Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) (19 page)

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L
uckily, Simon was an accomplished liar. He did it
effortlessly and smoothly, with no apparent guilt to give him away. He never
blatantly lied, he merely never told the full truth. None of us did. He
explained that when they chased Billy, they only wanted to talk to him about
Bart’s car. They hadn’t meant him any harm, and in fact arrived home hours
before the police say Billy died. All true. But we neglected to mention that
Billy was a suspect in our private investigation.

Yep! Going to hell on the fast train
. I wondered if
God took into account the reason for the lie when he was determining whether or
not I passed ‘go’ at the pearly gates.

Uncle Richard and Claire didn’t totally believe him, but
they let it go. Out of guilt, I thought. Uncle Richard buried his grief in work
since his wife Amanda, and son Bryan died. With the arrival of me to keep Simon
company, he was relieved of his duty to his remaining son.

“So,” said Simon, hands on the table to lever himself up.
“Is it okay if we go now? We had plans to do Christmas shopping this
afternoon.”

Badger and I stood, too. I carefully did not make eye
contact with anyone. Being a horrible liar, eye contact would give me away. I
didn’t like lying, even by omission. But in this case it couldn’t be helped.

Eyes bored into my back as we retreated through the door. I
shivered, like when I was being watched by spirits.

And speaking of spirits, I glimpsed Bart sitting in his
usual spot at the bar on our way out. I had tried speaking with him several
times before, but he was no longer aware of me. He was immersed in his
newspaper, in his own world, his own reality. I would try again. 

Once outside, we walked quickly away. Not headed anywhere
particular, we wanted to put distance between ourselves and the parents. Riley,
coming from the direction of the ginnel, joined us.

We hoofed it two more blocks before slowing to a stroll, as
if window shopping. But the brightly lit Christmas displays held no interest
for us. Christmas was a joyful occasion, and our lives held too much sadness to
celebrate the season. Maybe next year.

When Riley’s mobile pinged, she pulled it out and opened the
text message.

Her eyebrows went up as she scrolled and read.

“What?” said Simon, always impatient.

“Gerry Puttock has a record,” she said, stowing the mobile
back in her pocket. “Apparently he beat up a hooker.”

“How does she do that?” Simon nodded his head at Riley. “How
does she get all that information?” The amazement in his tone voiced the
burning question we all wanted to know, but were too worried about the answer
to push. As usual, the inquiry was ignored.

“The real point is that Danny was right about the prostitutes,”
said Riley.

“That is totally creepy,” I said.

“And it proves he’s violent,” added Simon.

“But the real question is,
how far would he go to get
what he wants?”
said Badger.

Exactly.
Would Gerry have murdered Bart to have a
chance with Claire, the substitute-Claire’s not being satisfactory? Gerry
Puttock was definitely climbing up the suspect ladder at a rapid pace.

I didn’t like keeping this expedition secret from the boys,
but Riley insisted. As a rule, she didn’t go out to investigate, but she wanted
to speak with Gerry’s prostitute personally. Being in charge of the
investigation, Badger would not have agreed to Riley and I traveling to that
part of town, let alone walking the streets looking for a prostitute called
Candy.

Late afternoon we walked through the park, crossed the
bridge over the River Sabrina, and hopped the bus which took us across town.
Riley’s source told her that Candy worked the streets in that area. Mostly run
down and dirty, we passed more than one drunk sleeping on the sidewalk. I’m
pretty sure I witnessed a couple of drug deals, too. 

Dark was closing in, but plenty of people on the sidewalks
and cars cruising the streets made me feel safe enough. Even so, we stuck close
together as we asked the street walkers for information about where to find
Candy.

After much walking, Candy was pointed out to us coming out
of a ramshackle pub called The Spiders Web. Fully dark now, I wanted to get
this done quickly and get home. I grabbed Riley’s sleeve and pulled her across
the street, wolf whistles and catcalls following us. I approached Candy and
introduced Riley and myself.

Candy had bleached blonde hair, wore heavy makeup, a faux
fur coat and short black miniskirt with high, spiked heels.

“Can we buy you a coffee?” I asked.

Candy narrowed her eyes at us. “What are two nice girls like
you doing on these streets? Don’t you know it isn’t safe?” Despite how she
looked, I was surprised her speech was that of an educated woman. “And what’s
this about, anyway? I don’t know you, do I?”

“It’s about Gerald Puttock,” I said.

Recognition lit her eyes. After a brief hesitation, she made
up her mind. “You have ten minutes. I have to work and you’re breaking into my
busy schedule. This way.”

She led us down the dark alley to where light streamed out
of The Spider’s Web door. The red-painted brick wall had a huge black spider on
a silver web covering the entire section to the left of the door. Riley’s eyes
were huge and scared, but I tried not to show my shaky nerves. No way should we
be here, in this neighborhood, at any time – night or day.

We entered the dark smoky pub. Music blared out of a juke
box. Skirting around the small dance floor, we followed Candy down a hall where
she pulled out a key and invited us into a small, tidy room. A day bed lined
one wall, with a chair and little table against another. A television sat in
the corner. I had the feeling this was her private sanctuary, a place where
customers weren’t allowed. 

“Have a seat.” Candy took her coat off and placed it on the
bed, where she sat.

We removed our jackets, Riley sitting in the only chair.

“Believe it or not, it’s safe here. This is where I live.
The owner watches out for me, so you’ll be all right. Now what about Gerry
Puttock? It must be pretty important if you two are coming into this
neighborhood to find me.” She lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into
the room.

“We won’t take up much of your time,” I said. “We know
you’re...busy.” I coughed uncomfortably, kicking myself for inadvertently
alluding to what Candy did for a living. “We understand that Gerry beat you up,
and we want to know what happened. We’ve been told,” I said, looking at Riley, “that,
um.” I hesitated.

“Let’s not beat about the bush,” said Candy. “For reasons
beyond my control, I am a prostitute. When you’re hungry, you do
things...anyway – on the night in question – I don’t do role-playing – he
wanted me to pretend to be somebody named Claire-”

Riley gasped.

Candy turned to look at her, her painted arched eyebrows
raised even higher. “Someone you know?” 

Riley nodded. “My mum.”

“I see,” said Candy. “Anyway. When I wouldn’t play, he beat
me up. It kind of comes with the territory; I see all kinds of punters. But
with this Gerry – stay away from him,” she said in earnest. “I’m not the first
one. It’s going around on the streets that – well, never mind. That’s all I
have to tell you.” She got up, smoothing down her mini skirt. “Now I have work
to do.”

She led us back through the pub. The familiar prickling on
the back of my skull alerted me to being watched, but my eyes had not adjusted
to the darkness yet. A lit match briefly illuminated a familiar face, but I
couldn’t quite place him. In any case, I was grateful to be through the pub and
out the door without incident.

Back out on the street, we stuck as close as we could to the
buildings, trying to evade anyone’s notice.

We arrived back at the Blind Badger and breathed a sigh of
relief.

Bart sat at the long, polished bar, furthest barstool on the
left. Resigned, I decided to try and make contact and hope for the best. I
dreaded another scene like the snug storm, but if I could find out any further
information or clue as to how he died, it would be worth it.

“I’ll meet you in the snug,” I told Riley, making like I was
headed to the restroom. As soon as she disappeared down the corridor to meet
Badger and Simon, I headed to the bar.

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C
harlie the bartender busily chatted up a couple of women at
the opposite end of the bar. His jet-black hair and gray eyes being quite the
attraction, they paid no attention to me.

 I approached the far left barstool cautiously, taking up a
standing-only spot on the left corner of the bar, next to Bart. Leaning on my
elbows, I glanced sideways at him. He didn’t look up. I cleared my throat. He
didn’t look up.

“Bart,” I whispered. “Pssst.” No sign of recognition. “Bart,
can you hear me?” Nope. This wasn’t working. How could I get through to him? I
waved my hand in front of his face and got no reaction. I leaned in closer to
him, my face next to his. “Look, Bart. How is this going to work if you won’t
acknowledge me?” I slapped my open palm against the bar in front of him several
times, trying to startle him into noticing me. No good. “I need to know if
you’ve remembered anything. Dude, I’m clueless here. I need your help.”

I shook my head in frustration. “Every other ghost in this
town can’t wait to speak to me, but not you. Oh no, you ask for help and then
proceed to ignore me.” I leaned back onto the bar, wondering what to do next.

Glancing up, Charlie and the two women were staring at me,
strange looks on their faces.
Crap
. So busted talking to myself. I
smiled and waved. “Hiya Charlie!” What else could I do?

Simon and I left the pub at around 11:00 that evening, after
having talked about what Riley and I had learned from Candy.

The wet streets glistened in the lamplights, reflecting back
the striped black and white of the half-timber beams, wavy in the puddles like
a mirage. We skirted the standing water as we walked arm in arm for warmth, and
talked about nothing in particular, our voices lowered in respect for the
lateness of the hour.

Our footsteps echoed the emptiness of the street, the
buildings magnifying the sound. Tightening at the base of my skull alerted me
to another presence. I increased the pressure on Simon’s arm and imperceptibly
looked over at him. The look he returned was inquisitive.

“I think we’re being followed,” I whispered, in the same
casual tone we had been using. I tightened my grip when he would have looked
around.

“Where?” he asked, just as casually.

I became aware of more than our two sets of footsteps. The
location of the third set was difficult due to the echo.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Can you tell?”

He listened intently for a minute. “No.”

“Okay, let’s stop. We’ll run if we have to.”

“But wait,” said Simon. “When we stop, let’s swing around,
see if we can surprise him. You know, the element of surprise and all that?”

“And then what? Stand and fight,
and all that?
”
Sometimes Simon didn’t think through the consequences. We couldn’t stand and fight
if we didn’t know what, or who, we were up against. What if our follower had
weapons, or was bigger and stronger than us? What if he wasn’t alone?

“If we have to,” he said defensively. “I’m not always the
cuddly teddy bear you see before you.” Nervousness made him babble, so before
it could go any further, I gave in.

“All right, we’ll try the element of surprise. But then we
run like hell.” I took his hand. “On three – one, two, three.” We spun around,
quickly scanning the street behind us.

A figure stepped out of the shadows of a building less than
a half block away. He walked slowly toward us.

With our hands still clasped, we waited. I still had not
made up my mind whether to make a run for it. The man seemed familiar.

Simon pried his hand out of mine and maneuvered me behind
him. A chivalrous move, but not the right time to remind Sir Lancelot that I
ran faster than he could.

I recognized the voice that reached us out of the darkness.

“A word, if you don’t mind,” said D.S. Robbie O’Boyle. When
he stepped into the glow of the street light, Simon recognized him, too.
Dressed in burglar-black, the ginger hair poking from the hoodie was
unmistakable.

I breathed a sigh of relief, although still wary. Why had he
been following us?

“What about?” said Simon, still blocking me behind him. “We
already told you everything we know.”

“Except,” replied the D.S., “why Miss Eady here,” he pointed
at me, “was seen in the company of a well-known prostitute in a seedy pub in an
equally seedy area of town.”

“That was you!” I exclaimed, coming around Simon. “You were
the man hiding in the dark corner checking out everyone who came and went.” I
was indignant. “Why are you following me?” I demanded.

“Why were you with that prostitute?” he countered.

“She’s a friend, if it’s any of your business,” I crossed my
arms over my chest.

“A prostitute?” O’Boyle said incredulously. “You,” he
stabbed a finger in my direction, “are a very bad liar, Miss Eady.”

“Hey!” said Simon, taking a step closer to the D.S.,
effectively cutting off his access to me. “You’re out of line, O’Boyle.” He
then stepped back, took my arm and turned me around. “This conversation is
over,” he threw over his shoulder, striding quickly up the street, his arm
linked through mine.

“Not by a long shot,” yelled O’Boyle to our retreating
backs. “We’re watching you! We know there’s more to this!”