The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

  
The man tried his: “I was going to talk to her spirit and find out who killed
her.”

  
“With your trousers down?”

  
“I can only do it while I’m having sex.”

  
Maquire heard the mixture of smirks and choked laughter behind him. “I think
you and I, and my friends here, are going to have a talk.”

  
Soon everyone was dressed and sat in the lounge area reserved for grieving
relatives, and everyone had a cup of tea. Then, as he sat deeply embarrassed,
the man had a thought.

  
“Why are you breaking into my father’s business?”

  
“I’m, oh, fuck it, I’m DC Maquire and I’m investigating a serial killer who
looks a lot like you. And if you’re George Keyes, a killer who drives your
car.”

  
“I knew you’d find out soon enough.”

  
“Then why don’t you tell us this great excuse and what it looks like.”

  
“I have a special power. A very special, perhaps unique one. I can speak to the
spirit of a body if I have sex with it. But I use my powers for good. I speak
to murder victims, and I find out who killed them, and then I get their revenge.
All the people I killed, well, they were killers.”

  
“Do you have any evidence for this?”

  
“No. But I know what they tell me, and I don’t feel bad. Where you’ve failed, I
succeed.”

  
Maquire was too focused on Keyes to see the foursome exchanging glances. So
this was where they could have ended up, avenging angels with bloody hands.
Then Maquire rubbed his face and looked down. Was this chap an absolute loon,
or could he be telling the truth? Was Maquire now faced with a massive
investigation which would solve more murders, or was Keyes destined for
Broadmoor? And how on earth could he tell anybody about it?

  
“So I suppose you want to arrest me?”

  
“Arrest you?”

  
“Yes, you’re the police. I guess you’ll interview me for ages as it’s all
mapped out.”

  
“Well here’s a funny thing Keyes…”

  
“But can you do it after I solve her murder.”

  
“Who’s?”

  
“The girl in there.”

  
Maquire turned in the direction of the mortuary. “But she wasn’t murdered.
Nothing involving a Pakistani girl has been called in?”

  
“No, nothing’s been called in. But she was murdered. She’s just refusing to
talk to me. If you let me try again with you here she might…”

  
“You are not trying that again. Ever.”

  
“I think we have just the solution,” Dee said.

  
Soon the group were back in the room, and a sheet was over the corpse. Then Joe
got the machine out.

  
“What’s that?” Keyes asked.

  
“A machine with more moral high ground than you’ll ever have,” Pohl explained.

  
Then it was turned on.

  
“Get that perv away from me! Do you know what he did!”

  
“I can imagine,” Dee said.

  
“I’m…”

  
“I know who you are, you’re a detective. Arrest that perv!”

  
“He says you were murdered?”

  
“Err, yeah.”

  
“Yeah doesn’t sound right,” and Dee detected something odd.

  
“It’s just that, well, I… my Dad killed me.”

  
Variations of ‘your dad!?’ filled the room.

  
“I’d been having a, well, a physical relationship, and when I was caught one
day with my boyfriend my Dad lost it. Said I’d disgraced the family. Then,
well…”

  
“And he would have got away with it if it wasn’t for us pesky kids.”

  
“Joe,” Dee began to explain, “if you make us sound like Scooby Doo one more
time I will cunt you in the fuck.”

  
“So what is this? The psychic police?”

  
“That’s exactly what this is,” Maquire said, beginning to feel like he was
losing all grip on reality.

  
“What will you do now?” Keyes asked.

  
“We need to collect evidence on this young lady and her murder.”

  
“No, you need to stop Dad killing my fiancé.”

  
Nazir looked at the machine. “You’d think he would?”

  
“He might.”

  
Maquire needed air, and he needed air soon. This was expanding rapidly all
around him and he still had zero proof.

  
“Alright, I am going to talk to this fiancé and see if he has anything
tangible, and to make sure he isn’t dead. You four are going to stay with Keyes
and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, and his trousers go even less. And if I
don’t come back it’s because my fucking head has exploded. Honestly, how do you
lot do it?”

  
“I think we’re just naturally skilled at being fuckups,” Dee confessed.

  
“So how does the machine work?” Keyes asked. “Can you explain how I work?”

  
“Are you sure we can’t come with you?” Joe asked desperately.

  
Still not sure what the fuck was happening, Maquire pulled his car to a stop
outside the address he’d been given. He looked out, and realized this was the
decider. The moment he went in there he was locked in, giving away he knew
something. Now was the last chance he had of turning round, driving off, and
leaving this whole nightmare behind. No one need ever know, he could deny
everything, it would just be criminals doing normal things. Safe, comfortable,
nothing to do with ghosts or corpse fucking.

  
But he knew that way more people would die, and he was meant to protect people,
whatever it took. Even if it took his sanity, as he wondered whether it might.

  
Right Maquire, time to go out there and sort this.

  
He was soon knocking at the door, and a tall, thin man with some of the most
expensive looking glasses Maquire had ever seen answered.

  
“Hello?”

  
“Mr. J. Jat?”

  
“Yes?”

  
“I’m Detective Constable Maquire, and I’d like a word please?”

  
“May I ask what it’s about?”

  
“I have reason to believe you were engaged, and that your fiancée was murdered.
If we could…”

  
“Really? You think… her father, her father!”

  
“Indeed. If we could speak inside?”

   
Mr Jat let Maquire into the living room, where they stood conspiratorially in
the centre.

  
“Are you sure?” Jat asked.

  
“As I say, I have reason to believe, but I’m here to see if you have any
insight.”

  
“Oh he did it. Now you’ve said it I realise he must have done it. She wouldn’t
have killed herself like they said.”

  
“She s…I believe you were caught in flagrante delicto with your fiancée?”

  
Looking embarrassed, Jat said “yes” very quietly.

  
“How did her father react?”

  
“He shouted, he ranted, his spit went on my face. Then he threw me out, and I
could hear his side of the argument as I went to my car.”

  
“And you didn’t call the police?”

  
“It’s not illegal for a father to shout at his daughter? Especially not after
the shock we… gave him.”

  
“True. Did you see him act violently?”

  
“He didn’t touch her, but he was throwing his fists around.”

  
“And would you say it was in his character, was he the sort of man who might
kill a daughter over her affair?”

  
“It wasn’t an affair, we loved each other, we’d have married whether he gave
permission or not.”

  
“I understand. My apologies. But…”

  
“Yes. I didn’t see it at the time, but now? Now I think he’s exactly that sort
of man.”

  
“Right.”

  
“Can I ask something or is everything private?”

  
“Please do.”

  
“How did you find out?”

  
“Well, err…” think quickly Maquire, think quickly, “err, the forensics found
oddities in the method of alleged suicide. So we did some digging.”

  
“Excellent. And will you be off to arrest him?”

  
“I need a small meeting with my associates as we decide on further action.”

  
“If I can do anything, anything at all.”

 
“I’ll bear that in mind.”

  
Maquire did need a meeting, but he needed it with a different unit than the one
he worked with in the day. After arriving back at the funeral parlour he went
in, and found the five sitting round as expected.

  
“How did it go?” Dee asked, offering him a cup of freshly poured tea.

  
“The boyfriend thinks the father could have done it.”

  
“Don’t we know he did it?” Pohl asked.

  
“We do, but I still need something to tell my superiors to arrest him. And I
was given an idea, we’ll ask for a second post mortem, to look at
irregularities, but even that I need to know about. Look, I’m going to make a
call, get some advice,” and he took his phone and his tea into a different
room.

  
He returned after five minutes, sat down and looked at the expectant faces.
“They’ll call me.”

  
“Okay then.”

  
“And don’t think you’re out of trouble Keyes,” Maquire said, catching sight of
the man. “I can’t have you going round vigilante killing people.”

  
“So I’m going to prison?”

  
“I… Jesus, you knew about the girl, you really did kill all these murderers. If
I got you to trail, you’d probably be able to argue there was no way you’d have
solved all these other murders without the, what do you call it?”

  
“There isn’t an official name,” Keyes said sadly.

  
“I can think of some,” Nazir chipped in.

  
“Well whatever you do. This could go very wrong, very quickly. Do you have any
evidence of any of this at all?”

  
“Do you have any of me besides what you got from that machine?”

  
“No. But we can look now we know.”

  
“And that’ll stand up in court?”

  
Maquire put his head in his hands. “This got out of control quickly. I don’t
know what’s happening.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see
Dee there. “Thanks.”

  
“We’ll think of a solution.”

   I
have a suggestion,” and everyone turned to Pohl. “Mr Jat. Tell him to make a
complaint with you that he’s worried she was killed. Then use that to search
the parent’s house and get a new post mortem.”

  
Maquire smiled slightly. “That would work in that case. I think it would.”

  
The phone rang, so Maquire flicked it on. “Hello, have you got…oh, Mr Jat,
what’s wrong…shit.” The phone was flicked off.

  
“What?”

  
“Someone’s just broke into his house.”

  
Five of them jumped up and began to exit the building at speed. Keyes, feeling
involved and wanting to achieve revenge, followed.

  
It didn’t take long to get back to Jat’s house, and they found the front door
open, smashed.

  
“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?”