Jeff had stayed at Serena’s to keep an eye on Walter, who had seen ‘Suicide Note’ before, Adam insisted, when he and Walter had discussed publishing a collection of his poetry with his tiny imprint Bullfrog Press.
‘Bullshit Press, more like,’ Adam had said to the other ghosts with a laugh. ‘I’m not sure whether he’s actually produced a single book. I only went along with the idea to be nice to Serena.’
Could it be, Adam had continued, that the very title had given Walter an idea? That a poem called ‘Suicide Note’ could be used as, guess what, a suicide note; and on that the rest of his murderous strategy had been built. Had he then worked with Julie and Rod on the garage set-up? Was he in league with another of the suspects? Carer Jadwiga perhaps, or Jadwiga’s mechanic boyfriend, Omar? Adam didn’t know, but he and the other two ghosts agreed that the whole thing was highly suspicious.
Jeff also felt he had something to prove. Despite these new speculations about Walter, Adam was clearly still not convinced that it wasn’t he who had done away with him. Did that matter? Maybe not. Especially now they were both ghosts, waiting in this who-knew-where netherworld for who knew what. But he had his pride. Yes, he’d have been the first to admit that he’d wanted Adam out of the firm, that his partner was too old, too boringly unreconstructed, and frankly, too much of a liability, with all his persistent anti-woke crap. But that didn’t mean he would have murdered him.
Also, Adam’s death had led, pretty much directly, to his. So even though it would make zero difference to his spectral state, he did want to know who had done away with Adam, before Adam’s ghost had called at his house and terrified him to death. It was, frankly, personal.
But it had, so far, been a fruitless morning. While Serena had got herself ready for her lunch date, showering and scenting herself and dressing almost as if for a man not a girlfriend, Walter had tidied up the kitchen, put everything away, wiped the surfaces assiduously, swept and mopped the dark slate floor. Was this something he usually did, Jeff wondered, or was all this busyness a reaction to a worry that he had been found out? If he really had been involved in Adam’s death, had it been without Serena’s knowledge? Surely his partner would know something, however much she pretended or protested otherwise.
When Serena had finally gone, Walter had gone upstairs to his laptop, which he’d set up on an empty table in what had been, judging by the posters and other clutter still lying around, Leo’s teenaged bedroom. Leo had moved out of the family house some time ago, but his presence was still firmly there in this little side room. How long would it be before Walter had the Harry Potter and Jay-Z posters down and the walls repainted?
Jeff watched patiently as Walter worked his way through his emails.
Uber Eats
Walter, your discount is still available
easyJet
Walter, your summer plans could be hotting up
Your Funeral Plan Provider
Walter, check out your free funeral plan quotes
EuroMillionsRolloverAlert
TONIGHT, WALTER! 46,000,000 Euromillions jackpot could be yours
Or, alternatively, Jeff thought, just the five you’ll be getting to share with your beloved, if beloved she really is. But no, there was nothing incriminating or suspicious here, was there?
But now Walter had closed down Outlook and was clicking into his documents. Inside a file named Finances, private there was a subsidiary file called, amazingly, Journal. Had the man never heard of Filesearch? Walter clicked it open, and up came a list of dates, reversed, for some reason, in the American fashion. As Jeff watched, agog, Walter created a new page and started typing:
Alone in my room, or rather Leo’s room. Not for much longer. I think once he’s buried, I can decently ask to take the posters down. At my age, Harry Potter staring at me as I write!
S has gone off for another lunch with the dreaded Claire – their second meeting in a few days. Pre-arranged, but then Claire phoned this morning to say that Adam’s much-loathed business partner Jeff has dropped dead, heart attack or something, nice timing I must say. Presumably she’ll come back with all the info.
Will S tell her what happened here last night? Me, on one knee, being turned down yet again. I need to up the stakes. So off to Hatton Garden it is. No woman can resist a really huge diamond, can they? Maxed out though I am, I have to bite the bullet. Or rather the diamond. It’s not as if I can’t get it back later, ha ha. When the poor *suicide*s money finally comes through.
Jeff had seen enough.
‘Hello, Walter,’ he said.
Walter’s head span round. Then he looked slowly and carefully around the room. He was startled, but it was clear that he could see nothing (well, there was nothing yet to see). He turned back to his laptop again.
‘Hello… Walter,’ Jeff repeated, after a few moments, stringing it out. There had been a reaction, which meant that Walter could hear him. In any case, his suspect (his victim?) was now on his feet, scanning every corner, looking behind Leo’s old drum kit and his black leather sofa. He was veering from side to side, like an animal in a forest, checking for danger.
Jeff let him suffer for a bit. Then he went over to the laptop and pushed it shut.
‘What… the… fuck?’ Walter said slowly, out loud. He took the matte silver top panel and opened it again. He sat there, looking at his screen for a good twenty seconds. Then he put his hands back into a writing position on the keyboard.
The strangest thing just happened
Jeff slammed down the screen.
‘’King hell!’ Walter cried, leaping back, staring at the machine and then at his fingers, which he’d pulled out just in time. He had quick reactions for a man of his age, Jeff gave him that.
‘Hello, Walter,’ Jeff repeated.
‘What… the fuck… is going on?’ Walter looked satisfactorily terrified now.
‘My name is Jeff Trelawney. I was Adam Albury’s… much-loathed… business partner. In my life on earth–’
‘Your life on earth?’ Walter cut in.
‘Sadly over now. Funny isn’t it, how everyone “sadly dies” these days. Anyway, I’m sadly dead.’
‘Dead, yes! So I heard. What happened to you?’
‘I had a heart attack.’
‘And where… where are you now?’
‘Right here.’
‘Yes, but… where? I can’t even see you.’
‘It would be strange if you could. I’m invisible.’
‘Become visible then. If you want me to believe in you. You might just be a feature of my warped imagination. A flashback of some kind. I did do some weird shit back in the day, you know.’
For all his observable fear, this man was feistier than he appeared. Jeff had respect for that. So how did he materialise? Just think about your body, Leo had said, and it will happen. Okay, so be it. Jeff imagined his very best self. He was rewarded by a slowly-dawning look of astonishment on Walter’s features. Half a minute later, there he was, visible if not actually solid as flesh, dressed in one of his favourite Paul Smith linen suits, with an ironed pale blue shirt and some hip Timberlands. Who made these style decisions?
‘How did you get into the house?’ Walter was asking, staring at him wide-eyed.
‘Easily enough. Floated through your handsome front door. Or rather Serena’s handsome front door.’
Walter ignored this microaggression. ‘What… what… are you? Some sort of ghost?’
‘So it seems, Walter.’
‘How do you even know my name?’
Jeff laughed. ‘Your name isn’t all I know about you. I know what you’ve been up to, my friend.’
‘Whoever – whatever – you are, mate, fantasy or reality, you’re not my friend.’
‘Fair enough. Did you kill my ex-business partner, Adam Albury?’
Walter spluttered. ‘What makes you think…?’ He broke off.
‘I don’t think, Walter,’ Jeff replied, summoning up the inner bad cop he had nurtured over years of reading crime fiction and sitting with Sue watching a thousand TV ’tec dramas. ‘I know.’