by Lucy Banks
“I think it’s time we end all this nonsense once and for all, don’t you?” he said aloud, then glanced around the hall, up into the empty rafters. We’ve all been through hell and back, he added silently. And there’s only one way to stop the hell now, isn’t there? There’s only one way out.
His hand shook, just by the tiniest amount, as he flicked the light off again and left the hall in milky-moon darkness. The door clanked shut behind him. He didn’t bother locking it.
Peter stood by the water’s edge, letting the waves drift around his boots. It was a cold night. His breath puffed in front of him before vaporising into the misty black. Behind him, the twinkling lights of the promenade dangled and bobbed in the breeze, like rows of dancing fireflies.
A solitary light shone dimly from the top of the hillside, near the woods. He wondered if it was coming from Grace’s house. Maybe she’s looking down here now, he thought as he flicked a pebble into the sea with his toe. Wondering what I’m doing. Wondering if I’ll be next.
Except I’m not going to wait around to be picked off like a pheasant in shooting season.
He raised the gun, placed it between his lips, then fixed his eyes at the moon.
Chapter 16: The Police
Kester awoke to pandemonium. A pair of hands shook at his arm, and he rolled around, meeting Larry Higgins’s fleshy, pale face, which was alarmingly close to his own.
“Get up! Get up now!”
“But it’s still dark!” Kester looked over at the window, then blinked furiously.
“I don’t give a toss if it’s still dark, get your backside out of bed now! Emergency situation!” Larry hauled Kester’s duvet off, leaving him shivering like a damp dog.
He sat up and hastily wiped his chin, which was embarrassingly wet with dribble. “What emergency situation?” The bunkbed squeaked as he flipped his legs over the side, narrowly missing Dimitri’s head in the process. Dimitri groaned, then stretched his arms into the air with a yawn.
“Peter Hopper.” Larry barked, hands on hips. “Dead.”
Mike nodded, flinging Kester’s shirt across to him. “Come on. We’ve got to get there before the press do, otherwise there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Hang on, hang on.” Kester held up a hand, massaging his forehead. His head felt as though it had been stuffed with shaving foam. “Just a second. I don’t understand. What time is it?”
Larry Higgins emitted a noise that sounded like an engine bursting. “Good god, just get up and get out! We’ll fill you in on the details as we go along!”
Kester’s shoulders slumped. “Righty-ho.” He jumped from the bunk and nearly twisted his ankle as he landed. He really wasn’t in any fit state to start work, especially as he felt like he’d only been asleep for ten minutes.
Someone rapped at the door, which creaked open only a second later.
“Are you ready in here?” Pamela asked as she observed the whirlwind of clothes, bags, and belongings scattered around the room. “Jennifer says we need to leave now, the paramedics are already on their way, and we need to see the body first.”
“Hang on a moment, did you just say ‘see the body’?” Kester said, feeling a bit weak. “I’m not really too down with the whole ‘see a body’ thing, to be perfectly honest.”
“Oh, do stop being a snivelling baby,” Higgins barked, then leant over and hauled Kester’s trousers up like a parent hurrying a toddler. “Get on with it, you’re holding us all up.”
“So, Peter Hopper is dead?”
“Yes!”
“Right. Right.” Kester struggled to process the information. “Okay.” He paused, then scratched his head. “Gosh. That’s awful. How?”
Mike tugged him by the arm. “Come on, I’ll explain as we’re walking. It’s just before five in the morning, as you asked what time it was.”
“Five o’clock? No wonder I’m feeling like someone’s used my head as a toilet.”
They crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, to avoid waking the proprietor of the hotel, who, they were fairly sure, was the only other person in the building. Miss Wellbeloved managed to locate the front door key in the office, which let them out on to the silent street.
“Better lock up after ourselves, we don’t want the hotel getting burgled,” Pamela suggested, bracing herself against the cold.
Lara looked up at the cracked hotel sign above the door. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen. It’s not exactly the sort of place that screams affluence, is it?”
“Come on, we really haven’t got time to waste,” Miss Wellbeloved said, then gestured down the street. “Curtis Philpot told me that they found Peter Hopper down by the seashore.”
“Wait a second, I’m a bit confused,” Kester said, trotting to keep up. The street was eerily still, with only the moonlight to guide them, which cast wobbly shadows across the cobblestones. “How did Curtis Philpot know about Peter Hopper?”
“Use your brain, boy!” Higgins snapped as he marched out in front. “Philpot sent government men over to provide protection for the remaining Ancient History Club members, didn’t he? One of them noticed that Hopper didn’t return home and found him on the beach. Dead.”
Kester swallowed hard. He hadn’t warmed to the dour northerner. In fact, he’d actually found the man rather unpleasant. However, it was still horrible to hear that he’d died. “Was it the spirit again?” he asked, thinking of his over-confident assertion yesterday that the spirit was definitely going to strike in Grace McCready’s house. Shows what I know, he thought, looking out to the sea glittering at the end of the road. The steady whoosh of the waves was hypnotic and made him wish desperately he was back in bed again and didn’t have to deal with this level of stress.
“We’re not sure,” Miss Wellbeloved replied as she zipped her coat up. “Details are hazy at this point. That’s why we’re trying to get down there before the paramedics start moving him around. The police are already there.”
“And the press?”
She shuddered. “Let’s hope not. For the sake of all our future careers, let’s hope and pray not.”
They clambered onto the beach, all of them struggling to keep balance in the darkness. Lyme Regis’s beach was mostly made up of large pebbles, which shifted and rolled under every step. Judging by the level of swearing, Serena was finding it most difficult to stay upright, which was hardly surprising, given she was still tottering around in stilettoes.
A glint of red and blue light towards the other end alerted them to the presence of the police car. Kester squinted. It all felt surreal, as though he’d suddenly been plunged into a gritty crime series. Wordlessly, they all headed towards the flashing lights, drawn to the centre of the activity. Silhouettes of people milled around, and the occasional burst of bright light indicated that somebody was taking photographs.
As they approached, Higgins stepped forwards, flashing a card in his wallet at the nearest police officer. “Hello there, my name is Larry Higgins . . .”
“Yep, don’t bother speaking to me.” The man rubbed his stubble irritably. “Talk to Chief Inspector Wilmott. She’s the one in charge.” He thumbed in the direction of a towering female, who was currently deep in conversation with a man in a weighty anorak.
Kester glanced down as they passed through the centre of the congregation. Even though every part of him wanted to avoid it, he couldn’t not look. His eyes were magnetised to the body, which had yet to be covered. Kester shuddered. It wasn’t the blood pooling at the man’s lips that bothered him most, nor the splayed hand, stretched out over the pebbles. It was the expansive whites of his eyes, rolled out towards the sea, seeking something beyond the horizon.
My god, I was only talking to him on the phone yesterday, Kester thought, hypnotised by the sight. Is that how it happens? One minute alive, the next, not? It reminded him horribly of his mother dying. The way she’d
slipped from animation to complete stillness, as though someone had simply flicked a switch, then left the building. He shivered.
Pamela slipped a hand around his shoulders, guessing his thoughts. “Come on, dearie,” she whispered, giving him a comforting squeeze. “Let’s get on with our work, shall we? Best not to dwell on the dead.”
They strode over to the Chief Inspector, who seemed determined to ignore their arrival. Indeed, aside from a brisk irritated glance, she deliberately repositioned herself, offering them the perfect view of her broad back.
“Chief Inspector Wilmott?” Higgins interrupted, positioning himself firmly in her view. He flashed his card again. “I’m Larry Higgins. We’ve got permission to examine the body.”
Crikey, she must be at least six-foot, if not more, Kester thought, looking up. Even Mike and Lara, who were both pretty tall themselves, were awed by her statuesque presence.
The woman tutted, folded her arms, and looked down at them with disapproval. “I’d heard you were coming. Took your time, didn’t you? The government official said you’d be here twenty minutes ago.”
Larry shot the others a mutinous look. “Yes, some of us took longer to get ready than others.”
The Chief Inspector exhaled noisily, reminding Kester of an impatient horse. “You’d better hurry up. Our forensics team has done all the preliminaries, and the paramedics are coming in soon to collect the body.”
“Any sign of the press yet?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, wrestling her fingers together in an anxious knot. She glanced back to the road, as though expecting to see hordes of journalists running towards her at any moment.
Wilmott shook her head. “No sign yet, thank goodness. But let’s not tempt fate, eh? Get cracking.”
Dimitri moved towards Peter Hopper’s body and knelt awkwardly by his outstretched arm. He closed his eyes, frowning.
“What’s he doing?” Wilmott asked, trying not to look too interested.
“Seeing if he can pick up any residual energies,” Pamela said as she walked over to join him.
Wilmott grimaced. “It’s a funny old business, isn’t it? I remember when I first joined the police force. Nothing prepared me for you lot. That’s something they don’t mention on the application form, I can tell you.”
“We’re not so different to you,” Miss Wellbeloved replied sharply.
“Oh, but you are. What you guys do and what we do, it’s very different. Very different indeed.”
There was a definite edge to the Chief Inspector’s voice. Kester noticed Miss Wellbeloved stiffen, then move closer to the others. Serena was talking earnestly to the man with the anorak, who Kester presumed was part of the forensics team. He turned his attention to Pamela and Dimitri, who were both now kneeling with their eyes closed tightly. It never ceased to fascinate him, watching them at work. He wondered what they were picking up.
“Doesn’t look like the work of a spirit to me,” Mike announced as he squatted by Peter Hopper’s head. “Looks like he got busy with the gun all by himself.”
“Funnily enough, we’d already established that.” Wilmott narrowed her eyes and examined him in detail. “Anything else of value you can add?”
Mike stood, slapping his hands against his thighs. “Nope. That’s your lot for today from me.”
“Just be thankful for small mercies,” Higgins muttered. “Trust me, he’s come out with worse in the past.”
Pamela opened her eyes, then shook her head. “Nope,” she said, accepting Mike’s arm as she stood. “Absolutely nothing supernatural going on here. I’m not even picking up much residual emotion. I don’t think he was feeling much of anything when he shot himself.”
“I don’t see how you can possibly tell that, just from being near him,” Wilmott said with a glance at her colleagues.
Pamela patted her as she walked past. “I just can, love. I don’t need to justify myself.” Lara chuckled, then edged away as she caught sight of the Chief Inspector’s expression.
A whirl of flashing lights brought their attention to the main road. The ambulance had arrived and was parking next to the town hall; its siren switched off to ensure as much privacy as possible. Two paramedics climbed out.
Chief Inspector Wilmott stepped forward. “Forensics, how are you getting along? Steve?”
The man in the anorak nodded. “We’ll need a while longer, but we’re going as quickly as possible. We know it’s important to keep this as low-profile as possible.”
Wilmott nodded at Larry. “Is there any reason why you lot need to be here now?”
Larry looked at the others. Dimitri paused, then shook his head slightly.
“No,” Larry replied. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked vaguely disgusted, then turned to Dimitri. “Are you absolutely certain this wasn’t caused by the spirit?”
Dimitri nodded. “Absolutely. As Pamela said, this man shot himself. There was no supernatural influence.”
Mike whistled and glanced at his watch. “Time for my beddie-byes then, I believe. Shall we?”
“What a waste of time,” Serena cursed, glaring at Peter Hopper’s corpse as though it was personally to blame.
“Yeah, leave the professionals to finish up,” one of the other policemen muttered. He caught their eye, then turned away with a sneer.
Kester looked at Miss Wellbeloved, who grimaced. Without another word, she started pacing back across the beach. “We get that a lot from the police,” she whispered. “Don’t worry too much about it, we’ve got every bit as much right to be here as they have.”
A clank of stones told them that the others were right behind them, hurrying to catch up. Somewhere over the horizon, the sun was starting to creep upwards, as Kester could now just about make out their pale and sallow features in the oncoming light.
“It may not have been a supernatural killing,” Pamela wheezed as she slowed to a stroll. “But I picked up a lot of strange emotion. Didn’t you, Dimitri?”
The Russian prowled alongside them with the precision of a stalking panther. “Certainly. Regret. The Hopper man regretted something as he died. Guilt. Perhaps even love.”
Pamela nodded. “Yes, exactly. But no fear. That man met his death without a shred of fear, I can tell you that for sure.”
Miss Wellbeloved sighed. She looked over at Larry. “What do you make of all this?”
“The old codger was clearly worried that the spirit was going to pick him off next, wasn’t he?”
Dimitri frowned. “I do not think he was worried. I think he was accepting of his death and met it bravely.”
“Is brave the right word for putting a bullet in your brain?” Mike said, breaking into a run and jumping over the wall onto the promenade.
“Ah, you clearly do not understand the moment of death. Particularly if it is caused by your own hand,” Dimitri answered as he extended a leg and climbed over the wall with deliberate care. He held out a hand to Serena, who took it with a giggle.
Mike scowled. “Sorry, Dimitri, I’d forgotten that you’d committed suicide so many times that you were an expert on it.”
The Russian rose to his full height, eyeing Mike with irritation. “You have no soul,” he concluded.
“You mean I don’t talk a load of old nonsense,” Mike muttered as he stalked ahead.
Serena tutted, delivered a megawatt smile to Dimitri, and fell into step next to him. “Just ignore him,” she advised. “The rest of us do.”
“Well, time to head back to bed,” Higgins snapped. “A few hours’ sleep should sort us all out.”
“Are you joking?” Miss Wellbeloved said as they rounded the corner. “We should use every second we have. Remember, we’ve only got four more days. That’s not long at all.”
“Yes, yes, I didn’t need reminding,” he retorted. “But we do need to perform basic bodily functions during that time,
Jennifer.”
“His basic bodily functions are absolutely awful,” Mike whispered to Kester. “I couldn’t actually enter the toilet yesterday after he’d finished in there. It was like a nuclear wasteland.”
“I meant sleep!” Higgins yelped furiously.
Mike grinned.
“Well,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted quickly. “Perhaps all bodily functions can be marked as low priority during this week, eh?” She pulled the hotel keys from her pocket and jangled them before her like a miniature bell. “Let’s take an hour to freshen up, then meet downstairs in the Corfe Suite.”
“At least we’re able to brush our teeth now,” Serena said as she entered the hotel. “I don’t think I could have stood all your nasty breath for much longer.”
“I still need to buy a razor,” Kester added with a thoughtful stroke of his cheeks. He’d never had a beard before. It was horribly itchy, and from what he could tell in the speckled mirror above the sink in the toilet, it looked utterly ridiculous on him.
Mike slapped him on the back. “Embrace the beard, Kester. Just go with it. It suits you. Makes you look dashing.”
“He looks like an upside-down toilet brush,” Serena said, laughing. Kester glared before following her reluctantly up the creaking stairs. Worst of all, he suspected she was right.
After a depressingly lukewarm shower, Kester yanked his clothes back on, though they were now starting to smell more than a bit stale, and stomped morosely back downstairs. It had only just gone seven o’ clock, and he felt utterly wretched, not to mention starving hungry. Worse still, the café didn’t open until eight, and all he had upstairs were two pieces of chewing gum.
He peeped around the door of the Corfe Suite to see Miss Wellbeloved sat neatly on a chair, staring out the window at the bleary dawn. She turned as he entered, giving him a faint smile as he sat down next to her.
“You do remember I’ve got my interview with the Supernatural School of Further Education today, don’t you?” He rolled his neck in an attempt to ease out the stiff muscles. God knows how I’m going to manage impressing anyone in an interview in this state, he thought, much less a genie.
