A Spookies Compendium

by David Robinson

  Chapter Twelve

  Kevin watched McKinley and Sceptre leave the room as she showed the reporter out.

  With the media representative gone, he turned to Pete. “What are you gonna do about Wilcox?”

  Pete stretched, yawned and flexed his biceps. “I’ll go there tonight and beat his brains in,” he promised nonchalantly.

  “I admire your subtlety,” said Kevin flatly. “Why not just dynamite his club?”

  “My fists are cheaper.”

  “Pete,” protested Sceptre as she came back into the room, “I thought we were going back to Melmerby Manor tonight.”

  “You two can go on ahead in Kevin’s van,” Pete replied. “I’ll catch you up after I’ve dealt with Ronnie and his chums.”

  Sceptre and Kevin exchanged concerned stares.

  “Don’t tell me you’re scared. Crikey, you’re a good pair of ghost hunters, aren’t you?” Pete nodded at Kevin as he spoke to Sceptre. “I can understand him. He’s always been a coward.”

  “That’s what I love about you, Pete,” said Kevin, “the way you bolster my confidence.”

  Pete ignored him. “I’m surprised at you, Sceptre. If you’re really in touch with the spirits, you shouldn’t be scared.”

  Sceptre tutted impatiently. “I am not afraid of the spirits, but there was someone else at the manor the other night. Someone human, and they killed this poor man. It pains me to admit it, but I would prefer you to be there in case they come back.”

  Pete grinned. “With Mike McKinley along, the biggest danger you face is being made to look a total fool in that excuse for a newspaper he writes for. I’m going to see Ronnie Wilcox, and after that I’ll come along to Melmerby Manor.” He gave her a hug. “Just to make sure you’re safe.”

  *****

  Pete arrived at Flutter-Bys just after four and found Wilcox in a cheerful mood as he prepared his club for the evening opening. As usual, Groom and Lawson, his minders, stood close by, along with his dumpy wife, but now a gaunt, middle-aged man wearing an oversized pinstripe suit had joined them, and he was the source of Wilcox’s good cheer.

  “This, Brennan, is my lawyer, Arnold Gillibrand.”

  Pete turned a sour eye on the fifty-something with flowing grey hair and baggy suit. “Gillibrand? Weren’t you a German politician?”

  “That was Willy Brandt,” said the lawyer.

  “If you say so.” Pete made sure they understood he was not impressed. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Gillibrand, and I’d love to compare notes on law and order, but I’ve come here to bang your client’s head against the wall until he tells me all about the DVDs he knocked off and stored at Melmerby Manor.”

  Gillibrand fished in his pocket and came out with a single sheet of A4 paper. “This, Mr. Brennan, is a restraining injunction, preventing you from harassing my client any further.”

  Pete took the document and read it. It appeared to be a list of long and complex numbers, each with a price attached. It had him completely mystified, until he saw the labour charges added at the bottom. “This, Gillibrand, is, in fact, a bill for repairs to a boat called The Legal Ass.” He handed it back. “It seems your legal ass has a hole in it.” He smiled. “Actually, looking at the bill, the hole should have been transferred from the boat to your wallet.”

  Confused and embarrassed, Gillibrand dug into his pockets once more and came out with another piece of paper, which he read to ensure it was the correct document before handing it over. “I think you’ll find that in order.”

  Pete checked it. He had seen enough restraining orders in his time as a police officer to know that it was not only the correct document this time, but also valid. He passed it back and shrugged. “Okay. No problem. I’ll just go see Padlock and Chains with my evidence.” Without waiting for a reaction from Wilcox, he turned his back on them and walked away.

  At a signal from Wilcox, Groom hurried after Pete and grabbed him by the wrist. The results of this hasty action astonished everyone, especially Groom. Pete shrugged the hand off, turned and landed a single punch. Groom staggered back into a table, rolled over it, landed on a chair, and came to rest with his arms and legs splayed, eyes shut and his mouth open, snoring his head off.

  Pete marched back to the bar. Gillibrand moved in front of him. Pete shoved him out of the way, reached across the bar and grabbed the front of Wilcox’s shirt. Half dragging the hapless club owner across the bar, Pete lowered his voice to a dangerous hiss.

  “That’s twice you’ve sicked your goons on me plus several threats of grievous bodily harm. One more time, Wilcox, and I don’t care how many court orders or boat repair bills you come up with, I’ll jam my fist down your throat and rip out your tonsils. You understand?”

  Shaken, his composure gone, Wilcox could do nothing more than nod vigorously.

  “Now, what went down with Tate’s DVDs?” Pete demanded “And before you give me any more crap, let me tell you, I have a witness who swears you ripped off Jimmy Tate’s lockup. I came here to discuss it amicably, but since you decided to start the rough stuff, you leave me no choice. Either tell me what happened or I go to the filth... but only after I’ve rearranged your features to match your wife’s ugly mug.”

  Pete released him and Wilcox looked suitably miserable, while Gillibrand flapped uselessly in the background. Across the floor, Sylvie and Lawson tried to bring Groom round with light taps to his cheek, but the thug continued to snore.

  “Do you ever stop to wonder why people hate you so much, Brennan?” Wilcox wanted to know.

  Pete shook his head. “Nope. I’ve a thick skin, and anyway, I know where I’m at with hate. It’s love that confuses me. Now tell me what happened.”

  Wilcox sighed and, with a shaking hand, poured himself a Scotch. “Okay,” he said. “About a month ago, I got a call. Guy called himself Jay. Asked me to plan the heist. There was five grand in it for me if I did it. The job was straightforward. All I had to do was turn up with a big truck, which I already had, and the manpower, and I had to arrange for Sherlock to turn a blind eye. We carried it out a few nights ago. Sherlock did as he was told and skipped a coupla calls, we loaded the truck and shipped the lot up to Melmerby Manor just as we’d been told to. That’s it, that’s all I know.”

  “Why Melmerby Manor?”

  “Because it’s shut for the season. No one there, and that guy what owns it, that Jonathan Melmerby, he doesn’t live there, does he?”

  Pete found the explanation reasonable. “And the other night you went out there and shifted it all again, killing Bilko into the bargain.”

  “That wasn’t us,” Wilcox insisted. “I was at my mother’s bedside that night.” He grinned as if daring Pete to challenge his tale.

  “Your mother’s doing five for corruption,” Pete snarled.

  “I meant my grandmother.”

  “She’s been dead ten years.”

  “I meant her graveside.” Wilcox smiled again. “Come on, Brennan, I’m trying to lighten it here. You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you? I don’t know any more. The other night, while you were hunting spooks, we were here.”

  “Then how did you know we were ghost hunting?”

  Wilcox shrugged. “Your mate, Keeley. He told me all about it when he dropped that hooky scotch off.”

  Pete considered the pros and cons of this for a moment, then asked, “This Jay. What do you know?”

  “Nothing. Half the cash turned up the day before the hit, the other half was on the doormat the day after. Straight up, Brennan, that’s all I know.” Wilcox’s craggy features begged Pete to believe the tale.

  “Who killed Bilko?” Pete asked.

  “I don’t know!” Wilcox yelled in frustration. “How many more times do I have to tell you, it wasn’t us?”

  “Then who took the DVDs back from Melmerby Manor?”

  “I don’t know. It was probably this Jay character. I just told you, Keeley was mouthing off about your ghost hunting efforts and if one of my people
…” Wilcox gestured at his team still trying to bring Groom to his senses, “… opened their mouths in here and someone overheard, the word could have got back to Jay. If he dumped Bilko at Melmerby Manor, he’d be worried that you’d rumble the DVDs and the body, so he decided to take them back. It was probably him what scared you and your mates that night.”

  “He might have scared Kev, but he didn’t scare me.” Pete paused a moment in thought, working out his next question. “Who hit my car?”

  “I swear I don’t know. Honest, Brennan, I don’t. You need to find this bloke Jay. He’s behind it all.”

  “So, again, I ask; what about this Jay?”

  “I know nothing. All contact is by phone. I’ve never met the guy.” Again Wilcox resorted to pleading. “Come on, Brennan, you know me. He asks, he pays up front and in cash, I do. No names, no pack drill. Jeez, for all I know it might by Jimmy Tate himself, trying to screw his insurance company.”

  Pete laughed, humourlessly. “Insurance? On jiffy DVDs? Do me a favour.” He detached himself from the bar, ready to leave. “You’d better be telling it like it is, Wilcox, because if I find out there’s more, I’ll be back.” He cast a mean eye on Gillibrand. “And you know where you can stick that court order.”

  Deep in thought, Pete stepped out into the darkening afternoon.

  Wilcox’s story did not sound likely, but there was the remote possibility that he was telling the truth, and it would serve no purpose beating him and his idiots up, getting himself locked up while Bilko’s killer and the DVD thief remained at large. Much better to chew on the facts, play out a bit of rope, and let Wilcox hang himself. In the meantime, he needed bait to try and bring this mysterious Jay out into the open.

  *****

  Kevin could see McKinley’s BMW waiting for them at the main gates to the manor as they approached it. The reporter was in the car, reclined in his seat, smoking a cigarette.

  With her car demolished, Sceptre occupied the passenger seat of Kevin’s van. Throughout the journey from Ashdale, she had sat in quiet contemplation, but her eyes lit with more than a passing interest when she, too, saw the reporter’s car.

  Kevin’s lip curled in contempt. “Get involved with him, and he’ll only break your heart.”

  “Kevin?”

  “Yes, Sceptre?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  Kevin responded to Sceptre’s stern tone with meek acquiescence. “Yes, Sceptre.”

  As he brought the van to a stop by the gates, Sceptre asked, “Have you got a name for us, yet?”

  “I’ll have it by tomorrow,” he promised.

  Sceptre was satisfied. “Good. With Mr. McKinley doing a piece on us, we need a name.”

  Spiteful thoughts crossed Kevin’s mind as he got out to unlock the gates, but he kept quiet as McKinley joined him.

  “The big hero not with you, Keeley?” the reporter asked.

  “Pete has other business to attend to. He’ll be along shortly.” Kevin pushed open one gate and nodded at the other, inviting McKinley to open it.

  Both vehicles drove through and stopped. The two men got out, closed the gates behind them, leaving them unlocked for Pete, got back into their vehicles and continued the drive to the front entrance. When he opened his door, Kevin noticed that Sceptre had left his van in favour of McKinley’s car. The move irritated Kevin. It didn’t help matters when McKinley gave him a cheery grin as he drove past. In fact, at that point Kevin felt as if the EMF sensors in the cartons behind him should be bleeping in time to his bad vibes and the infrared detectors should be reading the steam shooting out his ears.

  He had no illusions about himself or his appearance. His girlfriends tended to be of the plain variety. Pete was the man who hit on the good-looking women, and normally they flocked to the ex-policeman’s side, but he had been trying with Sceptre ever since she moved into the flat ... without success. She resisted all his charms and his chat. Yet she had obviously fallen for McKinley in a matter of minutes. It was a mystery to Kevin. He figured Sceptre would have yielded to Pete before now, but there was no accounting for taste.

  He stopped outside the main entrance and reached across to the cup holders where Sceptre had left the keys to the manor. Climbing out, he noticed that Sceptre and McKinley were smiling and chatting as they got out of the reporter’s car. Kevin’s lip curled again. He ignored them, marched up the steps and unlocked the door. He would love to give Sceptre a piece of his mind and boot McKinley back up the drive, but that kind of confrontation was not his forte. Instead, he vented his irritation on the door, slamming it open before marching in. Their team was three-handed, and if they ever needed a fourth, it should not be scum like McKinley.

  He stopped dead. In giving in to his annoyance, he had committed a grave error. He had walked into the hall alone. After what had happened two nights previously, he felt it a near-suicidal move.

  The electricity was off, and, in the rapidly approaching dusk, the manor had taken on its familiar, sinister air. Kevin remained frozen just inside the entrance. The silence assaulted his ears; his eyes took time to get used to the gloom, and during that acclimatisation, he was sure he spotted dark shapes moving quickly, stealthily through the shadows, secreting themselves to watch his activities.

  A huge boom sounded around the hall. Kevin’s heart leapt. He swivelled and found the other two standing behind him. McKinley had just slammed the front doors.

  Kevin let go a large sigh and a lot of wind. “Don’t do that,” he protested, “You scared the Hell out of me.”

  As on their previous visit, Sceptre switched on the mains electricity and flicked every other light switch, illuminating one bulb in three, barely lighting the severe portraits and silent exhibits.

  She frowned. “The alarm wasn’t set,” she commented.

  “The police,” Kevin told her. “They’re always bleating about taking care of your property, but they’re the worst of the lot. I wouldn’t trust ’em to look after my granny’s pension book.”

  With a quick glance at her watch, Sceptre became brisk and businesslike. “We have only about half an hour before it gets properly dark so we have to set up quickly,” she ordered.

  Kevin, visions of manual labour filling his mind, readily agreed. “You two get the gear set up, I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Kevin …”

  “Look, Sceptre,” interrupted Kevin, “physical bits and pieces are not my strong suit. Pete normally handles it, but he’s not here, so McKinley can help you carry the cameras and stuff up to the other floors and I’ll get the computer set up and have a cuppa ready for you by the time you get back.” He beamed ingratiatingly. “You do seem to be getting on famously.”

  Sceptre did not rise to his jibe. She turned to McKinley. “Do you mind?”

  He smiled. “Of course not.”

  “All right, Kevin,” she agreed, “we’ll do it your way.”

  “You know it makes sense.” Smiling broadly, Kevin wandered off to the cafeteria. As he reached the door, Sceptre called to him.

  “Oh, Kevin.” Her tones were sweet and mischievous.

  He paused, turned and faced her. “Yes?”

  She smiled impishly. “Watch out for sliding sugar bowls, falling teaspoons and flying CDs won’t you?” She gave a girlish giggle and left.

  *****

  Leaving Kevin setting up his computer control centre, Sceptre and McKinley quickly unloaded the rest of the equipment and carried the cameras, sensors and cable drums to the first floor landing and corridor.

  Fifteen minutes later, while Sceptre angled a camcorder along the corridor outside the master bedroom, McKinley leaned against the wall watching her. “What’s a good-looking girl like you doing hanging around with a pair of losers like Brennan and Keeley?”

  Sceptre did not answer immediately. She studied the screen display on the digital video camera, recalling the track of the orb a few nights previously and ensuring that the wide-angle lens would catch any movement in the
corridor. She inserted the power jack and then plugged it into a cable socket, which would run back to the main power drum at the head of the stairs. Having done that, she finally turned to face him.

  “I’m beginning to see why they don’t like you,” she said. “They are not losers.”

  “Oh, come on,” McKinley protested. “If it’s not nailed down or welded to the floor, Keeley will nick it, and Brennan’s more interested in scoring with the chicks than anything else.”

  “Not with me, he isn’t.” Her response was clipped and disapproving.

  Putting the finishing touches on the setting up of the camera, Sceptre asked herself why she was suddenly being so defensive. McKinley was not the first person to assume that her living arrangements with Kevin and Pete were more than platonic, and she would not normally put the rumour down so brusquely. Somewhere at the back of her mind was the feeling that she had snapped because she was afraid of yielding to the reporter, and she had more important concerns.

  “Sorry,” she apologised. “Everyone thinks there’s something between Pete and me, and it’s not true.”

  He shrugged. “No sweat.”

  Content with the camera’s aim, she led the way up the stairs to Aggie Devis’ attic room where the rocking horse had been so dramatically active two nights previously.

  Carrying a box full of equipment, McKinley struggled to keep up with her.

  “So, you’re living in the same flat as Keeley and Brennan and you’re not, er, you know … with either of them?”

  “No, I am not. Please, Mr. McKinley, can we get on with the work?”

  McKinley smiled and put the box down. “Well if you’re not getting on with them, how about... ” He leaned forward, took her shoulders, turned her to him, and kissed her. “By the way, the name is Mike.” He kissed her again.

  Sceptre broke the kiss and put down the camcorder and tripod. She turned back to him, reached up and put her arms around his neck, pulling him to her so their lips could meet again.

  Her thoughts were a jumble. She had never given way this quickly with any man and yet... Was her heart beating so fast because she was afraid of the physical contact, or...