A Spookies Compendium

by David Robinson

  Andrea’s hands wandered beneath the duvet. “Lower than your doodah at the moment.”

  Pete laughed. “Careful, or you may provoke another reaction.”

  “All right,” she said. “You’ve got Nordqvist and Corcoran together. I’ll go with that so far, but what were they up to?”

  Pete shrugged. “Ask me another. Sceptre insists it’s something to do with this crackpot religious group who worship an old Scandinavian god, but that makes no sense to me. Danny never worshipped anything other than the pound in his pocket and how much he could get for other people’s property. And I know next to nothing about Nordqvist other than he came from Sweden and he was seriously hooked into Nag Lane.”

  He rolled over and pressed her back to the mattress, his lips coming down on hers. “I will find out,” he promised, “but for now, let’s see about provoking that reaction … again.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Pete never came home last night.”

  Wearing only underpants, carrying a bowl of cornflakes and a beaker of tea, Kevin joined Sceptre at the table, switched on the TV and took his first mouthful of food. “I knew he wouldn’t,” he said munching on the cereal. “The minute he said he had a date with Andrea Keynes.”

  Sceptre elected to say nothing about Kevin’s near-nudity. She was only wearing pyjamas. Instead, thinking about Pete and Andrea Keynes, she said, “I never thought they were that hot.”

  Kevin swallowed his food. “According to Pete, Andrea was sorry he’d been sacked. Apparently, she was apologising on behalf of the police force.” He chuckled. “She apologises as often as three times a night.”

  Sceptre suppressed a niggle and wondered if it was jealousy. She berated herself. She was not interested in Pete. She’d made that clear on enough occasions. What difference did it make to her if he was dating a policewoman?

  She decided it did matter. “Isn’t it against the rules?” she asked. “For a policewoman to consort with a former colleague?”

  Kevin shrugged and chewed on more cereal. Swallowing it with an audible gulp, he said, “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not as if Pete is a crook, or anything. He was never prosecuted for thumping Locke.”

  “But they had cooled off, hadn’t they?”

  “Andrea’s a career woman. A bit like you. Not really into relationships right now. And we both know what Pete’s like. Headstrong.”

  Sceptre found the information satisfying. “So she just uses him.”

  “No more than he uses her.” Kevin put his dish down and studied her. “What is it, Sceptre? Envy?”

  “No. Of course not.” The reply didn’t sound convincing, even to her. She gave Kevin an ingratiating smile. “Just nosy.”

  “Oh. Right. Cool. Anything planned today?”

  Sceptre scored him a point for blatantly changing the subject. “I was hoping we could get back into the school, but Pete is negotiating with Andrea on that score. So I’m going to see Trent. Unfortunately, I’m short of transport while Pete’s getting his legover.”

  “You can always borrow the van,” Kevin suggested.

  Sceptre shuddered. “Thank you, Kevin. I’ll wait for Pete to come back. What about you? Have you anything to do?”

  “I have to go see a man about a pinhole camera. See, I’ve got a ticket for the Wicked Witches concert tomorrow night. They don’t mind you taking a stills camera with you, but no way will they let you take a video camera. So I’m going with a pinhole in my shirt.”

  “And where will your pickup be?” she asked. “Pinholes have a limited range, Kevin.”

  “Hundred, hundred and fifty metres. My van’ll be close enough.” He ate another spoonful of cornflakes. “Listen, we could kill two birds with one stone, if you like. Why don’t I run you to the Ashdalean to see Trent, and then we can make my call on the way back?”

  Sceptre weighed up the pros and cons. “That’s probably better than waiting God knows how long for Pete to show.” She got to her feet. “I’ll take a shower and get dressed.”

  *****

  Pete drank his tea and reached into his coat for his mobile. He glanced across the table at Andrea, dressed only in a skimpy nightshirt, and he felt the lust burning again.

  With a quick glance at the clock, she said, “Forget it. I’m on duty at eight.” She warmed her hands on a beaker of coffee. “So where do you go from here?”

  “Theoretically,” he said, “I’m supposed to be looking for Nordqvist, but now that we’ve found him, I’m more concerned with who iced him and why. The answer to that lies with Danny Corcoran.”

  “He’s not gonna tell you much.”

  Andrea’s observation brought a laugh from him. “I could always ask Kev or Sceptre to touch the body and see what it has to say.” More seriously, he went on, “What I have to ask myself, Andrea, is how did Corcoran know we would be at the school last night?”

  “Ivan Jarvis, his supervisor?” she speculated.

  Pete booted the phone up. “Nope. Absolutely no reason why Jarvis would say anything and even less chance that he would mention it to Danny boy. The Wicked Witches and Sonny Briscoe insist it wasn’t them, so that only leaves one other person.” He called up the phone’s directory, selected the number and waited to be connected.

  Across the table, Andrea raised her eyebrows.

  Pete smiled as the connection was made. “Sherlock? Pete Brennan. You at the school? Good boy. I’ll see you in half an hour.”

  *****

  “We’re ready to deal with them, Master.”

  Dressed in an expensive, charcoal grey business suit and overcoat, the High Master was no less the leader than if he were wearing robes, and Minton was careful to maintain a respectful tone.

  “You’re sure you can get Brennan to Frank’s place?” the High Master asked.

  “Once Keeley is dealt with, it’s only a case of making sure Brennan sees the car. He’ll put two and two together from there and he’s bound to follow it up.” Minton laughed. “He’s that kind of berk. When they’re dealt with, it’s only a matter of sorting out the chick and making sure the blame lies elsewhere and we’re home free.” He lapsed into silence.

  “There’s something on your mind, Alec.”

  “The outcome, Master,” Minton said. “Are you sure the site will be put up for sale? Are you certain we’ll be in the clear?”

  The High Master sighed. “We’ve discussed this a hundred times, Alec. When we’re through, we will have rid ourselves of a liability and placed the blame elsewhere. The site will be left in limbo. It already has a reputation for being cursed and no one will want it. After a decent amount of time has passed, we can put in a bid. I’m confident that the bid will be accepted.”

  Minton frowned. “Suppose it’s not?”

  “Then we go back to the drawing board.” The High Master gave an encouraging smile. “Have faith, Alec. It’s not as if we’re asking for the whole arena. Just a tiny area of the car park. Now let’s concentrate on the things we have to deal with today. The young woman, Rand. What arrangements have we made for getting her out of the way?”

  “None. We know how we’re going to deal with her, we just don’t know when.” Minton’s doubts were gone, and he had become the efficient chargehand again. “All we can do is the same as we’re doing with Keeley: watch her movements and take the opportunity when it arises.”

  “Good,” the High Master approved. “Then we shall leave it at that for now.” He turned on Trent. “You have reservations, Norman?”

  Trent, who appeared to be in some kind of trance, snapped to attention. “Hmm? Sorry, Master, I was just thinking …”

  “Yes?” the High Master encouraged.

  “I had a call about half an hour ago. The woman, Sceptre Rand, is coming here to see me. Perhaps I could …” he trailed off again.

  The High Master shook his head. “She would be too easy to trace, Norman. She must be seen to arrive and leave quite safely. No one knows of the VDL and we want no inquiries that may
uncover our existence let alone our activities.”

  *****

  “Too much going on at this place for my liking, Pete,” said head of security Tony Holmes.

  They were standing by the coffee stand inside the school’s main entrance. The film crew were setting up, ready to start their day’s shoot, Dunstan bemoaning the fact that the man in black was still showing on his main feed, while the Wicked Witches hid in their trailer, keeping out of sight of the media and, from Pete’s point of view, keeping out of his way.

  “You’re right, Sherlock,” Pete said in reply to the security man’s comment. “A lot too much. Fancy old Danny Corcoran showing up here the other night.”

  “Yeah. Bugger, innit.”

  Sherlock had served six months in prison for benefit fraud. On his release, Kevin had cooked up a false background for him, enabling Sherlock to get a foothold in security work. Within two years, he had set up his own company, one of the most successful in Ashdale, a result, Pete always said, of keeping his background quiet, charging minimum prices and paying his guards peanuts.

  But Pete would never let Sherlock forget that were it not for Kevin Keeley, he would probably still be on the dole, and as a result, Sherlock was only too happy to speak to him.

  “Course, you know what bothers me about that, don’t you?” Pete kept his tones casual, conversational.

  “No. What?”

  “How did he know we were here?”

  Sherlock looked away, his attention suddenly taken up by the brickwork in the mash house walls. “He was probably just robbing the place.”

  Pete sipped his coffee. “Hmm. Possibly. But I reckon not. Tell you why. If he was robbing the site, and he realised I was here, he’d have legged it. Wouldn’t he?”

  Sherlock turned back. “What are you saying, Pete?”

  Pete finished his coffee and threw the plastic cup in a nearby bin. His actions were laid back, innocent, but when he turned back on Sherlock, there was a hard edge about him. “Someone told him we were here and he was keeping an eye on us. And we both know who told him, don’t we?”

  “Wasn’t me.” Sherlock seemed to shrink into his overcoat, and he backed off a pace.

  “I checked with the Wicked Witches and they assure me it wasn’t them. You know me, Sherlock, I don’t take much on trust, but this time I believe them. There was only one other person who knew we would be here that night.” Pete’s eyes bored into Sherlock. “You.”

  “Pete, I …”

  “I want answers, Sherlock.”

  “I did not tell Danny Corcoran you would be here the other night,” Sherlock insisted.

  Pete shook his head “Nice try, but not nice enough. If you didn’t tell Danny, who did you tell and how much did he pay you for the information?”

  Sherlock turned away again. He looked sick to his stomach, and when he eventually admitted it, he sounded as bad. “Alec Minton. He paid me two ton to keep him informed. He said he was worried that you might have a downer on Danny.”

  “Pull the other,” Pete snorted.

  “It’s true,” said Sherlock. “At least that’s what he said to me.”

  “And you fell for it?” Pete didn’t believe a word. “Do you seriously imagine that I could be bothered with a scroat like Danny when I had more to think about?”

  “Well, no, but on the other hand, you did break Danny’s wrist once over when you were a cop.” Sherlock looked Pete in the eye as if trying to convey innocence. “Pete, I swear I knew nothing about Danny. I was only keeping Minton informed and I only did that because he paid me.”

  “Thanks, Sherlock. Just one other thing. I don’t want Alec Minton to know about this conversation. If he finds out, if he’s waiting for me, these people here,” Pete gestured around the site, “may just learn about Spot, Fido and Bowser.”

  Sherlock frowned. “Who?”

  “The three non-existent bow-wows you were claiming for when you were nicked for benefit fraud.”

  “I really must apologise, headmaster,” said Sceptre, handing over the book. “It was on a table in the library and I borrowed it for something to read. Then things began to happen and I must have dropped it in my bag by mistake.”

  Trent turned Pagan Cults in Ancient Britain over in his hands. He smiled. “You know, I’d completely forgotten about this.”

  He had been almost pleased to see them, inviting them into the drawing room of his lodge, arranging for the housekeeper to bring them tea.

  Settling herself onto an old, dark green sofa, its upholstery badly in need of renovation, Sceptre had taken in the surroundings while digging into her bag to retrieve the book.

  A bachelor, Trent obviously lived frugally. There was nothing lavish about his living quarters, nothing individual about them. An old G-plan sideboard stood at the rear of the room, on top of which sat a Dansette record player and a rack of vinyl albums. A bookcase set into the recess alongside the chimneybreast was made of mahogany, or a similar dark wood, and did not match the paler finish of the sideboard. Under the front windows was a circular table, covered with a lace cloth and embroidered antimacassars protected the worn upholstery of the armchairs and settee. It was as if Trent had moved in after his predecessor vacated the place, and done nothing to change anything.

  Listening to Trent musing over the books, Sceptre was thankful for her aristocratic upbringing. The questions she had to ask were awkward, and the natural arrogance of the titled classes was priceless when it came to confrontation.

  “I was surprised to find it, headmaster. Especially considering your position,” she said. Sat beside her, Kevin cringed at her bluntness.

  Trent, however, was not fazed. “You must understand, Ms Rand, I was a young man when it was published. When I applied for my post as a teacher and housemaster here, I began to wish I had never written it. This is, after all, a Christian school, and writing on the pagan arts is not considered a good qualification for the job.” He threw his hands up a few inches and let them fall into his lap. “So I buried it. Forgot all about it. I didn’t even realise there was a copy in the library. Small world. I fancy someone bought it because they realised I was an Old Ashdalean.” He chuckled. “Small world.” His repetition signalled the end of his explanation, like a clock having wound down, giving a final tick.

  “I’m particularly interested in the chapter on the Venerable Disciples of Loki,” Sceptre said. “Their, er, shall we say, founder, Dr Michael Andersen was your predecessor.”

  “Indeed. Michael was a little … how can I put it … eccentric.” Trent’s eyes glazed with nostalgia. “Wonderful historian. Brilliant mind, but hopelessly misguided. He insisted that the followers of Loki had established a settlement at Long Bank, here in Ashdale, in the days of the Viking invasions. It’s where the Ashdale Arena now stands. Utter nonsense as far as I could ascertain but poor Michael was obsessed with the idea. He was of Scandinavian descent, you know. He passed away a year ago in the Watersend hospice, an embittered old man, and, of course, he’s interred in the crypt.”

  “How well did you know him?” Kevin asked.

  “I was a pupil under him, Mr Keeley,” Trent replied, “and I worked with him for over fifteen years. And as Ms Rand has said, I succeeded him as headmaster when he retired ten years ago.”

  “Mr Trent,” Sceptre said, “how would you react if I told you that there is an active sect of the Venerable Disciples of Loki in Ashdale today?”

  Trent appeared more amused than surprised. “I would say, young lady that you are daydreaming. I don’t know that the Venerable Disciples of Loki was ever anything more than a fanciful notion of Michael’s mind, with a few of the sixth formers tagging on. Rowdy, drunken parties under Michael’s benign yet misguided eyes. But to suggest that there is a community here today and they’re busy doing whatever it is they do, is nonsense.”

  Sceptre opened her bag and pulled out the VDL badge that had smashed its way through the window of the technical trailer at the brewery. She leaned forward and han
ded it to Trent. “Then how do you explain that?”

  Trent turned it over in his hands, his eyes gleaming with interest, the faintest of smiles playing on his lips. He crossed to a roll-top bureau, fished into one of the drawers and came out with a large magnifying glass. Standing under the window, he examined the badge once again in the daylight. At length, he put the magnifying glass back into the bureau, closed the drawer and came back to the armchair.

  He did not offer the badge back, but asked, “Where did you get this?”

  “Last night the police pulled a body from the crypt. One that should not have been here. It’s been confirmed as that of Gus Nordqvist, a road manager for the Wicked Witches,” Sceptre explained. “Both were wearing the badge. The first was a man named Danny Corcoran. He was one of your cleaners.”

  The headmaster’s face darkened . “I knew him, of course. I pride myself on knowing the names of all my staff, even the contractors.”

  “The other man,” Sceptre interrupted, “was Swedish and the best guess is he had been in that coffin for about a month. That badge—” she pointed to the article in Trent’s hand “— fell from his clothing as the police removed him. I picked it up. And I’ll have to ask you for it back. Our colleague, Peter, insists that the police will want it.”

  “Yes of course.” Trent passed it to her. “But … this … this is awful.”

  “It is.” Dropping the badge in her bag, Sceptre waited to see if Trent had anymore to say, but the headmaster appeared too shocked. He stared into the glowing pots of the gas fire.

  “The design is a representation of the god Loki, just like the one in your book,” Sceptre said.

  Trent nodded. “I realise that, but you must realise, Ms Rand, that the picture in my book is a copy of a very old picture.”

  “I know. It’s from an 18th century Icelandic manuscript currently housed in the Árni Magnússon Institute Reykjavík.” She smiled at Trent’s surprise. “I looked it up on the Internet. I’m not suggesting, Mr Trent, that the Venerable Disciples of Loki is anything to do with you or your school, but it does appear that they have taken a lead from your book.”