by Robert Wilde
It was soon established that Mr. Callahan lived alone after a divorce three years earlier, and his wife had got the house and the kids, while he’d got the dog, which did put the officers climbing into their body armour with the relief that they were unlikely to cause any two legged collateral damage. Then they raced to the house, surrounded it, marched up to the front door and went right in before the presumed violent killer had a chance to flee.
An armed officer swept the hall, automatic weapon aiming ahead, black body armour protecting them, a helmet on their head. Then they swept the living room as other armed officers rushed upstairs, and then the kitchen, as they called out this was the police and Callahan was very much under arrest. The first officer only found life as he went into a back room. There, kneeling on the ground was Dave Callahan, a large man who could have seriously resisted arrest, and who seemed to already be in a position of surrender. The officer quickly circled the room to see the front of Mr Callahan, and the pleasure at the absence of weapons or running away was paused as they realised the man was crying. Not a few tears, but full on weeping, his eyes red and his face sodden.
A hand was raised for silence, and everything came to a halt. Callahan was repeating something over and over, something hard to make out under the crying, but slowly, as they craned forward, fingers off triggers, they managed to make out “he’s gone, he’s left me, he’s gone, he’s left me…”
The officer at the front lowered her gun, looked at her fellows, and mouthed “he’s a mental.”
Dave Callahan was cuffed, put into the back of a police car and driven away by an officer who’d really rather not be just in front of a huge crying man. But the delivery to the station went smoothly enough, and soon Callahan was in a cell, while Jeff returned ready to conduct an interview. The time between the call coming from Dino Mania and the arrest was well within every government imposed deadline, and this case was coming together well. Now all they needed was for Callahan to admit what he’d done and they could all have a nice lunch and sign it off.
Jeff carried a plate full of coffees from the machine and through to the interview room, and by the time he opened the door he just had two left, one for him and one for Detective Constable Smithers, a wonderful woman who should have changed her name about twenty seven years ago.
Callahan had stopped crying, and was sat ashen faced, not an unusual position in this room. With the coffee handed over and the recording system on, Jeff began.
“Hello, can you confirm you’re Dave Callahan?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s me.”
“Good. Can you tell me where you were this morning?”
“I woke up at usual because it was a work day, had breakfast in my house, took my dog to my neighbours to care for, then I came into work and killed Smuts.”
Jeff raised an eyebrow. This was going so well something terrible was about to happen wasn’t it.
“You admit that you killed Smuts?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, how did you do it?”
“I picked him up, carried him over and threw him onto Jim’s horns.”
“Jim being a concrete dinosaur?”
“Yes.”
“And why did you do this?”
“He told me to.”
Ah, thought Jeff, some wider conspiracy to pin down. An extra layer. “And who is he?”
“The voice. The voice in my head.”
Fuck, thought Jeff, we have a live one. Time to call the psychiatrist. But a few more questions…
“Whose voice is it?”
“Was, was, he’s gone, he went as soon as I killed Smuts, he’s gone!”
“Okay, okay,” please god don’t start crying again, “why did he tell you to kills Smuts?”
“He was offended. The dinosaurs in our park, they’re shit compared to proper dinosaurs. He says we’re a disgrace and he wanted Smuts dead.”
That was not what Jeff had been expecting. “You killed a man over his wonky dinosaur models?”
“Yes.”
This was going to end up on a television programme wasn’t it. “Who was the voice and when did you first hear him?”
“A year, yeah, a year. He called himself Derick.”
“Derick?”
“Yeah.”
“Derick the Dinosaur pedant?”
“Detective…” Smithers butted in.
“Yeah, okay, why did he leave?”
“I don’t know!” And it turned into a howl of anger.
“I think we should bring the psychiatrist in now.” Jeff turned to Callahan’s lawyer, who was sat there open mouthed. Jeff smiled at him.
“It’s pleasing to see we’re not the only ones thinking that.”
The cafe had not changed why they'd been away: it was still in the middle of nowhere, it still got a very restricted clientele, it still tasted the same. But the effect on the trio, or quartet depending on how you viewed Joe, was massive deja vu.
“I feel like I’ve been here before,” Nazir joked, and soon four coffees were ordered of various types, and the three were sat at a table. Nazir picked the fourth drink up, looked round, realised Joe was dead, and said “fuck. Why didn't you say something?”
“I'm not a huge fan of this being dead thing, I don't need to keep reminding myself.”
“Right, well, don't tell me when I’m ordering you beer.” He put the mug next to his own.
“These pastries are nice,” Pohl noted, holding something that seemed ninety per cent synthetic cream and ten per cent hope. Dee' phone rang.
“Ooh, Jeff,” and the detective explained they had Callahan in custody and he confessed to it all. Then he mentioned the other small detail, before going.
“It appears we don't have much of a case to investigate,” although it did mostly come out of Pohl's mouth full of pastry.
“Nope,” Dee confirmed, “they've got him, on film, a confession, written notes. Clear cut.”
“Well, it's good actual police work still catches people.” Nazir finished by picking his cake up.
“Maybe there is something,” Joe said from his box.
“What?”
If he could have turned to Dee, he would. “The voice in his head.”
Pohl swallowed. “You believe he invented it for a lighter sentence?”
“Sorry, no, the opposite, what if the voice was real? What if something was in his head, speaking to him until he cracked and did it.”
Dee smiled and leaned forward. “A spirit voice?”
“Yes. What if a spirit could move, hone in, really speak.”
“It would make our assessments of a great many criminals and ill people very different.”
“Yes professor! Exactly!” If he could have jumped from his chair Joe would.
Dee sipped her coffee and thought. “Have you seen any signs of this?”
“No, I was mostly in the Array's bunker base thing...”
“You make it sound like a Bond villain.”
“...and then with you. But it's worth pursuing?”
“Yes,” Dee agreed, “it’s worth following up. But how?”
“We can go and start with Callahan's place, see if it's hanging around anywhere.”
“A plan indeed.”
“First let’s finish these cakes,” Nazir added.
“Of course. We could have an actual lunch at some point too,” Dee suggested.
“There's enough sugar in that to get you to tea.”
“There's enough sugar in this to get me to Mars. The crash will be like a three bottle hangover. Where are you going?”
“To get another one.”
“You'll be like a two year old, running around hyper!”
“Thanks sister. Be sure to close the nursery door after me, you don’t want to see what the toy soldiers and I are planning.”
“Oh Jesus, stop killing my childhood.”
“You had toy soldiers?” Joe asked.
“I had soldier bears wearing busbies.”
Pohl leant forward. “You had bears wearing other bears as hats?”
“Err... I've never thought of it like that before. Thanks for ruining it.”
“What if he’s got a burglar alarm?”
The quartet had waited until it was evening, the dark part where people still went out but you couldn’t really see, and they’d driven round to the address they’d got off the internet for one Dave Callahan. As they pulled up outside, seeing a closed front door with police tape on it, Pohl had raised a question she felt pertinent.
“When have we ever worried about those?” Dee asked, getting out and nearly slipping on the wet leaves underfoot. “Fuck, is this tree dying?”
“I know we come and go as we please with regards other people’s property, but do you think we’re taking too much of a risk?”
“Pohl, look,” and Dee laid it out for her. “When have you ever, ever, heard of someone ringing the police because a burglar alarm has gone off?”
“She thought. And thought again. “Okay, never.”
“Or a burglar caught because of a residential alarm?”
“Never.”
“Right. They’re little boxes to scare people, they don’t stop shit.”
“And we’re certainly shit,” Nazir grinned as he walked past and up to the front door. The other pair followed, Dee holding the box.
“Is it unlocked?” Pohl asked.
Nazir kicked the door open and said “yep.” They bent under the tape, gloves on, torches out, and went inside.
After they’d walked inside they discovered the moonlight was creating puddles of light underneath any windows. “We’re not actually looking for anything physical right?” Naz asked.
“No, fuck, I haven’t turned Joe, on right, here we go.”
“Nothing physical…”
“Right, hold it Joe, Naz, what have you found?” They all turned to the hacker. He, in turn, held his torch up to a wall, which was covered in bits of paper, sellotaped onto it, and the sheets of white had a single message scrawled onto them: “won’t kill, won’t kill, won’t kill.”
“So he wasn’t that keen on it then,” Pohl sighed.
“Not unless he’s talking about a pet shelter.”
“Right, that’s lowered the fucking mood. Joe, have you found any ghosts?”
“No.”
“Arseholes. Nothing in here at all, no shadows, no shades, no memories.”
“Clean. But there might be something in the garden.”
“Fair enough,” and the group went into the kitchen, undid the latch, were soon in another puddle of moonlight, surrounded by a well-kept lawn.
“Hello?” said a ladies voice.
“Hi, I’m Joe.”
“Don’t go in that house, it might come back.”
“What might?”
Dee gave Pohl the ‘oh yes, we’re getting something’ stare.
“The demon.”
Dee gave Pohl the ‘oh fuck, we’ve got something’ stare.
“Can you just clarify what you mean by Demon?” Pohl asked.
“Ancient spirit, could tear my head off if it saw me, talking Callahan into murdering, that sort of demon.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” Joe said, “but do you know where it went?”
“If it hasn’t gone back to hell, someone is in trouble.”
After bidding goodbye to the ghost in the garden, who sadly didn’t have any employment for them as she died in a mower / electric cable accident that was entirely her fault, the group arrived at the car, climbed in, and pulled out flasks of coffee. There was a long pause as no one spoke, and then Joe coughed and said “So, demons.”
“Demons.” Dee repeated.
“What do we know about demons?”
“They’re horny,” Nazir offered.
“Oh don’t you start, this is a moment of spiritual realisation and you’re making sex jokes.”
“No, Incubi, Succubi, sex demons. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to fuck an Incubi?”
“No,” Dee replied flatly.
“It would be amazing. We should look out, see if we can find one, we can share.”
“I do not need to share my lovers with you.”
“Spoilsport. The family that plays together stays together.”
“Right, do either of you two know anything about demons?”
“I think,” and Pohl raised a finger, “that in the written history of humanity there were mentions of a spiritual other, beings of power, who lived alongside ethereally.”
“So there really could be a shitload of demons out there?”
“Well Dee, there could well be something out there. All the thoughts and writings of humanity might actually be right.”
“Unlike the comments section on the internet.”
“You’re the journalist,” Nazir smirked.
“Right, so, if there are demons, are their angels?”
“Why would there be angels Dee?” Pohl was confused.
“Well, demons and angels, kind of go together?”
“That’s what I meant by a spiritual other. I don’t think there’s any evidence here of something as defined as a religion’s angel or demon. Just, well, other spirits.”
“Okay, that makes sense, I can see that.”
“We really should have bought cake.”
“Shut up the hungry hacker. So what are we saying here? There really was, for want of a better word, a demon, and it really did talk a man into killing another man, and it really did it because it was pissed off at the designs of the dinosaurs? Aren’t demons supposed to be offering money and power?”
“It does sound like the worst demon ever,” Joe conceded.
“And you can’t tell from a spiritual sweep of the house?”
“What?” Joe asked Dee, confused.
“You had a look around the house?”
“Well what I can see from the box.”
“Oh Jesus, yes, alright. But there’s no ghost smell or whatever?”
“Ghost smell?”
“Is anyone here working with me tonight?”
“No, in that case no, there is no ghost smell. No evidence at all.”
“Interesting. This means demons, their spirits, can move. Not like us, getting stuck, but they can move.”
“Good point. And they don’t need boxes to communicate.”
“Equally good point.”
“Am I safe?”
Jeff looked up from his pile of notes, turned his head, and found Jeremy Smuts looking intently at him. Jeff had met many people in his years on the force, and he’d never met anyone who looked so much like their parent. It was as if the deceased Smuts had dyed his hair, lost a few wrinkles, and been stood next to him.
“Sorry?”
“Am I safe? There’s no other killers out there to continue this vendetta?”
Jeff pondered disputing the term vendetta, before realising no other term really made sense, and he went into compassionate mode. “We have the killer, a mentally ill individual, and there is no further danger.”
“Good, good. Because if you want me to call off the press conference?”
“No, we’re all agreed, the park can reopen.”
“Excellent.”
“We’re ready now,” the PR woman said, and so Jeff and Jeremy walked from their room into one where reporters were already occupied rows of seating, and the moving pair took their own seats at a table at the front.
The press conference was to have two parts. The first was Jeff fielding questions about the state of the investigation, and this went smoothly. They had the suspect, the only suspect, they had plenty of evidence and a confession, they had everything they could want providing you accepted ‘he was a bit mad and had dinosaur issues’ as the explanation, and it turned out all the reporters did. Then there was the obligatory questions on whether the government was doing enough for mentally ill people, and then Jeff’s role was done.
Now the press turned to Smuts, who
spoke first about his father, the great work he was supposed to have done, and Jeremy’s own grief. But this event was designed to milk that grief, and so Smuts explained he was going to take over the running of Dino Mania along with his sister, and he delivered a passionate call to visitors to return that was exactly as his PR people had written it. He reminded them of the free passes, and said a free band would be laid on. Then it was time to let the press do its work, so Jeff and Smuts stood, filed out, and soon found themselves back in the nearby room.
“Hi!”
“Hello Dee,” Jeff said, his happiness at seeing her reduced because she had the rest of the group with her.
“We thought we’d catch the conference, Joe is a fan.”
“Was a fan? Is a fan? What do we say?” Jeff wasn’t sure.
“He prefers is.”
“These friends of yours like the park?”
All turned to Smuts. “Yes, yes they do,” Jeff said, not adding ‘more than is strictly sensible’.
“Well, why don’t I give them a personal tour of the park, just to say thank you for all your hard work detective?”
Probably can’t say ‘as long as I don’t have to go’, so best stick with “I’m sure they’d love that. Wouldn’t you.”
“Oh yes. But we’d have to bring our box.”
“Of course.”
Dee’s doorbell rang, so she put her book down, answered the door, and found her neighbour stood there.
“You took in a parcel for me?”
“Yes,” she said smiling, “come in,” and he followed her into the lounge, where she picked up a box. “They’ll be able to deliver it by drone through a cat flap soon.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your viewing,” he said waving at the television.
“Oh, don’t worry, I was reading,” she said point to her book.
“Reading? With the tele on?”
“Err…” Dee looked over at what was on the screen. “Turns out I’m a secret sci fi fan?”
