Watching the Ghosts (15 page)

‘Your son said you didn't visit her when she was in Havenby Hall.'

She shook her head in exasperation. ‘I didn't visit her because
he
told me not to. I wish now that I'd taken no notice and gone anyway. Forty-two she was. No age at all.'

‘How do you think she was murdered?'

‘I don't know how they did it. I just know that her death wasn't natural. And I want to get justice for her before I go. Sixty grand she had left her by her godfather and there was half our dad's money she hadn't touched. And when
he
died his estate was only worth ten grand so what became of all that money, that's what I'd like to know. Trouble is, I've no proof – just a feeling. That's why my Christopher wouldn't tell the police. Him and my daughter said they'd just laugh at me if we didn't have more evidence.'

‘I'm not laughing, Mrs Torridge,' said Joe. ‘The solicitor who was enquiring into your sister's death was murdered. That's why I'm here.'

Edna Torridge's eyes shone. ‘You think it was because of something she found out about Dot?'

‘That's only one possibility among many. We've got to check everything out and this is the only case she was dealing with that seemed to be . . .' He searched for the right words. ‘Out of the ordinary.'

‘Well there was something going on in that Havenby Hall place. Other people died unexpectedly and all.'

‘How do you know?'

‘There was a nurse there called Betty.'

Joe nodded. Betty Morcroft was one of the names Sebastian Bentham had given him. One of the people he'd spoken to when he'd researched his play. And Melanie Hawkes had spoken to her too.

Edna continued. ‘Betty was there at Dot's funeral – horrible little hole-in-the-corner affair it was because
he
didn't want a fuss. Crematorium and no hymns, I ask you. Betty was the only one from that place who turned up and bloody worried she looked and all. I spoke to her afterwards and I could tell she was scared. She didn't say much but she did admit there'd been a few unexpected deaths. Then she clammed up as if she realized she shouldn't have said it. Like I said, she was frightened of something . . . or someone.'

‘Did you meet anyone else from Havenby Hall?'

‘
He
made sure I was kept well away. But Betty mentioned a couple of names. The matron was a Mrs Chambers . . . and there was a doctor called Pennell. I'd hoped Christopher would be able to find out more but . . . He's always been a lazy lad so I'm not surprised he left it to some stranger to do the work for him.'

‘That stranger was murdered, Mrs Torridge.'

Edna leaned forward. ‘Maybe she found something out after all,' she said in a loud whisper.

But before Joe could reply his mobile phone began to ring. And when he answered it he discovered there'd been a death at Boothgate House. And this one was definitely suspicious.

Patrick Creeny's face was so red that Emily feared for his health.

As soon as he'd heard about the death on the radio news he'd driven to Boothgate House and found half the grounds sealed off with police tape and the whole panoply of a murder investigation in progress. And, when Joe arrived, Emily was about to interview the man to find out what he knew.

A woman in one of the flats had raised the alarm. The victim, she said, worked at the university and he'd been spending the night down in the basement. Her account of his work had been a little vague but, as Emily understood it, he'd been carrying out research down there with an array of scientific equipment. She'd already been down to the basement and seen the cameras and meters so she knew the story was true.

The university had already confirmed that the dead man, Dr Karl Dremmer, was a well-respected researcher in paranormal phenomena who specialized in debunking Eborby's many ghostly sightings, which meant he probably wasn't a popular man with the tourist board. Patrick Creeny had already admitted that he'd opposed Dremmer's presence, saying that the remaining flats were hard enough to sell as it was without the place getting a reputation for being haunted. Dremmer hadn't had his permission to be there last night and it seemed that one of the residents had let him in – foolishly, in his opinion.

Creeny had an alibi for the previous night. Not only was his wife able to vouch for him, but his in-laws were staying and, according to him they were the most reliable of witnesses because there was no love lost between them and their son-in-law. Someone had already checked and it seemed he was telling the truth. At no point during the night did Patrick Creeny leave his luxury five-bedroom house in Abbotsthorpe. Besides, Dremmer might have been a nuisance but that was hardly worth committing murder for. Somehow he didn't sound very convincing.

When the interview was over Emily told Creeny he could go. They'd be in touch. But Joe had a couple more questions for him.

‘Do you know why Dr Dremmer chose to conduct his research here?' he asked.

Creeny looked round as though he was afraid of being overheard. ‘Presumably because he reckoned the place was haunted. All nonsense, of course.'

‘It's not in any of the usual books on Eborby hauntings. And the ghost tour doesn't come here.'

‘That's what I told him. But he'd heard stories from one of my workmen. If I found out who it was, they wouldn't have a job for long, I can tell you.'

‘Some people think a good ghost story adds a bit of interest to a house,' said Emily.

‘This wasn't a ghostly monk or a grey lady – Dremmer said the workmen had sensed something evil. I've had a few workers leave, saying the place gave them the creeps. If that got out it would drive the punters away. And I can't afford that in the current economic climate.'

They let Creeny go because they had no reason to keep him there. And when Joe asked if Lydia had been interviewed, Emily told him that Sunny had had a word with her but she hadn't been able to tell him anything useful. She'd heard what she thought might have been voices at around two fifteen but that was all she knew.

The woman who'd found the body was being looked after by Jamilla who was doing the tea and sympathy bit. Emily had left Alan Proud till last because she wanted to see his reaction for herself. Joe said he'd help her conduct the interview but there was something he wanted to do first.

Emily had already seen the body but Joe felt he needed to see for himself exactly what they were dealing with. He left her and made for the graveyard. It was close to the building and he could see iron scaffolding bars, pallets and dusty floorboards piled up near the walls. The whole area had been sealed off with police tape and Sally was packing up her crime scene bag so he guessed she had finished her preliminary examination and pronounced life extinct. She looked round when he said hello and smiled.

‘You're keeping me busy,' she said. ‘At least this one hasn't got flowers stuffed in his mouth. He was killed with a good old-fashioned blunt instrument.'

She stared down at the body. Joe had only met Karl Dremmer briefly; he'd been with Lydia when she'd discovered that her flat had been violated. Now he looked at the shell that had once been a man. He was lying face down and the back of his head had been hit with some force, cracking the skull like a boiled egg so that in places the grey matter of the brain was visible.

‘Think he died here?' he asked Sally.

‘I think so.'

‘Any sign of the weapon?'

Sally shook her head. ‘Not so far.'

‘He was supposed to be down in the basement. Wonder what he was doing here.'

Sally thought for a moment. ‘Could someone have lured him out here somehow? Someone who knew he'd be down there . . . or found him down there.' She gave him a wide smile. ‘But I'm glad to say that's your problem. I'm only the pathologist.'

There had been a time when Sally had made it plain that she wanted him to be more than a colleague. But he had missed his opportunity and now she was engaged, to another doctor, so he'd heard. Life was full of missed chances. He wondered whether to see how Lydia was. But he didn't really have time.

He returned to Emily and told her about his meeting with Edna Torridge.

‘Think it's relevant?' she asked.

He considered her question for a while, ideas and theories flitting through his head, refusing to settle. ‘If our two deaths are linked, this place could be the common denominator.'

‘I'm not sure they are linked,' Emily said. ‘Different MO for a start. And Brockmeister only killed women.'

Joe remained silent as they entered the building and made their way to Alan Proud's flat. He was bracing himself for another encounter with the man and the thought of him living in such close proximity to Lydia made him uncomfortable.

Proud swore that he hadn't known Dremmer was down there and that he hadn't heard a thing. He'd never met the man and he certainly didn't believe in ghosts. All that was a load of rubbish to fleece the tourists. And why were the police harassing him? Just because he was interested in true crime and the stupid bitch next door had misinterpreted his actions, it didn't make him a murderer.

Joe didn't feel inclined to argue. He was just glad to get away from the man. But Emily said they should keep a careful eye on him. If Proud so much as dropped a piece of litter in the street, she wanted to know about it.

It was almost midday when they finally left Boothgate House. Emily looked strained, as though this new development was too much for her. Joe knew how she felt. Not only would they be delving into Melanie Hawkes' life and work but now they'd have to find out everything they could about Karl Dremmer. Someone had already talked to some of his colleagues at the university and discovered that he lived alone. A wife hadn't been mentioned. But that, Emily said, didn't mean there wasn't an ex-Mrs Dremmer lurking somewhere in the background – a woman who'd tired of her husband spending his nights hunting ghosts.

They were driving back to the police station when Joe's phone rang. He answered it and heard a familiar voice.

‘Hello, George. How are things?'

But the Rev George Merryweather clearly hadn't rung for a social chat. ‘I've just come out of morning service and I've been trying to ring a man called Karl Dremmer. His phone was answered by a policeman who said there'd been an incident. He took my name and told me someone would be in touch. Can you tell me anything? Has something happened to him?'

‘Are you free for lunch?'

‘The cathedral café in an hour? I've a lot to tell you.'

Joe glanced at Emily who was trying to keep her eyes on the road. ‘Sounds interesting. See you later.'

Lydia had met Karl Dremmer. He'd been the one who helped her when she'd found the furniture barricaded against her front door. Perhaps he'd been a little strange, a little intense, but he'd been gentle and sympathetic. She'd hardly known the man but she'd liked him.

Although it was Sunday the tourist office was still open and she was down to do a shift. She'd been about to set out for work when she'd heard someone knocking on her door. Fearing it was Alan Proud, she'd opened it cautiously, glad that she still wasn't in her night things, and found a short, middle-aged detective with nicotine-stained fingers standing there. DS Sunny Porter had broken the news and she'd felt stunned. Then she'd recalled how she'd been woken by a sound in the night. Voices, perhaps, or a distant door opening. She knew the time – two fifteen – because she'd looked at the alarm clock. But that was all she knew. She hadn't even realized that Dr Dremmer was in the building.

The morning passed quickly and after she'd finished helping out some American visitors who were trying to find out the times of the river trip, she looked at her watch and realized it was almost time for her lunch break. Her appointment with Judith Dodds had been on her mind all morning. She wondered what the woman had to tell her.

As soon as the Americans left the office a Canadian couple came in enquiring about theatre productions. Lydia took a deep breath and told them she'd seen the new production at the Playhouse,
Mary
, and she couldn't really recommend it as an enjoyable night out. She put it tactfully, of course, but she thought they'd got the message. She felt no qualms of guilt about her negativity; she hardly knew Sebastian Bentham and she didn't owe him anything. She would have felt more guilty about condemning a pair of innocent visitors to an evening of unadorned misery. Besides, there was an Alan Ayckbourn play on at the Opera House so she had no problem suggesting a more digestible alternative.

Once the couple had gone away happy, her colleague tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Didn't you say you wanted to take an early lunch?'

It was time to go and suddenly she felt afraid, although she didn't know why. Surely anything Mrs Dodds had discovered wouldn't make things worse.

It was a beautiful day and the only clouds in the sky were small, fluffy and white so she didn't bother taking a jacket as she hurried through the streets to the cathedral, weaving her way through crowds of strolling tourists. The cathedral bells began to ring as she crossed the road, narrowly avoiding being mown down by a cyclist. She could see a line of horse-drawn carriages lined up on the street, and she watched as one set off carrying a pair of middle-aged tourists, trotting at a leisurely pace and holding up the traffic. On a pleasant Sunday like this it would be easy to forget the darker side of Eborby life. But she felt the darkness would always be with her while she lived at Boothgate House. She had made an impulsive decision and it had been wrong.

She passed beneath Boothgate Bar and found herself on a narrow street where small shops with jutting upper storeys jostled with cosy pubs and busy restaurants, eventually arriving at the great paved square in front of the cathedral. The bells were louder here, drowning out all other noise. She stopped for a few seconds, drawing comfort from the sound before skirting the great church and arriving at Vicars Green.