Nearly Departed

by Max Patrick Schlienger

  Bobo was breathing in short, heavy gasps, while Dennis readied himself for another swing. The detective lay motionless, his face slackened, but that was by no means a guarantee of safety. Dennis watched carefully for any signs of life. Other than the shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest beneath the rumpled white linen, he was still.

  “Well,” Evy said, her voice stern, “that is quite enough.”

  “I’ll say,” muttered Dennis. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Help me get him into the chair.”

  “What?” Bobo asked with a start. He looked back towards Evy. She had wrapped into a protective ball and was peering over her legs.

  “Not that chair, the other one.” Dennis let the candlestick fall to the floor. His fingers were stiff and his arm felt rubbery, but he wasn’t ready to relax just yet. With Bobo’s help, he lifted Spinner’s unconscious form into the chair across from Evy’s, which was still standing even after the brawl. “Okay,” Dennis said, exhaling. “Now let’s tie him up.”

  Using the steak knife that Bobo had retrieved, Dennis cut the tablecloth into strips, still keeping a close eye on their captive. He bound Spinner’s hands and legs, working as quickly as his shaking fingers would allow. The last several pieces were spent securing the man’s arms to the chair, which would hopefully be enough to keep him from escaping. When they were finished, Dennis and Bobo sat in deflated lumps on the floor, both of them still trying to catch their breath.

  “I sure hope you’re right about this guy, September,” said Bobo after awhile.

  “Evy recognized him, didn’t she?” Dennis glanced back towards the ghost, but her chair was empty. She left as soon as the excitement was over, he thought.

  “Alright, fair point.” Bobo rolled his shoulders with a quiet groan. “What do we do now? Call the Old Bill?”

  “No police,” replied Dennis. “We’d have a hell of a time explaining what we’re doing here.”

  “What, then?”

  “I don’t know.” Bobo said nothing, but Dennis could tell that he was waiting for a better answer. “It’s not like I make a habit of beating people up.”

  “Two fights in three days, and you’re not making a habit of it?”

  “I’m going through a rough patch.” A smile fought its way through Dennis’ exhaustion. “Besides, I got lucky. If you weren’t here, he would have killed me.”

  “Looks like he killed your jacket, though.”

  Dennis looked down at where Bobo had pointed, and saw that his blazer was ripped down one arm. He removed the article, tossing it behind the overturned table. Then, catching himself, he chased after it.

  Bobo watched as Dennis retrieved his phone from the pocket of his destroyed jacket. “Blimey, I forgot!” He rose and hurried to Spinner’s side.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking him for weapons,” Bobo said. “Good thing, too. Look at this.” He pulled a compact pistol from a hidden shoulder holster. “Huh.”

  “Cripes.” Dennis stared at the weapon. “We’re lucky he didn’t try to use it during the fight.”

  “Not really,” replied Bobo. Dennis flinched and threw up his arms as Bobo aimed the gun at him, but a stream of water caught him in the face before he could duck out of the way. “See? It’s a water pistol.” He pumped a few more squirts to make his point.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Dennis spat and wiped the moisture from his face. “I’ve been worrying about him all this time, and the worst that he could do was get me a little bit wet.”

  “Yeah, funny, that.” Spinner was next in Bobo’s shooting spree. He groaned and shifted as the water hit his face. “Whoops,” Bobo said, stepping back. “That’s done it. He’s waking up.”

  With the candlestick in hand, Dennis climbed to his feet and took up a guarded stance next to Bobo. Spinner continued to moan, his eyes fluttering and seemingly out of focus.

  “Oi,” said Bobo loudly. He sprayed the man again. “Wakey wakey.”

  Spinner blinked and grunted, trying to stretch but finding his arms tied. He examined himself with a befuddled expression, until his eyes came up to meet Dennis’. “Oh, hell no.”

  “Hell yes, I’m afraid,” answered Dennis. He was feeling smug, having finally turned the tables on his aggressor. Still, he didn’t completely trust that the strips of shredded tablecloth would hold, and he stayed ready to retaliate in the event of an attack.

  “What... what is this?” Spinner murmured. He shook against his bonds. “Do you really think you can get away with this? I’m a cop!”

  “No you aren’t,” replied Dennis confidently. “Not even close.”

  “Yeah, a bloody nutter is what you are,” Bobo added. He squirted Spinner with the water pistol again.

  “Stop that,” the detective sputtered.

  “You’re in no place to make demands, mate.” Another jet of water landed just below Spinner’s eye.

  “Bobo, don’t antagonize him,” cautioned Dennis. Bobo gave him a disappointed look, but tucked the toy weapon away. Dennis breathed a small inward sigh of relief. He didn’t want Spinner to find any hidden wells of strength, and angering him was probably not the smartest idea. “Listen, Malcolm...” He hesitated. “May I call you Malcolm?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Dennis shifted the candlestick in his hand. Maybe a show of the weapon would keep the man subdued. “I know why you’re here, and I know what you want, but you’re not going to get it. I don’t care what your relationship to the Palins is, and until Elspeth says so –”

  “What chair am I in?” Spinner interrupted suddenly. “What chair am I in?”

  “Shut up!” shouted Dennis. “Don’t make me whack you again.”

  “You don’t understand!” Spinner’s eyes were wide and panicked. “There’s a haunted chair in this house! You have to untie me!” He twisted and strained. Thankfully, the remnants of the tablecloth held.

  “We know about the goddamned chair, Spinner!” Dennis waved the candlestick in the man’s face. “And we know all about you, too.”

  Spinner’s fearful look changed to one of defiance. “The hell you do. You don’t know shit.”

  “Oh yeah? How about this: You and Eric Palin pulled some kind of job together almost fifty years ago. Then, you had an argument about what to do with the profits, and the two of you split up. It must have been a lot of money, though, because you stuck around and kept tabs on things.” He jabbed Spinner in the chest. “We saw that picture that you took of the house. This house. And we know that you’ve been waiting for a chance to come back.”

  Spinner shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. Elspeth is my –”

  “Your ’niece,’ yeah, we know that, too. You and Eric must have been pretty close.”

  “I never even met her father!”

  “Oh, this is bollocks,” Bobo muttered. “Show him the pictures, September. That should shut him up.”

  Dennis wondered what Bobo was referring to, until he remembered the envelope that Elspeth had retrieved. It was still in the den. “Here, take this.” He passed the candlestick to Bobo. “If he moves, bang him on the head. I’ll be right back.”

  “Right, boss.”

  Dennis hurried from the room, pausing as he entered the foyer. He didn’t think that Spinner was the type to bring along a partner – at least, Dennis had never seen him with anyone – but his footsteps slowed as he regarded the open front door. The street outside looked deserted enough, and nobody had come to help during the fight, so that hopefully meant they were alone. Dennis wasn’t going to take any chances, though. He closed the door and made sure it was locked before continuing on his way to the den.

  Everything was exactly as he had left it, and the envelope was in plain sight on the marble table. Dennis snatched it up. The paper was thicker than he had realized, and it was heavy enough to have contained dozens of pictures. One of them, at least, should prove Spinner’s guilt. His evidence in hand, Dennis walked
back to the living room.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  “We was talking about his mustache,” answered Bobo with a grin.

  “I’m glad you two are getting along so well.” Dennis held the envelope up and waved it. “Are you sure you don’t want to come clean?” Spinner only grumbled. “Fine, then.” Dennis flipped open the parcel and removed a stack of photographs. They were easily as old as the envelope, and were in black and white. Promising details, although the subjects pictured were peculiar: Train stations, factories, office buildings... and there was even a shot of what looked like an offshore drilling platform. Unless Eric Palin had been an architecture enthusiast, Dennis guessed that the assembled photographs had been part of at least one con job, if not several.

  “See?” Spinner said triumphantly. “I’m not in there, am I?”

  “I’m sure we’ll get to you,” replied Dennis, trying to sound more certain than he felt. The next pictures followed the theme of their predecessors, showing several different angles of an impressive ocean liner. “Here we go.” Dennis turned over a photograph of Elspeth’s house, taken from almost the same vantage point as the one that Spinner had published. “This looks like your handiwork.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Dennis said with an insincere smile. The images grew more recognizable after that. “Look, here’s Evy, and that must be Elspeth next to her.” It was hard to believe that the white-haired woman was the younger of the two sisters, but the stern expression on the little girl in the photograph was unmistakeable. Dennis flipped through a few more pictures, pulling out the ones that seemed relevant. His next choice was a portrait of the entire Palin family. The man – Eric, Dennis presumed – was a portly and jovial looking fellow, with neatly combed hair and a slight slouch. The slim woman next to him had to be Emma, a gray-scale figure of poise and elegance.

  Dennis held the photograph out for Spinner to see. “Recognize him?” he asked, tapping a finger above Eric Palin’s head.

  “No.” If the detective’s arms had been free, Dennis was sure that he would have folded them.

  “Fine, if you say so. I’m sure there’s something in here that – ” he stopped in mid-sentence. The picture in front of him showed Eric Palin and another man clasping hands, both of them with wide smiles on their faces. The former looked almost exactly as he had in the previous photograph, although he was holding himself up a bit straighter. However, it was the second man that caught Dennis’s eye. Even though almost fifty years had passed since the shot had been taken, there was no mistaking who it was.

  It wasn’t Spinner in the picture. It was Harding.

  “Oh, shit...”