by Sophie Green
Lil elbowed Abe sharply in the side but it was too late. Nedly had already seen the headline. The inside story was ‘Final Ghost Strikes at the Tin Pins Bowling Alley’.
He hung his head. ‘Now I can never go back there. I’m running out of places to hang out,’ he said. There was desperation in his voice but he attempted to cover it with a grim smile.
Lil returned it, but he was right.
She murmured her way through the first paragraph: ‘Bowler complains of haunted shoes – missed a strike and lost game when the Final Ghost turned up.’ She dismissed it with a scowl. ‘No one is going to believe that.’
‘I did scare someone at the bowling alley yesterday,’ Nedly admitted. ‘I didn’t mean to. I was just watching the game and someone came and sat on me. But I spooked them, not the shoes.’
‘They probably just wanted to get a refund on the hire charge.’
‘Hey!’ Abe hissed. ‘Here he is.’ He stretched the paper out so it covered their faces and then lowered it slightly so he could peer over it. Lil tugged on the bottom edge of it so that she could see over too, exposing Abe’s whole face and shoulders.
Irving Starkey stood frozen in the doorway staring at Abe. His green waterproof poncho hung from his shoulders, his shining bald head and orange aviator glasses spotted with rain.
‘He’s going to run!’ Lil whispered.
But Starkey didn’t run. He ran a hand over his neat goatee beard and walked slowly to the bar. His voice was crackly as he said, ‘Ginger beer please, Tom.’
Abe folded the newspaper and then dropped it onto the seat beside him. The bartender put a tall glass of ginger beer on the counter and an empty plate, and then Irving turned and walked ceremoniously over to where Abe and Lil were sitting.
He pulled up a stool and took his rucksack from his shoulders, reached inside and pulled out a large packet of custard creams and shook them out onto the plate.
He looked at Lil and Abe and then let his gaze linger at the empty pew beside them. Margaret got to her feet and gave his hand the once-over with her wet nose.
‘Hello, strange little dog.’ He patted her tentatively on the head. ‘I was expecting you.’ He looked quickly up at Abe and Lil. ‘I mean … I was expecting all of you.’ His eyes searched the room again.
Lil snorted.
Abe looked around. ‘I would have thought with all the interest in the Final Ghost these meetings would be packed.’
Starkey looked sadly into his ginger beer. ‘People don’t want to investigate ghosts; they just want rid of them.’
‘Whose fault is that?’ Lil muttered. She gave Starkey the Squint. ‘Why were you expecting us?’
Starkey looked surprised. ‘Because of my note.’
‘What note?’ It was Lil’s turn to look surprised.
They sat looking at each other until Abe broke the tension with a crunch of biscuit.
Lil resharpened the Squint. ‘Sorting Through Shadows ring any bells?’ Starkey’s bemused expression told her that it didn’t. ‘It’s a book you borrowed from the library.’
‘Very possibly you are correct,’ he admitted. ‘But the library has been closed for more than a decade now.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Lil snipped back. ‘Did you think that meant you could just keep the things you borrowed from it?’
Starkey’s cheeks coloured. ‘I couldn’t return it after the library closed; how could I?’
‘You could have posted it through the door.’
‘Who would have collected it – the building is all boarded up?’
Abe interrupted. ‘I think we’re getting side-tracked –’
Starkey continued in earnest: ‘How did you even know I’d borrowed it?’
Lil searched the glass rings on the table looking for some way out. ‘That’s not the point, as in, it’s part of an ongoing investigation, as in, I’m not at liberty to say.’ She folded her arms.
Abe cut in again, pointing with a second custard cream for emphasis. ‘We need some information that was in that book. Information about the uses of a mineral called black tourmaline.’
Starkey’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course! The same black tourmaline that is being delivered to the secret Ghostcatcher facility out at Rorschach Asylum and has been authorised and funded by Acting Mayor Gordian.’
Abe choked on his biscuit. ‘You know about that?’
Nedly’s eyes widened. ‘You’re “A friend”!’
Lil gave him a look that suggested otherwise and then joined the dots. ‘You sent the anonymous note! Why didn’t you just say it was you?’
‘I didn’t think you would trust me.’ He looked around again. ‘I – I realise now that I made a grave error of judgement when I gave that newsletter the Fright File story, and now I fear that something uniquely wonderful would be lost if I don’t try and stop them.’
‘Stop who?’
‘Ghostcatcher.’
The banjo music wobbled and skipped and Irving pricked his ears up and his eyes grew bright.
‘You are a ghost catcher,’ Lil reminded him. ‘I thought you were all for catching ghosts?’
‘I’m a ghost hunter; there’s a difference. Before the Fright File I only wanted to know if ghosts were real, to find that elusive evidence, proof of the afterlife. I want to help you,’ he added.
‘We don’t need your help.’ Lil scowled. ‘Just give us the book back.’
‘It’s not your book either.’ Irving frowned. ‘It belongs to the library.’
Abe cleared his throat. ‘We just need to know about that mineral. If you could fill us in, it would save some time.’
Starkey smiled. ‘Black tourmaline is a powerful defensive gem, historically used by paranormal investigators to ward off negative energy from spirits, or, I suppose, on a greater scale, to provide a shield from the effects of hauntings.’
Lil flicked through her writing pad to find the notes she had made in the library and began adding Starkey’s information.
‘Under certain circumstances it is capable of both generating and containing electricity. You see, the tourmaline draws energy from the spirit itself and uses it against them. I believe it’s the basis for the EMF readers that Ghostcatcher uses and also their Projected Entrapment Matrix.’ When he saw the expression on Lil and Abe’s faces Starkey explained: ‘The green laser net.’
‘They must burn through a lot of it if they have shipments coming in every other night,’ said Lil. ‘They haven’t actually successfully captured a ghost in weeks.’
Abe tried to kick Lil under the table but caught Starkey instead. The ghost hunter winced and tears pooled in his eyes. When he recovered he said, ‘Indeed, and it’s highly toxic after use so disposal would be an expensive business – not something to be undertaken lightly. I think that it’s imperative to discover what they are using it for now, and I was hoping you could help me find out.’
Abe rubbed his chin with his rubber hand. ‘Who’s to say we would be interested in all this anyway?’
Starkey looked baffled. ‘You certainly sound interested.’
Lil’s ear tips burned. She cast a quick glance at Nedly and then Starkey’s lively eyes met hers in earnest.
‘You are, though, aren’t you?’ He let his gaze drift around the room again and then he removed his orange-tinted spectacles. ‘I don’t think these work after all,’ he said sadly and took them off, leaving behind symmetrical red marks on his nose where they had rested. ‘Is he here?’ Lil looked at Abe. ‘No, the ghost,’ Starkey insisted. ‘Is he here now?’
Lil froze for a millisecond and then started to her feet.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘I mean no harm. I’m afraid it turns out that whatever it is people have that allows them to feel the presence of spirits, I just don’t have it. Even though it is all I’ve ever wanted.’ He gave a melancholy laugh. ‘I suppose life is like that sometimes.
‘The accounts I received from my contact, Craig Weasel, the so-called Fright File and my dealings with Gho
stcatcher led me to believe that the Haunting of Peligan City was perpetrated by a most malevolent spirit or spirits. A terrible threat to the safety of the citizens. But since then I have been tracking the exploits of the one they call the Final Ghost – and I don’t mean by these attention-grabbing ghost stories –’ he pointed disdainfully at the Herald – ‘but the facts – and a very different picture has emerged. I no longer believe that the Final Ghost is terrorising the city. In fact, my research suggests a different story entirely.’
Lil gave Nedly an imperceptible shake of the head and thinned out her lips. ‘It’s too late for that now,’ she said. ‘Even if there was a Final Ghost, you’ve already turned everyone against him.’
Starkey slumped his shoulders miserably. ‘If I could go back …’
‘Well, you can’t.’ Lil scowled at him. ‘And you’re one hundred and ten per cent wrong again: there is no last ghost; Ghostcatcher are just draining the city purse, getting everyone in a panic. Gordian might be genuine and clean but the Final Ghost still is a convenient smokescreen to distract people from worrying about all the things in Peligan City that need to be put right. Anyone can see that.’ She crossed her arms.
Starkey looked at her. ‘I’ve been following your cases, observing how you –’
‘Spying on us?’
‘Not spying … I just needed to know, if it was true.’
Abe poured the last of the crisp crumbs into his mouth and put the bag down with a crackle. ‘I told you the last time –’
‘I know, detective, you don’t believe in ghosts.’
The lights on the jukebox dimmed and the banjo twanking slowed down, becoming slightly off-key. He listened for a moment and then added, ‘But I do.’
‘Thanks for the tip-off.’ Abe nodded sagely. ‘But you’ve got the wrong gang. I thought there might be a link to organised crime with that business down at the docks but it looks as if it’s just more hooey so it’s not really our bag.’ He looked a bit shamefaced. ‘No hard feelings.’
‘None.’ Irving smiled bravely. ‘But if I can help, if there’s anything …’ He pressed a handwritten business card into Lil’s hand. ‘I’m at your disposal.’
Lil flipped it back onto the table saying, ‘Whatever,’ and followed Abe to the door. She held it open for a moment, but Nedly lingered, saying, ‘I’ll catch you up.’
Irving Starkey took a last sip of ginger beer and surveyed the pile of biscuits on the plate. He picked one up, took a small bite and chewed it slowly. He closed his eyes, gulped it away, sighed deeply and said to the barman, ‘I think I’ll head off myself. I don’t expect anyone else will come today.’
He got to his feet and began clearing the table. When he saw the plate of biscuits he frowned. His hand trembled as he pulled it closer. Starkey caught his breath, swivelled the plate round, and tears sprang to his eyes. The custard creams had been rearranged into an odd formation: one short line and two longer ones with a sideways biscuit in the middle. They spelled a single word: ‘HI’.
Beaming, Starkey turned to the barman and lifted the plate. ‘Look!’ All the biscuits slid off and torpedoed the floor.
‘Are you all right, Irving?’
Starkey put a hand to his chest to calm his fluttering heart and nodded eagerly. ‘I’m better than all right. Hello, my friend. Hello at last!’ he cried out, as the tears made a break from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.
Chapter 8
The Lick and Spittle Boxing Club
The next morning at the Nite Jar, Lil had just rolled up her sleeves to start washing the pots when there was a phone call for her.
She took the receiver cautiously and frowned down the line before saying, ‘Hello?’
‘Lil Potkin?’
‘Who is this?’
The voice on the other end spoke fast and low. ‘It’s me, Irving Starkey. Your friend is in great danger. You must warn him. Last night I …’
A no-nonsense voice cut in. ‘I thought you were calling a solicitor?
Lil heard Starkey say, ‘Wrong number,’ and the phone went dead.
‘Hello? Hello?’ Lil called into the receiver. Her heart was racing. Quickly she dialled another number. After twelve rings Abe picked up, and before he had a chance to speak Lil said, ‘Is Nedly with you?’
Abe paused. ‘What? No, I – I don’t think so. Wait.’ Lil heard him say something to Margaret then he returned to the line. ‘I don’t think so.’
Lil’s pulse thumped warningly in her ears. ‘I think we better find him.’
She pushed her rising panic into something she could use, left her apron on the sideboard and ten minutes later she and Abe were pounding the rain-slick streets with Margaret jogging behind them, her eyes and nose on the job as she weaved expertly between the puddles.
‘It’s just round the corner,’ said Lil as they took a shortcut through a narrow alley and came out at an old disused car park. When Abe stepped into the dull light of day his face darkened.
Crouched under a curved brick railway bridge was a single-storey building with a flat roof. A sign painted on the front in flaking pink letters read ‘Carl’s Gym’. A yellow light smouldered behind a row of high narrow windows. It looked as sturdy as a bomb shelter.
Abe eyed it all grimly. ‘You’re sure this is the place?’
‘It’s one of Nedly’s regular haunts. He likes to come down here to watch the fights, pick up some tips.’
The atmosphere felt heavy, like a storm was brewing. The wind splashed rain in their faces.
Abe looked over his shoulder. ‘So we don’t know for sure if he’s here?’
‘He won’t go back to the bowling alley on account of the spooky-shoes story. He’s not at our home or at yours, I’ve already checked the library and he’s not at the Nite Jar. It’s the only place left.’ Lil stepped forward. Abe didn’t move; his body swayed but it was like his feet had grown roots. She looked up at him. ‘If he’s not here, I don’t know where he is.’
Abe took a couple of deep breaths through his nostrils and let the last one out with a gruff snort. ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
He walked quickly to the side of the gym, flattened himself against the concrete wall and glanced round the corner at the door.
Lil stood beside him. ‘Shall we knock?’
Abe gave the door a grim appraisal. ‘I’m just figuring out how to play it.’
Margaret let out a sharp bark.
‘Shhh!’ hissed Abe. ‘We’re trying to keep a low profile here.’
‘Could’ve fooled me.’ A bass voice cut through the air, smooth with a side order of menace.
The colour drained from Abe’s face. ‘Sweets Mayhem! Fancy meeting you here.’ His tone was light but the laugh that followed had a desperate sound to it.
Sweets Mayhem cast a shadow that eclipsed the grey morning light. Lil squinted up at him. The boxer’s head was mostly covered by the hood of his sweatsuit and she could only make out a wide jaw, and puffed eyelids. She tried to sound casual. ‘We’re just looking for somewhere to train, but we thought we should check it out first, before we bothered anyone.’
Sweets’ humourless eyes stared back at her. ‘It’s no bother.’ His neck was wrapped in cords of muscle that flexed as he tilted his head at her. ‘I’ll walk you in.’
He herded them round the corner, his hands scrunching their collars tightly round their necks and then eased them towards a heavy metal door studded with rivets. Abe knocked lightly on it. No answer. He took a step back but the boxer was right behind him and Abe trod on his toes. Sweets didn’t flinch, he just pushed Abe back up to the door until his belly was against it and this time he knocked for him. A big pounding fist.
Lil kept trying to catch Abe’s eye. She could see the muscles working his jaw as he chewed on the situation. The slot in the door opened and a pair of heavily wrinkled eyes peered out. Abe dropped his chin so the rim of his hat shadowed his face.
Sweets said, ‘Found t
hese two sneaking around outside.’
The eyes narrowed at Abe. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’
‘I have one of those faces.’
The eyes swelled for a second, then said, ‘No dogs.’ There was a sound of metal bolts being scraped across and then finally the door opened. It was at least three inches thick.
‘Stay,’ Abe told Margaret.
As they were shoved inside Lil glanced over her shoulder to see the small figure of Margaret sitting alone in the rain and then the heavy door swung shut and they were trapped.
‘What’s going on?’ Lil hissed.
‘Leave the talking to me.’ Abe’s face was set now, Easter Island style. ‘Just find the kid and get out. Any chance you get.’
‘What?’ Lil gasped and then they were being hustled down a narrow corridor past photos of famous fights, some publicity shots of Sweets, fists raised in front of his pinched head, alongside signed pictures of more famous visiting boxers and a couple of group photos labelled ‘Lick and Spittle Boxing Club’. That name rang a bell; Lil had heard it somewhere before. She looked back at Abe, and a sinking feeling grew in her belly. She remembered the story now – back when Abe had been on the Squad, he had brought down a large-scale protection racket based out of the Lick and Spittle Boxing Club. But that was years ago. Surely no one would remember it.
As they entered the gym Lil scanned the room quickly: there were bodies, lots of them, in vests and shorts and sweatsuits. No Nedly, but there was a door on the other side of the boxing ring. She caught Abe’s eye and pointed to it.
He gave her a discreet nod and then a voice cut through the buzz of the room, dulling it to silence.
‘Can I believe my eyes?’ A short man with a fuzz of white hair and a satin shirt he was making his way towards them at a leisurely pace. The boxers moved aside as he passed through and then surged behind him like a wave of muscle.
‘Detective Mandrel!’ He looked like he couldn’t believe his luck. His shirt was unbuttoned to mid-chest where six or seven gold chains lay. ‘All that time I spent in the Needle, hoping I’d run in to you again one day and you walk right onto my turf – easy as pie.’
