Ghost Light Killer

by Dahlia Donovan

  “My grandfather, actually. Not that it’s any of your business.” Niall exited the building behind him. “Where are we going? You haven’t answered my question.”

  Dannel pointed down the street to the café on the corner. “We can get a coffee. I’m no good in the mornings without a kick of caffeine. I don’t remember your question.”

  “Fine.” Niall sighed rather dramatically. “What did you say to Archie last night? I saw you and your boyfriend chatting with him once I left.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” he replied honestly. Osian had done most of the talking. “Do you love Archie?”

  “Do I….” Niall trailed off, shaking his head. “Is this a ‘don’t hurt my friend’ sort of lecture? Aren’t we too old to be beating our chests?”

  “No.” Dannel was confused. Did anyone ever get too old for their friends to show concern? “I didn’t beat my chest. Why would I hurt myself?”

  “Are you being funny?”

  “Not on purpose.” Dannel stepped up to the counter, ignoring Niall’s sputtering.

  Ordering his usual coffee, sausage roll, and chocolate croissant, Dannel made his way outside to an empty table. He’d barely taken a bite when Niall joined him. The awkward silence lingered between them.

  Dannel grew tired of pretending they were eating on their own. He didn’t want to spend his entire morning dancing around the topic. “Did you snog some bloke outside the theatre?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you snog—”

  “I heard you.” Niall cut him off with an irritated wave of his hand. “Not sure I appreciate being accused of cheating.”

  “Do you ever answer questions directly?” Dannel might as well go for his run now, even after eating breakfast, if Niall had no intentions of genuinely responding. “Birdie saw you snogging some bloke.”

  “And?”

  Is that neurotypical for yes?

  Dannel finished his sausage roll while contemplating Niall’s blasé attitude. “Is yours an open relationship?”

  “None of your business.”

  “So, no then.” Dannel folded the top of the bag on his chocolate croissant. He’d save it for later. “Is Archie aware?”

  “What do you think we were arguing about last night?”

  You murdering his mum? Was Archie lying last night or is Niall doing so now? Or did you argue about both?

  “This is a waste of time.” Niall shoved away from the table. He grabbed his coffee so roughly that it sloshed out of the top. “Damn it.”

  “He stomps off a lot.” Dannel watched Niall leave with a slight feeling of confusion.

  What have I learnt? Niall definitely cheated on Archie. Birdie likely confronted him about it. Does it make him a killer?

  Probably.

  As Haider would say, he’s got motive.

  Handing his untouched croissant and coffee to one of the rough sleepers in the park, Dannel took off at a slow jog. He knew many of them by name. They generally tended to refuse help aside from the occasional meal.

  Dannel jogged a meandering loop through the park and returned to the flat. He slipped into the shop on the ground floor, waving to his auntie behind the counter. “Morning.”

  “You’ve missed your uncle. He’s gone to move furniture for your mum.” Auntie Myriam held her arms out for a hug. She always waited to see if he wanted one. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart. Are you and your Ossie doing well? Enjoying the change of pace? Not missing running into burning buildings.”

  “We’re all right.” Dannel helped her empty several boxes and stock shelves with a variety of Jamaican spices. The shop sold all sorts of difficult to find products from throughout the Caribbean. “I miss my friends. The chief. Some nights I miss the excitement. And the thrill of knowing I’ve helped save a life.”

  “But?”

  “I remember the barrage of sound from the sirens and the flashing lights. The assault on my senses every night. I can feel the intensity of struggling to not hit sensory overload every shift.” Dannel knew deep within himself the decision to leave the station had been the right one. “I couldn’t handle the stress much longer without breaking down.”

  She reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, love. Your uncle and I both are.”

  Dannel shuffled uneasily and returned his attention to organising the broad selection of curry powders. “Are there any other boxes?”

  She pinched his cheek, chuckling, and pointing to a stack behind the counter. “Just like your uncle. Never able to take a compliment for anything.”

  Working in the empty shop was almost meditative in nature. Dannel rearranged the shelves while stocking them. He spent an hour, putting everything in order.

  His uncle and auntie had gone out of their way to make the shop a Caribbean pantry oasis. It smelled of sweets and spices. The shelves were packed with a variety of goods imported from Jamaica, Barbados, Dominica, and a host of other islands.

  Some weeks, his auntie Myriam also sold home-baked gizzada, a tart filled with sweet and spiced coconut. It was one of his favourite childhood sweets.

  “Why don’t you take this upstairs and have coffee with cake?” Myriam brought him out of his alphabetizing of various brands of crisps. “Off with you. I’ll be opening the shop soon, and you won’t feel quite so relaxed.”

  Spiced coconut cake, coffee, and working on a new cosplay design.

  Not a bad way to spend the rest of his day until Osian came home.

  Thirteen

  Osian

  Breakfast with his mum and dad had gone by quickly. Osian decided to check on Ian at the theatre. He knew the camera hadn’t captured anything interesting so far.

  Chris kept telling them to be patient. Patience is a virtue. Says everyone who isn’t required to wait.

  While he was on the tube, Dannel texted him about the strange encounter with Niall. Intriguing development. Osian wondered what the man had hoped to gain from confronting them.

  It hadn’t made them any less suspicious of him.

  They texted about Niall and Archie. He also mentioned his auntie Myriam’s weird fetish of hoarding boxes of orange jelly for no reason since no one bought them at the store. Osian had just enough time to offer a few suggestions on Dannel’s initial sketch before arriving at his stop.

  Osian was greeted outside the Evelyn Lavelle by what appeared to be the entire ensemble. “Something wrong?”

  “He’s panicking in his dressing room.” Hope, one of the principal dancers in the ensemble, gestured toward the theatre. “One of our principles was almost electrocuted in the loo earlier when live wiring dropped in front of him. Have you met Derrick? His parents are part of the—”

  “My parents don’t matter. And we don’t actually know what happened,” Derrick, another one of the other dancers, corrected. “We don’t even know if Edwin is seriously injured. He’s dramatic at the best of times.”

  “He’s not seriously injured. I heard he’d scarpered from the hospital the second the paramedics dropped him off,” Hope interjected.

  Deciding not to make a joke about what an electrifying performance it must’ve been, Osian went to check on Ian. He grabbed his phone to text Chris and Abra to see if she could find out who’d dropped Edwin at the hospital. The cameras might’ve caught something, depending on if the loo was backstage or the ones upfront.

  Chris: Don’t go in the loo.

  Don’t go in the loo?

  I’m not daft. I wouldn’t investigate and get myself electrocuted. Who am I kidding? I definitely would.

  Ian first, though.

  Osian found Ian panicking while two incredibly familiar detectives tried to ask him questions. He was surprised they’d been called out. “Hello, Detective Inspector squared. Isn’t an electrical accident below your pay grade?”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.” Haider shared a glance with his partner, who rolled her eyes. “Try to resist the urge to investigate. And don�
�t go switching any lights on or off until we figure out what happened.”

  “Pardon?” Osian frowned in confusion.

  “One of the light switches must have been wired wrong. It caused a short when it was turned on,” Ian answered with his face still buried in a scarf.

  “With a shock to one of your actors?” Osian asked when Ian failed to continue. He glanced over at Haider, who was shaking his head. “You don’t think so?”

  “I’m not going to jump to any conclusions.”

  Ian lifted his head up from the scarf. “My show. My beautiful show. What am I going to do? Murders. Electrocutions. Ghosts.”

  Osian eased between the detectives and crouched in front of Ian. “You’re too fabulous to give up.”

  “You’re a sweet lad.” Ian patted him on the head. “I’ll never forgive myself if someone else is hurt.”

  “Mr Garey. If you wouldn’t mind?” Detective Inspector Powell nodded toward the door. “We’d like to wrap up our questions and determine what exactly has happened.”

  Osian squeezed Ian’s hand and got to his feet. “I’ll hang around for a while. You’ll be all right. The show must go on, after all.”

  Leaving Ian with the police, Osian stepped out into the hallway. He considered eavesdropping, until Haider poked his head out of the dressing room and suggested he jog on. Rude. It’s almost as if he doesn’t trust me.

  It didn’t take long to find the right loo. Police tape once again blocked off a doorway at the Evelyn Lavelle. An Out of Order sign hung on it as an extra warning.

  Osian stepped under the caution tape to investigate. “Looks perfectly normal.”

  What does a damaged light switch look like?

  He knew little about the electrical wiring. It was hard to believe someone could actually pull off such a heinous prank. Or was the joke actually a feigned electrocution? Did the actor fake the accident?

  If so, why? To draw attention to the show? Poor Birdie’s murder already brought a level of infamy to it.

  Sending a follow-up message to Chris, Osian wished he’d brought his laptop. He could check the footage for himself. They had a camera pointed down the hallway, which would’ve captured anyone going in or out of the loo.

  The buzz of his mobile caught his attention. Chris hadn’t seen anyone entering the bathroom aside from the actor who was injured. He texted over a short clip of footage.

  He’s quite literally the worst actor I’ve ever seen.

  Or the best?

  No, worst.

  How had anyone bought the story of him being electrocuted? The actor had stepped out of the bathroom and glanced around before shouting and swooning dramatically to the floor. He managed to land gently on the carpet.

  A second message arrived from Abra. She hadn’t been on duty but one of their friends had. The supposedly electrocuted actor had vanished from the hospital.

  “Do you ever listen?” Haider had obviously finished with Ian. “I knew you’d be in here.”

  “Watch.” Osian reached out toward the light switch.

  “What are you—” Haider lunged for him a second too late. Osian had flicked the switch and nothing happened. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “You don’t find it strange this actor suddenly claimed to have been electrocuted, made a massive deal about a murder attempt, only to vanish the second he arrived at the hospital according to one of my mates?” Osian refused to acknowledge the slow ebb of adrenaline and his lowering blood pressure. “For whatever reason, he faked his accident.”

  “We’re going to talk about this.” Haider gestured to the light switch. “You and your complete lack of care over your own well-being. Long, long conversations until you stop running on impulse.”

  “It was a safe guess.” Osian tried to defend his decision, ignoring the cynically raised eyebrow of the detective. “Did Chris send you the video? I asked him to.”

  “Not yet.” Haider held a hand up, pausing to speak into his radio to have a constable track down the injured actor. “And we’re also going to discuss those cameras you put up in my crime scene.”

  “Okay, first, you released the crime scene. And we had the owner’s permission to add a second layer of security to the Evelyn Lavelle theatre, practically a national treasure.” Osian smiled winningly at the detective while lying through his teeth. They’d gotten Ian’s permission, and he definitely wasn’t the owner. “I swear, I was certain the accident had been faked. And badly.”

  “Be more careful.” Haider sighed very deeply. “And you could’ve just showed me the video.”

  “Yes, Mum. I could’ve, but where would the fun in that be?” Osian sensed an impending lecture coming from the detective. He decided to make a quick exit. “I’ll be going now. I’m sure Dannel’s at home waiting for me. Give us a call if you find anything.”

  He wouldn’t. Osian knew Haider wanted them far away from the investigation. He ducked out of the theatre, avoiding Detective Inspector Powell who still stood sentry by Ian’s dressing room.

  And once again, I’m left with more questions than answers.

  The walk home gave Osian time to process his thoughts over the morning’s adventure. He wondered if Edwin was behind the ghostly presence at the Evelyn Lavelle. Had the actor grown tired of simple tricks and moved on to something more dramatic?

  Why else would someone fake getting injured in such a dramatic fashion?

  Could he be trying to take attention away from Birdie’s murder?

  Maybe we should spend more time looking through the footage from our nanny cams and watch more closely over the next few days.

  Who knows what we might see?

  Fourteen

  Dannel

  Dannel stared blankly at his over-excited boyfriend. He held a hand up, waiting for Osian to stop verbally vomiting all over him. “We’ve clearly been attached at the hip for way too long. You’re starting to ramble like I do.”

  “Electrocuted,” Osian practically shouted the word. “Did you miss that point?”

  “Inside voice.” Dannel couldn’t help chuckling at the sudden swap. “Have we switched bodies? Maybe try speaking slowly so I can understand what you said?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m hilarious.”

  “Electrocuted,” Osian reiterated.

  “Except he wasn’t. And neither were you.” Dannel continued perusing the contents of the fridge, trying to find something appealing to snack on. “Think Haider’s caught up to him? The actor? What was his name?”

  “Edwin something or other. I don’t remember his surname. Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” Osian squeezed in next to him and reached in to grab a container of leftover pasta. “Want to split this with me? Too late for lunch and too early for dinner?”

  “All right.”

  “We should stake out the theatre.” Osian pointed to the laptop on the counter. “From home. We can have snacks, coffee, and cake. Stay up late, watching the most boring show in London.”

  “For what?”

  “Ghosts? Murderers? Naughty people snogging in hallways?”

  Dannel figured spying from home was safer than camping out at the Evelyn Lavelle. “Do you think Edwin could be Birdie’s killer?”

  “Maybe.”

  Neither of them knew the answer for sure. Edwin didn’t seem to have a real motive. Then again, why had he faked being shocked by faulty wiring?

  “Why don’t we pepper Ian with questions about his theatre company? Everyone from the principles to the ensemble to the orchestra to the tea lady.” Dannel grabbed the laptop and carried it over to the sofa. “He can tell us who Edwin would share his secrets with. Can you see him keeping this a secret?”

  “Murder or a prank?”

  “Prank.” Dannel thought Edwin might be responsible for the fake ghost. He didn’t see a reason for the actor to have killed Birdie. “We might actually solve Ian’s paranormal mystery.”

  Osian hopped over the back of the couch and flopped onto a
cushion beside Dannel. “We’ll make a list of questions. Ask everyone the same ones. See what we find out. Who knows? We could solve the murder as well.”

  “Text Ian. He can bully everyone into showing up early for rehearsals.” Dannel hoped they’d be more open to chatting with them than they’d been with the police. “What about Niall? Still think he might’ve done it. Got questions for him.”

  “And Archie.”

  “And Archie,” Dannel agreed.

  They watched the live feed from the security cameras on their laptop in silence. Osian periodically texted with Ian about their plan for the morning while Dannel focused on coming up with a list of questions. He hoped it would help organise their thoughts.

  We should jot down the times the ghost appeared, then attempt to corroborate where each member of the company was.

  What else?

  Probably best to avoid any questions that are too obvious. They’re not going to come right out and say, oh, it was me, are they? Not likely.

  “Ian’s hired a new costume designer.” Osian tossed his phone onto the coffee table. He bent forward to see the list of questions. “We should ask how they got on with Birdie and if they had any issues with Ian. And see if they have any thoughts on who’s behind the ghost and the murder.”

  “Why with Ian?” Dannel found it hard to imagine anyone disliking their elderly neighbour. “Everyone adores him.”

  “True. Doesn’t it seem like someone genuinely wants to ruin his play?” Osian twisted around to rest his head in Dannel’s lap with his feet propped up on the arm of the sofa. “The only other option is someone’s trying to turn the company into a spectacle to entice people to show up.”

  “Or they’re simply a complete and utter prat.”

  “I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive. A wanker trying to ruin Ian’s play or an attention-seeking prat who wants to draw in a larger audience.” Osian tilted his head to watch the laptop. “Not sure which is worse.”