Ghost Castle (The Ghost Files Book 8)

by Chanel Smith

  After Fabio, I was afraid of getting bogged down because I was tempted to look deeper. I could do that later, but I needed to quickly compile a list for Ariel to compare against the list of donors at El Castillo. When I finished, I had 20 names of cartel members living in prison, released from prison or dead. Among those names were the Ochoa brothers, the eldest of whom helped Escobar in founding the cartel. One name on the list really stood out to me. I’m not sure if it was his nickname or the preponderance of information that had been provided by him about the cartel. My attention turned toward Jhon Jairo “Popeye” Valásquez.

  Popeye was the bloodiest of Escobar’s hitmen, his chief bodyguard and driver up until he was captured in October of 1992 and served 22 years in prison before being released in 2014. Popeye was alleged to have ordered the deaths of more than 3,000 people and had killed more than 300 by his own hand. It was certainly a large list and would have put him in prison for life if he had been arrested after extradition was made possible by Colombia. As it was, he served his sentence and was free.

  What intrigued me most about Popeye was that he was very willing to give interviews and help out with filling in what went on inside of the cartel. Several of the interviews had been published only a few months before Ellen and I had gotten the call to come to Medellin. As I scanned through the articles, I made a note that he had been assisting Colombian law enforcement in recent operations, though for obvious reasons, no details were given.

  I was considering how valuable it would be if we could somehow enlist Popeye’s help to solve our case when I ran across his social media page. “Jesus. What is this world coming to?” I muttered.

  “What are you mumbling about?” Ellen asked, startling me as she appeared on the balcony behind me.

  “How was your bath, Babe?” I asked.

  “I’m renewed and ready to go. What are you looking at?” she asked, peering over my shoulder.

  “Would you believe that I’m looking at the social media page of the bloodiest of Pablo Escobar’s hitmen, personal bodyguard and driver?”

  “Nothing surprises me anymore,” she laughed.

  “The guy has probably forgotten more about Pablo Escobar than most people ever knew about him, except for maybe his wife and his mama.”

  “Probably even more than his wife,” Ellen replied.

  “The dude served 22 years in prison after being responsible for more than 3,000 deaths. He was released last year and he gave several interviews a little over two months ago. He’s working with law enforcement authorities now,” I summarized for her. “It sure would be nice if we could get his help.”

  “We can always ask,” she said.

  “Something like that would probably require more time than we have available to us,” I replied.

  “Then we better hurry,” she quipped.

  “But I don’t even know who to talk to or how.”

  “You have his social media page, don’t you?”

  “If it’s really him who set it up. It could be a joke or a trap.”

  “Then talk to Ariel,” she responded.

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I’m just telling you to give it a try,” she said, walking away. She turned back and added, “Ariel is on his way over to pick up your list anyway, so ask him what he thinks. Remember, he has friends on the police force. He might have other friends.”

  Believe it or not, though he was a bit skeptical about there being any chance that Escobar’s former bodyguard would come to help us, he did know someone who could at least make the request.

  “How would he be able to help us?” Ariel asked.

  “Well, if he was that close to Escobar, then he would certainly recognize our ghost, that is, if we can get him to reveal himself to us again. If he identifies our ghost, then he might be able to provide some leads that will get us closer. I don’t need to remind you that we don’t have much time.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Ariel responded. He took the paper that I extended to him. “Is this your list?

  “Cartel members, Popeye and Alvaro de Jesús Agudelo, the bodyguard who died along with Escobar.”

  “It’s a good start. I’ll get it to Jovani and get started on making phone calls about Popeye,” he said as he turned to leave the room.

  “Do the best you can,” I replied. “It’s a long shot, but it’s certainly worth trying.”

  Ariel’s best was better than I thought it would be. To my startled delight, Ariel called later that afternoon and informed me that he’d gotten in touch with someone who had delivered a message to the former Escobar bodyguard and that Popeye had called him back personally. He would be coming in to Medellin later that night to help us out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I came because I was intrigued by what Ariel told me about what you’re doing here,” Popeye grinned, speaking in accented English, but proving that he had a pretty decent command of the language. He, like so many notorious criminals, looked like a regular guy, shorter and smaller than one expected a man who had ordered killed or personally killed more than 3,300 people to be.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” I responded, extending my hand toward him. Yes, it was a little strange, but that’s what you do when you have been introduced to someone. “This is my wife, Ellen, she’s the one who is actually in charge.”

  Popeye accepted Ellen’s hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” she responded.

  “So,” he said, starting right in, “my understanding is that you want my help in identifying a ghost. I know little more than that, other than you think that he was connected to the boss and that we only have until December 1 to figure this out.”

  “That’s the short version,” Ellen said, taking charge of the meeting. It was already 10:30 p.m. by the time he arrived at El Castillo to meet us. There wasn’t much time for a long version. “The spirit that we encountered is extremely angry and violent. He’s been very elusive when it comes to answering our questions or revealing himself…”

  “Wait a second,” Popeye interrupted. “If he hasn’t revealed himself, how do you know that he’s there and what his temperament is like?”

  I broke in at that point. “Ellen is able to communicate with spirits, feel what they are feeling and among other things, solve their problems. Trust me, she knows.”

  “That’s a pretty amazing gift,” Popeye grinned. His expression told me that he was impressed.

  “It has its moments,” Ellen responded. She didn’t belabor the point, but went straight back to the briefing that she had started to give Popeye. “Other than appearing last night and screaming at Ariel, he has said two things which hold a great deal of significance. The first was ‘silver or lead,’ which you already are well acquainted with and the other was ‘remember the Alborrada,’ which is what he screamed at Ariel before disappearing last night. We initially thought that it was the spirit of Escobar but after seeing his image last night, Ariel assured us that it wasn’t him.”

  “The silver and lead thing is Escobar to a tee, but, no, he was ten years in the grave when the Alborrada started in Medellin. I saw my first one last year,” he grinned. “I was otherwise detained before that.”

  “Our goal tonight is to either communicate with him again, and draw more information out of him, or to get him to reveal himself in your presence and see if you can identify him. Are you okay with assisting in that?”

  “Are you asking if I’m afraid of ghosts?”

  “Essentially, yes,” Ellen answered. “The first time that someone has an encounter with a being from the world beyond, it can be very frightening.”

  “Okay,” he chuckled softly. “You do know who you are talking to, right?”

  “We do,” I answered. That same Latino machismo had been presented several days before by Ariel and he had nearly wet himself three times. Of course, Ariel couldn’t really be compared to the personal bodyguard and head hitman of Pablo Escobar when it c
ame to having been in some pretty scary situations. I did know, however, that I hadn’t been nearly as calm and collected as I would have liked to be my first time either. “It’s more frightening that you might imagine.”

  “Okay,” Popeye started in again. “We’re going to try to make contact with a ghost that’s connected to Pablo in some way. Why do we have to solve this before December 1?”

  “The past two years, this same spirit has appeared here at El Castillo and destroyed exhibits and torn things up for exactly one week, beginning at midnight of November 25 and ending at midnight of December 1.”

  “The Alborrada and Pablo’s birthday,” Popeye muttered. “I can see why your ghost seems to be connected to Escobar. Why here and why during this particular time?”

  “That’s what we are trying to figure out,” Ellen responded. “We are hoping that if you can identify the spirit and then give us some background into the person, we might be able to make the necessary connections to answer those questions.”

  “Makes sense,” he nodded. “So, what do we do? You’re the boss, right?”

  Popeye glanced around at me after the last question to make sure that he had heard me right concerning who was in charge.

  “If you are willing to help us out,” Ellen answered. “Then we would like to ask you to accompany us as we get ready to make contact and hopefully communicate with the spirit in, about an hour.”

  “Okay,” he said, shrugging. “That sounds simple enough. How do we do that?”

  “Monty has some specialized instruments that help us to know when the spirit is getting near to us and in which direction he is moving. Once we are close to him, I am able to ascertain his presence and his spirit. Sometimes, I can read a spirit’s thoughts, but mostly, I am able to read their dispositions. On occasion, when the need arises, we have linked spirits—through an alternate means that I won’t go into at this point—and been able to place Monty or another person in the spirit’s presence instead of trying to get them to reveal themselves. In this case, challenging his courage and manhood has been enough to draw him out.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Popeye summarized. “This spirit is arrogant, angry, violent and only appears when you challenge his manhood?”

  “Essentially, yes,” Ellen answered.

  “You’ve just described nearly every member, associate member or henchman in the Medellin cartel,” he laughed. “What happens if it’s someone that I don’t recognize? You know, there could be a lot of ghosts associated with the cartel over the span of 30-plus years.”

  “That is a possibility, but we won’t know until we try it, right?” Ellen smiled.

  “Then I’m in.”

  It didn’t dawn on me until Ellen, Ariel and I were wandering through the darkened castle a little more than thirty minutes later that a convicted killer—of not just a few people, but of hundreds who were personally killed or thousands who were ordered killed—was alone with us. To be completely honest, that was more frightening to me than any paranormal encounter we’d experienced.

  The interviews I’d read had said that he had been converted while in prison and that he had put all of that behind him and began a new life, but my skepticism was back in full force. Could a person ever, completely get over being something that they had been before? Perhaps a lower-level criminal could, but the man beside me was no lower-level criminal, he was a killer. A chill went through me and I kept a very close eye on Ellen.

  Have we just made a really stupid mistake? The thought wouldn’t leave my mind while I got my instruments ready, made sure that there were fresh batteries, not only in the equipment, but readily available and checked to ensure that the Bluetooth connection between the instrument and my smartphone was active.

  Bringing Popeye in to help had been my idea. If it was successful and he was able to provide some new leads or maybe even break the case, then it would prove to have been a good idea. However, things could turn bad really fast and Ellen and I would be helpless to do anything about it. I had to force those thoughts out of my mind and focus my concentration. It’s too late now anyway, Monty.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Those are some pretty cool instruments you’ve got there; what do they do?” Popeye asked, moving up beside me to examine the two instruments.

  “This one,” I said, presenting the K2 meter, “measures magnetic energy. There is a significant increase in magnetic energy during a paranormal event; in this case, it is the presence of a spirit.”

  “Really,” he said. “Does it really work? Like in the Ghostbusters movie?”

  “Not exactly like in the movies, but yes, there is some pretty significant data to support the magnetic energy theories that surround paranormal events.”

  “Cool. And the other one?” He pointed to the other, which was a combination instrument.

  “Well, among other things, this one measures temperature. There is a correlation between sudden temperature drops and a spiritual presence. In fact, what we’ve discovered recently is that the lower the temperature, the greater the intensity of the spirit’s anger. This particular spirit has hit some record lows.”

  “Doña Ellen said that this spirit was angry. You can measure that by temperature?”

  “Well, a combination of temperature and my wife, really.”

  “Can she really communicate with spirits and do all of those things that she said?” He leaned in close and whispered the question. “I mean, really?”

  “I’ve seen her do some things that I would have never believed possible,” I responded. “She can do things that I don’t understand and probably never will.”

  “Who can ever understand the mysteries of a woman? Am I right?”

  Having Escobar’s former bodyguard acting so friendly with me was off-putting, to say the least. Aloof or even grumpy would have put me more at ease, but then a thought hit me. What sort of life had he lived? What sort of proper social boundaries and interactions would he have been taught and by whom? What had he learned in prison to help him with proper intercommunication skills? From what I could gather from the interviews I read, Popeye likely remained isolated after prison because a lot of people still wished him dead. He probably never got a chance for any kind of normal interaction, especially in a strange and probably anxious moment.

  “This is well beyond those mysteries,” I chuckled. I looked at my watch and knew that we were getting close to the time when our guest would be arriving. “Okay, I don’t want to cut you off, but we’re at ‘go time’ and we need to stay focused, you understand?”

  “I understand,” he responded. “Do what you have to do and don’t mind me.”

  Moments later, I saw the needle on the K2 flicker. “I got a flicker,” I called out.

  “Temp?” Ellen asked.

  “No change,” I answered. I watched the thermometer. “No, wait, it dropped a couple of degrees.”

  “Got a direction?”

  “Not yet.” I watched the K2 and the thermometer at the same time as I turned a full circle. The needle stayed steady at midrange and I stopped. The temperature dropped as well. “This way. You got him yet?”

  “Faintly.”

  “Okay, let’s move forward, then.”

  We started walking in the direction that the instruments were leading me.

  “I’ve got him,” Ellen said. “Not as angry tonight.”

  “Temp is in the 30s,” I responded. “It’s not dropping much. K2 is pegged.”

  “Are you here?” Ellen called out.

  Ariel quickly jumped in to do his job.

  “Can you tell us who you are and what you’re doing here?”

  She waited as Ariel translated.

  “He’s circling me like he did the first night, but he’s calmer, not as violent. I wonder what changed. I think he knows that we’re trying to help.” She called out again. “We are here to help you. How can we help you?”

  “No puede ayudarme,” he responded.

  “He
said that we can’t help him,” Ariel translated.

  “Quien es?” Ellen asked. “Reveal yourself to us.”

  Ariel translated the second part.

  “I really don’t want to get nasty like I did last night, so make it easy and just show yourself. We want to help you.”

  It took much longer for Ariel to translate and we waited for a response of some sort.

  “He’s moving away,” I pointed out, seeing my instruments change. I fixed his direction of movement and started moving in that direction. I glanced briefly at Ellen and then at Popeye. His eyes were wide, but his posture suggested that he was still skeptical. I didn’t have time to worry over that. I moved my focus back to my instruments.

  “He’s definitely calmer tonight,” Ellen commented. “But still skittish.”

  “Can he hear me if I speak?” Popeye broke in.

  I held up a hand in his direction, but kept looking at my instruments. “He stopped again.”

  “He’s coming back toward us. Maybe he recognized Popeye’s voice,” Ellen said. “He’s curious. What the hell, talk to him. See if you can get him to show himself or, at least, identify himself.”

  “Hey,” Popeye called out in Spanish. “It’s Popeye, who are you?”

  “He’s moving in your direction,” Ellen said. “Do you feel him?”

  “It’s sort of cold,” Popeye responded. “No, it’s really cold. Is that him?”

  “Probably,” Ellen said. “Try to remain calm and ask him to show himself.”

  “Who are you?” Popeye called out. “Show yourself. We want to help you.”

  “His anger level is rising,” Ellen said.

  “That tracks,” I responded. I saw the temperature drop down into the low 20s just like it had before.

  “Popeye must have irritated him in some way,” Ellen said.

  “I irritated him?” Popeye’s eyes widened with fear. “What did I do? What did I say?”