The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) (35 page)

  
“You mean Mr Kosar?”

  
“Yes.”

  
The superior leaned forward. “Do explain.”

  
“He killed us, all of us,” and a cheer of support came over. “We all thought we
were psychic, honestly, no conning, all honestly, and he brought us here, to
this school, this pressure cooker from hell, and it drove most of us mad. So
many killed themselves, so many, and now we haunt it. You can’t let this
bastard go.”

  
Kosar reached a hand out and switched the machine off. “You see that it works,”
he said nervously.

  
“Normally I would ask if you have a radio in that, but it doesn’t sound like
you do.”

  
“Err…”

  
“Mr. Kosar, have you been driving psychics to suicide?”

  
“There was a high fatality rate, but we had to compete, get ahead of the US.”

  
Peters leant back and smiled. He’d won, and he hadn’t had to say anything. Always
the best way.

  
The argument went on for a long time, but much like the Second World War the
ending was decided early. The superior and her team decided that Kosar had been
operating rogue, and here he had crippled himself again: he made his unit so secret,
so buried, that there was no one to come to his defence. Anyone who might have
helped wrote him off, and did so easily. So, that night, Kosar was arrested and
removed from the base. Which just left four loose ends.

  
“You can’t expect them to leave without the machine,” Peters protested.

  
“Why should we give this device back?”

  
“Those four are British citizens. It’s within their rights to cause as much
shit as they want until they get that machine back.”

  
“And we can block them.”

  
“You can try. My project will support them.”

  
“What?”

  
“We are working on the most powerful computer in the world, one that breaks any
code. If you do not do the right thing with those civilians my project will
cause a stink.”

  
“And you don’t think we can have you removed?”

  
“I exist. My project exists. We have told people, we have allies, we have
demonstrated it to the Prime Minister. You cannot make me disappear.”

  
“You’re very sure of yourself. Since when did threats work?”

  
“Since they’re allied to a plan.”

  
“Go on.”

  
“I will form a new research unit, and I will hire Joe le Tissier as a
contractor in whatever capacity he will work for us. We will do our best to
build a new machine. Hundreds of machines. To explore and harness this.”

   “We
could just arrest le Tissier, and you, and come to the same result.”

  
“You could, but to be frank, not everyone in MI5 is as much of a twunt as Kosar
and I don’t believe you are. Let’s sort this out right.”

  
“That’s hardly the Band of Brothers speech.”

  
“I look at jars of brains all day, my debating skills are in the shitter.”

  
Joe sat in the lounge of his house, drinking a coffee Nazir had made him. The
latter was hovering just out of the room, determined not to leave Joe at the
mercy of Peters, and not to leave until Joe felt safe again. Joe, for his part,
was looking at the liquid in the mug and frowning.

  
“You won’t be troubled by Kosar again,” Peters explained, “and your machine is
your property. All I ask if you share everything you have with us so we can
work on a new one.”

  
“I can do that.”

  
Peters nodded. He didn’t need to explain that was a requirement, not a request.

  
“And I have to ask Joe, come onto our research project. We’d make you the lead
scientist, you’d have as much money as you want, unlimited resources. It would
all be yours.”

  
Joe looked up from his coffee, and indecision was raging on his face. Then he
looked down, saw the liquid, and decided.

  
“Not yet. I need… a break from MI5 for a while.”

  
“I understand. Then let us bring things to you for comment. Come in
occasionally. A contractor to help us. Do us that at least.”

  
Joe smiled. Was that two people he was now on retainer for?

  
“And this… advising. It would be paid?”

  
“Of course.”

 
“Just slow at first, okay? As a thank you for getting my machine back.”

  
“Perfect,” smiled Peters. It was as he’d hoped.

  
“This is getting a habit.”

  
Dee and Maquire were sitting outside a café, drinking mediocre coffee and
smoking a cheeky fag each.

  
“I’m sure the odd one won’t hurt,” Maquire replied. He’d called Dee to find out
what was happening, and when she said everyone was safe he offered to take her
for a drink to hear the whole story. Now he could barely believe it.

  
“That could have ended badly,” he said, worry on his face. “What if Peters had
been like Kosar? What if Kosar had seen the Prime Minister? All four of you
could have vanished.”

  
“We could… but we didn’t, and we managed to get another arsehole nailed. That’s
what it’s all about.”

  
“I know. All too well. But…”

  
“But?”

  
He looked around, decided. “I like you Dee, and while we’re both at risk we
shouldn’t waste any time.”

  
She began to smile. “Go on.”

  
“I’d like to take you out.”

  
“Isn’t that what this is?”

 
“No, no, properly out. A date. Let’s go on a date.” He looked at her nervously.
This was far more stressful than dealing with a criminal. But when she smiled
warmly he did too.

  
“Just make it somewhere nice, okay?”

  
“I’m getting a message, yes a definite message, I’m looking for someone who’s
lost their…mother.”

  
The man stood on the stage in an expensive suit, his hair slicked back with
premium products, his watch supporting a large timepiece, and no shred of guilt
in his body. At least that was Joe’s conclusion as he sat watching Elegant
Eddie, the south east’s leading psychic medium go through his paces, for thirty
pounds a ticket. Joe had done a count when he’d come in, and there were seventy
two people in the audience. A nice return for a few hours’ work, and that was
before the private readings to be paid for later.

  
“Yes, their mother,” Eddie said, and Joe put his hand up. He always tested them
by volunteering himself. “Ah, sir, I sense that your mother is here, a nice
lady yes?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“And she was taken from you?”

  
“Yes.”

  
It was at this point that Dee elbowed him in the ribs, but Joe ignored it and
played his role in the charade, discovering that his mother wanted him to know
she was at peace, that the issues worrying him would be resolved, and she’d
love to see some grandchildren. Which was pretty interesting seeing as Joe’s
mother was definitely alive. Unless zombies can answer phones these days, he
wasn’t up on the movies.

  
Finally the show ended, and as people rushed to drinks and private bookings,
Joe and Dee walked out into the car park. “Why don’t we just go back and punch
him in the balls?” Dee said.

  
“You think there’d be a law against it,” Joe mused.

  
“Remind me why we keep going to these shitshows?”

  
“We know one person was able to talk to spirits, so it stands to reason others
can too. And maybe, just maybe, one of those people makes a living out of it.”

  
“So far all we’ve found our con men and women, cold reading their way through.”

  
“Yes, but if you could speak to the dead wouldn’t you use it?”

  
Dee laughed. “We do Joe, we do!”

  
“Exactly. Unless it’s like a code and you don’t use your powers for financial
gain.”

  
“Well we’ve fucked that code up the arse.”

  
“Maybe we’re due a visit from some council warning us off.”

  
“You’re not allowed to read any more urban fantasy. Aliens for you from now
on.”

  
“Thanks for coming,” Joe said, hoping he didn’t sound like he wanted these
trips to turn into dates, because that’s exactly what he wanted.

  
“That’s okay, I think we’re right to look. The problem is there’s so much
bullshit, and I should know I spent years reading through it all, I’m not sure
how we’ll ever be able to find the honest people. If there are any honest
people.”

  
“No one is unique,” Joe commented, “if John Paul’s father could speak to
spirits, others can. And they’ll have answers.

  
“And best we find them before some crazy scientists.”

  
“I’m not crazy.”

  
“You wake up to the sound of a Dalek shouting at you.”

  
“That’s… cult.”

  
“Nearly.”

  
Nazir sat on his favourite chair. Joe and Dee had gone out together, although
not ‘out’ out, and Joe had been acting a little strange around Dee lately, but
anyway they’d gone out, Pohl was writing a review of a new monograph she’d been
sent, and that left Nazir to his own devices. He’d decided to stay at home, so
bought some lagers, some crisps and retreated to his most used room. You’d have
called it a Man Cave if you were a twat, but it was the room where all his tech
was wired together, so there were screens, machines, the best chair in the
house and plenty to keep a person occupied. And at this very moment he had a
football match on the left hand side, two browsers open in the middle, and a
rerun of a tv show he was streaming over the net on the other.

  
Despite all this he felt he was working. One browser was open and he was
searching for paranormal news and titbits which might be of interest to Joe and
his new branch. But despite that he’d got the other window searching for porn,
because he was a single person alone for the evening, so what else is he going
to do.

  
It made an odd hour, eyes flicking from men playing football, men with fewer
clothes but still fiddling with balls, the spy drama unfolding, and people
talking about auras, orbs and other oddities. Given that Nazir’s experience of
the paranormal before he met Dee had been wondering why his Christian
classmates believed in Santa, the esoteric search wasn’t winning the attention
battle, especially when this chap passing would do so well with a cock in his
mouth.

  
Nazir almost missed it, as his eyes saw a festival of the occult advertised,
went to click to get the details for Joe, and with one eye on the football
pressed the wrong link. And there it was, a website devoted to Spanos, ‘The
Largest Occult Library in Europe’.

  
Nazir turned his mind to this site and assessed it. As befitted a library, the
website looked like the coding had been done ten years ago, and everything was
so far out of date it could have been on parchment. But there were a few
pictures, and the place looked fascinating, shelf after shelf of old books, odd
looking people reading the books, and best of all it was based in London.
Actually that wasn’t best of all, because according to details which hopefully
weren’t out of date, anyone could visit for free with an appointment.

  
Definitely something worth telling Joe about, and they’d get a day out in the
capital.

  
Which was good, because this porn wasn’t going to watch itself. Time for
multitasking of a different variety.

  
Despite the attempts of London’s government to get people out of cars and onto
public transport, Joe and his three friends had driven down and parked up as
close as they could, and were now walking along to the library. No need for a A
to Z when you have phones, and these guided them along. Joe had told Nazir he’d
definitely be visiting, Nazir had offered to come, Pohl had invited herself the
second she heard the word library, and Dee had pretended she had better things
to do so someone would talk her into it, which they didn’t and she turned up
that morning anyway.

  
Soon they rounded a corner and came across one of those London streets where
the same building stretches down the length of the whole road, and the front
doors are the only sign it’s been divided up. They walked down to number twenty
eight, and found a small metal plaque on the wall which read ‘Spanos’ and no
more. But there was a bell, and although checking their watches revealed they
were five minutes early, they pressed anyway and waited.

  
If asked beforehand, the group would have imagined a Lurch style butler opening
the door, but when the real librarian did he seemed entirely perfect: a man of
average height, skinny, with wire rimmed circular glasses and prominent
cheekbones.

  
“The le Tissier party?” he asked.

  
“Yes.”

  
“Oh, you’re five minutes early,” and a silver pocket watch was checked.

  
“Good traffic,” Joe confirmed.

 
“I suppose you had better come in then,” and he said it in a way making clear
he’d considered making them stand there. “I notice from the records this is the
first visit for any of you.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“We’re virgins,” Nazir added.

  
“Good of you to find us. We were founded in the eighteenth century by Joseph
Spanos, who…”

  
“We’ve read the website,” Dee said, looking round at a hallway cum cloakroom
where coats and bags had to be left.

  
“Ah, so you know. What is the website like?”

  
“You don’t know?”

  
“It was set up by a junior librarian we had, but hasn’t been updated since she
disappeared.”

  
“Did you say disappeared?”

  
“Yes. Potentially tragic.”

  
“Okay,” Dee breathed out.

  
“I will have to explain the rules to you, and…”

  
“These rules?” Dee said, pointing to an A3 piece of card hanging on the wall.

  
“Yes.”

  
“Can’t we just read them?”

  
“You’d be surprised. But I can offer you something you will find helpful. If
you care to tell me what you’re interested in, I can guide you through the
stacks.” Then he rushed to explain “completely private, of course, and no
pressure if you wish to work alone.”

  
“We’re after people who can speak to the dead.”

  
“Oh, you’ll be able to spend days here! Speaking to the souls of humans and
other spirits has been a long standing goal of the occult. A vast body of
material…”

  
“We want people who can really do it.”

  
“Sceptics?” It was a reply to Joe’s frustrated command.

  
“No,” Dee said stepping forward, “we know of someone who could. We have seen
it, we want to find others.”

  
The librarian considered Dee’s comment, looked at the group, seemed to focus on
Joe, then nodded. “I see. Few people really can. Separating the truth from the
fraud, that will take persistence, and intuition. But I think I can point you
in some directions.”

  
The Spanos Library of Occult Investigation had three main advantages to a
researcher. The first was that they could spend as long as they wanted in the
building, with a seeming free reign, to look up whatever they wished. The
second was that the librarian seemed to have read everything you picked up and
could help comment on the material. And the third was an excellent coffee
machine.

  
“Well that’s more up to date than your website,” Nazir noted as he got another
round of drinks in.

  
“It does to keep the body and soul together.”

  
“Is that a joke?”

  
“Am I allowed one?”

  
“If it’s actually funny.”

  
The day had progressed with highs and lows. On the one hand, the librarian
guided them through a vast literature on communicating with the dead to a few
cases where people did, if the accounts really could be as trusted as
historical deduction suggested, speak to the dead. On the other, these accounts
were well in the past with no lead.

  
“A shame we can’t speak to that woman who solved murders,” Joe said, chewing
his lip.

  
“Because you have a thing for tragic redheads, or because hanging her was a
bastard thing to do?” Dee asked. She didn’t get an answer.

  
“I can’t help but note,” Pohl began, “that everyone in these accounts meets a,
let’s just say sticky end.”

  
“It was rarely a good idea to antagonise the church, or your peers,” the
librarian commented, “and the freedom Britain allows people over the occult
today is truly remarkable.”

  
“Yeah Joe,” Nazir commented, “they could have burnt you twice over for the
occult and the quantum physics once.”

  
“Quantum Physics?” The librarian asked.

  
“Yes,” Joe said, and decided to toot his horn. “I’m a fully qualified quantum
biologist.”

  
“Good lord!”

  
“Yes, it is quite impress…”

  
“No, sorry, no, I meant good lord, there’s something you should see…” And the
librarian scurried off to the other side of the cramped room, pulled a drawer
open, and came back with a collection of loose leaf magazines.

  
“This was written in 1938, and is about the disappearance of Doctor Jeremiah
Buckley. He was working at the very start of quantum theory, and exchanged
letters with Planck among others. Fully Oxbridge educated, he taught at both
early on in his career and then moved all his work to a country house he’d
inherited, where he told his friends and colleagues he was working on a quantum
communication device allowing instant exchanges from wherever you were in the
globe, perhaps even the solar system. This much is agreed and can be found in
the relevant research books. But this article is the only one which interviewed
a certain colleague of Buckley’s, who revealed that the Doctor claimed he’d
been able to speak to the dead using his machine. That was only a few weeks
before he vanished, and all his work went with him.”

  
The librarian now came back to earth, looked at Joe, and planned to smile, but
he realised the young scientist had gone completely white. “Mr le Tissier?”

  
“That’s…”

  
“Is that true?” Dee asked, looking at the magazine.

  
“Well, the report is there, whether such a thing is possible or not, I don’t
know.”

  
“Someone might have done, someone might have…” and Joe shut up when Nazir
stepped on his foot.

  
“Does this house survive?” Pohl asked.

  
“I do not know.”

  
“I’ll look it up,” Nazir said, and he rushed for his laptop, which had been
used to type notes into.