by Sam Short
Gladys shook her head. “No,” she said. “Inspector Jameson didn’t feel… bad. You have to trust me on that. I’m a good judge of character, and as for reporting it… we can’t. I have to get married in two days time. I just have to!”
“Granny,” said Penny. “I know how important it is to you, but surely you can see that we made a mistake. We should have just let the police carry on with their investigation. You can get married on another day.”
“No!’ said Gladys. “I’ve booked a band and had a lovely big cake made! The Poacher’s Pocket Hotel has stocked up on Pimm’s, and Brian has polished his shoes!”
“None of that is hard to do again at a later date,” said Willow. “And it’s not like you’re strapped for cash, is it?”
Gladys close her eyes. She was going to have to say it. The thing that she’d not said out loud yet — even to herself. She took a deep breath. “You know why Aunt Eva can’t come through a portal from the Haven? You know why she won’t be at my wedding?”
“Because she got ill in this world. She’d be dead within minutes of stepping back into Wickford, where she’s not protected by Haven magic. Seconds even,” said Penny. “Yes, we know.”
Gladys nodded. “Well, I’m sorry to say—”
Willow gasped and pulled Gladys into a tight hug. “You’re ill too, aren’t you, Granny?” she wept.
Gladys smoothed her granddaughter’s hair, and spoke softly. “Not me. No, Willow, not me. It’s Charleston. He didn’t want anyone to know. That’s the reason he was so happy to be magically trapped in the body of a goat for so long — the thing in his head wouldn’t get any bigger. When he came to my cottage on that fateful day and I cast the accidental spell, he only had nine or ten months left, and it’s been almost eight.”
“But he can’t be ill in The Haven,” said Barney. “That’s what you’ve always said — people don’t get ill there.”
“And that’s correct,” said Gladys, “but dimension travel is a funny old thing, Barney, and one of the frustrating intricacies of it is the fact that the body keeps going in this world. Charleston has spent six-months in The Haven, completely safe from that cruel thing in his head. When he steps back into this world, though, it will be six-months more advanced than it was when he left.”
“Oh, Granny,” said Penny. “You should have told us.”
“Charleston wouldn’t allow it,” said Gladys. “But that’s why he hasn’t been back to Wickford, and if I want to get married in the chapel my mother always wanted to see me married in, then it has to be on Saturday. If I leave it any later Charleston won’t be able to come back to Wickford, and if he risked it, who knows what would happen? I realise it may sound selfish, but I’ve never really wanted anything in my life as much as I want to honour my mother’s wishes.”
Barney stood up straight, and an electrifying tingle ran the full length of Gladys’s spine as a look of sheer frightening determination spread across the policeman’s face.
“You’re not selfish, Gladys!” bellowed Barney, his hand forming a fist, and his face as red as his hair. “You’re a fine woman who allowed herself to be burnt to death to save the rest of us. You people are my family now, and family helps one another. I’ll make sure you get married on Saturday, Gladys. You mark my words! I’m Sergeant Barney Dobkins, and I’ve got a crime to solve!”
“Barney,” said Penny, taking her boyfriend’s trembling hand in hers. “That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard you say. How are you going to do it? How are you going to catch Ethel’s killer?”
Barney licked his lips. “I’ll… I’ll, erm…”
Gladys smiled, her heart lighter than it had been for months. It was true what they said — a problem shared is a problem halved. Although Gladys felt that her problem had been quartered and fine diced. She had her family firmly on her side, and that was all she’d ever wanted. “Try and get the file from Inspector Jameson’s safe?” she suggested. “He’s going to Scotland, so his office will be empty, and we should find out who the initials LHG belong to, and try and get access to Ethel’s tablet thingy — who knows what information we’ll find on that.”
“Precisely, Gladys,” said Barney. “Just what I was about to say.” He lowered his eyes. “I do value your input, but I’d prefer it if people didn’t interrupt me in the future.” He paused for a moment. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes! We need to do all of those things, but I also need to find out if any new arrivals have come to the area recently. If Ethel’s murder was anything to do with the man in the letter — the one who’s been released from prison, then he’d need somewhere to live. I’ll check with the council, estate agents, and private landlords.”
“Barney,” said Gladys. “With that fine police mind of yours, you’ll be a detective in no time at all.”
Chapter Eleven
Gladys handed the tablet to Susie. “Penny and Willow have both tried, but they can’t access it. Ethel set a password, and no amount of magic seems to work. It’s a tough little thing.”
“Don’t worry,” said Susie. “It will take me a few hours, but I’ll get into it. There are people online I can speak to who could get into Fort Knox if they put their mind’s to it. What am I looking for?”
“Anything to do with the initials LHG,” said Gladys. “And find out if Ethel did online banking. If you could get into her account it would be a great help. If we can find out who was paying her each month, we’ll have the case wrapped up by supper time, and the killer in a cell before midnight-snack time.”
“LHG,” said Susie, raising a bushy eyebrow. “It shouldn’t be hard to find somebody with those initials. We know it’s a woman who wrote the letter, so that narrows it down. I’ve got access to the electoral role. I’ll see what I can find.”
“We’ve had a good think,” said Barney. “And we can’t think of anybody in Wickford, or nearby, who has those initials. There’s Laura Gambley, but her middle name is Catherine, and she’s only twenty-nine. She wasn’t even alive in nineteen-eighty-seven.”
“Leave it with me,” said Susie. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Barney seemed nervous, and Gladys wasn’t surprised. He was about to help her do something which would finish his career as a police officer if they were caught — as well as alerting the whole of the human race to the presence of real life witches and magic. Gladys thought the latter was worse, but Barney seemed to be focusing on the former.
“It will be okay,” said Gladys, as Barney turned into High Street and changed gear. “I know exactly what the inspector looks like. His face is firmly etched in my mind, as are his clothes and voice. The shape-shifter spell will be fool proof.”
“And you’re sure magic will open the safe?” said Barney. “You couldn’t even get into a tablet.”
“I’m positive,” said Gladys. “I’ve been around a while, you know, Barney. You don’t get to… my age, without breaking into a safe or two.”
“I don’t want to know,” said Barney. “Your colourful past is none of my business.”
Gladys watched the street go by as she planned the way she’d play the inspector. She’d been around enough police to know how they spoke. If she was forced into a conversation as she walked through the police station, she was sure that nobody would guess they weren’t speaking to Inspector Jameson himself. “And you’re sure nobody knows he’s in Scotland?” said Gladys. “This whole caper relies on that. If that little detail is cleared up, then I literally can’t think of anything else that could go wrong. It’s a watertight plan.”
“I’m sure,” said Barney. “He’s a private man, and he’s coming up to retirement soon. He comes and goes as he pleases, and doesn’t really have any good friends on the force. Nobody really notices him. He could be in Papua New Guinea, and nobody would be any the wiser.”
Granny watched a small crowd of people standing outside the butcher’s shop, and she gasped. She’d been too focused on the murder to think anything else could cause a hiccup on her weddin
g day, but watching Thomas Ericson being accosted by the same dirty tramp she’d lambasted not three days ago, made her blood run cold. “Pull the car over, Barney!” she said. “Right this moment! That hobo is worrying a member of the band I’ve booked. Throw him in jail!”
“We’ve got bigger fish to fry,” said Barney. “He’s not doing anything illegal anyway. As far as I can see, he’s just talking to the busker. Arresting somebody would really draw attention to us when we get to the police station, and we don’t want that. There’s a lot of paperwork involved.”
“He’s not talking,” said Gladys. “He’s shouting! My busker needs his hearing to be in super-duper condition if he’s going to play to his full potential at my wedding party, and having a vagabond yelling in his ear could burst an eardrum. You pull this car over right this instance before I cast a spell which will flip this vehicle upside down. Then you’ll have paperwork to complete.”
Barney sighed, and flicked on the indicator. “If you must,” he said, pulling over a respectable distance down the road from the crowd. “But I’m parking here. People will think you’re in trouble if they see you getting out of a police car.”
Gladys clambered out of the car. “Wait here, I won’t be long. I’ll deal with the insolent little blighter in no time at all!”
She hurried along the pavement, trying her best to avoid stepping on the cracks. It was the only superstition Gladys paid any heed to, and it had caused numerous arguments with Norman when he’d installed crazy paving in the back garden. Her dancing had improved, but she’d still made her husband rip them up and replace them with concrete.
As Gladys neared the butcher’s shop, she heard raised voices. “Leave me alone!” shouted Thomas. “You’re mad! Of course I’m not!”
Gladys pushed her way through the spectators, ignoring their protests. “What on earth are you doing?” said Gladys, looking the dirty bearded man up and down.
“Nothing to do with you,” he said. He took an open can of cider from his pocket and took a swig. “Unless you’re one of them too!”
“One of what?’ said Gladys. “You’re making no sense, man!”
“A ghost!” said the tramp. “I’ve already seen one! Are you one too? Come here, let me feel you!”
Gladys scowled as she pushed the man’s hand away. “Get your dirty paws off me, you drunk old fool. You’ve got a filthy bandage on one of them, who knows what infections you’ve picked up! Anyway — I thought I told you to get lost the other day. Go on, get out of here, get back under your stone and leave people alone.”
“I tried to go home,” said the man. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t find it. I just kept on wandering until I came back here. But I like it here in town. There’s no ghosts.”
“Of course you can’t find your way home if you’re always drunk, but if you don’t wander your way off down the street this instant,” said Gladys, “you’ll be a ghost by the time I’ve finished with you!”
The man scowled at Gladys. “I hate this town,” he said, making the sign of the cross on his chest. “It’s got no morals.”
“You’ve got no morals!” said Gladys. “Drinking in the street in broad daylight and accosting poor buskers. Now go on, shoo! And give me your name! If you get into any more trouble I want to be able to tell the police who to arrest!”
He gave Gladys a dejected look. “They call me The Bear.”
Gladys studied him. Big and hairy, and he smelt too. It was a fitting name. “Well, Mister Bear, I suggest you get going, or I’ll make you tell me your real name!”
The Bear sighed. “I know when I’m not wanted,” he said. He gave the crowd a menacing stare and began stumbling along the pavement, placing his can back in the pocket of his thick overcoat.
“Wait,” said a voice. “Don’t forget these.”
The well-built butcher stood in the doorway of his shop, holding out a paper bag. “Scraps of liver and kidney, just like you asked for.”
“Thank you, Sir,” said The Bear, taking the bag. “God bless you.”
“You can thank me by not causing scenes outside my shop,” said the butcher, slamming the door as he went back inside his shop.
Gladys looked at Thomas with concern. “Will you still be able to play on Saturday?” she said. “I know how sensitive you musical types can be, and he was very aggressive towards you. Do you still feel like you have talent?”
“I’m fine,” said Thomas, nodding his thanks to a lady who dropped a coin in his box. “Me and the band are looking forward to it, we’ve got a real treat of a playlist lined up for you. It’ll be a good night. I promise.”
Barney parked behind the police station. The carpark wasn’t very large, but he managed to find a secluded spot behind the wheelie bins which brimmed with paper and styrofoam cups.
“Are you sure you can pull this off, Gladys?’ said Barney. “If we get caught, who knows what will happen.”
“Have faith,” said Gladys. “And if the worse comes to the worse, I’ll set off an EMP so large this town won’t know what’s hit it.”
Barney shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound. I said I’d help, so let’s get on with it.”
Gladys closed her eyes and imagined Inspector Jameson’s face. His body and clothes would be easy to mimic, but the face would give her away if she didn’t capture the most important details. She pictured his nose, thin at the top, but widening into a ball above the nostrils, lined with the thin veins of a man who drank. His eyes were easy to capture — bright and inquisitive, with lids that drooped when he spoke.
When Gladys was sure the image in her head was the one she wanted her body to portray, she took a deep breath and cast her spell. She watched herself in the sun-visor vanity mirror as her face shimmered and shifted, her blue perm being replaced with thinning grey hair.
“Woah!” said Barney. “You look just like him! This is weird.”
“I’m a man!” said Gladys, testing the voice. She’d mimicked Ethel’s voice perfectly, and judging by Barney’s reaction, she’d done the same with the inspector. “A big ol’ man! I’ve never been a man before, Barney! I like it… I feel so… powerful!”
“Don’t call me by my first name,” said Barney. “Call me Sergeant from this moment forward, and remember to stay close to me. I’ll take you to his office, and don’t speak to anybody unless they speak to you. I want to be in and out as quickly as possible.”
Gladys nodded, her hand wandering along her corduroy clad thigh.
“What are you doing?” said Barney. “Take your hand off that! It’s not yours!”
“It’s not his either,” said Gladys, giving a gentle squeeze. “It’s a facsimile copy of his body — and anyway, it’s nothing to write home about. I won’t be touching it again.”
Barney took a deep breath. “If you’ve quite finished molesting yourself, we should go. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Gladys nodded. “Lead the way, Sergeant.”
Chapter Twelve
Gladys felt like she was nine inches taller. It was obvious from the way she no longer needed to angle her neck painfully as she looked up at Barney, that she was taller on the outside, but Gladys felt taller on the inside, too.
She swelled with a pride she’d never before experienced as Barney punched the code into the door lock, and as she entered the police station, she realised what was happening to her — she was infected with male —privilege and toxic-masculinity, and boy, it felt good. Too good.
Barney whispered one last warning. “This is the custody suite. Don’t say a word unless you have to, just follow me.”
Gladys gave Barney a manly slap on his back, her new-found masculinity a drug which gave her more confidence than she’d ever imagined. She was a man now, unshackled from the chains which kept women in their place. The world was hers for the taking. And she wanted it. All of it.
Gladys walked alongside Barney as they passed the custody desk, heading for the door which would take them into the
beating heart of the station. The place where men made important decisions.
The custody desk sergeant greeted them in a tired voice. “Morning, guys.”
Guys. What a powerful word. A word endowed with privilege and power.
Gladys smiled at the desk sergeant. She could tell he’d been on duty all night, and was probably looking forward to getting to the golf course or gentleman’s club when he finished his shift. Or perhaps he would go hunting. He looked like a hunter.
“Morning, Harry,” said Barney, hurrying through the suite. “Busy night?”
“Just the normal,” said Harry. “Local teens smoking cannabis, and a drunk driver.”
Gladys knew she must answer too. Harry had greeted them both, it would seem rude if she remained silent. “Yo, Harry,” she said, surprised at how easily she had slipped into the role of Detective Inspector. “Did anyone fall down the stairs on their way to a cell? You know what I’m saying — nudge-nudge, wink-wink.”
Harry took a step backwards. “Urm… no, Sir. There are no stairs to the cells, and we take health and safety very seriously. There’s never been an accident on my shift.” He put his hand to his head. “Touch wood.”
“Perhaps it’s about time there was,” said Gladys, offering Harry a conspiratorial wink. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, if you know what I mean — nudge-nudge, wink-wink.”
“Are you okay, Sir?” said Harry.
“He’s just having a joke,” said Barney, putting a hand on Glady’s back and forcing her towards the door.
“I don’t find it particularly funny if I’m honest, Sir,” said Harry. “Those days are long behind us, and I don’t feel it’s appropriate to joke about them. I take my job very seriously.”
Gladys noted the cameras on the walls. They were being recorded. No wonder Harry wouldn’t open up to his superior.
“I get you, Harry,” said Gladys, tapping the side of her nose, and winking again. “We’ve got to be careful these days. Those cell doors are very heavy, imagine the damage one of them could do to a perp’s hand if it was accidentally slammed on it. I know where you’re coming from — the prisoner’s safety must always come first, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.”
