Givin' Up The Ghost (An Indigo Eady Paranormal Mystery) (21 page)

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D
etective Sergeant O’Boyle filled the doorway, arms crossed,
legs spread, jaw set. An impressive figure to be sure, with forearms like
Popeye sticking out from his rolled-up sleeves. His red hair and freckles
didn’t do anything to soften the effect.

My heart sank. We were well and truly screwed.

“I’ll take that,” said O’Boyle, extending his hand for the
investigation board.

Simon, ever the son of a solicitor, said, “I think not –
unless you have a warrant, that is.” He tucked the tube in the corner behind
him. Badger and Cappy stood to fill in the space, effectively blocking
O’Boyle’s way should he think about making a grab for it. So – we were closing
ranks. Riley and I stood, too.

O’Boyle looked at our immovable, mask-like faces, trying to
decide what he should do next. Getting a warrant would take too long. By that
time, we would have gotten rid of the tube, or tucked it away somewhere safe –
hidden from him. Then again, that tube might not be any use to him at all, if
we were on the wrong track. But I didn’t think so. More importantly, if we had
indeed solved the murders, then we were in grave danger.

D. S. O’Boyle made an obvious decision.

“Let’s talk,” he said. He moved into the room and sat down
at the table.

We didn’t move.

“Right, then. I’ll talk, you listen – then you can decide.” 
He looked like a man with a trump card to play and no need to hold it any
longer. “Let’s say that your information is correct. That your suspect is,
indeed, the perpetrator. Then what? Are you going to arrest him? Kill him? What
are you going to do?”

He had a point. A
very
good point. Once we had the
evidence, what were we going to do with it? We’d have to turn it over to the
police. We didn’t necessarily have to turn it over now. But why wait?

Because it was
our
case. We solved it, not the
police.

“Badger?” I said. We agreed at the beginning of this
investigation that Badger was in charge. He would have the last word. 

Badger sat down and the rest of us hesitantly followed.

“Tell me what you know,” said D.S. O’Boyle. “I swear to you
I’ll do everything I can to bring about an arrest.”

Badger still hadn’t said anything. O’Boyle gave him the time
he needed.

Finally, when the tension in the room was about to explode,
Badger spoke. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

A collective sigh filled the room. And a feeling of hope.
And relief, as well. Sharing the burden of this investigation might help
relieve the stress we were under.

“First,” said D.S. O’Boyle, “call me Robbie – unless my D.I.
is around. I only overheard the last bit of what Indigo was saying. And for the
record, I hadn’t intended to eavesdrop – I just came up at the right time.”

We nodded our heads, although still wary about trusting him.

“What you said,” he turned to me, “it made sense.
Except...what was that bit about a dream and a message and psychosomething?”

“I guess I’ve already dug myself in this deep, so I may as
well tell you. I don’t expect you to believe it. But it’s my secret so I’ll
have to insist you swear to keep it – you can’t tell anyone.”

He nodded his agreement. “As long as your secret isn’t illegal
or harmful to anyone, I’ll keep it.”

Badger snickered and I shot him a dirty look. I told Robbie
my secret, and explained my dream, and Psychometry, and again about how we
determined who the murderer was.

Robbie O’Boyle, to give him credit, wasn’t totally
disbelieving. But he promised to keep that part of the investigation a secret.
In any case, he wasn’t about to tell his boss that he was using a psychic to
help solve the case that his department had botched so badly.

That day, Robbie followed the leads provided by us. First,
he interviewed Claude Burns from the right-end barstool at the Blind Badger.
Then he spoke with Padma from the MEC and Beth from Jake’s restaurant. I handed
over the papers from the planning department. Riley gave him the newspaper
dated August 20th and the older clip about the Renaissance project. Simon let
him ‘borrow’ the murder investigation board to study, with the promise to
return it.

Based on the gathered circumstantial evidence, he was able
to get a warrant to search Andy Harris-Hall’s house and office. At his home
they recovered Bart’s and Shelly’s phones, which Andy had used to send text
messages and phone calls back and forth between the two to make it look as if
they were still alive and furthering the affair rumor.

Ralph, Billy’s brother, heard the news reports and came out
of hiding to turn in Bart’s laptop that had been in Billy’s possession. Payment
for doctoring the identification number on Bart’s car.

Two drafts of Bart’s environmental impact report on the Renaissance
project were located on Andy’s computer; the original – which had been deleted
but recovered by the technical crew - and the doctored copy.

It turned out that Bart suspended the project as originally
presented due to the negative impact on the environment the extra traffic would
cause. Bart gave another viable option to deal with the traffic, but the cost
was an extra five hundred thousand pounds for a car park that Andy didn’t want
to pay. Bart would not approve the project going forward until the issue was
resolved.

On August 16th, while working at the MEC, Shelly discovered
that the project had gone ahead without approval when an immigrant client filed
a complaint about non-payment. Shelly notified Bart.

On August 17th, Bart had lunch with Andy, told him that he
had no other option but to build the parking structure, and they argued. Bart
refused to let the project resume and would not sign off on the report. Andy
begged for more time to come up with another option to the extra expense of the
car park. Bart agreed, but ordered Andy to stop construction until the issue
was resolved.

On Saturday, August 20th, Bart read in the newspaper that
the project was continuing and work was well under way. He had trusted Andy to
stop construction until the traffic and parking issues were resolved, so he
hadn’t checked. Incensed, he phoned Andy, who agreed to meet him at the
project, and then called Shelly to bring a construction stop-order.

Andy presumably murdered them both on the jobsite.

Billy and Ralph disposed of the bodies in the tunnels.
Bart’s body washed up due to the heavy rains. Shelly’s had not. If they could
locate Shelly’s body, they had a chance of finding DNA evidence and the murder
weapon.

And Andy Harris-Hall had disappeared. He was presumably on
the run.

Robbie proved to be trustworthy and kept us updated on the
now progressing case.

We were all in the snug discussing the last piece of the
puzzle; Shelly’s body and the missing shovel used as the weapon. Ralph
Radcliffe gave the police all the information he had and Robbie had shared it
with us. Apparently, Billy and Ralph had hidden the bodies and weapon in a
tunnel somewhere in Sabrina Shores.

“Tunnels?” said Simon. “I’ve never heard of any tunnels
‘round here.”

Hannah floated in and out of the room, carrying full
tankards of ale in, and empty tankards out. She wore the same clothing as
always; blouse, bodice, skirts and apron. Her blonde hair was pinned into a
bun, with escaping tendrils surrounding her round face.

I smiled absently at her as the conversation continued.

“Apparently they’re only accessible from the river,” said
Badger.

“No they’re not,” said Hannah, setting down tankards of
invisible beer.

“They’re not?” I said.

“No,” said the wench.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re not’? How do you know?” asked
Riley. The others looked on, confused.

“Hannah,” I answered, pointing to the spirit standing behind
Simon, playing with his hair. He swatted at an invisible fly. They glanced at
the empty space.

Hannah continued. “Any time you want to hide something
around these parts, it’s always in the tunnels.” She looked at me like I was
simple-minded. “Everybody knows that. But it’s dangerous – the worst of the
worst is down there. You’d never get me down there.”

“Where are the tunnels, though? How do you get there?” I
asked as the others looked on, bemused.

“I’ll show you,” said Hannah, and she floated through the
closed door before I had a chance to say anything.

I leapt out of my seat and ran through the door after her,
yelling, “Come on,” over my shoulder to Riley and the boys. They raced after
me.

“What’s going on, where are we going?” Badger asked from
behind me, weaving through the passages to a door at the other end of the
kitchen. I yanked on the door, about to burst through, when I hit a wall of
darkness. Badger, unable to stop his forward momentum, ran into the back of me,
grabbing me around the waist before I could tumble down the dark stairwell.
Simon, Cappy and Riley brought up the rear, peering around us to see what was
below.

I fumbled around for a light switch, which when I found it,
cast barely a glow to light our way. I started down, the others behind me. The
stairwell was steep and went down quite a way before we reached the bottom.

I shivered at the cold and damp. Badger fumbled for a light
switch on the wall behind us, which cast another weak glow.

“The cellar,” said Badger, unnecessarily. Full of boxes
stacked against the walls, mostly alcohol, but sacks of potatoes and other
goods as well.

I looked for Hannah, who hovered at the top of the stairwell
looking down at us. She pointed into the shadows, a look of true fear on her
pale face, and disappeared.

“She’s afraid.” I peered into the shadows and shivered
involuntarily.

“Who?” Cappy asked.

“Hannah,” I answered.

“Um, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Simon, “some of us
don’t actually speak to ghosts.” He looked around as if searching for my
ghostly source. Their gazes looked upon me expectantly.

I rubbed my arms. “Hannah said that when anything needed to
be hidden, that we should try the tunnels. She pointed over there.” I gestured
toward a dark corner.

“We need more light,” Simon said.

Badger scrounged around on a shelf and located what looked
to be an ancient flashlight, er,
torch
. He clicked it on and shone it
into the corner. We moved slowly in that direction, Badger in the lead with me,
Riley and Simon behind and on either side of him. Cappy brought up the rear. It
went further back and descended further down than we had at first realized.
What started out to be a finished cellar block, now led into an unfinished
section of damp, cave-like rock walls and ceiling. It did end, however, with
what appeared to be stacks of ancient casks.

Badger shone the light across the wall and between the
barrels. “What the-?”

“What is it?” I peeked around him, holding on to his
shoulder. A tiny wooden door with a rusted iron loop handle was partially
visible between the dirt and rock wall.

“Here.” Badger handed the torch to me. “Help me move these,”
he said to Cappy. The casks were full and heavy, but they used the rounded
bottoms to sort of roll them out of the way.

Simon went for the latch in the door and tugged, to no
avail. It didn’t appear to have been opened in the last one hundred years, possibly
two hundred. “Well, now what do we do?”

“I say we come back later,” I said. “We’re not prepared. We
don’t know what’s down there. We need flashlights and jackets.”

“I agree,” said Simon. “We should research, too. Who knows?
We might find a map or some other useful information.”

“Oh, and I forgot to mention,” I said, looking at the others
with a frown of concern. “Hannah says it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, now you tell us,”
said Simon facetiously, trying
to lighten the mood. “Seriously, though, that was years ago. This door hasn’t
even been opened in recent history.”

“Yes, but...we
are
looking for a dead body, aren’t
we?” I countered. The others nodded.

“Not to mention we’re dealing with someone who has already
murdered three people,” Riley put in. “And probably wouldn’t hesitant to kill a
few more.” Our gleaming eyes met and held in the eerie darkness.

“Right, then,” said Simon, getting back to the seriousness
of the matter. “All the more reason that we come back prepared.”

Hannah followed us back through the pub, chattering so
quickly and so high pitched in my left ear that I hardly understood what she
was saying. But I got the gist.
Don’t go down there
. Standing now in the
entryway to the tunnel, my stomach tightening, I was inclined to agree with
her.

––––––––

W
e were back that same afternoon, as prepared as we’d ever
be.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, staring down into the dark
tunnel. I really wasn’t looking forward to it. In fact, I’d rather be decorating
our bare tree we dragged home from the Blind Badger a few nights ago. Or
Christmas shopping. I’d rather do
Christmas
than what we were about to
do. A nice cozy Sunday evening at home a week before Christmas would have been
good. 

I gulped.

Riley and Cappy stayed behind. If we didn’t return within
two hours, they would go for help.

Bart appeared in front of me. “Indigo, do not go down there.
There’s a reason this doorway has been closed and hidden for so long. It’s not
safe.”

I stepped through the passage anyway, muttering,
“Oh, now
you’re speaking to me
. Well, it’s too late.” Badger and Simon followed
behind me, Simon asking, “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Come on, let’s stay close together.”

Almost immediately the familiar tingling at the base of my
skull commenced.
Spirit activity
. Taking a deep breath, I told myself to
get on with it, and began to move forward.

Again, Bart appeared before me, urging me to go back. “You
don’t know what lives down here,” he said. “There are things you don’t understand.
Dark things, things you don’t know how to handle.”

“Shhhh,” I told him. “We have to do this.” Bart angrily
disappeared in a whoosh of cold air, but his essence and the frustration he
could do nothing about still accompanied me.

When Simon had done an internet search, he was only able to
find an obscure article about the Sabrina Shore tunnels. They were a labyrinth
of subterranean passageways created in the sixteenth century, mainly used by
pirates to transport booty and avoid the tax collector. Their ships cruised up
the River Sabrina, which was much wider and faster at the time, and docked at
certain inlets with caves where they stored contraband, including the human
kind; slaves.

Today, most of the existing tunnels were part of the new
sewer and drainage system. But what the article didn’t make clear was that
certain tunnels led all the way from the river into the city, and lay beneath
shops, banks and pubs, long forgotten. Except by those who still used them.

I wore my navy pea coat, scarf, hat and gloves. This was
topped with my backpack containing extra batteries for the torches, and a few
other items I deemed necessary. We had no map. Simon came up with the idea to
bring chalk to mark arrows in the tunnels, so we would know which way to return.
There could be miles and miles of tunnels, all leading down to the river,
according to Hannah. It would be like looking for a four-leaf clover in a field
of shamrock.

Muted voices hummed in my ears, which meant that spirits
dwelled in the tunnels. Based on my deepening feeling of dread, a strong
negative energy pervaded the underworld of which we were now unwelcome
intruders. A black cloud settled over me and I searched for the source. The
Soul Collector. This was where it lived. We were on its turf now. I shivered.

We crept silently down through the bowels of the
subterranean world, the Soul Collector lurking and waiting in every corner and
crevice. Evidence of a previous existence littered the dug-out vaults. Pottery
jugs and bowls, burnt tallow candles, shredded blankets, beads and other
personal items were left in their original state, suspending time, waiting for
their owners’ return. Indentations carved into the rock walls made berth-like
beds, claustrophobic like coffins in their closeness. 

“Cor blimey,” said Simon. “People use to live down here.” He
shivered. “Look at that.” He pointed to a rusty sword over in a corner and
started for it.

“
No!
Don’t touch it,” I whispered loudly, shining my
torch around. “Don’t touch
anything
. They’re still here. If you take
anything we’ll never have another minute of peace.”

Simon nodded, his eyes big and glowing in the torchlight.

“They already know we’re here.” My voice was barely louder
than a whisper. “And they don’t like it.” I shivered. “Let’s keep going.”

“So, what can they do to us?” asked Badger in a low voice.
“Can they touch us? Harm us?”

“They can do more than you know,” I answered. “They can make
things happen, make things fall on you or fly at you, or disorient you so badly
that you feel drunk with confusion.”

We continued down until we reached a fork.

“Which way, now?” asked Simon, shining his torch down each
passage.

“This way,” said Bart, floating down the right fork.

“This way,” I countered, taking the left.

“Stubborn girl!” said Bart, confronting me. Tendrils of my
hair gently waved in the breeze caused by his angry swoop. “Why won’t you
listen to me?” I ignored him.

“Simon, be sure to mark an arrow here so we know where to
turn on our way back.”

“Already done,” he answered.

“Listen,” whispered Badger, a hand on my elbow to stay me.

We listened.

“Water, do you hear it?”

I nodded. “We’re getting nearer to the river. That way.”

We continued down the dark passage, the stone beneath our
feet growing wetter and slicker. We moved as quickly as we could under the
circumstances.

Moments later, the pathway twisted around a sharp corner and
we entered a large cavern. The descent was steeper here and the passageway
narrowed with a sharp drop-off to our right. The sound of moving water grew
louder, and in fact, water seeped through crevices in the rock walls. The
constant damp seeped into my clothing and frizzed the loose tendrils of hair
around my face into a puffy black cloud.

I shivered. “This passage is getting worse. We don’t even
know when the passage was last used. It can drop off into a black abyss for all
we know. All the hounds of hell are probably snapping at our heels right now.”
That the Soul Collector waited to steal us from the mouths of those hounds, I
had no doubt. My imagination continued to burst forth like a runner jumping the
gun.

“Yeah,” said Simon, teeth chattering. “Whose idea was this
anyway?”

“We’re close now,” said Badger. “We can’t turn back.”

“Wait,” I whispered. I nodded down the passage. “A light.” A
sliver of light, barely perceptible, floated below us. Not natural light,
though, and not a spirit. Someone ahead had a flashlight.

With wobbly knees, I inched my way forward down the path,
thinking the police had beat us to the tunnels. We would have to decide whether
to show ourselves and offer help, or go back the way we came and leave it to
the police.

We continued to creep down the rock flooring, hugging the
wall. Murmured voices reached us, but we couldn’t make out what was said.

I motioned to the boys to turn off their torches. We didn’t
want to be seen at this point. Something below didn’t feel right.

Out of the darkness two men appeared. The one in front, a
big man, could only be Ralph Radcliffe. The man behind him, with a gun, was
Andy Hall.

I gasped, and motioned frantically with my hand for Badger
to back up. But the slippery rock and my jerky movements sent a smattering of
loose pebbles trickling into the cave below.

It was enough.

The momentum of the pebbles, combined with the echoing
cavern, didn’t help to disguise the noise. We pressed into the rock, hardly
daring to breathe, but the light from the torch caught us anyway.

“Fancy seeing you three down here.” Andy’s voice matched the
sneer twisting his lips into a cruel jolt of evil. “Come to help us look, did
you?” He kept the torch on our faces, effectively blinding us against the
darkness of the cave. “By all means, come on down. Ralph here seems to be
having a hard time remembering where he left the bodies.”

Shooting a look of agonizing fear at the other two, I inched
my way down again. The passage became wider toward the bottom, where Andy
trained the gun on me.

Andy’s face was thin and gaunt, his eyes bruised-looking and
sunk in, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in a while. His greasy hair hadn’t been
brushed and he had a general air of unkemptness, like he’d been living rough.
He didn’t even look like the same man I met before. “If you’re thinking of
playing the heroes, your girlfriend here will be the first to go.”

“You’re never going to get away with this,” Simon said to
Andy. “The police already know you’re the one.”

“True,” said Andy. “But with no DNA, who knows?” He shrugged
and grinned humorlessly. “Now get going.” He used the gun to indicate we should
go before him.

The familiar tingle on the back of my neck prompted me to
glance over my shoulder. Bart walked between me and Andy, grim-faced. He spoke
to me in a low voice, as if Andy might overhear him.

“Listen Indigo, up ahead the path levels and widens out.
It’s a chance for you to escape. Take the right fork. It leads up and
intersects with the path you came down.”

I nodded imperceptibly.

“I’m going to cause a diversion. I’ve been practicing.”

I didn’t know how I could alert the others. I fervently
began to say in my mind, over and over again; right fork, right fork, right
fork. I directed it at the back of Simon’s head. He had never shown any signs
of psychic ability, but he did come from a long line of them.

Not the best time for a lesson, but nothing to lose at this
point. I mean other than our lives, but they were on the line anyway.

I concentrated harder than I ever had, willing Simon to hear
me in his head.

And suddenly, he turned to me, a strange look on his face. I
took the opportunity, with my hand in front of me, to point right with my
thumb. He nodded his understanding, amazement mingling with fear on his face.

We were approaching the designated area, and I worried about
whether Bart could actually cause a diversion. And then I remembered the snug
storm, and was glad for it.

When the time came, I didn’t look back, only yelled,
“RUN!”
The sound of Andy slipping and shouting behind me urged me on.

Not only did the others not hesitate, but they took the
right fork. I didn’t stop to think about it, just ran up as fast as I dared.
Last in line and nearest to Andy, I had to put more distance between us. A shot
rent the air. A responding hunk of rock leapt beside me, fragments stinging my
cheeks.

Simon reached back for my hand and tugged me around a
corner. We had, by some miracle, come full circle and reached the abandoned
residence area.

“Over here,” yelled Bart. I pulled Simon ahead, with Badger
and Ralph following, into a dark corner. A tight squeeze, but large enough to
hide the four of us. Standing in the darkness, we tried to control our heavy
breathing.

Andy’s footsteps echoed closer.

Ralph positioned himself in front, lifting his finger to his
lips to shush us, indicating he had a plan. The only plan could be to jump Andy
when he came by, and we all understood that. Badger and Simon readied
themselves, as did I. Someone would likely be shot, but Andy wouldn’t have a
chance to get us all.

Footsteps, coming nearer, slowed, as if Andy sensed us
hiding nearby. His breathing and footsteps sounded loud in the echoing cavern.

With sudden swiftness, Ralph roared and jumped, the rest of
us a step behind. A shot burst into the cavern, the reverberation echoing as if
full-on cannon warfare had begun. Ralph tackled Andy to the ground, both
grappling for leverage. Badger grabbed Andy’s right arm, punching him in the
face repeatedly. Blood spurt like a newly tapped oil well. Simon grabbed his
left arm and rained punches as well.

Stronger than any of us had imagined, Andy still had the
gun. Thankful for my sturdy boots, I stomped as hard as I could on his right
wrist. He screamed and released the weapon, and I quickly stooped to pick it
up.

Using both hands, somehow steady, I pointed the revolver at
Andy’s chest.

“It’s over,” I said, breathing hard.

“You wouldn’t use it,” said Andy. Scorn dripped from his
tongue like the blood from his nose.

I ignored it. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” I
thumbed the hammer back. The single click reverberated throughout the cave. I
did learn something as the daughter of a Border Patrolman.