When the Spirit Calls (When the Spirit... series - Book 2)

by Thomas DePrima

  "Only that she was drowned and that her body was wedged beneath a tree that had recently fallen into the stream."

  "How do you know it had fallen recently?"

  "It appeared to be a fully leafed tree of the genus Platanus Occidentalis, or American Sycamore, and therefore deciduous. The branches would have been defoliated had it been there for any length of time."

  Lt. Bolger tried not to show surprise at her educated analysis of the crime scene. Her earlier statement about it being spring because of the swollen size of the stream and now her appraisal of the downed tree showed there was a brain inside that pretty head. He regretted his patronizing attitude on the phone.

  "Can you tell me who committed the murder?" Lt. Bolger asked.

  "The victim did see the murderer as she was being wedged under the tree, but from beneath the water. With her life fading and her vision failing, she couldn't make out anything more than a large dark shape, backlit by a quarter moon."

  "But you can identify where the crime was committed?"

  "Yes, she was drowned in the stream that ran along property owned by the Glenn Downs Sportsman's Association at a point where the stream turns approximately ninety degrees."

  "Have you ever visited that area?"

  "Never. To the best of my knowledge, I've never even been in your county."

  Suppose you recount your entire dre— nightmare for me now so we're sure we haven't missed anything."

  Arlene closed her eyes, and over the next ten minutes she described everything she saw and every sensation she felt as she watched the nightmare replay in her head.

  When she was done, Lt. Bolger asked, "Is there anything else you can tell me about the crime?"

  "No, nothing."

  "Very well. Thank you, Miss Watson. I appreciate your help in this case. I brought some pictures with me in the hope that you could identify the victim, but since you didn't see her, I guess there's no sense looking at them."

  "I'd like to see them— if you don't mind."

  Lt. Bolger hesitated for a couple of seconds, then said, "Of course." He'd decided it couldn't hurt his case for her to see them. Reaching into his pocket, Lt. Bolger extracted ten 4x6 prints and handed them to her.

  Arlene saw immediately that they were all of different women with fairly similar appearances.

  After looking closely at each of the photos, she handed him one of an attractive woman with a long, raven-colored mane. "Is this the woman you believe is the victim?"

  Lt. Bolger eyed her suspiciously, "What made you select this picture?"

  "It appears to be an image of your traveling companion."

  "My what?"

  "Your traveling companion. At least I assumed her to be with you since you arrived together."

  "Uh, I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

  "When you arrived, a spirit must have followed you into the room. I assumed you came together."

  "A spirit?" he said with amusement. "You mean a ghost?"

  "Yes, but I prefer the term spirit. 'Ghost' often creates so many negative connotations in people's minds."

  Lt. Bolger was quiet for a few seconds as he glanced around the room. "And this— spirit— is here now?"

  "Yes," Arlene said. Gesturing towards the terrace doors, she added, "She's been watching and listening to us since you both arrived."

  Lt. Bolger chuckled and then laughed heartily. "You had me going there for a few seconds, Miss Watson. Really, why did you select this picture?"

  "Is it a picture of the victim?"

  "It's a picture of the woman we believe might be the victim. She hasn't been officially identified yet."

  "What's her name?"

  "She was christened Marjorie Elizabeth Campbell, but she was into the occult and legally changed her name to Simona."

  "May I have the picture again?"

  Taking the picture when Lt. Bolger held it out, Arlene held it up facing the terrace doors and asked, "Is this a picture of you?" After a second she asked, "Were you the one killed in the stream?" After another second she asked, "Was the nightmare I experienced created from your memory of the event?" Nodding, she asked, "Is it your skeleton they found?" Finally she asked, "Who ended your mortal life?"

  Bolger had just looked on with increasing skepticism.

  Handing the pictures back to the Lieutenant, who was sitting with his mouth partly open as he stared blankly at Arlene, she said, "Simona answered affirmatively to each of the first four questions. It's her picture, she was the one killed in the stream, I saw her death in my nightmare, and you've recovered her skeleton. In response to the last question, she would only say that she— 'can't say.'"

  Lieutenant Bolger continued to stare at Arlene silently for several more seconds, then said, "You're trying to tell me you just deposed the victim, who is now a ghost?"

  "Well, I can't have her place her hand on the bible and swear to tell the whole truth, but basically— yes."

  "End of interview," Lt. Bolger said abruptly. Reaching over, he snapped off the tape recorder. Revising his earlier assessment of her intelligence, he dropped the polite attitude in which he had cloaked himself since arriving. "Miss Watson, if you hadn't been so helpful in finding the body, I'd figure you were a complete nutcase and destroy this recording before I get back to my office. I'm still not sure whether I'll do that or not. No offense."

  Arlene smiled pleasantly. "None taken, Lieutenant. I'm quite used to such disbelief. Even my own parents doubt my gift. What made you search for the body if you don't believe in my abilities?"

  "Your description of the crime scene was perfect. To the letter. We were able to learn when the Association land near the stream had been clear-cut, and we had an open case involving a missing person from that time. I was just a rookie deputy back then, but I remember the case well. The missing woman's car was found on a road on the other side of the woods you describe yourself running through. The gas tank was empty and the driver's side door was still open. She must have run out of gas and then headed for the woods to evade whoever was chasing her. Ya know, I've worked with a few psychics over the years, but none ever told me they talk with ghosts."

  "As I've said before, Lieutenant, I'm not a psychic; I'm a spiritualist."

  "What's the difference?"

  "The dictionary defines a psychic as a person who is apparently sensitive to things beyond the natural range of perception or outside the possibilities defined by natural or scientific laws. That same dictionary defines a spiritualist as a person who serves as an intermediary between the living and the dead. Normally I just perform tarot readings for friends and acquaintances. My spirit guide helps me interpret the cards."

  "Your spirit guide?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you ever conduct séances?"

  "I have, in the past. I don't do it anymore."

  "Why not? I mean, I realize you obviously don't need the money."

  "I never charge for my readings and certainly never charged for my séances. I stopped performing séances because I learned that the spirits sometimes have an agenda of their own and often won't answer specific questions. Also, I promised someone very near and dear to me that I wouldn't conduct them anymore because people who don't have the gift generally consider people who do— to be unbalanced."

  "Yet you expect me to believe that a spirit you claim is here with us now is being truthful."

  "I have no reason to believe she would lie about the very specific questions I asked."

  "Everybody lies, Miss Watson. Why should we expect that to change with death?" With another noticeable change in his demeanor, he asked in a curious tone, "Uh, how do they communicate with you?"

  "Not having physical form means no lungs or larynx, so spirits can't make their voices heard to anyone other than a spiritualist unless a medium is employed. I don't know how, but I can hear their words in my head as they appear to speak."

  "And, uh, how long have you had this power?"

  "I realized I was
different when I reached my teens. When I was fifteen, I received a tarot deck as a grab-bag gift. I found that the cards gave focus and clarity to my insights. As I got older, my powers increased. When I was sixteen I could sense the presence of spirits, although I still couldn't see them. Within another year, I could see wispy images. Now I see them just as clearly as I see you."

  "And they look to you just as they did when they were alive?"

  "Not exactly. There's a glow, like an aura, around them. If not for that, people really would think I was unbalanced because I might address a spirit without knowing that others couldn't see him or her. The aura enables me to determine immediately who is alive and who has passed on."

  "But since so many people have died throughout history, it must be like looking at a parade crowd all the time."

  "Not at all. Most spirits cross over to the immortal world when they pass on. Only those with special reasons remain behind. There aren't really that many on this plane of reality compared to the living— perhaps only one or two for every thousand mortals. And once they complete their business, they typically cross over to be with family and loved ones. I imagine Simona will cross over once you find her killer."

  "One or two for every thousand mortals? That means as many as seven hundred thousand in this country alone."

  "It's a very big country, Lieutenant."

  "Yeah, but that's a lot of ghosts to be roaming around."

  "Few interact in any way with people. Most just mind their own business and remain in the house where they lived when their mortal existence ended, or somewhere where they feel most comfortable. The spirits who committed evil deeds while they were alive are already gone."

  "Gone? You mean they've crossed over to the immortal world?"

  "No, not the evil ones; only those who haven't significantly harmed other people while they were alive are allowed to cross to the immortal world. The rest go to the other place. And they have no choice about remaining here or crossing over. When they die they are pulled immediately down to the Underworld."

  "Does that include cops who have killed?"

  "If the police officers were good people, they go to the immortal world. That assumes they killed only in the line of duty or to protect their own lives or the lives of those who were in danger."

  "What about soldiers who have killed? I've seen my share of combat."

  "If you killed because you were ordered to and didn't receive any personal gratification from the deaths, you'll still go to the immortal world."

  "What about…"

  "Lieutenant, if you're trying to determine if you'll be dragged down to the Underworld when you die, I can't help you. That's between you and God and will be determined at the time of your mortal death."

  Lt. Bolger smiled and said, "I guess I should be going. If I stay here much longer I'll probably start believing in this— gift— of yours."

  "Would that be such a bad thing, Lieutenant?"

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  It was almost two weeks later when Arlene pulled her white BMW into a small motel just off the interstate and secured a room for the evening. Lieutenant Bolger had called to inform her that the body had been positively identified and the coroner had immediately established a date for the inquest. He asked her to attend the inquest for the murdered woman so she could testify about her nightmare. It was a long drive, and Arlene had been a little reluctant to go, given that she had already told him everything she knew during the interview. Since he had recorded the session, there seemed little point in attending. But Lt. Bolger persisted, and she finally agreed.

  Not wishing to make the long drive in one marathon session, Arlene had driven on Sunday as far as the interstate highways would take her and then stopped for the night. The next day she would complete the journey on secondary and then local roads. The inquest wasn't scheduled to begin until one p.m.

  Upon entering the motel room, Arlene immediately regretted not seeking a chain motel with rigid room cleaning and preparation standards. The room was hot and stuffy, and there was a pervasive aroma of ammonia and other cleaning chemicals. She immediately pulled back the blanket and top sheet to check the bed. A gleaming white under-sheet greeted her. If it had been otherwise, she would have immediately left and found other accommodations. She preferred to patronize smaller businesses but only as long as they made the effort to provide decent service or merchandise. Satisfied that the room would suffice, she pushed the button on the air conditioning unit's control panel to 'high cool.' The blowing air might vent the room somewhat, and the chemical smells might also be subdued by the cooler air.

  In the morning, Arlene packed away the jeans and tee shirt she had worn the previous day and dressed in the black business suit she had brought along. She'd decided the color of mourning would be most appropriate for an inquest. A quick stop at a donut shop yielded a cup of tea before she continued her trip.

  After two hours of driving, a sign at the outskirts of Lake Georgina welcomed all visitors. Lt. Bolger had given her directions to the sheriff's office, located in the county jail, and she drove through the town's business district until she spotted a sign for jail parking.

  As the county seat, the town was the largest in the county, but despite the larger population, it still bore the unmistakable look and feel of all towns whose principal industry was tourism. Nestled on a large lake in the heart of the Adirondack Mountain Range, the town came alive in May and thrived until September, when it again became just another sleepy town waiting for the influx of summer residents and tourists to awaken life there once again. It was currently crowded with vacationers, and the sidewalks on the main thoroughfare were filled with early-morning shoppers.

  Located just across the street from the county hospital, the jail was the largest of the four buildings that housed the county offices. After parking in the lot provided for visitors to the complex, Arlene entered the sheriff's office and stepped up to the counter that bisected the reception area. A thick, probably bulletproof glass partition rose from the counter to the ceiling, and Arlene had to speak into a microphone mounted in a chrome gooseneck arm attached to the counter to address the deputy working there. As soon as she had identified herself to the female officer, the woman said, "Down the hall," and gestured towards a glass door, simultaneously pressing a button with her other hand to open it. The automatic door immediately closed behind Arlene as she passed through the opening, and it locked with an audible click. As she reached the rear wall and entered the corridor, she spotted Lt. Bolger, dressed in what appeared to be a new suit, entering from the other end.

  "Welcome to Lake Georgina, Miss Watson," he said as they met. "Thank you for coming. You're early, but that will give us time for a nice leisurely lunch. First, though, I'd like to show you something."

  Gesturing towards a stairway, Bolger led the way down two flights of stairs and through two locked security doors. A short tunnel two stories below ground level connected to another substantially longer tunnel. While they walked, Bolger talked about the history of Lake Georgina and the role the location played in the American War for Independence.

  After they had walked for what seemed like half a city block, they emerged into the basement of another building. The transformers in the overhead florescent fixtures hummed noisily as bare bulbs bathed the hallway in an excessively bright light that reflected off the white, glossy walls and shiny almond linoleum on the floor. From the signage over the doors and the faint aroma of antiseptic and other chemical odors, Arlene suspected they were now in the hospital across the street from the county complex.

  "Where are you taking me, Lieutenant?"

  "It's not much further. I thought you might like to see Simona."

  "Simona? I've seen her, remember?"

  "But I want to introduce you in person."

  "In person? I don't understand. She's passed on."

  "She's just down this hall," Lt. Bolger said as they turned a corner.

  Arlene immedia
tely understood when she saw the six large letters on the double swinging doors just ahead. Naturally, the skeleton would be brought to the county morgue for the autopsy. She steeled herself mentally for the possible sight of blood, gore, and partially dismembered bodies.

  As they neared the end of the corridor, one of the morgue's swinging doors suddenly flew open. A short, heavy woman, dressed in an odd assortment of black garments, emerged quickly. Seeing the detective directly in front of her, she pulled up short, just in time to avoid running into him.

  "Excuse me, Richard," she said. "I was a bit overcome."

  "That's alright, Gisela," Lt. Bolger said. "I quite understand." Then, turning slightly to Arlene, he said, "This is Gisela. She was a close friend of Simona. Gisela is also a psychic who has helped us with cases from time to time. When Simona's car was found, we called Gisela in and brought her out to the vehicle, but she couldn't provide us with any leads. Gisela, this is Arlene Watson. It was she who provided the information that led us to poor Simona's remains."

  Arlene smiled at the forty-something woman whose roughly hundred sixty pounds of weight was too much for her five-foot frame. Looking like she had dressed at a Salvation Army thrift store, she was wearing both black trousers and a black skirt over some kind of black hiking boots. A black tank top, open black cardigan sweater, and black beret completed her eclectic ensemble. A dozen silver bracelets jangled noisily on her wrists, and every finger contained a ring.

  Gisela smiled and extended her right hand, "Madam Arlene, it's an honor to meet you."

  Taking Gisela's hand, Arlene said, "It's Miss, but please call me Arlene. May I call you Gisela?"

  As soon as their hands joined, Gisela squeezed the proffered hand, her eyes growing wide as she stared mutely at Arlene. Her unblinking eyes seemed to glaze over and her head and body began to tremble. As Gisela's grip grew even tighter, Arlene winced from the pain and tried to pull away gently. She stood it for as long as she could and was about to ask Lt. Bolger to intercede when Gisela suddenly released her hand. She was still trembling all over and hadn't blinked since their first touch. Taking a quick step to the side, Gisela ducked around Lt. Bolger, half-walking and half-running down the corridor without saying another word or looking back. Arlene and Lt. Bolger stared after her, not speaking until Gisela had turned into the other corridor and disappeared from view.