The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1)

by Robert Wilde

  “Is that ever a good sign?” Pohl asked, knowing the answer.

  Maquire led them in and they spread through the house, but while they found no intruders they did find something else. Jat was lying dead on the floor, his face beaten with a hammer.

  “Shall I have sex with him?”

  “No!” everyone said at once, before Maquire ordered “get that machine on.”

  A minute later, Jat spoke. “So this is death.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry Mr. Jat, I truly am, I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “I thought things would be… different.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell us that,” Pohl observed.

  “What happened?” Maquire asked.

  “Her father, and her uncle. They stormed in here, smashed me up and left.”

  “I really shouldn’t have left you.”

  “Let’s look on the bright side, I’ll be reunited with my love soon.”

  Nazir smiled. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

  “I found the hammer,” Joe said, having gone to look at a large fish tank. The instrument was lying at the foot of the cabinet.

  “Mr Jat, think back,” Maquire asked, “where they wearing gloves or anything like that?”

  “Gloves?”

  “Yes, or could there be fingerprints?”

  “No gloves.”

  Maquire smiled. “Looks like they panicked. This place could be crawling with fingerprints. Especially that weapon. We’ve got him.”

  “Does this mean we can go over and arrest him?”

  “Yes Dee. Yes it does.”

  But it wasn’t actually the group who did the arrest, Maquire phoned through a call to the station, and uniformed officers and other detectives rushed out. When the group did arrive on the scene the father, and an uncle, had already been detained by the first people on the scene.

  Having asked the rest of the group to hang back, Maquire went over to speak to people.

  “What did you find?” he asked.

  “We’re still searching the house, but when we got here we found what looks like blood around the sink in the downstairs toilet, so we called in forensics and got everything secured.”

  “Excellent. And a team has been sent to the address I gave?”

  “Of course.”

  Maquire smiled. Now the wheels of regular policing would run its course, and…

  “Constable,” came a firm voice from behind him, and he turned to find himself looking at his DCI, all five foot of her, a receptacle for the best mind in his department.

  “Maam.”

  “I hear you’ve been solving murders when you’re off duty.”

  “Just the one Ma'am. And are we ever really off duty?”

  “Yes, yes we are or you go mad. And I don’t want you to go mad Maquire, so we’ll have a talk about the hours you’re putting in. But that’s for later, explain to me what you found.”

  “Well, it’s quite simple, I…” and he paused, running through his excuse swiftly in his mind. If this didn’t work he had a major problem.

  “Mr Jat approached me with concerns that his fiancée had been murdered, rather than simply committing suicide as was first thought. I was able to speak to him in person, and he believed the father was to blame. However, shortly after I received a phone call from Mr Jat in distress, rushed over, and found he had also been murdered. So I called for people to get to the parent’s urgently.”

  “I see. You linked his death to Mr Jat’s concerns.”

  “Yes.”

  “What made you sure this wasn’t an unrelated murder?”

  “It seemed too big a coincidence. Worth following up with speed.”

  The DCI’s face hadn’t changed, and she didn’t seem entirely happy. “And who are they,” she said pointing at the group, hanging back to their left.

  “Friends I was with at the time, I rushed and I had the car.”

  “Understood. I have to say I’m not entirely happy with how this has progressed, but it appears to have been successful. We’ll sort that out in the talk we’ll be having.”

  Maquire got the strongest feeling this ‘talk’ was going to be one sided, and involve some strong lecturing.

  “Let us finish this up, you go get some rest.”

  Maquire nodded and went back to the group.

  “Everything okay?” Dee asked.

  “Yes, they found some damning evidence that can be grouped with whatever we find on the hammer. This one is in the books.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Which just leaves us with… where’s Keyes?”

  Everyone looked round, and Keyes was notable by his absence.

  “Right, follow me, I know where he’ll be.” And everyone rushed after Maquire.

  Dee’s car arrived first as she decided speed was of the essence and had considerably less attention to safety than Maquire, who realised he’d have to have words with her about dangerous driving. The foursome jumped out, and Dee pointed to Nazir: “check the front.”

  He did, and the rest ran in the back.

  As expected, they found Keyes, running from place to place filling a rucksack no smaller than Joe’s with clothes, money, and everything else he thought he’d need while on the run.

  “Fuck,” was all he could say as Dee blocked the door, so he dropped the rucksack and meekly bowed his shoulders. Soon everyone else was there, and Keyes was once more sat in the lounge. This time there was no tea.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” he asked.

  “I’m going to call the police and put this in their hands” Maquire explained.

  “You don’t sound happy about that,” Pohl noted.

  “Happy? I’m going to look like a raving fool, but what else can I do?”

  “You can let me go. I do good, I solve murders.”

  “With murder and necrophilia!”

  But Keyes carried on at Maquire. “I have a gift, and I use my gift for good!”

  “This isn’t Spiderman,” Dee interjected.

  “I need to use my powers, you can’t waste my gift!”

  “I can’t let you continue. I have to call you in.”

  “Now we know, can’t we find evidence?” Joe said thinking aloud.

  “Even if we prove all these people were killers, he’s still not allowed to kill people. The state can’t execute, he certainly can’t.”

  “Then let me be a private investigator, I’ll use my powers without anyone dying!”

  “Keyes, Keyes, can’t you see. Even if I ignore the killing, you’re still a man who molests corpses. This means you’re pretty much insane.”

  Keyes waved at the room. “They all speak to the dead.”

  “Not with their cocks. Right,” and Maquire stood, “fuck it, I’m going to make the call.”

  He left the room, and as Keyes looked at the floor the foursome exchanged glances. Pohl and Dee realised Nazir was nodding at them to leave the room, so both said “we’ll go and talk to him” and left. Joe, on the other hand, was looking at Nazir and coming to a different conclusion.

  “Have you got a twitch? Hurt your neck?”

  “For fuck’s sake. Stay then.” Nazir said as he resolved on a course of action, turning to Keyes. “I’m not saying I agree with your methods, because I don’t. But I’m not going to judge you for doing what you thought was the right thing. You’ve killed, and I’ve killed, and we both have to live with that.”

  “You’ve killed people?”

  Nazir turned to Joe. “It was a civil war, there were no clear sides, I had to get out of there and, yes, I’ve had to kill people. And I don’t regret it because it had to be done, but I’d far prefer never to have done it. So what I’m saying is I’m not going to watch them take Keyes. I’m going to give him a second chance. You go, you do good, you don’t kill unless you have to.”

  “You’re letting me go?”

  “Yes. Okay Joe?”

  “Err, yes. This puts the chat we had about our
own killing in a new perspective.”

  Nazir now stood and said to Joe “You better punch me in the face.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to tell Maquire that he attacked us and fled, so punch me in the face.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “I’ll punch you,” Keyes observed.

  “You’re not punching me you weird fucker. Joe’s decent, I can cope with that.”

  Joe wasn’t sure if this was the best or the worst compliment he’d ever heard. But he stood, came over, hesitated, and then punched Nazir as hard as he could on the jaw.

  Once Nazir had regained his equilibrium he punched Joe.

  “Aaaggghh, you didn’t mention that.”

  They both slumped in a sofa. “Thanks guys,” Keyes said as he grabbed his rucksack and disappeared out of the front doors.

  A minute later Maquire entered, phone in hand. “Did I just hear someone in pain? Where’s….”

  “He escaped,” Joe offered.

  Maquire looked at them both, not fooled for a second. Then he realised he’d been let off the hook, and said into the phone, “forget it, false alarm,” and snapped it shut. “We’ll never find him now,” he said, more to convince himself. He could chase after him, but sometimes the world was trying to send you a hint.

  Some Time Later

  A black car pulled up on an empty road, and the driver climbed out. Dressed in a smart suit, with sunglasses and excellently kept hands, the man looked round, saw a person standing in the distance, and headed towards him over the parched, dry earth.

  It took a minute to reach the man, and he was soon able to see another, although this one was laying on the ground.

  “I’m Agent Wells, CIA,” the newcomer introduced himself, “and you’re the FBI man who found him?”

  “Yes, I’m Carlson. We called you right away.”

  Wells looked at the body, and saw the neat bullet hole in its head. You could imagine the size of the exit wound, and there wouldn’t be much brain left. Flies had already gathered, as they always did, despite being so far from seemingly anything else.

  “Is it definitely him?” Carlson asked.

  “Yes, yes that’s my man.” Even with a third eye he fitted the descriptions. Good thing he wasn’t shot from the back or we’d be picking his teeth up and fitting them together.

  “A spy for the Saudis?”

  “Indeed. A man with a lot of information that we urgently need.”

  “A shame then, it’s gone with him. We tried to get him alive, but he was obviously reached first. What will you do now?” But Carlson saw Wells smiling. “What? Have you got some way of interrogating the dead?”

  “Actually I have.” Wells pulled his phone out and dialed a number. “Get Keyes off the golf course, I’m bringing something in for him.”

  Four: Bones

  Some nights it was almost too much to bear. His wife, taken from him, when they should have been setting out on their journey together, starting a family, buying a bigger house, shit, even furnishing the flat they had. But she’d been struck down, killed by a man as she crossed the road in the rain one night.

  A night like tonight, where the rain hammered against his window and made him weep seemingly as much. A night where he wanted to do crazy things, things he knew she wouldn’t approve of, things she’d never forgive him for when they finally met again. He so wanted to just take a kitchen knife and slash his warm wrists, and then he’d be with her.

  His thoughts went to other places. Why wasn’t she in this house with him? Couldn’t she at least haunt him? Couldn’t she appear in the mirror or start stealing his keys or do something from all those horror films he watched. Couldn’t she show herself?

  His mind was mostly clouded by grief, and that cloud had an idea. Before he knew what he was doing he’d taken some of those keys, got into his vehicle, and started to drive in a night where visibility was low and the stars were laughing.

  The man eventually pulled his car to a halt, skidding slightly in the rain, and climbed out. It was still very much night, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to go inside, but he started walking, through the green verges until he came to the gate. Finding this open and thinking nothing of it, he walked through until he came to the front doors, and pushing found these conveniently open too. Soon he was inside the mausoleum, seeing marble stretching away from him in three directions, beautiful little squares appearing regularly down them with little name plates.

  He knew the route this well enough to keep moving through, until he came to where his wife had been interred. Leaning his hot head against the cold marble he wished he could climb through and lay there with her, could…

  He’d probably heard the noise before and his mind hadn’t registered, lost in grief. But now he did, an odd clinking sound, as if something metal was knocking something stone, but very carefully. And, as the part of his brain that was still operating pieced together that no one should be clinking stones in a mausoleum at night, it made him turn, walk down the corridor, in the direction of the noise, and then his eyes realised there was light. Not the full light of the mausoleum fittings, but a narrow, focused beam.

  Turning the corner, the man’s lucid brain was able to overcome the grief, as he found himself looking at someone holding a torch, a pry bar and a very guilty look.

  “You’re…” was all he could manage before the light switched off.

  A police car was now parked outside the Mausoleum, and a police officer inside. She wasn’t alone, as the caretaker of the site was there to guide and inform. And he certainly had something to inform.

  “Let me just check I have this right, the man arrived, gained unobstructed entry to the building, processed through and found someone breaking into to one of the tombs?” She was reading from a notebook she’d been filling in with a writing she’d worked on for four straight months to turn into something other people could read if something happened to her. Nothing was going to happen was it. Everyone here was dead.

  “Yes. The chain on the gate had been undone, as had the doorway.”

  “Cut through, broken?”

  “No, this is the odd thing, they’re untouched, put neatly to one side, as if they had a key.”

  “I see. So possibly an inside job. And this is the tomb?” She gestured to the square in front of her.

  “Yes, the stone was being levered out, but very gently. No violence, just carefully but unofficially opened. And you can see it left these little marks.”

  “Yes, I see. But the man fled upon being spotted, took his kit with him, and left the man who found staring dumbfounded.”

  “Also true.”

  “I spoke to him, he doesn’t remember the face, which is a shame.” That was something of an understatement. “But you said the situation was worse than this?”

  “Yes,” the caretaker said, rubbing his beard. “The locks had been opened, so they could be put back…”

  “You think so?” That seemed possible, but made this situation a lot more worrying,

  “And care was taken to open the stone. So I thought, has this happened before? And I went looking for those little telltale marks.”

  The policewoman knew where this was going.

  “It’s happened before?”

  “Yes. My initial count suggests one hundred and twenty three times.”

  “Sorry, what did you just say?”

  “One hundred and twenty three.”

  “Have they stolen every watch and ring in this place?”

  “That’s also a problem.”

  “How so?”

  “I opened one of the tombs.”

  “That could be disturbing evidence, I’d caution against doing that.”

  “I think you’ll find it worth it.”

  “How so?”

  “They didn’t take the rings or the watches. I opened one of our earliest tombs, and found everything of obvious monetary value lying in the vault.”

  “I really don’t
want to know where this is going do I.”

  “No, no you don’t.”

  The officer put a hand to her head, felt her palm against her forehead. “Tell me.”

  “They’d taken the body from that tomb. These aren’t jewellery thieves, they’re body snatchers.”

  “One hundred and twenty three bodies. I have a feeling my leave has just been cancelled until Christmas. Right, I want to interview everyone who could possibly have a key. I’ll interview your dog if it so much as sniffs your pocket.”

  “Thank you for coming this morning, Dee and I have two things to talk about.”

  Everyone was gathered in Dee’s house, and all four considered it just Dee’s even though Pohl was lodging there, and the two men had been summoned early that morning for a ‘group session’, which sounded to Joe like some sort of therapy. It sounded like that to Dee as well, but she’d conceded to Pohl who had more experience running seminars, groups, well running anything.

  Coffee had been served as even Dee had conceded it was early for alcohol, and they were sat around. Over time Nazir and Joe had gravitated to sitting on the two seat sofa, while Dee and Pohl had the armchairs they used at all hours of the day (and night).

  “So what are discussing?” Nazir asked.

  “Dee has some news for later,” Pohl began, “but first I want to get a good sense of all the skills we have to offer. Who knows what’s tucked away.”

  “Skills?” Said Joe, feeling he was soon going to look poor.

  “Yes. For instance, I can speak Latin, Greek, Hebrew and…”

  “Fuck,” said Nazir, “I thought I knew a lot of languages.”

  “…once you know two or three the rest come quickly.”

  No one wanted to rag Pohl about whether she knew anything a little more up to date.

  “Anyway, I’ve compiled my skills, and also Dee’s, so I just need…”

  “What are Dee’s?” Nazir asked.

  “She’s a skilled researcher on the web and in paper files, is a good writer in several genres, has extensive experience of psychiatry and the health system, particularly medication, and is something of an expert in New Age pursuits.”

  “I see,” said Nazir, not at all impressed.