The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) (28 page)

  
“Excellent,” thought Nazir, you can be a cold heartless hammer swinging killer,
but you can also be arrogant enough to dump a partly wiped hammer in your
fucking garden shed and assume no one will find it. Right, time to get out of
here, before he was also battered to death.

  
But first there was work to be done, and Nazir took a photo of the hammer with
a specially acquired phone, went back to the laptop, and sat in the garden
sipping coffee as he repaired all of the damage he’d done, and then emailed a
confession with a picture to the police from Hughes’ email account. Then he
went in, explained how he’d removed the virus and made it safe, told her to
check all her email contacts to make sure they hadn’t been infected as these
things spread, and walked out of the house.

  
The foursome were sat in Dee’s lounge, slowly eating a fish pie which Joe had
made, and all were glued to the television. The report was filled with
schadenfreude, taking vast glee reporting how the media friendly Mrs Hughes,
she of the immaculate make up and tragic MILF status, had been arrested and
charged with her husband’s murder, after sending the police a confession in a
moment of madness, along with the location of a forensics’ wet dream hammer.
The news was trying to fill in the blanks, and this reporter was wondering
whether Mrs Hughes had forced Steven to kill himself or driven him to it, and
where her reign of terror would have ended if she hadn’t broken down. (Which
was news to her.) The Tell Tale Heartless they were calling her, because there
was no royalties owing on that.

  
“Success,” Pohl said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  
“At least Plan B worked,” Nazir said, trying to boost morale and pleased he’d
nailed this one.

  
“I think we learned a valuable lesson,” Joe said.

  
“You sound like the ending to an eighties cartoon…” Nazir commented.

  
“We did learn a lesson, people are still cunts even when they’re dead.”

  
Nazir turned to Dee. “Okay, you don’t sound like a children’s cartoon.”

  
“I think Joe has a point,” and Pohl explained “we have to assume the dead have
as much of an agenda as the living do. It’s not enough to ask who killed them,
we have to examine all the evidence and evaluate the sources.”

  
“Are you just giving us part of a history seminar?”

  
“Yes Dee, I am, but I believe the skills are transferable. I took my eye off
the ball.”

  
“We all did,” Dee confirmed.

  
“Indeed, but we will be careful going forward. And at least we have a
connection in this business now.”

  
“Murphy…” and Joe let his comment hang.

  
“Yes. We must work on him to learn, rather than making our own mistakes and
learning from those.”

  
“We’ve got Maquire too,” Joe said, unaware that Dee had kissed him. Joe
certainly wouldn’t have wanted the detective around if he’d known that.

  
“Making mistakes…” Dee said, thinking about that kiss.

  
“Let’s take a few days to right ourselves, and get back on the horse.”

  
The Church of Saint Miranda had been built in the eighth century in a small
town very near Rome, offering religious support to both a grateful local
population and travellers who paused before going into the great city before
them. Sometimes the locals and the travellers had intermixed, and there were
more than a few baptisms and burials as a result. The financial backers of the
original building had wanted something to impress, and while the structure had
been extended over the years, the grandeur had remained intact, aided in no
small part by the romanticism of the architecture by much later generations.
Nowadays the stone work was considered rustically charming, the statues to the
saints engaging, and the paintings inside positively beautiful. The stone had
aged to fascinating textures, the flowers were bright, the place smelled of
incense and pollen. And the two men approaching the church this night didn’t
give a shit.

  
Two motorbikes passed the church, the riders looking across as they continued
up the right, and then they returned and parked up. After climbing off they
left their helmets on, and one removed a pair of bolt cutters from a pannier.
They went to the gate of the church, which had wisely been chained shut at the
end of the day, and cut swiftly through the chain. Then they were inside, using
electric torches where people often used candles.

  
Although clearly thieves, the golden items within the church were ignored, as
were most things with clear financial value, and the intruders went straight to
a place they had scouted out that very day, when they’d mingled with tourists
and no one had seen the truth in their souls.

  
What they soon came to was a picture of an old man dressed in white and gold,
something that might have been considered an icon if you wanted to cause an
argument, and around this picture were candles and flowers. But above was an
alcove in the wall, and inside was a small wooden box which was permanently
open. And in that wooden box, polished to shine and inlaid in gold, there was a
small, filled vial.

  
You couldn’t just pick this relic up, the church weren’t stupid enough to leave
a vial of a deceased Pope’s blood lying around, there were bars across. But the
bolt cutters began to shear their way through, although the process was stopped
when both were sure they’d seen a shadow move and heard a rustle. It must have
been nothing, a trick of their nerves, and soon they had closed the lid of the
box and withdrawn it, to be carefully placed in a bag. Then they retreated out,
placed the bag and the bolt cutters away, and rode off, feeling like they had
stolen something of great and spiritual importance. Which, on balance, the
world was soon to find they had.

  
“I think we ought to go on a holiday.”

  
It had been a miserable fortnight, with the foursome meeting as regularly as
they always did, sharing meals and a trip to an art gallery, but the
conversation was always desperately pulled away from business, and flitted from
everything from the sensible (politics, religion, culture, society) through to
the more esoteric (food, cartoons, what happened to the twats at your school,
why a god who had made people such bastards would ever be worth worshipping).
Tonight it was a curry evening, made to Dee’s special recipe, but once again
the laughter was glossing over a huge elephant sized fuck up in their past.
Either way, no one wanted to get back into investigating, and may never want to
again if this malaise continued.

  
“Really,” Pohl went on, “we should go on a group holiday.”

  
“Have you been speaking to Nazir?” Dee asked.

  
“No?”

  
“I had also suggested a holiday…” he revealed.

  
“In a country full of dicks,” Dee explained.

  
“I like to take in culture in all its forms” he grinned.

  
Joe thought it would be nice to see Dee in a bikini, but decided not to mention
that. One piece or two piece, either, but probably a two, err, stop thinking
she’ll know.

  
“Seriously,” Pohl continued “I thought if we all got away somewhere nice,
somewhere we can really immerse ourselves, we would be regenerated and ready to
begin when we came back.”

  
“There’s a Doctor Who exhibit on it London?” Joe tried.

  
“I was thinking further afield, somewhere really different.”

  
“Oh, Brighton?”

  
“No, Joe, no, I thought how wonderful it would be if I could show you all round
Rome.”

  
Dee nodded, “ah, somewhere classical.”

  
“It would be nice to see a city like that with someone who knew what she was
talking about.” Joe’s comment was more serious than Nazir’s.

  
“A whole city filled with repressed homosexuals. Now that I could get into.”

  
“The only thing you’ll be entering are buildings.”

  
“He can have the evenings to himself Dee,” Pohl counselled, “I don’t expect you
to share my love of history.”

  
“How expensive is Rome?” Dee asked.

  
“I’m sure we can acquire cheap flights if we’re careful, and you don’t have to
eat five star meals every night to have a holiday.”

  
“Five star chefs are more unbalanced than Dee.”

  
She raised an eyebrow and looked at Joe. “I preferred you when you stayed out
of the banter. And I’ll have you know there’s only medical certificates proving
that. But I don’t see why we can’t do this.”

  
“Oh, so it’s a good ideas when the professor suggests it, but not when I want
to take us out?”

  
“You wanted to go sharking for fresh ass. This is going to be a cultural trip,
a real new experience.”

  
“Well I’ve never fucked a priest before. Do you think they’ll keep the dog
collar on?”

  
“Do you see what I mean!” Dee exclaimed turning to Pohl.

  
“Now children,” she grinned back at them, “no need to fight.”

     
The group had gone to the airport in two cars, so when Dee and Pohl pulled up
they found Nazir and Joe already waiting for them, sat on the bonnet of Joe’s
car near the entrance sipping a coffee. Of course because they were near the
entrance they were a mile away from the airport building, but there were spaces
and the flask of hot coffee was soon offered to the ladies, who had a quick
cup. Then everyone collected a suitcase and a carry-on bag from their cars and
began walking to the building. It was at this point that Dee spotted something.

  
“That’s your rucksack?”

  
“Yes. I’m going to be carrying it on.”

  
“The rucksack.”

  
“Yes?”

  
“Tell me it’s filled with useful things like towels, pants and an e-reader, and
you’ve not actually got the machine in there.”

  
“Err…I’ll take the fifth.”

  
“That only works if you’re American.”

  
“Then yeah, it’s the machine.”

  
“Jesus, this is supposed to be a holiday!”

  
“But it is for me!” Joe protested. “I want to speak to the spirits of Italy.
Think of all those old buildings, all the Romans.”

  
Dee wasn’t giving up. “They all speak Italian. Or Latin.”

  
“We’re going with our own multi-lingual classics expert.”

  
“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

  
“I don’t mind translating, it’ll be fun.”

  
Dee looked at Pohl suspiciously. “Did you organise this so you can talk with
Emperor Caesar?”

  
“He wasn’t an emperor, and no, I wasn’t thinking of that. But it’ll be fun.”

  
“You’ll never get it through customs.” Dee concluded.

  
“I will,” and Joe grinned, “I’ve got two medical notes explaining how I need it
at night.”

  
“And where did you get…oh, I see,” and Dee turned to a grinning Nazir. “Am I
the only one who’s not in on this?”

  
“It’s serendipity,” Pohl said, and they walked the rest of the way grinning at
the moping Dee. They were soon on a plane, and the journey went as well as
being in a tin can thousands of feet above the ground watching a year old movie
can be.

  
Then they landed, rushed to the first chance to taste Italian coffee, realised
it was still airport coffee, got through customs with their bags and dignity
intact, and then rushed off to the first proper café they could find. Soon they
were settled.

  
“Doesn’t this feel great,” Joe said leaning back into his seat.

  
“I have an overwhelming urge to wear sunglasses and say ciao to all the hot
men.”

  
“Just because you’re Syrian doesn’t mean you can’t be racist.”

  
“Thanks sister.”

  
“So where are we going first?” Dee asked.

  
“I have some suggestions,” and Pohl smiled, “but probably our hotel.”

  
“Yes, alright, you know what I meant.”

  
“To be honest, we could fill these two weeks without scratching the surface,”
Joe said, waving his copy of the guide book. All three of the newcomers had
bought and read their own. “So we need to be guided. We need to be like a
drone.”

  
“I’m Arabic, I get nervous when people talk about drones.”

  
“Let’s not get arrested for talking terrorism on our first day,” Dee shot back.

  
“So we’re ending in a bang?”

  
Dee shook her head.“Maybe I’ll lock my hotel room door and come out in two
weeks unable to talk.”

  
“Because you’ve wanked yourself silly?”

  
“If you two continue like that you’ll be struck down the moment we enter the
Vatican.”

     
When you’re in Rome and looking for some cultural hotspots, you have more
options than a priest in a boys’ choir, but the Vatican will always loom large.
After all it is a self-contained state, it does have one of the most storied
leaders in history, and Nazir wanted to “go see the extremely buff army wearing
their extremely camp uniforms.” That was why the group arrived early one
morning intending to assault the city for the whole day, and that was why Joe
was standing showing the machine to a security guard who might have been
dressed like a historical relic but had training amongst the best in the world.
And he was a bit suspicious.

  
“I’ve never seen anything like this before?” he said in perfect English.

  
“And that’s why I don’t want to leave it in my hotel room.”

  
“I understand that, but I don’t understand what it is.”

  
Someone stepped forward with a plan. “Professor Pohl of Cambridge University,
Parapsychology Department. This device is scheduled to be demoed in a lecture
given by myself and my team later this week, to expound on new theories of
quantum entanglement. But we really can’t leave a one of a kind machine sat in
an unattended hotel room, and we wanted to do sightseeing while we were here
so…”

  
The guard looked down at the machine. “We’ve checked and no explosives have
been detected.”

  
“You can do that without touching it?” Pohl asked.

  
“We can detect all sorts of things. But okay, I’m going to let it go in.”

  
The group all smiled, walked into the city. “Where first?” Pohl asked.

  
“The tomb with all the Popes in,” Joe said.

  
“The really tall tower,” Dee said.

  
“That guard’s bedrooms.” Nazir chipped in.

  
“The tower it is!” Pohl announced, and all the group made it to the top of the
incredibly tense staircase. They went from marvellous sight to marvellous sight
for the rest of the morning, and then Joe suggested again “the tomb before
lunch?”

  
“Why not,” Pohl said, but Dee had a different view.

  
“You just want to use the machine down there.” She wasn’t expecting Dee and Joe
to say ‘yes’ in perfect sync. Soon they were in St. Peter’s Basilica, and found
themselves at another checkpoint, this one making sure they were adequately
dressed. As everyone was in trousers, except Pohl who had a long skirt, and the
shoulders were covered they entered a series of small grottoes, where some of
the Popes had been buried.

  
“Many of the early tombs have been destroyed or worn away, and many Popes have
chosen to be buried somewhere else, how…” Pohl saw Joe looking around and
stopped her explanation. “Okay, switch it on subtly and see if we find one as
we walk.”

  
Joe did so, and they crept along, half looking at the history in front of them,
politely passing worshippers who seemed on the verge of tears, and more guards.

  
“Anything?” Dee asked.

  
“Is it on?” Nazir asked.

  
“Yes, yes, anyone there? Anyone? A small one? No?”

  
“There must be a Pope down here,” Pohl sighed.

  
“English?” came a quiet voice.

  
“Yes?” Pohl gasped.