by steve higgs
‘Thank you, Sarah.’ The phone was simple to operate, so although I was not familiar with the make, the icons were the same universal ones that I had on my phone. The photographs were in a folder labelled "Dead lady" which made finding them easy. ‘Can you send them across to me please?'
Sarah took the phone back to fiddle with it and we engaged in chit-chat about school while the files were transferred.
Once it was done, I had no desire to linger outside the house, so bid Sarah goodbye and escaped as soon as I could. She waved me goodbye with repeated requests to return when I had more time for a proper catch-up. I dodged giving any kind of commitment as there was no way I was ever going back.
My car was still in one piece, but I suspected that was only because I had never actually been more than five yards from it.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in my car checking through the pictures in a supermarket car park halfway back to my house. The pictures were solid gold. Liam might be a thoroughly unpleasant chap, but these were as good as a crime scene photographer would have taken. There were over fifty in total. I gave them a cursory inspection, but they needed proper scrutiny, a task I would have to tackle later as I still had a lot to do today including getting ready to deal with the Cranfield's Poltergeist.
I checked my watch: 1653hrs. Time to feed the dogs. I fired up the engine and was home in a few minutes. Bull and Dozer were happy to see me as always and buzzed around my feet as I scooped kibble into their little bowls. Once they had eaten their dinner, which took about eight seconds, I let them out to scare the pigeons off the lawn and sat out on my decking to watch them snuffle about in the undergrowth.
Tomorrow I would track down friends and relatives of the victims and visit crimes scenes and see if I could wheedle some better information out of contacts in the police force and papers.
Tonight though, I had a Poltergeist to catch.
The Cranfields’ Poltergeist. Friday, September 24th 0213hrs
I had convinced the Cranfields that the most likely culprit was someone with a key, entering and leaving without needing to force entry and that the best way for me to catch the perpetrator was to set them both as bait and lie in wait. So, it was now 0213hrs and I was sitting in their living room in the dark. I had tucked myself into one corner where no light from outside would illuminate me. I was dressed in my standard rip-stop, hard-wearing, black, combat gear and boots and had blackened my face for good measure. I had not brought any weapons with me as I felt it unlikely I would need to use them and because bringing them shows intend to use in the eyes of the law. Should the perpetrator elect to fight I did not want there to be weapon-inflicted injuries to explain to the police.
As agreed with the Cranfields, I had snuck into their house by entering from the street behind and jumping over a fence. There was a slight risk that I might be spotted by a neighbour and cause alarm, but there seemed a greater chance that the house might be watched by the culprit and I wanted anyone watching to think it was just the Cranfields here.
The clock kept ticking on despite the bent hands. The annoying tick, tick, tick had been keeping me awake but it was late now and with nothing to do I was beginning to fail in my fight against sleep. My eyes were getting heavy and I really wanted to get up and move about as my back was stiffening from keeping still. I felt that I needed to remain quiet and motionless though.
A few minutes later I realised I had dozed off anyway and as I snapped my head back up, I heard a noise coming from the fireplace. No. It was to the left of that. The fireplace was ornamental and had a well-polished brass coal scuttle one side and an equally well-polished set of brass tools for tending the fire on the other. Above the aperture was a brass hood which, unsurprisingly, was well polished. To either side were built in cupboards where perhaps a younger Winston had fashioned storage and shelves in the two recesses created by the prominent chimney breast.
I did not know what I could hear but it sounded much like someone patiently moving things about inside the cupboard. I resisted the temptation to get up to investigate and was rewarded by the cupboard door opening slowly outwards a few moments later. In the shadows created by the streetlight a few doors down, I could now see a head emerging followed by the rest of a man's body.
‘Wooooo,’ he said. ‘Wooooooo,’ as he clambered stealthily out of the cupboard and stood up. ‘Arrgggh, woooooo, arrrgggh!’ was his next sentence. He was making ridiculous, cartoonish ghost noises that shouldn’t have fooled a ten-year-old. However, he was both loud and confident. He continued the general Wooooo Arrrgggh theme while kicking the sofa on the opposite side of the room from where I sat and beginning to tilt the pictures which hung on the wall behind it. I had instructed the Cranfields to stay in bed regardless of what they heard. Sitting here now watching their poltergeist, I was thankful that they had obeyed me.
He was working steadily around the room and I was content to let him continue as I had two cameras placed high up on bookshelves recording the entire event. Dim light from the window revealed that the chap was mid to late thirties and five feet eight inches tall with a slight build. His hair was beginning to thin and he had a weak chin and a big nose. He was wearing a tracksuit, the grey flannel type with elasticated cuffs at the ankle and wrist. I could see tattoos on his neck.
Knowing that it was not a poltergeist had meant it was always going to be an idiot and my first thought had been that someone was trying to scare the Cranfields from their home for some kind of financial benefit. To rob them while they were out being an obvious motive. Since they had not been burgled at any point, I had struck that theory from the list. Alternatively, I could believe that they were being persecuted over some family dispute. I had seen this before and it was usually a relative, so my instant, but unspoken suspicion, was their son. He seemed likely to have a key and thus be able to achieve the unforced entry. I had seen a picture of their son and he was not only older and wider but also shorter and better looking. Quite how this chap got in through the wall was a mystery still, but not one that was going to be difficult to solve.
I felt it was time to introduce myself.
The poltergeist was moving around the room still. Having gone along the wall opposite the window tilting every picture and tipping a lamp over, he was now in the corner by the light switch. He tripped on something invisible in the dark and uttered a ghostly, ‘Bollocks!’ as he got up again. His next steps would take him to the dresser where Barbara kept her nice ornaments and I did not want any further breakages. I elected to use minimal force in order to avoid problems with the police later, although I will admit I wrestled momentarily with the concept of whacking him with the solid oak paper rack next to the chair I was sitting in.
As he stepped in front of the dresser with another good, ‘Wooooooo!' I stood up, and in one fluid motion, planted my right foot solidly behind his back, grabbed him around both lateral muscles and using my body weight as a lever I turned him into a pendulum, swung him around and off his feet and threw him onto the sofa.
The next, ‘Wooooo!' changed halfway through to an, ‘Aaarrrggg!' and then into a, ‘What the fuuu...?' Before his face slammed into a cushion and silenced him.
‘Excuse me,' I said politely and calmly as I stepped to the wall and turned on the light. I then fixed him with the best menacing stare I could muster. Of course, menacing stares are not something one practices in front of a mirror, so I just hoped it was menacing and that I didn't just look like I needed to poo.
The man looked like he wanted to jump up and leg it. He had come to land face down against the back of the sofa, then rolled over onto his back and now had one leg over the end of the sofa and one leg on the floor. He was clutching his chest with one hand and breathing heavy. His face was white - like he had seen a ghost. I ha-harred to myself.
‘You scared the crap out of me, man. Who the heck are you?’ he asked from his prone position.
‘I scared you? You think I scared you? What do you think the old couple upstairs have been going
through with this ridiculous act of yours?’ I was a little incensed. Of course, without idiots like this chap I had no work, but picking on an old couple and scaring them from their home seemed like such a cowardly and awful thing to do that it had made me somewhat irrationally angry. I was keeping it under control for my own sake rather than his. The righteous bit of me wanted to break his arms off and feed them to him.
His arms were now either side of him, palms down against the sofa as if ready to push off. ‘Stay there, Sir. Or, I will make you stay.’ I saw him look me up and down and then come to a conclusion. It was not the right one. He tensed, which was a lot like announcing by loudspeaker that he was going to try something daft. He then threw himself up and off the sofa. I actually thought he was just going to bolt for the cupboard he had come out of, or possibly for the door out of the room just so that he could get away, but he was braver, or crazier than that and he actually came at me.
Ready for him anyway, I met him as he rose towards me, stood on his right foot, placed one hand on the top of his rising head to deflect his motion then shoved him to the right and onto the floor. I grabbed his left arm as he went and pulled it around from the wrist into a classic arm-bar.
‘Arrh,' he said again, but with less Scooby-doo-esque spookiness than before and then, ‘ooofh,' as his chest impacted with the floor and the air left his lungs in one go. I had him in a position I felt was secure enough, so I called for the Cranfields to join me.
I could hear them moving around upstairs now. Doubtless, they had been unable to sleep wondering what might happen or had been woken by the idiot noises as their Poltergeist had started his routine. I had his left arm behind his back and could keep him pinned with very little effort, but I put a knee between his shoulder blades anyway for good measure.
‘Stay there now. There’s a good fellow.’
‘Who the heck are you?’ he managed between breaths.
‘The chap the good folks here hired to investigate the strange goings on recently. So, my question to you is: Who are you?’ He didn’t answer, but I noticed a wallet shaped lump in his back pocket. Partly surprised that tracksuits came with pockets for wallets given their intended use was running and other sporting activities, I plucked it out and flicked it open. It was a cheap, black, leather-effect thing that must have been years old given that the fake leather was falling off. The first card announced that I was currently sitting on Leslie N Davy.
‘Leslie? I asked him. He still didn't answer but swung his head to the side to try to look at me better.
I could hear the Cranfields coming down the stairs now. I called for them to come in, advising that I had the culprit restrained. I leaned down so that my mouth was a few inches from Leslie's right ear. ‘I am going to lift you up and sit you back on the sofa whereupon you are going to answer some questions. I have taken fingerprints from broken and damaged items in this room. I also have two cameras that have recorded your performance this evening. So far you are guilty of several counts of breaking and entering and of wilful destruction of property.' I adjusted my position slightly so that I would be able to lift him off the floor without releasing his arm. ‘You have some explaining to do and I had better like what I hear.'
With that thought still in his ear, I grasped his right shoulder and keeping hold of his left wrist, I pulled him off the carpet and pushed him onto the sofa. I released him then but stayed right in front of him, so that I formed a physical block between him and the Cranfields who were now entering the room.
‘Meet your Poltergeist.’ I invited.
‘Oh goodness, oh my,’ said Barbara.
‘Leslie?’ asked Winston, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You know this man?’
‘We both do. He is our next-door neighbour.’ A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The cupboard next to the fireplace must be hiding a hole through from his house. I would check shortly.
Leslie looked terrible now. His face appeared to be trying to decide whether to cry or wail or find a quick way to become invisible. He was shrinking into the sofa, physically making himself smaller and clearly embarrassed.
‘Barbara, would you like to make some tea?’ I enquired. It seemed like time to calm everyone down, get some answers from Leslie and wrap this case up.
Her reply came immediately, ‘Stuff that, I need a brandy.'
‘Here, here,’ agreed Winston
‘Me too,’ said Leslie. I fixed him with a raised eyebrow, ‘Sorry,’ he offered.
‘Nothing for me, thanks.’ I had to drive home yet, but a stiff glass of something did sound like a cracking idea. Behind me, I heard a decanter being moved and the quiet glugging of a spirit into one glass, then another. I moved slightly to one side so that I was still standing and closer to Leslie than the Cranfields but no longer blocking their view of him.
‘Start explaining.’
‘No need really,’ said Winston, ‘I know what this is about.’
Case Solved. Friday, September 24th 0245hrs
It transpired that Leslie had moved in five years ago, and the once tidy house next door with its delightful clipped privet hedge had gradually declined under his ownership. I had observed that the garden was overgrown myself when I first arrived. Further inspection later would reveal that the drain pipe was hanging loose, the paint was flaking off and in general, the property was fairly grubby. The driveway had two battered looking fast Fords parked on it. A tarpaulin was hanging from one.
About six months back, after a period of politely asking Leslie to tidy his bit of the street, Winston had become a little firmer in the tone of his requests, and then when his requests had been rebuffed with unpleasant language, he had complained to the local authorities. Eventually, someone had paid attention and the net result was that he has been awarded an Anti-Social Behaviour Order and a fine. Leslie had taken umbrage and refused still to address the appearance of his house, instead striking upon the idea that he could alleviate the complaints by driving the complainers away.
He had discovered the loose brickwork leading from the cupboard next to the chimney in his property when he was installing a television unit a few weeks ago. Removing a couple of bricks, he saw immediately that he could get into the house next door and the poltergeist idea had just come to him.
‘Well, Leslie,' I said to the rather withdrawn form sat on the Cranfields’ couch, ‘You have something of a problem now. You have committed several crimes,' I turned to face Winston, ‘Winston it is time for you to call the police.'
‘Wh wh wh what? The police?’ Leslie stammered, somehow surprised that he might actually be in trouble for his actions.
‘What you have to realise, Leslie,’ I began, ‘Is that you are a bit of an idiot. So, of course, the police.’ I wanted to pontificate but stopped myself. I would get paid for my work and there was no further need for involvement on my part. ‘You broke into someone’s house, destroyed their property and generally menaced them. I am an investigator, not a vigilante, my task was to determine what was going on here. Punishment is down to the authorities.'
Winston nodded his head slowly in agreement or perhaps to acknowledge that calling the police was necessary, and he shuffled out of the room. Minutes later a muffled half of a conversation could be heard from deeper in the house. It did not last long; the audible click of the house phone being put down preceded Winston returning moments later.
‘They will be here in a few minutes,’ he announced. I simply nodded and watched as Winston joined his wife at the cocktail cabinet and took a healthy slug of his brandy. Thankfully only a few minutes of uncomfortable silence had to be endured before flashing light began to illuminate the gaps around the edges of the now drawn curtains.
I turned to Winston and Barbara. ‘What you do next is your choice. He has broken into your house and damaged your property. There is a hole through to your house from his which ought to be professionally repaired. The police will escort him from your property, probably under arrest and will pr
ocess him and give you a case number for insurance purposes should you need it. I will provide you with a statement detailing my investigation and video footage which is still running and has recorded all of tonight’s events. It can be used by the police and I will attend any interviews and a court case if necessary. I will send you an invoice for my services in the next couple of days. Is there anything else you need me to do?’
‘We would just like to get this finished and get to bed, if that’s alright, Mr. Michaels,' replied Barbara.
I checked my watch: 0257hrs. ‘I don’t appear to have anything further to do, mystery solved and all, so getting to bed sounds good to me as well.' We stood for a moment just staring at each other waiting for someone to speak. If it lasted any longer it was going to be weird and they were clearly waiting for me to say something. I gave a sort of I'm off motion with one hand, saying, ‘You have my number if you need me. Good evening to you both.' I gave them a cheery smile and headed into the night, passing the police on the driveway.
My House. Friday, September 24th 0914hrs
The dogs greeted me at the door as always, forcing me to shoo them back so that I could get in. I was tired, so after letting them out and giving them a pat, I shrugged off my gear, shucked my clothes and got into bed. It was 0334hrs and I had no plan to get up at 0530hrs for a workout.
I awoke at 0914hrs with a dog asleep on my neck. The bed was low enough that the boys could clamber on and snuggle into the duvet if they wanted to. I wondered sometimes whether it was an entirely hygienic practice but had elected to not care too much as I liked having them there. Perhaps this satisfied some unfulfilled longing for a dog to be curled at my feet when I was a boy. I reached up to poke the warm ball of dumb, but it just wriggled a bit and snuggled in deeper to my neck. The tip of one ear was draped across my mouth with the tip tickling a nostril as I moved.
Reluctantly, I reached up with my other hand and using both arms lifted him to the side. I could now see that it was Dozer, although I had suspected it would be because this was typical behaviour for him. As I levered him off me and back onto the duvet, he opened an eye but closed it again and went directly back to sleep. Bull was somewhere under the covers having burrowed there during the night. I left them to it, slipped out from under the delightfully warm goose-down duvet and went for a shower.
