts whenever she could get away with it. That was fine with him. If he weren’t the inspector, he’d be more informal, too.
“All right—after me. And be careful!”
They both edged their way down the rocky slope, gently testing their way, despite the assurance of the marked path, and Newton sighed with relief when he reached solid ground. The cave was a decent size and about fifty feet down from the surface, well above the shoreline.
Inez examined the cave with a critical eye and pointed at the rubble they had descended. “Do you think there’s a passage here from the beach, hidden under that?”
He nodded. “This coastline is riddled with tunnels from smuggling days, so there must be. But,” he pointed to the other side, “there is one leading away from here.” He made his way carefully across the debris to a narrow tunnel entrance. Extracting a torch from his pocket, he illuminated the darkness.
“You’re not going down that, surely?” Inez asked, startled.
“Nope. Not yet, anyway, but I’d love to know what’s down there.”
“Me too,” she admitted, “but death by suffocation doesn’t appeal to me.”
Newton wondered how safe it would be. The tunnel looked clear—from here, at least, the ground churned up around the entrance. But Inez was right; being buried alive under a mountain of earth was not appealing. However, he had other options. “I might try it with one of our friends.”
“I presume you mean your friends, the witches?”
“No, I meant ours.” Inez looked amused at his response. “What? They are. They have been very helpful to our investigations.”
“I know they have, but they are good friends of yours, too. Personally, I mean. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
When he’d told Walker about the witches a couple of days ago, she had taken the news quite well. “I take it you don’t object to witches, then?”
She shrugged. “It depends on the witch. I’ve only come across a couple with real power and haven’t really liked them, but your guys seem okay.”
“Where was that?”
“The witches? Brighton.”
Newton wasn’t usually so chatty with his work colleagues, but now he was intrigued. He leaned against the rock wall. “Really? Did you meet them with a case?”
“Yes, but they weren’t helpful. They were on the periphery of an investigation into illegally shipped items, but it turned out they weren’t involved.”
“And you came here after Brighton?”
She gave him a tired smile. “I’m going through a divorce. Getting away from Brighton seemed like a good idea. This job came at the right time.”
“Oh,” Newton said, genuinely surprised. “I had no idea. Does your soon-to-be ex work in paranormal policing, too?” Newton, for some reason, presumed her husband was a policeman.
“Ha! No. He’s hates it—calls it mumbo-jumbo! Only Ted does that. Mike works in drugs.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.” Newton turned away to walk back to the broken wooden chests. “Any kids?”
“No, thank God. It’s complicated enough.” Inez followed him, crouching down to move the shattered wood of the old chests, pulling aside earth and stones. “Damn it. There’s nothing left in these. Do you think they’ll find prints on the old locks?”
Newton knelt next to her, sifting through the rock. “Maybe, but I doubt we’ll be so lucky.” A couple of hours ago, they had removed the old, broken locks from the two chests that provided evidence they had been forced open recently, and they were being processed by the lab. But this wasn’t urgent, and they couldn’t really connect it to the murdered man on the path. They had also removed the skeletal remains for examination, certain they were very old. “I’d love to know where that passage goes, though. From the churned up ground, I think they had to have come in that way!”
“So, it should be safe—in theory,” Inez said. She sounded excited, and looked at him with a hopeful expression.
“I thought you said going down there was a mad idea?”
“I’ve changed my mind! Woman’s prerogative. What do you say?”
“We haven’t got hard hats or anything sensible!”
“We’ve got brains and a torch, and if the tunnel forks, we head back. We can’t risk getting lost in there.”
Newton had to admit that now that they were down here, it seemed stupid not to head into the tunnel, at least for a short way. He grinned. “All right. You text Moore and let him know what we’re doing, and I’ll call Alex.”
Chapter 9
Avery leaned against the doorframe and looked out onto the lane behind her shop while she talked to Genevieve, enjoying the warm breeze that lifted her hair and caressed her cheek as if it knew her.
In the end, she hadn’t had to phone Genevieve; she had instead called her, just as she arrived in the back room. It was uncanny.
“This situation could get a lot worse,” Genevieve admitted, sounding more exasperated than worried. “The spirits of bloody smugglers sounds annoying! And I’m trying to plan Litha!”
“And of course two people are dead,” Avery reminded her.
“Of course,” she answered crossly. “I can hardly forget that!”
Sounded like she had. “So, what now?”
“We meet at eight tonight, at Oswald’s. I doubt everyone will make it, but I’ve let them all know—or left messages, at least.” She hesitated a moment, and then said, “Would you try Caspian again for me? It’s so unlike him not to answer, and I’ve called three times already.”
“Of course I will,” Avery answered, feeling uneasy. It was unlike Caspian. He was a very reliable communicator. “I can even head to his house if he doesn’t answer. Have you tried his work?”
“No, actually. Could you? I need to pick the kids up from school and I’m running late already.”
The idea of Genevieve, their statuesque High Priestess, doing the school run was so incongruous that Avery almost laughed, but instead she said, “No problem.”
As soon as she rang off, Avery called Caspian, hoping Alex wouldn’t complain. His phone rang and rang before his voicemail kicked in, and she left a message before ending the call. Straight away she called his office, asking to be put through, but was told he was working from home due to office renovations. Maybe he was just busy, she reflected, trying to quell her concern. And besides, his sister would be around, or his uncle. He must be fine.
Heading into the kitchen, Avery filled the kettle and turned it on to make tea, but she couldn’t dispel the niggling thought that something was wrong. If Caspian was at home, she could check on him. Without waiting to question the wisdom of her decision, or whether Alex might be upset—she was, after all, seeing Caspian on her own, and she knew Alex’s opinion on that—she summoned air, and using witch-flight was in his extensive front gardens in seconds.
Caspian’s velvety lawn stretched ahead of her, the borders bursting with summer flowers. More importantly, no one was in sight. Avery headed to the front door and knocked, gently at first, and then with increasing strength, ringing the doorbell, too. It echoed through the house, but no one responded. He could be at his warehouse, or maybe even the docks. Avery recalled that Shadow and Gabe said tha
t he was very hands-on with the business.
She waited by the front door for a few moments more and then strolled around the house; on such a warm day, maybe he was in the back garden. She headed to where Caspian’s study was, and paused. The house was ominously quiet. There were no open windows or doors, and peering through his study window, she noted it was empty. But something felt weird.
Avery stepped back and looked at the upper floor. She remembered Caspian’s bedroom from when she was practicing witch-flight and had accidentally ended up there. She could head straight there. Or, she chided herself, use witch-flight to cross the short distance to the study—if she could get through his protection spells.
And that’s when it struck her. She couldn’t detect any spells on the house at all.
Something was very wrong.
Without a second thought, Avery manifested into Caspian’s study and paused, listening. The house was utterly silent. Keeping her power raised and magic crackling at her fingertips, she walked into the hallway, following it to the main reception area. She couldn’t detect any other energy, but why wasn’t the alarm on, and why couldn’t she feel any spells?
“Caspian!” she called out. But her voice echoed around her. She knew it was unlikely his sister would be here, but… “Estelle?”
Still no answer. Tempting though it was to go upstairs on her own, if Caspian had been injured in some way, whatever had hurt him was clearly very strong. If the house were empty, she’d feel like a bloody fool. She pulled her phone from her pocket and quickly called Alex. He answered straight away. “Alex, I’m at Caspian’s, and something is wrong.”
“What the hell are you there for?”
She explained the call from Genevieve and how Caspian hadn’t answered his phone.
“For fuck’s sake, Avery. Come and get me. Now.”
“What?”
“Come to my flat, pick me up by witch-flight, and take me back there with you.”
“But—”
“Do it.” And then he hung up.
Half annoyed, and half relieved, Avery flew to Alex’s old flat, and within seconds the door burst open and he was there, his lips pursed as he stared at her. “I can’t bloody believe you went there alone.”