by Rachel Green
“How do you know she isn’t a black belt in jiu-jitsu? I bet she could have your legs broken as soon as look at you.” Michelle pulled him back to his seat and yawned. “Look, officer?”
“Yes madam?”
“Would you mind if I made us some tea? It’s been hours since we last had a drink.”
“No. Go right ahead.” Her lips curled in what the Laverstone police generously referred to as a smile. “Just don’t pull a shooter out of the ice box or anything, eh?”
“As if!” Michelle crossed to the kettle and lifted it, mentally calculating the amount of water still inside. Satisfied, she switched it on and opened the cupboard where the Burbridges kept coffee mugs. She’d seen Angela make two rounds of drinks since they’d been sat here, offering Michelle and Graham nothing but a suspicious glare each time. She set out mugs and added tea bags. “Would you like one?”
“I can’t. Sorry.” The officer gave her a better smile. “Thanks for the offer though.”
“That’s all right. You didn’t happen to see where they kept the sugar bowl?”
“‘Fraid not. They might have taken it with them.”
“You’re right.” Michelle hunted through the cupboards, which seemed better stocked than her local supermarket, assuming you didn’t want sugar. She found some demerara amongst the packets of dried fruit and flour. It would have to do.
She made two cups and carried them over to the table. “Here you go. It’s only got brown sugar in, though. I couldn’t find the white. Is that all right?”
“It’ll have to be.” Graham curled his hands around the cup, though it wasn’t cold in the Enfield House kitchen. “How long are they going to keep us here for?”
“As long as it takes, I suppose.”
“I suppose.” Graham nodded up toward the high ceilings, where bunches of dried herbs hung from a Victorian airer. “Nice to know that however posh you are, the spiders invade just like your poorer counterparts, isn’t it?”
Michelle smiled. “Spiders like a warm house. Mind you, I bet they haven’t got damp in the cellar and dry rot in the eaves. How we can have both at once is anybody’s guess.”
“Aye.” Graham fell silent. Michelle didn’t interrupt him. She could see he was thinking by the furrows on his forehead. After several minutes he glanced at the police officer then leaned toward her and spoke in a lowered voice. “Did you kill her? Shirley, I mean. You were right next to her the whole time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I have wanted to kill Shirley? She hadn’t done anything to me. Quite the opposite, actually, considering she was going to be my patron. Look at that bloke George for your answers. There was no love lost between Shirley and him, to judge from the way he was talking.”
“He didn’t think you really had a gift.” He spooned a moderate amount of sugar into his tea. “Hey! Here’s an idea. Why don’t you just ask Shirley who killed her? You’ve always said that spirits know more than they ever did when they were mortal.”
“That could be because I was making it all up.” Michelle glared, though she was sure there was a good chance the police officer had heard her. “You know I don’t really see ghosts and whatnot.” She stood again and began opening cupboards.
“Now what are you looking for?”
“Biscuits. I get a craving for them when I’m upset. Did you see Shirley in there? She was dead. Really dead, with blood all over the place.”
“Yes, I saw.” Graham shook his head. “Do they look the same?”
“Do what look the same?”
“Ghosts. Do they look the same as when they died”
“Some do.” Michelle rolled her eyes, wishing Graham would remember it was all smoke and mirrors. “Others appear as they were best remembered, or how the person they’re talking to expects them to look like. A few, a very, very small minority, try to scare the living by appearing headless or like de-fleshed skeletons and rattle the chains they wore in life.”
“Try the pot shaped like a penguin.” Graham pointed at the windowsill.
Michelle stared out into the night. It was as black as pitch out there. They were at the back of the house where the lights from the police cars didn’t penetrate, though she could see some blue reflected on the roof of an adjacent out house. How did people live out here? Give her the comfort of street lights and all night buses any day. She pulled off the penguin’s head. “Bingo.” She held up the pot. “Well spotted. Chocolate chip cookies and…” She dipped a hand inside. “Lincolns. Thank God they have kids. I bet the poor brats aren’t allowed a biscuit until after their dinner, and then only one.” She stuffed two Lincolns in her mouth and returned to the table. Graham took a cookie and dipped it in his tea.
“Eh, up.” He nudged Michelle with his elbow to get her attention and pointed toward the door. The police office was talking to an older man who wore a long tan mackintosh instead of a uniform. “He must be a detective,” she whispered.
“Someone important, any way, seeing as he’s sent the girlie off with a flea in her ear.”
The man gazed at them both for a moment before glancing at his notebook. “Mr. and Mrs. Browning?” He frowned. “I’m sorry. Mr. and Madam Browning.”
“Actually it’s Mr. Barrett and Madame Browning.” Michelle put the remains of her biscuit in her mouth and chewed. She spoke through the crumbs. “Graham and I share a house and he acts as my spiritual guardian on evenings such as this. He’s not my partner in any physical sense.”
“I see. My apologies.” He drew closed and extended his hand across the table. “DI White, Laverstone Serious Crime Unit. I’m sorry you’ve been kept so late. Mind if I sit down?”
“Not at all, please.” Michelle swallowed hurriedly and shook his hand. “The lateness doesn’t bother me. I’m often up all night communing with the spirits but Graham has to be up at five for work. He’s usually in bed by ten.”
“Aye.” Graham reached for another cookie. “Have you arrested him then?”
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“The son. Stepson I should say. Right nasty piece of work, that one. It was obvious he hated the poor woman.”
“George Burbridge, you mean?” The inspector looked at his notes. “We have opened multiple avenues of enquiry but no arrests have been made as yet.”
“Well you should.” Graham used his cookie to illustrate his point, stabbing it toward the inspector. “He didn’t like her. That was obvious from the start. Probably something to do with her being younger than him. And if it wasn’t him it was that stuck-up wife of his. She looked down on us from the minute she opened the door.”
“And where were you during the attack, sir?”
“I was right there, in the circle.” He half-closed his eyes. “I didn’t do nothing, mind. I was between Shell, here, and the sister, so I can vouch for both of them that they didn’t move.”
“Oh? Were you holding hands with them? Touching them in any way?”
“Well, no, but I know they were there. You can tell, can’t you, when someone’s sitting next to you.”
“I’ve been told it was very dark at the moment of the murder.”
“It was. All the candles went out.”
“Was there a draught?”
Michelle laid a hand on his arm. “Now that you mention it, yes. I was talking to a spirit at the time so I couldn’t see exactly what happened but I remember the draught on my arm.” She rubbed her left arm with her right.
“Your left arm?” White made a note. “And you were next to the late Mrs. Burbridge, I understand?”
“That’s right. She was touching my hand while I relayed what a spirit was telling me. Not that I can remember the conversation. I was in a trance, you see.”
“And do you remember Mrs. Burbridge letting go of your hand? Did she say anything or make a sound?”
“I don’t think so.” Michelle traced a pattern of biscuit crumbs on the counter top. I think she let go when Vera saw a spirit herself. She shrieked about seeing a gho
st on the other side of the room then all the candles went out and when the lights came on Shirley was dead.”
“You didn’t see the alleged ghost yourself?”
“No. I’ve already told you. I was in a trance.”
“You did, sorry.” White scratched his head. “Who was it who put the lights on?”
“George. It was George.” Michelle sat back. “There you are. He was already out of his seat. He must be the murderer.”
“Fortunately, we’re not at liberty to jump to such conclusions.” The inspector stood and meandered to the kettle. “It’s a nice place, this. How much do you reckon its worth?”
“Millions, I should think.” Michelle watched as he began opening cupboards. “If you’re looking for a mug they’re in that one.” She pointed to the floor cupboard under the kettle.
“Ah, thank you.” He bent to retrieve one and flicked the kettle on. Two hours I’ve been questioning witnesses. Not once was I offered a cup despite one lady twice making a tray.”
“She didn’t make us any either.” Michelle smiled. “Stuck-up, if you ask me.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t submit an opinion.” The inspector winked, so she knew he agreed with her. “Where–”
“In the caddy to your right.”
“Thank you.” He mad a mug of tea and spoke without turning. “Did either of you see a knife at all? Either in the room or on the person of one of the witnesses?”
“I don’t think so.” Michelle looked at Graham, who shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, we didn’t. Do you know what sort of knife killed her?”
“We do. We’ve found the murder weapon. I can’t comment on it, but it’s being dusted for prints.” The inspector picked up his mug and returned to the table. “I don’t suppose you have any sugar? Ah, you do. Splendid.”
“That’ll tell you who did it then?”
“Let’s hope so. Unfortunately, you only have to turn on the television these days to learn how to avoid leaving evidence of a crime so I doubt we’ll get anything worthwhile off it.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Indeed it is.” White stirred his tea with his pencil. “One more thing, before I let you get off home. Are you absolutely sure neither of you saw the ghost referred to by Mrs. Shelton?”
Graham frowned. “Who?”
“Vera, he means.” Michelle shook her head. “No I was in a trance, as I said.”
“What about you, sir? You weren’t in a trance, were you?”
“Me? No.” Graham looked at Michelle. “But I didn’t see anything either.”
“Fair enough, sir.” White pulled out his wallet to give them each a card. “I don’t think I need detain you any longer then. I’ll be in touch if I need to speak to you again. If you think of anything else in the meantime, do give me a call.”
Michelle tucked it into her handbag. “We will, Inspector.” She motioned to the back door. “Can we get out that way rather than go past the family? I don’t want to upset them further. If I hadn’t agreed to a seance perhaps Shirley might still be alive.”
“I’ll walk you through the house myself, Mrs. Browning, but rest assured that it wasn’t a ghost who did this but a real, live person. I just have to figure out who.”
Chapter 18
Michelle sat in the passenger seat, sending texts to an online site which distributed them to her thousands of followers. Well, she thought of them as thousands but in reality there were less than three hundred and, if she were to be absolutely honest, most of them had added her because she used the word ‘naked’ in her user profile. Madame Browning. The naked truth in spiritualism.
She’d picked up several clients who thought she was against the whole concept of spiritualism but had found the experience of talking to the long-passed Aunt Matilda titillating. It didn’t hurt that she wore revealing clothes when meeting male clients either. A good flash of cleavage did wonders for repeat bookings with the older gentleman.
“Who are you texting at this time of night?” Graham glanced across at her as he stopped at the Markham Street traffic lights.
“Just updating my followers.” Michelle’s thumbs flew over the keys until she was ready to press ‘send’. “It’s not often a summoned spirit murders your client in cold blood, is it?”
“You can’t write that.” Graham looked at her, horrified. “That’s not true. There wasn’t a ghost and you know it.”
“Do I?” Her phone bleeped and she ran her finger across the touch-screen in a complicated backward figure-four to unlock it. “We’ll see what my followers think about it. The plain facts are I was conducting a seance when the bereaved widow was struck down by a ghost.”
“You’re not a medium, there wasn’t a ghost and the police are following a lead to the poor woman’s murderer.”
“Can you prove a ghost didn’t do it?” Michelle sent another text. “You know you can’t. Who was it who said ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity’?”
“Brendan Behan, but he added ‘except your own obituary’ but I suppose a medium wouldn’t even care about that.” A horn behind alerted him to the green light and he pulled away, accelerating down the bypass. “Honestly, Shell, I think it’s wrong for you to use Shirley’s death as a publicity drive.”
“I’m only doing what anybody else would do in my position.” Her phone beeped again. “Look at that! Two bookings tomorrow from that one text and I haven’t even gone all pro-active about it yet. It’s the sense of danger, I think. A touch of the forbidden in the possibility of a death-bringing ghost.” Her attention was diverted by another beep. “Look! My post has been forwarded. I’ll get even more followers from this. If I’d known a client dying was this good for business I’d have done it long ago.”
“You didn’t…”
“You asked me that when we were there. Of course I didn’t. Don’t be silly.”
“I’m glad. I still don’t think its right to make publicity out of it.” He pulled into their street and began looking for a parking spot. This time of night the pubs were already closed and the street was packed with parked cars. He drove past their house, still looking.
“This is a win-win situation, Graham. If they don’t find the killer I can claim it was the ghost of Eddie Burbridge all along.”
“And if they do find the murderer?”
“Then I can publicly apologies for giving out misinformation and retract my original statement, thus getting a double dose of publicity for doing it. Marvelous.” She clutched at his arm. “Or I can publicly offer to try to contact Shirley’s spirit to point the metaphorical finger.”
Graham found a space and parallel parked. It was, on reflection, still nearer their house than they’d started. “And what if the killer believes in your spirit calling and mumbo jumbo? What if the real killer thinks Shirley’s ghost will tell his name and comes after you to cut off his last remaining witness?”
Michelle fell silent. “That wouldn’t happen, would it? No one would think I was an actual threat to them.” She clutched at his arm, feeling his muscles beneath the anorak and jumper. “You’ll protect me, won’t you, Graham?”
He sighed. “Of course, love. It probably wouldn’t happen. I was just imagining the worst.”
She smiled and released her hold, smoothing the finger marks from the fabric. “You do that quite a lot, you know. Graham the Pessimist, that’s what I ought to call you. I should take better care of you so you never feel the need to worry about things that will never happen.”
“Would you?” His smile was a flash of reflected streetlight in the shadowed car. “I’d like that very much. Maybe we could…”
He was interrupted by her phone bleeping again. She knew this was a big speech for him but couldn’t resist just having a look to see who’d left a message. “It’s Vera, replying to my text. Vera from the seance?”
She stared at him until he nodded and carried on. “She says she did think it might be a ghost but didn’t like to say that to a policeman in
case he laughed at her.”
“I’m sure they take every lead seriously. Just remember Vera’s one of the chief suspects on the Inspector’s list and treat her with a bit of caution, eh?” He reached over and tried to give her a cuddle.
Michelle let him. It wasn’t a proper cuddle and would satisfy his craving for intimacy for the rest of the night. She could smell the apple shampoo he used on his hair and the slight smell of fish from the aborted dinner plans. “That’s enough. You need to get to bed and I want to get online and check to all the replies to my message.”
“No names though, eh? The police can be real sticklers about that in an ongoing investigation.”
“I wouldn’t use real names anyway. Not in public.” Michelle reached for the door handle. “I suppose its safe enough?”
“What? The street?” Graham grinned as he got out and came around to her side. “Safe as it ever is at…” He checked his watch. “Ten past midnight.” He let out a long breath, shaking his head. “Come on, love. I’ve got to be up again in five hours.”
“One moment.” She replied to another text. “That one was George.”
“George from the seance? What did he want?”
“He wants me to delete the original text and not make any more references to the seance. He’s worried it will adversely affect his business.”
“What is his business? Something that makes a small fortune, at a guess.”
“I think he took over from his father. A building company. Retail parks, warehouses, tower blocks, that sort of thing.”
“There’s certainly money tied up in that.” Graham rubbed his arms. “Can we go in? It’s freezing out here.”
“Yes. Sorry.” Michelle took his hand and stood. “What should I tell George? I’m not dropping the subject. I’ve never been so popular.”
“Tell him you’re too tired tonight and you’ll sort it out tomorrow.” He let go of her to lock the car. “Then in the morning you can accidentally forget to remove it and apologize if he asks you again.”
“I thought you’d be on his side, considering you didn’t like me using Shirley’s death as publicity material.” She banged out the reply.
