The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) (16 page)

   “Yes
Dee. Yes it does.”

  
But it wasn’t actually the group who did the arrest, Maquire phoned through a
call to the station, and uniformed officers and other detectives rushed out.
When the group did arrive on the scene the father, and an uncle, had already
been detained by the first people on the scene.

  
Having asked the rest of the group to hang back, Maquire went over to speak to
people.

  
“What did you find?” he asked.

  
“We’re still searching the house, but when we got here we found what looks like
blood around the sink in the downstairs toilet, so we called in forensics and
got everything secured.”

  
“Excellent. And a team has been sent to the address I gave?”

  
“Of course.”

  
Maquire smiled. Now the wheels of regular policing would run its course, and…

  
“Constable,” came a firm voice from behind him, and he turned to find himself
looking at his DCI, all five foot of her, a receptacle for the best mind in his
department.

  
“Maam.”

  
“I hear you’ve been solving murders when you’re off duty.”

  
“Just the one Ma'am. And are we ever really off duty?”

  
“Yes, yes we are or you go mad. And I don’t want you to go mad Maquire, so
we’ll have a talk about the hours you’re putting in. But that’s for later,
explain to me what you found.”

  
“Well, it’s quite simple, I…” and he paused, running through his excuse swiftly
in his mind. If this didn’t work he had a major problem.

 
“Mr Jat approached me with concerns that his fiancée had been murdered, rather
than simply committing suicide as was first thought. I was able to speak to him
in person, and he believed the father was to blame. However, shortly after I
received a phone call from Mr Jat in distress, rushed over, and found he had
also been murdered. So I called for people to get to the parent’s urgently.”

  
“I see. You linked his death to Mr Jat’s concerns.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“What made you sure this wasn’t an unrelated murder?”

  
“It seemed too big a coincidence. Worth following up with speed.”

  
The DCI’s face hadn’t changed, and she didn’t seem entirely happy. “And who are
they,” she said pointing at the group, hanging back to their left.

  
“Friends I was with at the time, I rushed and I had the car.”

  
“Understood. I have to say I’m not entirely happy with how this has progressed,
but it appears to have been successful. We’ll sort that out in the talk we’ll
be having.”

  
Maquire got the strongest feeling this ‘talk’ was going to be one sided, and
involve some strong lecturing.

  
“Let us finish this up, you go get some rest.”

  
Maquire nodded and went back to the group.

  
“Everything okay?” Dee asked.

  
“Yes, they found some damning evidence that can be grouped with whatever we
find on the hammer. This one is in the books.”

  
“Excellent.”

  
“Which just leaves us with… where’s Keyes?”

  
Everyone looked round, and Keyes was notable by his absence.

  
“Right, follow me, I know where he’ll be.” And everyone rushed after Maquire.

  
Dee’s car arrived first as she decided speed was of the essence and had
considerably less attention to safety than Maquire, who realised he’d have to
have words with her about dangerous driving. The foursome jumped out, and Dee
pointed to Nazir: “check the front.”

He
did, and the rest ran in the back.

  
As expected, they found Keyes, running from place to place filling a rucksack
no smaller than Joe’s with clothes, money, and everything else he thought he’d
need while on the run.

  
“Fuck,” was all he could say as Dee blocked the door, so he dropped the
rucksack and meekly bowed his shoulders. Soon everyone else was there, and
Keyes was once more sat in the lounge. This time there was no tea.

  
“What’s going to happen to me?” he asked.

  
“I’m going to call the police and put this in their hands” Maquire explained.

  
“You don’t sound happy about that,” Pohl noted.

  
“Happy? I’m going to look like a raving fool, but what else can I do?”

  
“You can let me go. I do good, I solve murders.”

  
“With murder and necrophilia!”

  
But Keyes carried on at Maquire. “I have a gift, and I use my gift for good!”

 
“This isn’t Spiderman,” Dee interjected.

  
“I need to use my powers, you can’t waste my gift!”

  
“I can’t let you continue. I have to call you in.”

  
“Now we know, can’t we find evidence?” Joe said thinking aloud.

  
“Even if we prove all these people were killers, he’s still not allowed to kill
people. The state can’t execute, he certainly can’t.”

  
“Then let me be a private investigator, I’ll use my powers without anyone
dying!”

  
“Keyes, Keyes, can’t you see. Even if I ignore the killing, you’re still a man
who molests corpses. This means you’re pretty much insane.”

  
Keyes waved at the room. “They all speak to the dead.”

  
“Not with their cocks. Right,” and Maquire stood, “fuck it, I’m going to make
the call.”

  
He left the room, and as Keyes looked at the floor the foursome exchanged
glances. Pohl and Dee realised Nazir was nodding at them to leave the room, so
both said “we’ll go and talk to him” and left. Joe, on the other hand, was
looking at Nazir and coming to a different conclusion.

  
“Have you got a twitch? Hurt your neck?”

  
“For fuck’s sake. Stay then.” Nazir said as he resolved on a course of action,
turning to Keyes. “I’m not saying I agree with your methods, because I don’t.
But I’m not going to judge you for doing what you thought was the right thing.
You’ve killed, and I’ve killed, and we both have to live with that.”

  
“You’ve killed people?”

  
Nazir turned to Joe. “It was a civil war, there were no clear sides, I had to
get out of there and, yes, I’ve had to kill people. And I don’t regret it
because it had to be done, but I’d far prefer never to have done it. So what
I’m saying is I’m not going to watch them take Keyes. I’m going to give him a
second chance. You go, you do good, you don’t kill unless you have to.”

  
“You’re letting me go?”

  
“Yes. Okay Joe?”

  
“Err, yes. This puts the chat we had about our own killing in a new
perspective.”

  
Nazir now stood and said to Joe “You better punch me in the face.”

  
“What?”

  
“We’re going to tell Maquire that he attacked us and fled, so punch me in the
face.”

  
“I don’t think…”

  
“I’ll punch you,” Keyes observed.

  
“You’re not punching me you weird fucker. Joe’s decent, I can cope with that.”

  
Joe wasn’t sure if this was the best or the worst compliment he’d ever heard.
But he stood, came over, hesitated, and then punched Nazir as hard as he could
on the jaw.

  
Once Nazir had regained his equilibrium he punched Joe.

  
“Aaaggghh, you didn’t mention that.”

  
They both slumped in a sofa. “Thanks guys,” Keyes said as he grabbed his
rucksack and disappeared out of the front doors.

  
A minute later Maquire entered, phone in hand. “Did I just hear someone in
pain? Where’s….”

  
“He escaped,” Joe offered.

  
Maquire looked at them both, not fooled for a second. Then he realised he’d
been let off the hook, and said into the phone, “forget it, false alarm,” and
snapped it shut. “We’ll never find him now,” he said, more to convince himself.
He could chase after him, but sometimes the world was trying to send you a
hint.

Some
Time Later

  
A black car pulled up on an empty road, and the driver climbed out. Dressed in
a smart suit, with sunglasses and excellently kept hands, the man looked round,
saw a person standing in the distance, and headed towards him over the parched,
dry earth.

  
It took a minute to reach the man, and he was soon able to see another,
although this one was laying on the ground.

  
“I’m Agent Wells, CIA,” the newcomer introduced himself, “and you’re the FBI
man who found him?”

  
“Yes, I’m Carlson. We called you right away.”

  
Wells looked at the body, and saw the neat bullet hole in its head. You could
imagine the size of the exit wound, and there wouldn’t be much brain left.
Flies had already gathered, as they always did, despite being so far from
seemingly anything else.

  
“Is it definitely him?” Carlson asked.

  
“Yes, yes that’s my man.” Even with a third eye he fitted the descriptions.
Good thing he wasn’t shot from the back or we’d be picking his teeth up and
fitting them together.

  
“A spy for the Saudis?”

  
“Indeed. A man with a lot of information that we urgently need.”

  
“A shame then, it’s gone with him. We tried to get him alive, but he was
obviously reached first. What will you do now?” But Carlson saw Wells smiling.
“What? Have you got some way of interrogating the dead?”

  
“Actually I have.” Wells pulled his phone out and dialed a number. “Get Keyes
off the golf course, I’m bringing something in for him.”

  
Some nights it was almost too much to bear. His wife, taken from him, when they
should have been setting out on their journey together, starting a family,
buying a bigger house, shit, even furnishing the flat they had. But she’d been
struck down, killed by a man as she crossed the road in the rain one night.

  
A night like tonight, where the rain hammered against his window and made him
weep seemingly as much. A night where he wanted to do crazy things, things he
knew she wouldn’t approve of, things she’d never forgive him for when they
finally met again. He so wanted to just take a kitchen knife and slash his warm
wrists, and then he’d be with her.

  
His thoughts went to other places. Why wasn’t she in this house with him?
Couldn’t she at least haunt him? Couldn’t she appear in the mirror or start
stealing his keys or do something from all those horror films he watched.
Couldn’t she show herself?

  
His mind was mostly clouded by grief, and that cloud had an idea. Before he
knew what he was doing he’d taken some of those keys, got into his vehicle, and
started to drive in a night where visibility was low and the stars were
laughing.

  
The man eventually pulled his car to a halt, skidding slightly in the rain, and
climbed out. It was still very much night, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to
go inside, but he started walking, through the green verges until he came to
the gate. Finding this open and thinking nothing of it, he walked through until
he came to the front doors, and pushing found these conveniently open too. Soon
he was inside the mausoleum, seeing marble stretching away from him in three
directions, beautiful little squares appearing regularly down them with little
name plates.

  
He knew the route this well enough to keep moving through, until he came to
where his wife had been interred. Leaning his hot head against the cold marble
he wished he could climb through and lay there with her, could…

  
He’d probably heard the noise before and his mind hadn’t registered, lost in
grief. But now he did, an odd clinking sound, as if something metal was
knocking something stone, but very carefully. And, as the part of his brain
that was still operating pieced together that no one should be clinking stones
in a mausoleum at night, it made him turn, walk down the corridor, in the
direction of the noise, and then his eyes realised there was light. Not the
full light of the mausoleum fittings, but a narrow, focused beam.

  
Turning the corner, the man’s lucid brain was able to overcome the grief, as he
found himself looking at someone holding a torch, a pry bar and a very guilty
look.

  
“You’re…” was all he could manage before the light switched off.

  
A police car was now parked outside the Mausoleum, and a police officer inside.
She wasn’t alone, as the caretaker of the site was there to guide and inform.
And he certainly had something to inform.

  
“Let me just check I have this right, the man arrived, gained unobstructed
entry to the building, processed through and found someone breaking into to one
of the tombs?” She was reading from a notebook she’d been filling in with a
writing she’d worked on for four straight months to turn into something other
people could read if something happened to her. Nothing was going to happen was
it. Everyone here was dead.

  
“Yes. The chain on the gate had been undone, as had the doorway.”

  
“Cut through, broken?”

  
“No, this is the odd thing, they’re untouched, put neatly to one side, as if
they had a key.”

  
“I see. So possibly an inside job. And this is the tomb?” She gestured to the
square in front of her.

  
“Yes, the stone was being levered out, but very gently. No violence, just
carefully but unofficially opened. And you can see it left these little marks.”

  
“Yes, I see. But the man fled upon being spotted, took his kit with him, and
left the man who found staring dumbfounded.”

  
“Also true.”

  
“I spoke to him, he doesn’t remember the face, which is a shame.” That was
something of an understatement. “But you said the situation was worse than
this?”

  
“Yes,” the caretaker said, rubbing his beard. “The locks had been opened, so
they could be put back…”

  
“You think so?” That seemed possible, but made this situation a lot more
worrying,

  
“And care was taken to open the stone. So I thought, has this happened before?
And I went looking for those little telltale marks.”

  
The policewoman knew where this was going.

  
“It’s happened before?”

  
“Yes. My initial count suggests one hundred and twenty three times.”

  
“Sorry, what did you just say?”

  
“One hundred and twenty three.”

  
“Have they stolen every watch and ring in this place?”

  
“That’s also a problem.”

  
“How so?”

  
“I opened one of the tombs.”

  
“That could be disturbing evidence, I’d caution against doing that.”

  
“I think you’ll find it worth it.”

  
“How so?”

  
“They didn’t take the rings or the watches. I opened one of our earliest tombs,
and found everything of obvious monetary value lying in the vault.”

  
“I really don’t want to know where this is going do I.”

  
“No, no you don’t.”

  
The officer put a hand to her head, felt her palm against her forehead. “Tell
me.”

  
“They’d taken the body from that tomb. These aren’t jewellery thieves, they’re
body snatchers.”

  
“One hundred and twenty three bodies. I have a feeling my leave has just been
cancelled until Christmas. Right, I want to interview everyone who could
possibly have a key. I’ll interview your dog if it so much as sniffs your
pocket.”

  
“Thank you for coming this morning, Dee and I have two things to talk about.”

  
Everyone was gathered in Dee’s house, and all four considered it just Dee’s
even though Pohl was lodging there, and the two men had been summoned early
that morning for a ‘group session’, which sounded to Joe like some sort of
therapy. It sounded like that to Dee as well, but she’d conceded to Pohl who
had more experience running seminars, groups, well running anything.

  
Coffee had been served as even Dee had conceded it was early for alcohol, and
they were sat around. Over time Nazir and Joe had gravitated to sitting on the
two seat sofa, while Dee and Pohl had the armchairs they used at all hours of
the day (and night).

  
“So what are discussing?” Nazir asked.

  
“Dee has some news for later,” Pohl began, “but first I want to get a good
sense of all the skills we have to offer. Who knows what’s tucked away.”

  
“Skills?” Said Joe, feeling he was soon going to look poor.

  
“Yes. For instance, I can speak Latin, Greek, Hebrew and…”

  
“Fuck,” said Nazir, “I thought I knew a lot of languages.”

  
“…once you know two or three the rest come quickly.”

  
No one wanted to rag Pohl about whether she knew anything a little more up to
date.

  
“Anyway, I’ve compiled my skills, and also Dee’s, so I just need…”

  
“What are Dee’s?” Nazir asked.

  
“She’s a skilled researcher on the web and in paper files, is a good writer in
several genres, has extensive experience of psychiatry and the health system,
particularly medication, and is something of an expert in New Age pursuits.”

  
“I see,” said Nazir, not at all impressed.

  
“Okay, Joe, your turn.”

  
“I, err, I am an expert in quantum biology and related disciplines, I have an
encyclopaedic knowledge of Doctor Who, I have a GCSE in French, and I, err,
err…”

  
“I’ll put down an analytical mind,” Pohl said charitably. “Now you Nazir?”

  
“How do I follow that.” Realising he’d been too harsh he decided to lighten the
mood.

  
“I give great head. Certainly the best here.”

  
Pohl coughed, and Dee swivelled round to look at Nazir. “Are you dissing my
bedroom skills?”

  
“Yes, I am a sexual velociraptor.”

  
“I could turn any man you’d shagged.”

  
“And how many men have you shagged while we’ve known each other?”

  
“It’s quality, not quantity that counts.”

  
“That’s not what won World War 2.”

  
Dee smiled sweetly at him and said “Fuck you, and fuck your mother.”

  
“My mother’s dead.” Nazir thought he’d won.

  
“Do you think that’ll stop me from fucking her?”

  
Now Nazir pretended to look sad. “After last week that’s less funny than it
would have been.”

  
He’d won, because Pohl stepped in. “You’re making Joe nervous.” Dee looked at
him, and he’d gone bright red, so she nodded and conceded.

  
“Alright, skills? I have extensive knowledge of all western and middle eastern
computer systems, skills that allow me to do things the law would frown upon. I
also have a detailed knowledge of acquiring false identities, Visas, travelling
across Europe. Basically, I’m a very naughty boy. Oh, and I’m an expert on the
Eurovision song contest.”

  
“You fucking cliché.”

  
“Thank you Dee.”

  
“Can no one drive a van?” Joe asked.

  
Dee fixed him with a scowl. “If you mention us getting a team van again I’m
putting you in the naughty corner.”

  
“Well that’s all I needed to know,” and Pohl decided to leave it there for now.
It was different running a group she couldn’t tell off for swearing and showing
off.

  
“Right,” and Dee leapt up. “So far we’ve solved two murders, or about eighty if
you count Keyes, so it’s time we went after our next payday.”

  
“Our first payday,” Nazir pointed out.

  
“Moan moan moan. Anyway, did anyone read the papers yesterday?”

  
“I read two?” Pohl offered.

  
“Actually, I mean the news section of the Fortean Times website, but from now
on we’re taking it as the papers, okay?”

  
“I see a vision of our future and it's tin foil hats.”

  
Ignoring Nazir, Dee continued, “I was looking into the stories last night, and
this is what I’ve got. A village in the Home Counties was selected in the 1930s
to be a home for a large mausoleum complex, and it’s been filling up with well
to do corpses ever since. Time passes, fuck all happens. But now someone’s been
sneaking into the tombs and stealing the corpses.”

  
“And hopefully not molesting them,” Pohl added.

  
“Ah, so you think we can go and find the corpses?”

  
“Not quite Nazir. Because whoever’s behind this has stolen one hundred and
twenty three.”

  
“Sorry?”

  
“Yes, a cubic shitload. What we’re after is whoever, or whatever is doing
this.”

  
Nazir didn’t need to do calculations. “That’s a lot of relieved relatives if we
get this right.”

  
“Sure is. So let’s get over there and do some ground breaking science!”

  
“If we had a van it would be easier for us all to move our kit?”

  
“Right, into the naughty corner!”

  
Despite the reasoned appeals of one group member, they did not have a van, so
had climbed into Dee’s car and were proceeding through country lanes in that.
However, Joe was doing the driving today, as Dee and Nazir were in the back
with their laptops.

  
Pohl looked behind her, from her front seat, and remarked “you look like a
picture from the 50s warning about technology and depersonalization.”

  
“We can’t help if it we have things to arrange. On which note, what sort of
place do we want to stay in?” Dee asked.

  
“We have a choice?” Pohl asked.

  
“Always! There’s a very nice hotel nearby which…”

  
“How much were they paying you?” Nazir asked without looking away from his
screen.

  
“Oh, yes. Okay, there’s a nice bed and breakfast where we can get four rooms.”

  
“Make it three, I’ll share with Joe, alright Joe?”

  
“That’s fine.”

  
“Some men wouldn’t share with a gay man.”

  
“You’re gay, not a rapist,” Joe explained.

  
“Okay, I’ll book us in. How are you getting on?”

  
“Very interesting. I’ve pulled up a copy of the police report on the incident.”

  
“Shall I ask how you found that?” Pohl asked.

  
“No, just in case they torture you, you’d give away my secrets.”