Now We Can’t Sleep At Night (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 2)

by Robert Wilde

  “Hi?”

  “Hello Jeff, I got your picture from your personnel file.”

  “You’re Peters then?”

  “Yes.”

  “A coffee shop wouldn’t have done?”

  “There really is a certain demand for neutral ground where you won’t be overheard.”

  “Right, sorry, well, I have some questions and something to report.”

  “I have one too. What do you know?”

  Jeff smiled. “I’m close to Dee, I know it all.”

  “Such as?”

  “Alien ghosts for a start.”

  “Good,” and Peters sat down. “So what are you reporting?”

  “Did you know there are more than human spirits?”

  “No. No I did not. Do tell,” and Jeff did, Peters clearly making mental notes the whole way along.

  Finally, Jeff finished, and Peters just stared out at the park before saying “so what did you want in return?”

  “What’s happening with your lot?”

  “Well, half of MI5 is falling over itself to research the alien threat, or otherwise, to Britain and the world, while the other half is still focusing on Islamist terrorism. Only small fractions are doing other things.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m the chair of a cross body group investigating the spirit issue. MI Five, Six, scientists both public and privately funded, even the military.”

  “Sounds an awful lot for a small fraction.”

  “You should see the resources being thrown at the other threats.”

  “So they are a threat?”

  “We presume so. But we’re having a great deal of fun auctioning our knowledge of aliens off to the highest bidder. We’re right back into the heart of the intelligence community with this one. And don’t forget, buried in that ground we found a ship, a mostly intact ship.”

  “And you know this even though you’re on the spirit group?”

  “Well,” and Peters smiled, “an established operator always keeps channels open to him. You know that.”

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  “So, what are they doing next, Dee and friends.”

  “Actually, we have a favour to ask you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, very much you.”

  The Merryweather Creationist Museum was open for business and had been since the mid-nineties, when a US church backed by an eccentric millionaire had decided to move some puritans back across the Atlantic. A small flow of people were moving through the building, taking pictures and seeing an interpretation of history that was less travelled these days.

  Two men had come up to the entrance, both wearing suits and jackets, and found the whole place was free. They began walking through, observing the story of the world from God deciding to create the universe through to the creation of, well, Creation in six days before resting. As they continued through a highly imaginative series of tableaus, where very lifelike people lived in Eden and were banished to live ancient history, they came to a dinosaur, a very lifelike dinosaur with a breathing mouth and chest, but which rather stood out because two cavemen were riding it.

  “Expensive.”

  “Imagine if they’d spent the money on famine relief.”

  “It’s upset about this?” Peters asked, pointing at the display.

  “Very much so,” Jeff confirmed.

  “Well, I can see why.”

  It was a short issue to walk back to the desk, for Jeff to show his badge, and for the owner to be called down.

  “Hello officer, what can I do to help?”

  “I’m Jeff Maquire from the police, and this is Peters from MI5.”

  “MI5?”

  “Yes,” and he took over. “We have received details of a terrorist threat against your museum.”

  “The Muslims!”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions here. But we have a request.”

  “Anything.”

  “The threat will be negated if you remove all models of dinosaurs.”

  “Dinosaurs?” The man looked confused. “Our dinosaurs?”

  “Yes, remove them all and you can continue to operate. Refuse and we’ll have to shut you down because of the risk.”

  “That can happen?”

  “Yes, yes it can.”

  “So not Muslims?”

  “No. Dinosaur extremists. A new, and very specialist threat.” Peters now turned to Jeff, who gave him the ‘they will never pay me enough for all this shit’ look, which Peters just nodded to and turned back.

  “So sir, do we have your agreement?”

  “Yes, yes you do. We will remove them by this evening.”

  At this, Jeff heard a voice in his mind. “Deal done monkeys, deal done.”

  And then, nothing.

  Four: History

  “Where are the strippers?”

  It had begun a week before, when Nazir had confessed the real date of his birthday and not just the one he used to keep immigration off his tail. Dee had insisted that this be celebrated, demanded a party, and told Nazir to invite all his friends. It had taken some embarrassing conversation for Nazir to explain he didn’t really have many friends, in fact this room – comprising Dee, Pohl and Joe – amounted to all his friends, and one of those was technically dead.

  Dee wasn’t put off, and the group had decamped seven days later, on the birthday, to a restaurant where they’d told the staff what was happening, and where the staff had clearly been drunk, because they’d just bought out a cake with candles burning in it. This was placed down, happy birthday was badly sung, and the waitress left confused because she was sure she kept hearing four voices where there was only a party of three. Then Nazir put his lips together, blew them out, and asked “where are the strippers?”

  “We haven’t got you any strippers,” Dee sighed.

  “Why not?”

  “We’re having a nice, grown up party.”

  “We could have strippers, wouldn’t you and the professor want to see some oiled up pecs?”

  “And what about poor Joe?”

  “We could turn him off.”

  “That stops me speaking, I don’t vanish,” Joe complained.

  “Sorry. So no strippers?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose if I asked to go on to see some strippers you’ll say no?”

  “You’re getting drunk, coming back with us and playing charades. We’ll do it in teams so Joe can have a go at guessing.”

  “Pictionary is better.”

  “Not when drunk.”

  “Especially when drunk!”

  “Do you miss your family?” Pohl asked, wanting to get onto something more wholesome and missing the shot entirely.

  Nazir turned, looked at her, and nodded sadly. “I don’t know who’s alive, I don’t know who’s dead. I do know they wouldn’t like my current lifestyle.”

  “I don’t like your current lifestyle,” Dee laughed.

  “So, yes, I miss them, but it might be for the best. Well, until I get arrested and expelled.”

  “I’m sure MI5 would stop that,” Pohl suggested helpfully. “I suspect you’ve played yourself into a new life these past months.”

  “Good idea,” he said brightening, “good idea, maybe I should ask Peters to sort me out a proper identity.”

  “We should have got you one for your birthday,” Dee smirked. She’d been drinking most of the afternoon.

  “Would be weird if I couldn’t be Nazir though. I’d feel like a cat who just got adopted.”

  “You’d piss all over your new home?”

  “Only if they were into it.”

  “Okay,” said Dee, “you can always take it that one step beyond.”

  “It’s a skill I was born with. Who’s cutting this cake?”

  Pohl leant in ready to do the deed.

  “Last chance to discover a chocolate allergy and be declared a poor bastard,” Dee laughed, holding her plate out, fork in hand.

  Pohl had s
pent all morning in the library. Not a public library, although she borrowed fiction from those quite often, but one attached to a university. It hadn’t taken long to browse copies of all the journals she either couldn’t afford or didn’t find interesting frequently enough to subscribe, come up with a list of everything she wanted from these, and then gone to the photocopy room. Unfortunately, there was a huge queue for this, and it took the best part of the morning for it to filter forward, and for Pohl to make all the copies she wanted. This included having to get the toner cartridge refilled, another long wait.

  Finally she was able to come down the steps of the library and walk back to her car, pausing only to buy a box of sandwiches to consume. It was as she was unlocking her car that she heard her name being called.

  “Professor Pohl, Professor…”

  Thinking she had forgotten something and a student had been sent to find her, she turned and found a tall man of her age, with handsome Indian features. Was he a librarian?

  “Hello, Professor, I’m Doctor Bhavsar.”

  “Hello Doctor…”

  “Please call me Bhavsar, they all do at work.”

  “That sounds so impersonal, but as you wish. People often call me Pohl. You’re from the library?”

  “Library? Oh, no, sorry, not at all.”

  “Oh, the history faculty?”

  “My apologies, I should have given you a full introduction. I’m Doctor Bhavsar, I work in Accident and Emergency in Liverpool.”

  This gave Pohl pause. “You’re far away from your normal manor.”

  “Yes, I’m terribly sorry, but I really needed to speak to you, and this was the best I could do tracing you.”

  Pohl scratched her neck. “Really need to speak to me?”

  “Can I buy you a coffee, or a decent lunch,” he was looking at the sandwiches, then decided to explain “I examined one of the people whose eyes had been replaced.”

  Ah! Pohl felt a lot better about this and nodded agreement, and within minutes they were sat in a nice restaurant, ordering from a lovely menu.

  “How did you find me?” Pohl asked.

  “After examining that poor woman, I followed the case in the papers, and they mentioned the involvement of private investigators. I work in Accident and Emergency, we have a lot of police in, so I rang a few, well, connections sounds too grand, and I discovered the identity of your group. You and your colleagues are private investigators.”

  “Yes, yes we are,” Pohl supposed, and confirmed out loud, “our details are in the public record. I never met any of the victims, was it as horrendous as it sounds?”

  “Very much professor. I must confess, I’ve had sleepless nights over what I saw. So the first reason I had to meet you was to convey my great thanks at capturing the villain.”

  “I won’t say it was my pleasure, but it was certainly a duty we feel proud to have completed.”

  “Tell me about your group.”

  “Well, there’s three of us in the core group, myself, and two younger members, Nazir and Dee. We each bring our own skills to the table, and we have some helpers, including an expert named Joe. Something of a scientist, but hard to pin down.”

  “I see. And you investigate?”

  “We have made a name for ourselves in the difficult, but also the unusual.”

  “Yes, my, well, contact suggested that. He said you were very esoteric.”

  “Oh yeah, esoteric is a perfect word, perfect. I hope he said we were good.”

  “He did,” and Bhavsar smiled, making Pohl feel proud.

  “You said, the first reason?”

  “Yes, yes,” and Bhavsar looked nervous. “Once I found what you did, I began to think you could help me in a family matter. Book you, as it were.”

  “Ah, business.”

  “I hope that’s alright?”

  “Of course, of course, we’re never totally off duty.”

  “Good, well, it’s my sister really. She, through a combination of inherited fortune and marriage, owns a large house, a country house. Not huge, not a mansion, but set back in acres. And she’s been having some…” he looked around, as if reluctant to speak, then forced out “problems.”

  Pohl leaned in, pulling out her notebook. “What sort of problems?”

  “Ghosts,” he whispered.

  “My dear doctor Bhavsar, you have come to the right people.”

  “I have?”

  “Oh yes, this is our speciality. Even more than this hostelry is for wine.”

  “I am relieved.”

  “What sort of ghost?”

  “I don’t know the types, I just know she is being haunted, and we think the answer lies within the archive left by the previous owner. I would like to hire you on behalf of my sister, to search through the archive and explain the ghost. Remove it if possible.”

  “That certainly sounds possible. I shall speak to my team…” she saw his face change and added “there is a problem with my team?”

  “My sister, she finds it hard to trust. I believe she will allow a, if I might say, mature academic in to ‘study’, but I fear she would refuse younger people. I would really appreciate it if just you could come. I would be with you.”

  Pohl leaned back. “I see. Is there phone and internet reception at the house?”

  “Yes, plumbed in a few years ago so my sister can see all the racing.”

  “Then I don’t anticipate a problem.”

  “Excellent! What is the fee?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be reduced, a call out is a call out.” That was the phrase wasn’t it? She wasn’t entirely sure.

  “Of course, of course. This meal will, of course, be on top of all that.”

  “Thank you, now if you’ll excuse me I just need to send a message teasing my colleagues. Apparently it’s all the rage to do that now. They certainly do it to each other. What’s your sister called?”

  “She prefers Ms Bhavsar.”

  “Oh.”

  “As I hoped I outlined, she can be a bit… particular.”

  “I was thinking difficult.”

  “That too.”

  “What do you mean we can’t come?”

  Pohl had spent a marvellous meal with Doctor Bhavsar, enjoyed a full three courses, and then got to her car just about on the driving limit. She’d returned home, entered Dee’s house and found her friend cum colleague cum landlady playing a game on her phone while Joe was re-watching Jurassic Park for the fiftieth time. It had taken a moment to calm her excitement, then she’d explained about Bhavsar, the house, the job and the suspected ghosts.

  “His sister wants a certain kind of investigator, so he’s engaged me solo.”

  “His sister’s a fucking snob.”

  “I think that reaction is exactly why he has employed me alone.”

  “Dammit.”

  “You can still take me!” Joe realised.

  “Yes, yes Joe, I was intending to take you along, as you can remain silent when needed and talk when allowed.”

  “Thank you professor.”

  “Fucking snobs. Where is this house?”

  “Cheshire.”

  “At least it’s not in Vegas.”

  “You’ll road trip one day Dee.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Bhavsar wants to come with me, and he’s arranging time off work. I suspect it’ll be in a week’s time.”

  The next seven days passed slowly for Pohl, who wanted to get on with the project, and even her translation work felt lifeless. She’d tried looking the house up on the web, but it had never gained the attentions of a webmaster or writer, and so she was going pretty much cold.

  Bhavsar did manage to get holiday for a week’s time, mostly by virtue of not having taken any for a year, and soon Pohl was getting ready when she heard a knock on her door.

  She answered to find Nazir, Dee and Joe’s box.

  “We’ve come to help you pack,” they said, and came in.

  “I thought you�
��d want to take this,” Dee said, waving something.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the taser from my bedroom?”

  “Err, Dee,” Joe began to ask, “given all the random stuff we do, why do you keep that taser exclusively for your bedroom?”

  Dee ignored him. “Pack it carefully. But it fits in a nice coat pocket.”

  “Thank you Dee.”

  “And I’ve bought you some battery charging kit for your phone. This,” and Nazir waved a box, “will give a phone a massive recharge without anything needing to be plugged in. Power cut, monster smashing generator, etc, this’ll get you back into contact with us.”

  “Thank you Nazir.”

  “And I’ve packed myself,” Joe declared, as Dee held his box up.

  “Thank you Joe. It’s an unusual feeling.”

  “What is?”

  “I feel like a child leaving home for the first time on an adventure. I’d have expected the opposite. Not that I felt much when my own children le…” she let it sadly hang, her great regret squirming out into the light.

  “Well keep in contact, we’re just a phone call and email away,” Dee said smiling, touching Pohl on the elbow. “You’ll be great, go solve us some weird shenanigans.”

  “Oh I will!”

  Dr. Bhavsar had offered to drive Pohl and her two bags up, but the professor wanted to remain independent, so she drove herself, and Bhavsar went in front. This worked surprisingly smoothly, perhaps because it was a Thursday and they avoided the weekend traffic – again, on purpose. It wasn’t a slow drive as Bhavsar liked to put his foot down and Pohl, while a naturally conservative driver, could certainly keep pace, and soon they were leaving main roads and winding their way through country lanes that didn’t even merit a stripe down the middle.

  Pohl knew they were getting close, and wasn’t too surprised when Bhavsar signalled and turned up a well camouflaged entrance she might have missed first time, before the trees and bushes opened out and the professor was able to see a Georgian house in front of her. She was no expert, but the place looked a good balance between clean and showing some age, while the gardens looked immaculate. There wasn’t a keep off the grass sign, but Pohl could have imagined one. If nothing else, this looked like a good place to spend a few days and nights.