A Spookies Compendium

by David Robinson

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll have dinner with you, but that’s all I’ll have. And there’s one other condition.”

  He grinned broadly. “Name it.”

  “You give us a good write-up,” she demanded.

  The grin settled to a smile. “You’ve got it.”

  *****

  Even with the manor’s lights all switched on, there were still dark shadows lurking in many corners. Kevin felt his nerves rising again and stuck close to Pete all the way up the attic corridor, where Pete pushed open the door of the nursery room.

  “You get the camera from Aggie’s drum, Kev.”

  Kevin’s colour drained. “What? With wigjam written on the wall in there? Not likely. You get it.”

  Pete shrugged. “All right. You take this room.”

  “Fine. Pete?”

  Pete paused at the door to Aggie’s room. “Yes?”

  “Leave the doors open,” Kevin suggested. “That way I can hear you.”

  Grinning to himself, Pete moved on, and Kevin entered the nursery.

  Although dismantling the equipment was not a complex process, there was a considerable amount to carry once it was done. Cables had to be unplugged and carefully coiled to avoid tangling before being traced back to the socket drums, the tripod had to be folded away, sensors had to be collected and put back into their cases.

  Bending over the tripod, unfastening the butterfly screw, releasing the digital camcorder from its seat, Kevin could hear Pete working just a few doors along, and it brought him comfort. Nothing would happen while Pete was there. He could scare off the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders, never mind the local spooks.

  Something struck him lightly on the back of the neck. Intent on releasing the tripod screw, which was supposed to be only hand-tight but offered considerable resistance, Kevin did not look up.

  “Stop mucking about, Pete.” He concentrated on the butterfly screw again, and heaved at it. “I do wish you wouldn’t tighten these things up so much. Great, ham-fisted git.”

  It happened again. Something stung him lightly on the neck, but this time, it fell to the floor. Already looking downward, Kevin watched it roll away and under the rocking horse. It was some kind of glass bead. Where did Pete get glass beads?

  “Pete? That you, Pete?”

  Another struck him on the neck and fell to the floorboards under the tripod.

  “P-p-p-p-pete?”

  “I’m busy.” Pete’s voice was muffled by walls separating the two rooms.

  Kevin began to tremble. “Not again.”

  Almost the moment he uttered the thought, he was showered with glass beads. With a cry of ‘WAAH’ he ran from the room.

  *****

  “I’m telling you, someone threw them at me.”

  All four of them had crowded into the nursery and were staring down at the beads scattered across the floor. In the face of their obvious disbelief, Kevin, his courage restored with their very presence, was beginning to lose his temper.

  “What do you think I was doing with a load of glass beads?” Kevin persisted. “Making junk jewellery so I could open a market stall?”

  Sceptre handled the cardboard box where the beads had been stored the last time she saw them. “You’re sure you didn’t disturb them?” The look on his face answered her question, and Sceptre hastened to explain her thinking. “You had your back to them while you were pulling the tripod apart; you could have knocked the box over.”

  Kevin looked down his nose at her. “And hit myself on the back of the neck with them? Talk sense.”

  McKinley cleared his throat. “Well if you ask me …”

  “We didn’t,” Kevin interrupted.

  “Her explanation makes more sense than yours,” the reporter persisted.

  Kevin stared. “I told you once to shut it.” He looked to his oldest friend. “Pete, you believe me, don’t you?”

  Pete shrugged. “Sorry mate, I’m with them.”

  Kevin leaned huffily on the rocking horse. “I’m sick of this. Every time we come here, these spooks have a go at me, and no one believes me.”

  Sceptre sympathised. “And this time, you’d already shut the camera down, so we don’t have it on video.”

  “I know. I’m telling you, these ghosts have got it in for me. And what have I ever done to them?” Kevin gave a fat shrug. “Aside from Bilko, I didn’t even know them when they were alive.”

  Sceptre leapt on the idea. “It’s possible that you did, you know.”

  The three men stared at her: Pete and McKinley were amused, Kev astonished. “I’m 26, not 326,” he complained.

  “Yes,” Sceptre agreed, “but Kevin, in a former life, you may have worked with or for them.”

  Kevin’s flexible features registered outrage. “I have enough enemies in this life without dredging up more from a previous one. Get your butler to tell them to leave me alone or I’ll … I’ll … I’ll be seriously fed up.”

  *****

  Once home and with Kevin’s van unloaded, while the other two went to bed to catch up on some much-needed sleep, Pete made a quick phone call and then drove down to police station, where he met Detective Sergeant Bob Phillips, an old friend.

  “It’s Saturday,” complained Phillips, “and supposed to be my day off.”

  “Just do me this favour, Bob,” Pete begged. “It might help keep Locke off my back.”

  Phillips took the sample from Pete and placed it under a microscope. “I heard about that,” he said, placing his eye to the lens. “I’m sure he doesn’t really suspect you, but he never forgets that time you thumped him.”

  Pete was happy to hear it. He relied upon his reputation as a hard nut. “Most people don’t forget.”

  Phillips adjusted the eyepiece, studied it for a moment and then leaned back. “I’ll have to run some more tests, analyze it properly, but for my money, it’s paint. Take a look.”

  Pete looked into the microscope and found himself studying a grainy red mass. It meant nothing to him.

  “Blood is more cellular in appearance, and red blood cells refract so you get the impression you’re looking at little red doughnuts,” said Phillips as Pete straightened up and raised his eyebrows. “I’ll run a few more tests and get back to you. Still on the same mobile number?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll let you know by lunchtime.”

  “Cheers,” grinned Pete. “It’s one I owe you.”

  From the police laboratory, Pete drove out of town and down to Chapel Road and parked outside Bent Benny’s shop.

  The shop was almost empty. Benny’s only customer, a young man seeking an electronic top-up for his mobile phone walked out as Pete entered. Somewhere in the background, a radio played sixties music at a low volume, but aside from that there was no other sound in the place, and the noise of passing traffic barely penetrated the windows.

  One of Benny’s less endearing habits was continuing to read his newspaper when customers approached the counter. It gave him control, let them know they were secondary in importance to the latest football reports or racing tipsters. When Pete’s dark shadow fell across the counter, cutting off most of the morning light, Benny continued to study form for long seconds.

  Pete did not move, he did not cough, he did nothing at all to draw attention to himself, but waited patiently for the pressure of silence and his persistent refusal to go away to get to Benny.

  Eventually, Benny folded the newspaper shut, tucked it to one side and looked up into Pete’s smiling face. Benny’s weasel features paled.

  “Pete. Long time no see. What can I do you for?”

  Pete tossed the tiny camera on the counter. “You can tell me how that found its way to the cafeteria at Melmerby Manor, and was used in conjunction with a computer, the Internet and recorded sound that Kevin had you copy the other day, to scare the living Hell out of Kev and Sceptre.”

  Benny gave a nervous laugh and reached for a bottle of Scotch at his elbow. A dangerous glare
from Pete stopped him. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll bet it didn’t scare you though. I’ve always said it takes a lot to scare Pete Brennan.”

  “If you were female and in your twenties, flattery would get you a long way, but you’re just a rat-faced old git, so it won’t work. Now what are you playing at, Benny?”

  Benny picked up the camera and turned it over in his hands. “Who’s to say this came from me?”

  “It’s got your label on the back.”

  The shopkeeper’s ears turned red. “Ah, well, anyone could have got hold of one of those and stuck it... ”

  He trailed off. Pete’s features had not shifted, but his eyes had narrowed slightly.

  The shopkeeper continued to play innocent. “Whatever happened at Melmerby Manor had nothing to do with me, Pete. Honest.”

  “Everything that’s happened over the last 24 hours has to do with you, Benny.” Pete insisted. “First off, you sold us out to that scum, McKinley.”

  “I was only trying to make a few bob,” Benny squealed.

  His pleading, like the squeal of a piglet taken from its mother, pleased Pete. “I’ll bet you were. As it happens, McKinley is just as unreliable as you, and he told us you mentioned 25,000 missing DVDs. Now, that information was known to only a few people, so where did you get to know about them?”

  “Kev told me.”

  “No, he didn’t. I checked.” Pete cracked his knuckles and Benny swallowed hard. “Now come on, Benny. Open up before I practice my surgical skills and open you up.”

  Benny’s weasel-like face puckered into a frown, and sweat broke out on his upper lip. “Now, you just cool it Pete. Don’t go losing that temper of yours.”

  “Persuade me not to lose it, Benny. Talk to me.”

  “All right. I’ll tell you what I know, but whatever happened to you guys last night had nothing to do with me. I swear.” Nervously, Benny cleared his throat. “Yesterday, after Kev and that bint left, a certain party, who will remain nameless for now, called on me and wanted to know what your mate wanted with me. By then, I’d already rung McKinley and tipped him off to the voice. This party…”

  “By whom you mean Wilcox and his crew.”

  Benny shook his head vigorously, but it was not a denial. “I ain’t saying nothing, see? Let’s just call him Mr. X. Well, Mr. X and his friends wanted to know what Kev and that tart wanted. I’d already given the spiel away to McKinley, so I didn’t see a problem with giving it to Mr. X, so I told him.”

  “What you mean is, Wilcox and his goons, Lawson and Groom, threatened to splatter you all over your shop unless you told them.”

  “You’re getting the picture,” Benny agreed. “When I told them, they asked me for a copy of the message your pal had got on his radio. I played it, and then they asked me for the gear to set up at Melmerby. Speaker, Internet connection, and all the rest of it. They wanted to be able to drive the computer from their place, so I sold them the software and everything.”

  “And they paid you?” Pete was astonished.

  “Well, not in cash, you understand.”

  “In other words, they paid you by promising to lay off if you kept your trap shut.”

  Benny gave a nervous laugh. “You’re really picking this up quick, aren’t you?”

  “I follow it all so far, but where did you learn about the missing DVDs?”

  “Wilc... I mean Mr. X asked me whether Kev had mentioned them. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He believed me, which was good of him considering one of his mugs had me pressed back against the wall and was threatening to slice my throat.”

  “And from that single reference, you put it all together and then sold it on to McKinley?” Pete’s sounded unconvinced. “Stop fooling around before I lose it.”

  Benny’s face fell. “Honest, Pete. That’s how it happened, but I already knew about the DVDs. I was talking to Bilko in the Mare and Foal the night before he went missing. He told me about them. He told me the filth didn’t even know they were nicked. When Wil... Mr. X mentioned them, I figured it was a good enough tip for McKinley, so when our favourite hack came to see me about the tape, about an hour after Mr. X and his chums had left, I passed it all to him.”

  Pete mulled over the information. If Benny had seen Bilko the night before he died, would that hold any clues as to his next move? “Bilko. When you spoke to him, what was he doing with the information?”

  “Sitting on it.” Benny shrugged. “He bought me a drink. Said he was on an earner if he could confirm where the DVDs were. He’d heard about them from someone, dunno who, but he had to check the tale before approaching Jimmy Tate.”

  Pete nodded. Given Tate’s reputation for not suffering fools at all, let alone gladly, it was a wise move. “Right, Benny. We’ve done quite well. All we need now is confirmation that Mr. X’s full name is Ronnie Wilcox.”

  “Come on Pete, you know better than that. If I tell you and he finds out, which he will because you’ll go see him, he’ll torch my shop with me in it. I can’t confirm that.”

  Benny reached again for the bottle of scotch. Pete stopped him and picked up the bottle, studied the label. Old Sporran, he read, and his face split into a broad grin.

  “Thanks Benny, that’s all the confirmation I need. Oh, by the way, don’t drink that whisky. It’s Scotch-flavoured water from Latvia.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was three o’clock when Kevin finally crawled out of bed and ambled into the front room to find Sceptre poring over the computer video and audio files of the previous night.

  “Where’s Pete?” he asked.

  Sceptre looked up from the computer. “He went to see that friend of yours. Benny Stringer.”

  Kevin nodded. “Oh yeah, I remember.” He watched Sceptre’s nimble fingers dancing across the keyboard for a moment. “Sceptre. Why did you do that to Pete last night? Y’know, with McKinley? You must know Pete fancies you.”

  She replied reluctantly. “I don’t fancy Pete. He’s a friend, and I don’t date friends. Come to that, I’m not really interested in dating anyone at the moment.”

  “I know, but…”

  “Kevin, I don’t want to talk about it. We’re flat mates, friends and business partners. That’s it. My private life is my own affair. Besides, like I said to Pete this morning, nothing happened. Well, nothing serious.”

  Kevin snorted. “Your private life? Not with McKinley. Any woman going out with him doesn’t have a private life. He’s real scum, you know. Don’t be surprised if your little interlude makes the front page of next Thursday’s Chronicle. I wouldn’t trust that bloke further than I could throw you, and you don’t weigh half what he does.” He reached into his pocket and came out with a piece of paper. “Anyway,” he went on, “let’s forget that. I’ve finally come up with a name for us. This was my idea for the business card.”

  He passed the sheet of paper over, and Sceptre studied it. Spookies, read the heading, Paranormal Investigators. Beneath the announcement were their home telephone and three mobile numbers.

  ‘That’s very clever, Kevin, but where did you get the idea?”

  “From you. I—” Before he could explain, the telephone rang, and he reached for the receiver and with an insouciant grin at Sceptre, announced, “Hello, Spookies?”

  “Who?” demanded Pete from the other end of the line.

  “Spookies is the name of our team,” Kevin explained. “I was just about to tell Sceptre. I dreamed it up this morning after you left us. I got it from our initials. Sceptre, Pete, Kevin. S-P-K. Spookies. Good, innit?”

  “Sounds bloody silly to me,” grumbled his best friend.

  “Well, I tried our surname initials, B-R-K,” Kevin sneered, “and all I could get was Berks. Didn’t have the same ring about it.”

  “I dunno, that sounds about right, especially if you put “clueless” in front of it.”

  “What are you moaning about?” snapped Kevin. “The Post Office paid millions for someone to
come up with Consignia.”

  “Yes, and everyone still called it the Post Office. Eventually, even they went back to calling it the Post Office.”

  “Just shut up about it. Sceptre likes it, and so do I. Anyway, why are you ringing?”

  “I’ve seen Bent Benny,” Pete reported, “and I’m on my way to see the Tates and then Wilcox. I’m gonna try putting the wind up him. While I’m out, you can get onto that scumbag McKinley and ask if he’s managed to trace that mobile number yet. The one sending you all the text messages.”

  “Roger dodger.” Kevin gave Sceptre a withering stare. “I’ll get Sceptre to do it. She’s well in with him. What’s happening after that?”

  “If I’ve got this right,” said Pete, “we can wrap it all up tonight. I want you and Sceptre at Melmerby Manor for about half seven, and I’ll meet you there. I’m betting that Wilcox and his crew won’t be far behind. By the way, the message in the attic? Paint. Like I said.”

  “Paint? Not blood?” Kevin managed to sound both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  “Not according to my contact,” replied Pete, “who is much more reliable than any of yours. At least he’s qualified.”

  Kevin ignored the slight on his contacts. “What’s this about Wilcox? I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain later. You just make sure you and Sceptre are out at Melmerby Manor for half past seven. The fireworks begin soon after.”

  The line went dead.

  Sceptre raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

  “Pete. He’s going to see Wilcox; again. Wants us at Melmerby Manor no later than half seven.”

  “I should be through here by then, but I’m supposed to be meeting Mike at nine, and I hadn’t planned on spending another night at Melmerby Manor.” She gave Kevin a wan smile. “We all need a little time off.”

  “I agree,” said Kevin, “but Pete doesn’t. Who’s Mike?”

  “Mike McKinley. You know. The reporter.”

  Kevin sniffed disdainfully. “Oh. Mike now, is it? That serious.”

  “Oh, stop being childish, Kevin.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “If it’s any consolation, I’d never have gone out with you.”