Dead Girl Found

by Giles Ekins

  Paramedics worked on him ceaselessly but when the ambulance finally reached the West Garside General Hospital, DCI George Chatham was pronounced Dead on Arrival.

  Five

  He wasn’t looking forward to the evening at all, but his wife was insistent.

  Newcastle United were playing Real Madrid in the Champions League, the game showing live on Sky Sports and he’d far rather be watching that than going through this purgatory again, but Janet wouldn’t listen. They’d already had one row about it before leaving the house.

  Donald Jarrett drive slowly down Chapel Street, in the Easedale district of West Garside, looking for a space to park

  ‘There’ pointed Janet, ‘behind that blue Golf.’

  ‘Yeah, I see.’

  He signalled and expertly reversed the silver Volvo S90 into the space.

  ‘Are you sure we have to go through this again?’ he asked again.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Janet snapped in annoyance and got out of the car before Donald could say anything else. .With a heavy sigh of resignation, he waited for a car to pass before getting out, catching her up as she strode away.

  ‘Listen Janet, I told you, Newcastle are playing tonight. Big important game. Real Madrid. I don’t really want to miss it, you know? Can’t we just go back home and forget about this nonsense?’

  ‘Football’s more important to you than your daughter, is that what you’re telling me?

  ‘No. No, it’s not that. You know it’s not that,’ he said as he tried to take her arm. ‘But she’s gone, Janet. Gone. And we have to move on. You know that. And you know you’ll only get upset all over again.’

  The heels on Janet’s shoe clacked angrily as she pushed past his arm.

  ‘No, you’re wrong. I do get comfort, Donald. Solace. There are often other people who’ve been through the same thing, who’ve had similar tragedies. I can talk to them.’ She stopped, a tear rolling down her face, angrily she wiped it away.

  ‘You won’t ever talk about it, Donald. Ever. And I’m always thinking about it. She’s on my mind all day, every single day and I have to understand what happened. I need to know why. What did we do so wrong, so very wrong that she ended up like that? Didn’t we love her enough? I need to know and it’s killing me, and this is the only way I’ll ever find out.’

  ‘Spiritualism? Communing with the dead? It’s bollocks, Janet. All bollocks. You know it and I know it, but you just won’t admit it to yourself.’

  .’Well I’m going. Don’t come if you don’t want to. Take the car and go home, watch your stupid bloody football. I’ll walk home,’ and at that Janet strode away again.

  Donald caught up with her. ‘No, no, don’t be like that. I’ll come, of course I’ll come, but this is the last time, OK? The very last one. The very last time we waste our time and money on rubbish like this.

  ‘No Donald, I’ll go whenever I want to, but you don’t have to come anymore. You don’t believe in it anyway.’

  ‘No, no I don’t. I think they’re all con-men, preying on the emotionally distressed. If you want my opinion, these so called spiritualists, whatever you want to call them, are frauds and con-men.’

  ‘But you miss the point, don’t you, if bereaved people find some comfort, some solace, what’s the harm?’

  ‘It means that they’re taking money under false presences. It’s fraud however you look at it’.

  ’Fine! You’ve made your point. Can we go in now?’

  The Easedale Community Hall had been built in the 1950’s; flat-roofed with a pebble dash and paint exterior, it looked shabby, unwanted and it was only the dedication of volunteer workers that kept it open, with bingo nights, children’s parties, ballet lessons, art, yoga, tai chi and activities such as this evenings event.

  It began to rain again as Donald and Janet hurried up to the doorway of the hall. A flyer mounted in a glass fronted outdoor notice board proclaimed:

  AN EVENING OF SPIRITUALISM

  Do you want to communicate with Your Dear Departed Loved-ones?

  The renowned spiritualist and clairvoyant SEBASTION SERRANO will hold a meeting at the Easedale Community Centre, Chapel Street, West Garside

  Wednesday 15 August at 7.30 pm.

  All are Welcome.

  Private Consultations are available by prior appointment.

  Admission: Advance Tickets: £17.00 for purchase at: sales@spiritualism4U.com

  At the door: £18.00. cash only.

  Janet handed their tickets to a girl volunteer wearing a purple T shirt with Easedale Community Centre in yellow letters embroidered across the chest. She directed them into smaller side room rather than the main hall

  ‘Not many people have bought tickets for tonight,’ she told them, ‘so Sebastian thought it might be more intimate in the small room, more conducive for the spirits, he says,’ but the look on her face clearly showed what she thought of it all.

  Red plastic chairs had been laid out in a shallow curving layout facing one end of the room. At most there were twenty people in the audience and so Donald and Janet could take seats in the second row as another half dozen people trickled into the room and took their seats.

  Donald looked around him, curling his lip in disdain at the cheap, shoddy surroundings, grey vinyl tiles on the floor, off-white paint with a greenish tinge on the walls, fissured ceiling tiles laid on a white enamelled grid and suspended fluorescent strip lighting, ‘Jesus, this guy, whatever his name, Serrano, must be at the bottom of the spiritualist’s league if this is the best venue he can get.’.

  Donald Jarrett was 58 years old, a shade under 6’0’’ tall with a full head of greying blonde hair. He was successful, well-respected in the business community, liked in his neighbourhood but as with his wife Janet, his world had been turned upside down with the death of his daughter. Julia’s death had ripped his heart to shreds, he thought about her every day. He lay in bed at night unable to sleep for the pain of it and so found Janet’s accusations that he did not care intensely hurtful.

  All right, he knew that he internalised his grief, held it inside of him and maybe did not express it as openly as others might. But it did not mean that he did not care. That he was not torn apart and hurting but life goes on, must go on, and to his mind, these seances and spiritualist meetings, far from being a healing process as Janet claimed, simply kept the wounds open and raw, bringing a fresh injection of grief that every failed attempt to contact Julia from beyond the shades of death brought with it.

  .They had journeyed across Yorkshire and Derbyshire to countless seances and spiritualist meetings in search of the answers Janet craved; to Sheffield, Huddersfield, Leeds, Scarborough Chesterfield, Derby and Buxton. Janet scoured the internet for details of forthcoming meetings, hundreds of miles driven, hundreds of pounds in entrance fees, And all of it for nothing.

  Janet’s life was on hold and tonight’s miserable offering was not going to be any different.

  He checked his watch again, almost 7.30. ‘Maybe this farce’ll be over soon, and I can get back for the second half’ but to his annoyance Serrano did not enter until 7.40, as a smattering of applause greeted his arrival. ‘About bloody time,’ Donald thought.

  He was younger than Janet expected, mid-thirties possibly, quite short, short brown hair that had already retreated to the top of his head, he was wearing a blue denim jacket, pale blue open-necked shirt, cream linen trousers and tan Timberland loafers without socks and held a microphone in his right hand. He spread his arms out in welcome and gave his audience a beaming smile, any disappointment he felt at the meagre numbers well hidden.

  ‘Good evening and welcome, ladies and gentlemen, especially gentlemen, as I do know there are some important football matches this evening. Unfortunately, even though I am clairvoyant I cannot tell you what the scores will be.’

  ‘Tosser!’ thought Donald, determined to be scornful about the entire event.

  ‘Firstly, a word of caution’, Serrano continued, ‘the spirit world is not
at our beck and call. It is not like picking up a telephone or texting on your mobile to make contact and receive a message. Now I am hopeful, nay confident, that we shall contact loved ones who have passed but of course this cannot be guaranteed.’

  Donald leaned over to whisper in Janet’s ear, ‘See, he’s making his excuses already if he can’t communicate with anybody. Like I told you, a fraud.’

  ‘Shushhhhhh,’ she hissed back at him.

  Serrano spread his arms out again. ‘Now, if I can have some quiet and we’ll begin. And please turn off your mobiles, there is nothing more distressing than a mobile phone going off when we are in middle of a communication. Thank you.’

  There a rustling of clothes as mobiles were pulled out from pockets or from the depths of handbags and turned off. Donald pretended turn his off also, but only put it onto silent, he fully intended to check on the Newcastle/Real Madrid score as often as he could.

  Serrano took in deep theatrical breath, closed his eyes and steepled his hands together as if in prayer, resting his chin on his fingertips. For a minute or two he stood like that, the silence broken only by a discreet cough. He opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling before taking another deep breath.

  ‘I’m getting…getting…a William? Do we have a William with us tonight?’

  An elderly man seated four seats away from Janet and Donald raised his hand and as Janet looked around, another slightly younger man towards the rear also raised his hand.

  ‘Oh, there are two of you. I’m getting William’s wife. Have either of you gentlemen lost a wife, a wife who passed over recently?’

  Both men raised their arms, although the man seated close to Janet and Donald stood up and glared angrily at the other, as if accusing him of deliberately interfering with the contact with his departed wife.

  ‘Hey, once again, the both of you, Right. Well I’m sorry to say that it is not coming through very clearly, just now. Whoever it was seems to have gone for the moment, but we’ll try again later. Please sit down, sir, I can feel your black aura and it is disturbing the spirit world. Please sit.’

  With another furious glare at the other bereaved man, he sat down with as much of a display of disgust as he could muster. Sebastian Serrano took a deep breath, desperate to bring the meeting back under control.

  ‘Sorry gents’ he said soothingly, ‘I know that you are anxious to hear from your loved ones, but a hostile atmosphere is not forthcoming, not welcoming for the spirits. As I say, the spirit world can be fickle at times, but I am getting something through now.’

  He let the anticipation rise, if nothing else he knew how to work an audience. After a stretched out pause he finally said, ’Doris, I’m getting the name Doris. Is there a Doris with us tonight?’

  A rather large elderly lady with blue tinted hair, wearing a yellow flowered dress raised her hand, and then stood up.

  ‘I’m Doris. Doris Parsons. Is it for me?’

  ‘Hello Doris. Doris love, I’m hearing Henry, Does the name Henry mean anything to you?’

  ‘Henry? Henry, yes, my husband.’

  ‘Doris, I have Henry with me now. You lost him recently, is that right?’

  ‘Hardly, no. It was six years ago.’

  Serrano was slightly taken aback but quickly recovered his composure. ‘Six years ago? Well darling, in the spirit world, six years is nothing at all, almost like yesterday. Anyway, Doris, Henry is thinking of you. Thinks of you all the time and loves and misses you.’

  ‘Huh! He never did when he was alive so why should he be bothering now?’

  Donald snorted in derision, Janet dug him in the ribs with her elbow and hisses at him to be quiet again.

  ‘No, he’s long gone and best forgotten,’ Doris continued, ‘I’ve come here to hear from my sister. My twin sister Doreen who passed just a while ago.’

  ‘Sorry, Doris love. I’m not getting anything from a Doreen, but we’ll keep trying, won’t we, we’ve got all night. OK, darling?’

  Doris was not pleased but sat down again and whispered something to her companion, a thin faced woman who nodded in agreement with whatever was said.

  Serrano steepled hid hands again, closed his eyes and nodded his head back and forth, as if in a trance.

  ‘I’m getting a William again. Mary. Does the name Mary mean anything to either of you?’

  Both men nod and raise their hands.

  ‘Oh, once again it’s the two of you, you’ve both lost a Mary recently, how sad, how very sad. Oh, right. Which one of you gentlemen has James as a middle name?

  The bereaved man to the rear raised his hand. ‘That’s me, I’m William James. William James Furness,.’ as the other William slumped down into is seat and held his head in his hands, as if defeated in an argument or fight.

  ‘I’m so sorry sir, the other William that is, I hope we can contact your dear Mary later. OK? Anyway, William James, Mary says she’s fine, sends her love to you and the children. Oh, and to the grandchildren. Says you must see the doctor about that cough, that you re not to worry about her and you will be reunited in your love one day. Is that all right? Good. Thank you. God bless you. Thank you.’

  Sebastian took a drink from a bottle of mineral water and then went back into his steepled hands and closed eye routine again as Donald sneaked a look at the score, still 0-0. Eyes still closed, Serrano held the audience waiting for a tension-filled minute or more before he turned his head to one side and said, ‘Janet. I’m now getting a Janet. Do we have a Janet with us tonight?’

  Janet jerked back in cold shock, jolted to her core as a tsunami of emotions swept over her. She felt breathless, her stomach in turmoil, her heart pounding. ‘Janet? I’m Janet,’ she said softly as she tremblingly raised her hand, clutching the other hand to her heart.

  ’Hello Janet, tell me love, does the name…Julia mean anything to you?’ Even Donald rocked back in shocked surprise. ‘Shit, maybe this guy is for real.’

  Yes. Yes, oh yes. Julia! My darling daughter Julia.’

  ‘Janet, I have Julia with me now. She’s asking…is Daddy there?’

  Donald could hardly speak but then got himself under control. ‘Yes. Sweetheart. Daddy’s here.’

  Sebastian half turned his back to the audience before facing them again. He opened his mouth and began to speak. But the voice that came out was not that of Serrano, but rather that of a girl or woman, the voice was high pitched, agitated and angry but distinctly that of a young female. Despite the microphone in Serrano’s hand. those at the back still had to strain to hear the words, but Donald and Janet, seated no more than six feet away heard every word clearly and the hairs at the back of Donald’s head stood on end.

  ‘Daddy, you bastard! You evil, fucking bastard. All those things you made me do when Mummy wasn’t there. The things you did to me. Our little secret you called it. That’s what little girls who love their Daddy are supposed to do, you said. I hope your dick rots and falls off. Burn in Hell, burn in Hell you fucking bastard.’

  With a scream of anguish, Janet turned to Donald, berating him, beating on his chest with her fists.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t. I never touched her, Janet, never. I swear.’

  ‘Then why is she saying that? Why? Why? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s all lies. Lies. I never did. I promise. Never.’

  ‘So why, why would she make up such a thing. You bastard. Bastard. Get away from me.’

  Others in the audience, after recovering from their shock began to shout imprecations and swear at Donald. The disappointed William, four seats away, jabbed a finger at Donald, ‘Paedophile. Fucking paedophile. You want locking up, you do, you scum, throw the keys away. Paedo!’

  The hall was in uproar with shouts of ‘bastard, paedo, scum, monster, bastard-paedo, scum, filth, you piece of fucking shit’ ringing round the walls. Sebastian Serrano, sensing disaster, made a hurried, unnoticed exit through the door he came through, out to the backstage area of the hall.

  ‘Janet, I swe
ar, I swear on my life that I never touched her. Ever!’ Donald turned to face the baying crowd, holding his arms out in supplication, although some were already making their way to the exit in disgust, ‘I never, never did anything to her,’ he pleaded, ’She was my daughter for God’s sake. I never touched her.’

  ‘Fucking liar,’ someone shouted. ‘we all heard it, you scumbag. Get out of here before I kick your face in.’

  ‘Honest. Janet, I swear on everything. I…never…touched...her.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. That’s why she went the way she did, isn’t it? The drugs, the overdose. All because of you and what you did to her.’

  Donald wrung his hands in agitation, how could he make her see, how could he her believe. It was a nightmare. He was a respectable middle aged, well thought-of, basically decent man accused of one of the vilest crimes a man can commit, sexual assaults on his own daughter.

  ‘No. No. It’s all lies. All lies,’ but it sounded tame and false even as he said it

  ‘Then why is she saying it, if it’s not true?’

  ‘Yeah, what about that?’ demanded one of the more aggressive accusers.

  Just then, another Easedale volunteer entered the hall, waving her arms up and down for quiet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry but we are unable to continue, Mr Serrano feels that the ambience is not conducive to further consultations. Please make your way to the exit. Regretfully, there can be no refunds. Thank you.’

  ‘That’s thirty-four quid down the drain,’ someone else grumbled. The rest of the audience made their way to the exit, apart from one of the more belligerent men. He was only about 5’7’’ in height but bristled with aggression, fists clenched in anger ‘I see you in the street, pal, I’ll fucking do you, you scum,’ and pushed Donald in the chest with a stiff finger before stomping out to where his wife was waiting. Only Donald and Janet now remained in the room.

  Janet, her arms crossed in fierce anger, stared at Donald. ‘How could you do it? How could you do that to Julia? Tell me. How?’