The Dead Speak Ill Of The Living (The Dead Speak Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

  
Both turned, and received a hell of a surprise. A woman was standing there, the
same height as Scott, a touch thinner, with long black hair and a stylish long
black coat. Her eyebrows curled round her eyes. She’d obviously been listening
in, but this didn’t bother Joe as he’d come to a conclusion.

  
“Doctor, you’re free!” He exclaimed dashing over, “but why are you dressed as a
woman?”

  
There was a pause, as the Professor’s face went from surprise to anger to
striking you down with sheer visual venom alone.

  
“I’m Professor Pohl. I’m Scott’s sister.”

  
Dee put a hand up to her forehead and sighed. “Well that became awkward
quickly.”

  
“Oh, err, sorry. I didn’t realise Scott had a sister.”

  
“He didn’t mention me?” She seemed hurt.

  
Realising this was going very wrong very quickly, Joe tried a different tact
“did Monroe contact you?”

  
“Yes, he told me something bad had happened so I rushed here. Very strange,
first time I’ve been out of Cambridge in about six years and I find a disaster.”
Dee tried to stop herself raising an eyebrow at this, but failed.

  
“You’ve not left your city in six years? Are you sure you’re not medieval?”

  
“It’s a nice city. Busy. And I heard what you were saying. Gunmen, my brother
gone, you having his legacy in your car. Something about ghosts that on any
other day would have me label you insane.”

  
“Ah, another scientist?” Joe asked, thinking her antipathy was because of
facts.

  
“No,” she said as if everyone should have known.

  
“What are you a professor of?” Dee asked, apropos of nothing, just curiosity.

  
“Classical literature.”

  
“They have people talking to ghosts” Joe tried.

  
Pohl looked confused. “They have Gorgons.”

  
“Fair point.”

  
“I’ve met a few Gorgons,” Dee chipped in.

  
“I still look like my brother then?”

  
“Oh yes. Only with long hair.”

  
“Joe, word of advice,” Dee chipped in, “shut up now.” Joe tilted his head and
conceded. But Dee had a thought. “Why is that even a question?”

  
The two women looked at each other, one bemused, the other slightly ashamed.
“I’ve been busy. I’ve been immersed. I don’t see people that often from outside
my campus.”

  
“I know how that feels,” Joe tried to worm his way back in.

  
“What about Christmas?” Dee asked.

  
“My children use a video link on the web.”

  
Dee had the strongest feeling she was talking to a mummy that had just come out
from a pyramid after several thousand years alone. A smart, attractive older
mummy, but a mummy nonetheless. And while she was trying to sound like her life
was the most normal thing in the world, there was a slight timbre in her voice
that revealed she knew how cold it all sounded.    “Divorced?”

  
“Yes. He said I was too into my work. I thought that’s what women said to the
police. And are you always so inquisitive about people’s private lives?”

  
“Yes. It’s what people like to read, sadly.”

  
“You’re a journalist?”

  
“Only notionally given the state of my newspaper.”

  
“Hmm. Right then, my options are to speak to Monroe and the police and then sit
around, or follow you pair as you chase up this lead?”

  
“Err,” and Dee couldn’t see any reason not to let Pohl come along, “you’re
welcome to come with us.”

  
“Yes,” Joe confirmed, not realising he was also a guest.

  
“I’d rather be active. But can we get some lunch before we do?”

  
Dee grinned. “You can come with us again.”

  
All three had arrived in separate cars, but a decision was taken that there was
no point leaving them around the crime scene, so all three drove off in their
vehicles to meet again at a coffee shop where they could also buy lunch. Dee
knew where it was and led the way, with Pohl following and Joe acting as
rearguard, although he’d come up with that word himself and the other two
hadn’t bothered to point out how silly he sounded using it. This wasn’t a war
film.

  
Soon they’d parked up, and Dee grabbed her laptop as she exited the car, and
noticed that while Pohl had a bag – large, black, quite heavy – Joe was
carrying the machine inside its rucksack.

  
“What have you got that for?”

  
“I’m not leaving it in the car park.”

  
“It’s a good idea,” Pohl agreed, so Dee nodded and led them inside.

  
They found a large interior that was alarmingly empty. In fact, besides the two
ladies behind the counter, there were only two other people in there, both sat
in a far corner.

  
“It’s not very busy,” Joe whispered.

  
“Is the food any good or have all the other customers died of poisoning?” Pohl
added.

  
“The food is fine, the coffee is fine, the problem is the owners opened this in
entirely the wrong location and so no fucker ever comes in. Except the knowing
few. Which includes me.”

  
“Then how does it stay open?”

  
“I can only imagine the rent is cheap too out here.”

  
Soon the group had ordered from both the coffee and the food menu, and as a
range of sandwiches were being toasted the group sat in the opposite, empty
corner.

  
“So, you have a lead?” Pohl asked, before blowing on her drink.

  
“Yes,” Dee said, sipping it out hot, “I have the email address. And from that
we’re going to find who sent it.”

  
“How are we going to do that?” Joe asked, as he regarded his still too hot
drink.

  
“Well, we’re not actually going to, but I made a call on the way here. In fact,
Joe, go order an espresso with an extra shot.”

  
“What?”

  
“Just do it.”

  
Joe got up, went over and ordered the drink, as his two companions watched
silently, one intrigued, the other amused. Just as Joe turned with the drink
the door opened and a man came in. Black hair cut in a wave, Arab skin
impeccably kept, a wiry body the result of long work, he waved at Dee
immediately. Joe cottoned on, walked over and presented the coffee.

  
“This must be for you.”

  
“Espresso?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Double shot?”

  
“Yes.”

  
A man went out and clapped Joe firmly on the shoulder. “This could be the start
of a beautiful friendship.”

  
“Stop flirting,” Dee called out, “and come here.”

  
“Hello Dee’s friends!”

  
Soon they were all sat. “This is Nizar, he works in the technical department of
my newspaper.”

  
“I don’t do anything more advanced than turning things off and on again” he
explained.

  
“Actually, you do a lot more than that for some journalists.”

  
Nizar scratched a sideburn and looked at Joe and Pohl. “I assume from the way
we’ve got two guests you didn’t mention, and that you’re leaking state secrets,
that this isn’t just a friendly lunchtime chat about boys.”

  
“That’s right.”

  
“I have to be careful Dee, if anyone found out…”

  
“They’d cancel your asylum and send you back. I know. But this is big, people
with guns kidnapping big.”

  
At the use of the word gun a grimace crossed Nizar’s face, but he was soon in
control.

  
“If you don’t mind me asking, deport you to where?”

  
Nizar turned to Joe. “I fled the war in Syria, and was granted asylum here. The
fact that being able to torment Windows operating systems is transferable
around the world helped me get a job.”

  
“Ah, so you were a rebel?”

  
Nizar smiled. “No, Joe was it? No, I fled because just about each of the eighty
sides in that cluster fuck don’t like gays.”

  
Joe mouthed his understanding, and added, “that’s one of the weirdest coming
outs I’ve heard.”

  
Dee snorted. “I don’t think that counts as a coming out.”

  
“I have to ask what the weirdest was…” and Nizar waited expectantly.

  
“My Sixth Form girlfriend came out by text two weeks after she’d been at
university.”

  
The other three looked at each other. “Joe, a word of advice, man to man. Never
tell anyone else that story. Right, what nefarious business do you all have?”

  
“I need you to trace an email back to source. An address, a name. There’s also
a cell phone.”

  
“And do I get to hear the story behind this?”

  
Dee and Joe spent the next few minutes filling Nazir in. Then they sipped their
drinks as he sat in silence, before saying “I’m a Muslim, and we have spirits,
but that’s the most bizarre thing anyone has ever said to be in real life and
expected me to believe.”

  
“We could give you a demo of the machine?” Joe offered.

  
“That’s okay. For me, sitting here, I can put all the weirdness to one side and
help you find your boss, and your brother. When that’s done we can sort out
sending you to an asylum.

  
“Excellent!” Joe grinned. Then added “I think.”

  
“I need the details and a computer attached to the web.” When Dee slid her
laptop over, a dongle modem tucked into the side, Nazir increased the demands.
“I also have a sudden need for lunch while I work.”

  
“Looks like we’ll be staying for dessert,” Dee grinned.

  
About twenty minutes later, with one hand on the trackpad and another holding a
fork to his mouth, Nazir gave an “Ah-ha!”

  
“Yes?” everyone else said in unison.

  
“I have a name and a location. Have you ever heard of a Marcus Stent?”

  
“No,” and Joe shook his head. “Is he local?”

  
“About half an hour away. I take it we’re leaving our cars at Dee’s?”

  
The foursome did indeed pile into Dee’s car and undertake the journey, which
was slowed slightly by rain and roadworks, as if someone in the council had
finally decided to repair the road surface but decided to do it in the most
annoying way possible as a punishment. However, they soon fought their way
through, and were pulling up outside an apartment building.

  
Joe, peering out, looked up. “Tell me you narrowed it down to more than just
these fifty flats.”

  
“Number 23.”

  
Soon they’d all climbed the stairs and were stood in front of a painted black
door.

  
“Should we all be going in?” Joe asked, looking at the group.

  
“Strength in numbers,” Pohl offered, and everyone thought she had a point.
There was no way of knowing what they’d find if they continued, including men
with guns and missing doctors, so a group was probably the best way. Well,
short of finding some guns too.

  
Dee knocked hard on the door, so hard the thing just swung open. “Okay, that’s
not a good sign.”

  
Wondering what to do next, Nazir called out “Mr Stent? Are you at home?”

  
“Who says ‘are you at home’ these days?”

  
“People with class Dee,” he replied.

  
“You’re not really comfortable with the past,” Pohl observed of the younger
woman.

  
“It smells a bit…” and all four then realised what Dee was smelling, and what
they’d find. Feeling they had to go on anyway they entered, walked through into
the lounge, and found a white male lying dead on the floor, a large hole where
most of his head would have been.

  
Contrary to popular television, no one in the group was immediately sick. In
fact they all looked at the strange, and for three of them new, sight.

  
“It’s really made a huge hole at the back.”

  
“Yes, blown right across to the wall.”

  
“And no gun in his hand, so murder.”

  
“Excuse me,” Nazir interrupted, “you’re supposed to be horrified.”

  
“What? There’s worse on the internet,” Dee smiled back.

  
“Bloody jaded westerners.”

  
“At least I know the names of every man that’s been in me.”

  
“Touché.”

  
“Right, let’s get searching this place for clues. Did anyone apart from me
bring any plastic gloves?”

  
“Search?” Joe asked.

  
“Yes, search.”

  
“You’re thinking in the past. We just have to ask.”

  
“Oh fuck, the machine!”

  
Joe put it on the carpet, having refused to leave it in the car, and switched
it on.