Soul Mate (Book One)

by Richard Crawford

  The ghost shrugs. "I can't make a list until I've seen the files." It feels like he was waiting for the question. "But I'll be speaking to everyone involved. I need to build up as complete a picture as possible."

  "You should remember," her voice is hard, no flicker of emotion. "There were people who lied then and they'll lie to you now." She's watching us for a reaction.

  The ghost shrugs. "Sometimes it's good to stir things up. Make people nervous."

  She smiles at that, and nods. It's like they are thinking the same thing. The ghost smiles back at her. "I need a car, if you have one I could use it would save getting a rental." There's a change in the way he's talking to her. And she responds, as if it comes natural. She's already fishing around in a drawer. She pulls out a set of keys.

  "There's an old Mercedes in the garage. It was my husband's car. He used a Range Rover for day to day stuff but he kept the old Merc for sentimental reasons." She stops and shakes her head. "You can use it." She sorts the keys and snaps a couple off the ring. She hands the rest over. "Car and garage keys. Help yourself." Her fingers brush ours as we take the keys.

  For a moment it gets weird. The ghost stares at her and everything feels heavy and slow. I can sense the ghost having one of his lapses. Just when I'm wondering what he's going to do, if he's going to lose it and tell her everything, he snaps back into practical mode. We pick up the form. "Thank you, Mrs Crick. I'll be in touch as soon as I have anything for you. You know where to find me."

  She lets us out. As we head up the hill, the ghost tosses the car keys in his hand. He's pleased about something. We don't stop at the White Hart. The ghost heads straight back to the solicitors. Julia on reception checks the form and then leads us upstairs to a small room with a table and chairs. She brings the file and leaves us alone with it.

  The ghost flips through the file, reading bits and pieces. But not like he's really bothered. This is for show. There are newspaper cuttings in the file. I see a picture of Anna Lanson. It's definitely Suki's mum. She looks younger and sort of softer but there's no mistaking her. The ghost scribbles down a few notes.

  I guess he spends about an hour. Long enough to make it look reasonable. When he's done there's a different girl on reception. The ghost tells her he's finished for today but he may want to come back. She smiles and says she's sure that won't be a problem.

  The ghost takes a different route when we leave. We go up hill through an estate of new stone-clad executive houses, and turn down a quiet lane then along a footpath. We're up high and the path looks down on Mrs Crick's house. The Range Rover's gone. The ghost watches the house for a while and then takes the path downhill. It comes out near the house. When we get there he knocks on the door. No one answers. He waits to be sure and then opens the garage.

  The car's inside. A big old Mercedes. The ghost gives it a glance but turns to pull the garage door back down. He's real focussed and precise. I know at once that something's going on. The ghost goes to the back of the garage where there's a door to the house. There are terracotta pots stacked along the wall, ranked by size. The ghost goes to the third pile and lifts them off one by one. The fourth pot down has a Yale key in it. The ghost smiles, he takes the key and opens the door into the house. It doesn't look like the door's used that much anymore; it opens into a utility room.

  The ghost doesn't hang around, or get sentimental over photos and stuff. He heads through the house and upstairs. He goes along the corridor to the master suite. It smells of Mrs Crick's flowery perfume. There's a huge king size bed covered in lots of satiny throws and pillows. I wonder if it was like this when he was around. There are two doors off; one's an ensuite bathroom, the other a walk-in closet. The ghost goes to the closet. The floor is covered with shoeboxes, handbags and hatboxes.

  The ghost goes to the far corner and carefully moves all the boxes aside. He pulls up the carpet. It comes up easy. Beneath it there is a loose floorboard. The ghost slides a hand into the hole and pulls out a wooden box. He sets it aside and tidies everything back. Then he opens the box. Inside there's a gun. It's wrapped in a rag but I can see straight off that it's a gun. Holy shit. There's ammunition too. The ghost is grinning as he puts the lid back on and picks the box up.

  The ghost gets out of the house, locks up and puts the key back where he found it, before I've even recovered from the sight of the gun. You don't need a gun to hurt someone but if you've got a gun it's pretty fucking certain you intend to hurt someone. I don't think the gun's about catching a killer. The gun's about revenge.

  The ghost puts the box with the gun in the boot of the car and flips the garage door open. Then he gets in the car and has one of his moments. Just like that. His breathing gets funny. Like the car triggers something. Our hands grip the steering wheel too hard. The ghost's gone from cool to wired and I can't see a reason. I'm thinking the ghost's feelings are getting a lot more intense, his swings of mood more violent. And now he's got a gun.

  I feel the ghost shift through panic and anger, back to cold reason. He starts the car as if it's something he did just the other day, and reverses out of the garage. He locks up and then drives back up the hill. He leaves the car parked on the street and goes into the White Hart. The bar's busy but we head upstairs. The ghost puts the road map, gloves and notebook into the holdall and then goes back out to the car.

  The ghost listens to an old Van Morrison cassette he found in the glove box as he eases the big car through the narrows streets. A few minutes later we're heading out of town. There's a gun in the boot but it all feels familiar, comfortable. I'm wondering how often he's done this in the past. It feels like he's ready for anything, on a mission. I'm the ultimate fucking spare wheel. And I'm terrified.

  The countryside's all rolling hills, cornfields and woods. The ghost drives down roads that get narrower and narrower until they are barely wide enough for cars to pass. The woods get thicker and darker. But we're not that far from town when the ghost turns down a rough lane and parks up out of sight of the road. He gets out and opens the boot. I feel a rush of panic when he lifts the box out. He gets back in the car and takes the gun out. He fiddles around with it. As the gun moves between my hands each touch makes me more sick and terrified. I think the ghost can feel my terror. It amuses him. He holds the gun, sights along the barrel goes bang and laughs. Fuck it feels like he's really losing it. Or perhaps he was like this when he was alive. When he's done the ghost puts the gun in the holdall.

  The ghost swings the car round and back onto the road. He's whistling along with Van Morrison. With each moment the ghost feels stronger, more confident. He drives the back roads like he knows just where he's going.

  We drive for a while then the ghost slows down as he drives by a builder's yard. It's about four by the dashboard clock. A little way down the road he turns round and doubles back. The yard has big metal gates. They're wide open now and there are several vans in the yard. I don't get chance to read the logo on the vans but I'm guessing this is Joel Hunter's place of business.

  The ghost drives down the road a bit and parks up on the verge. He gets out and goes round to the passenger seat. A quick check to see there's no one around and he pulls the gun out of the holdall. He slides the gun down the back of our jeans. I can feel it, hard and cold, against my spine. The ghost puts the gloves on, locks the Merc and heads across the fields back towards the yard.

  He gets in position, out of sight, but where we can watch the front gates and most of the yard. There's a prefab which looks like the office. The guys from the vans go in and out. There's a small warehouse. Most of the vans seem to be finishing up loading for the next day. A woman comes out of the office a couple of times with instructions for the guys. We watch for ages. The yard starts to quiet down.

  Then a guy I haven't seen before comes out of the office and the ghost gets real intent. The guy is not wearing work clothes like the others. He's about six foot, lean with brown hair cut short. He talks to a couple of guys, as if he's giving them a boll
ocking. I guess the guy must be Joel Hunter. The ghost's anger is back, black and thick as treacle. It sucks strength from me.

  Hunter goes back in the office and gradually the yard empties out. A little while later the woman comes out of the office and gets into a Fiesta. She drives off. The ghost feels eager now. After a few minutes, we move across the road and into the yard. There's one car left, a big black four by four, parked near the gates. The ghost hides behind some bushes near the car and waits. I try to pretend I don't know what's coming. The ghost is full of anger and anticipation. Of course I know what he's going to do. But I can't face it.

  About half an hour later, Hunter comes out and locks up the office. The ghost bounces on his toes, loosening up. Hunter heads towards the car. The ghosts steps out of the bushes. Hunter sees us and stops.

  "We're closed. What do you want?"

  The ghost reaches back for the gun. Hunter responds to the movement. He backs a step but he's caught in no man's land. He can't get past us to the car and the office is too far away. He won't make it in time.

  Our fingers grip the gun. I'm crazy with panic. This can't be happening. As the ghost pulls the gun, I shove at him, using my terror to find the strength. It's all I've got but it catches the ghost off guard. He loses control for a heartbeat. He fumbles and the gun drops from our fingers.

  Hunter's already running for the office.

  The ghost goes insane. He comes after me and I'm crushed down by his anger. When he has control the ghost reaches to pick up the gun. I don't know how much time has passed but Hunter's out of sight. The ghost holds the gun and backs towards the gates. I can feel he's not sure what to do. After another moment he dodges back through the gates. We're running along the road back towards the Merc, still holding the gun.

  The ghost gets in the car and chucks the gun on the seat. I can feel how bad he's lost it. He slams the car into gear and stomps on the accelerator. The big car slews across the verge and hits the road. It slides around a bit. The ghost gets it straight and accelerates away. He keeps checking the rear view mirror but it stays empty.

  The ghost pounds the steering wheel and screams, "Motherfucker."

  His anger lashes at me and there's nowhere to hide.

  The big car hurtles along the narrow lanes, crashing into potholes and sliding through the corners. The ghost heads back to the woods. As soon as we're among the trees, he turns off the road and kills the engine. The ghost's breathing hard. My heads throbs to each heartbeat. He's so wound up. I guess I'm not much better. It feels like we're going to have a stroke.

  The ghost picks up the gun. He puts the barrel in my mouth. If I was in control of anything I'd be pissing myself. He curls his finger round the trigger. Then he comes after me inside my head. Listen you worthless junkie, motherfucker, you ever interfere in my business again I'll blow your fucking head off. The gun rattles against my teeth. Do you hear me?

  He sits like that, with his finger on the trigger, and it feels as if he's crazy mad enough to do it. Then he pulls the gun out and laughs. He knows how fucking terrified I am. He's stronger than ever.

  Afterwards the ghost's calm again. Cold and calculating, like he flipped a switch. He puts the gun in the holdall and zips it up. When we get back to the White Hart he leaves the car in the car park. He locks the holdall in his room and goes down to the bar. He gets a pint and a Jamieson's, orders a steak and goes and sits down.

  He lifts the whiskey. There's no one around but he makes a toast. It feels like he's mocking me. "Perhaps you did me a favour, arsewipe. I've more important things to get done before I deal with scum like Hunter. He can spend his last days looking over his shoulder, wondering who's coming for him and when." The ghost laughs, but soft so no one will hear. He's in control of it all. He reads the paper and waits for his dinner, like everything is sweet. He has another pint with his steak and then goes upstairs.

  The ghost takes a shower, turns on the TV and hits the whiskey. All the time I feel like he's about to come after me. I'm glad when oblivion comes.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning the ghost comes after me before I'm even properly awake. His voice in my head shouting, I've things to do today arsewipe, you interfere and I'll make you wish you were never born. I'm overwhelmed by his anger. It pushes me down into the darkness. The ghost is halfway through his breakfast before I recover enough to know what is going on.

  The ghost eats a fry up and toast. He chats to the waitress like he hasn't a care in the world. Somehow, this is just as scary as his anger. After breakfast he gets the holdall from his room and heads out to the car. I'm pretty sure the gun is still in the holdall. I don't think about it. I play dead so he won't come after me again.

  The ghost spends a few minutes plotting out a route on the map. He swaps the Morrison cassette for Rod Stewart and starts the car. It's a sunny morning. I can feel the ghost is back in the groove again, on another mission. We head west with the sun behind us. The ghost knows all the words to Maggie May and sings along. I wonder if he's going to try to kill someone else today.

  I don't realise where we're going until the ghost turns up a farm track. We get to the parking area at the top, with the tables of veg and I know for sure. We've come to Anna's place. The ghost takes the gun out of the holdall and slips it down the back of our jeans again. He gets out of the car and checks that the jacket covers the gun. Then he locks the car and heads for the house. There's nothing I can do.

  He goes round the back through the yard, just like Suki did. He knocks on the backdoor but no one answers. The ghost peers in the windows, checking it out, but there's no one there. He goes over to the office but it's locked up too.

  We go back through the car park and follow the sign for 'pick your own' out towards the gardens. The ghost is calm and focussed. He scans the gardens and we see Anna at once. She's working over near the greenhouses. There are a couple of other people around but no one's near her. The ghost watches her for a while and I know he's working on a plan. I've got used to playing dead. Staying under his radar. Panic keeps me locked down.

  The ghost walks towards Anna. She looks up when we come closer and I wait for her to recognise me. I'm worried that when she does it will freak the ghost out, send him into one of his rages. We're close enough. I see the moment she recognises me. She doesn't look pleased to see me. She straightens, braces one hand against her hip.

  "What do you want?" she asks.

  The ghost stops in his tracks. It's not what he was expecting. She looks angry. I guess he's a bit unsure of her. We're not that close but he stays still as he says, "Mrs Lanson?" He doesn't wait for her to answer. "My name's Paul Evans, I've just opened a restaurant in Morthbury. I'm interested in talking to you about organic produce." He's offering her one of the cards. His patter is smooth as silk. But he doesn't know that Anna will see right through his BS. When she does it will all kick off. I can feel the gun hard against my back.

  But Anna just stands there staring at us. I wonder if she gets any sense of who the ghost is. I don't think so because after a minute she smiles. "I'm sorry Mr Evans, you caught me in the middle of something. I'd be pleased to show you around."

  I don't get it. But I stay quiet. I wonder if she really thinks it's not me. That it is some guy interested in veg. I doubt it. She'd have to be the worst psychic ever. But she doesn't let on. She starts showing the ghost round. She's prattling on about her growing methods and a load of shit that I know the ghost could care less about. I feel like I'm slipping further away from it all. I realise that I was expecting her to know what to do. That she would somehow save me.

  After a while we're walking back up to the house. She's talking about price lists and offering him coffee. I don't get it. When we get there she takes us to the office. She unlocks the door and gets the ghost settled in a chair with a few brochures to look at. Then she asks him how he takes his coffee and heads off to make it. I don't know what's going on with her or the ghost.

  I keep thinking about th
e gun pressed against my spine, so I won't think too much about Anna or Suki. It's hard, but the ghost doesn't seem to notice anything. I was scared before. I'm terrified now but it doesn't seem to register with him; or maybe it does and it's just what he expects. What he wants.

  Anna comes back with two mugs of coffee. She puts one down on the table beside us. "Three sugars," she says. She looks calm. But then she probably doesn't know who the ghost is and I can't figure a way to tell her. But she must know there's a ghost and that the ghost is playing a game with her. Does she think it's something I'm doing to mess around with her? Perhaps she's playing along because she doesn't want any trouble. Thinks we'll just get bored and leave, eventually. She's a smart lady and knows more about this stuff than I do. Surely she has to pick up some sort of vibe from this ghost. I can't make sense of it. I'm scared for her and desperate.

  There's a packet of chocolate biscuits on the tray. "Biscuit?" she asks.

  The ghost puts aside the brochures and takes a couple.

  "What do you think?" Anna nods towards the brochures. She lifts her coffee, cradles it between her hands.

  "I like what you have going on here. I hope we can come to an arrangement." The ghost takes a drink. He's not making that much effort. I can feel that he's enjoying the game now he knows she's alone, cat and mouse. "Nice coffee," he says.

  Anna doesn't answer. She's fishing around in the desk drawer. "I have a price list here, retail. Why don't you have a look through? We can take a further look round the produce as well." I get the feeling she's more on edge. She must think it's strange the way the ghost is trying to play her. I'd expect her to get mad, but if she is it still doesn't show. I suppose she doesn't know what the ghost might do if she challenged us.

  She keeps searching the drawer. "I've got some brochures for the restaurants we already work with. They must be in the house." She's on her feet quickly. "I'll go and get them." She's gone before the ghost can say anything. But he's still relaxed. There's no reason for him to be suspicious. As long as I don't blow it somehow.