“So, just to clarify, you absolutely need me to come to this meeting?” Kester asked for the third time since they’d set off from Exeter to Southampton.
“For goodness’ sake, Kester. Yes, we do!” Miss Wellbeloved snapped as she checked herself in the mirror and patted down her hair. “Your father wanted you to be there so you could gain better understanding of the case. Now will you please stop asking?”
He sighed, fiddling with his tie. It was pink. He’d thought a bright colour might be a wise choice, to establish himself as a young, energetic member of the team, but now, he just felt slightly silly wearing it. In fact, the more he reviewed it, the more he realised that it was the sort of hideous item of clothing that someone like Pineapple would wear, not a sensible person such as himself. He glanced over at Mike, who was wearing an open-necked denim shirt and looked irritatingly, effortlessly comfortable.
“What are we going to say about Ribero, then?” Mike asked, as they pulled into the car park.
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ll just say he’s ill or something. It will all be absolutely fine,” Miss Wellbeloved said tightly. “Now let’s stop fussing and get on with this briefing. We’re already fifteen minutes late.”
Kester clambered awkwardly out of the van and surveyed the drab concrete offices in front of them.
“Doesn’t look like a supernatural agency,” he said, smoothing down his suit. “Looks more like an insurance company or something.”
“And what exactly is a supernatural agency supposed to look like?” Miss Wellbeloved asked pertly as she joined Kester and Mike on the tarmac.
“I think Kester still believes we should be working in a haunted house,” Mike answered before locking the van. “It’d be a lot more exciting, wouldn’t it?”
Miss Wellbeloved gave them a look that was reminiscent of a teacher surveying two particularly badly behaved children. “Come on, you two,” she said firmly. “Let’s hurry up and get this over with.”
Kester dutifully followed her as she strode through the entrance, her heels clipping against the pock-marked linoleum floor. Why he’d been chosen to be the third person attending the meeting, he didn’t know. Serena would have been far more qualified and, indeed, had been livid to discover that Ribero had chosen Kester instead. Even Pamela had offered to go in his place, but his father had been adamant that it had to be him, much to his dismay.
The corridor was strangely quiet with an uncomfortable airless atmosphere that made Kester feel instantly breathless. He tweaked his tie, wondering if he had time to whisk it off and stuff it into his pocket.
“Shall we?” Miss Wellbeloved said, gesturing to the door at the end of the corridor. A simple sign outside declared it was the Larry Higgins Agency, complete with copperplate writing and rather pompous gold edging. It was an ominous indication of what to expect inside.
They stepped into an office that looked even more remarkably like an insurance company than the exterior. Wooden desks and partitions lined both sides of the room in a showy display of productivity. The gentle hum of computer screens and central heating added to the general atmosphere of efficiency.
“Aha, glad you could finally join us. Took your time, but got here eventually, I see.”
The owner of the nasal, sarcastic voice stepped over to greet them, a rotund hippopotamus of a man, complete with wild tufts of balding white hair and a patronising expression. Kester bit back a chuckle. Mike was right, he really does look like Jabba the Hutt, he thought.
“Larry,” Miss Wellbeloved said smoothly, stepping forward to shake his hand. “It’s been a long time. I trust you are well?”
Larry Higgins smirked, then gestured around him. “Very well, as you can see,” he said. “The man from the government has already started briefing us, as you were so late. Shall we go and join the rest of the team?”
“Steady on, we’re only fifteen minutes late,” Mike said indignantly. “I drove as fast as I could.”
Higgins checked his watch, then nodded sanctimoniously. “Nearly nineteen minutes late, actually. But if you’re still driving that dreadful old van, it’s not surprising.”
“Well, let’s go and get started,” Miss Wellbeloved said hastily when she caught sight of Mike’s thunderous expression. “Lead the way, Larry.”
“Just one second,” Larry said, holding up an imperious hand. “Would you mind removing your shoes? We’ve just had the new carpets put down and they’re real sheep’s wool.”
“But your shoes are still on,” Mike pointed out.
“Yes, but mine have been thoroughly cleaned before entering the space,” Larry replied. “Whereas yours might have all sorts of unpleasant things stuck to the bottom, like dog mess or something.”
“I’ve not stepped in any bloody dog sh—”
“That will be fine,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted as she removed her shoe in one deft flick. She nodded meaningfully at Kester’s shoes and gave him a subtle wink as she did so.
After they’d lined their shoes neatly by the wall, Higgins led them to the far end of the office, nudging them through a door. Inside, the blinds were drawn. Kester noted the other people in the room: a brooding man with shining, dark hair and a black woman with a fierce buzz-cut sat around an oversized circular table. An older man, with spindly limbs that reminded him of a daddy-long-legs, stood by a glowing PowerPoint display.
“Ah, excellent!” the spindly man announced as they stepped into the room. “Marvellous that you could make it.”
“Mr Philpot,” Miss Wellbeloved said, then reached across to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time. These are my colleagues, Kester and Mike.”
“Quite so, quite so. Kester, Mike; I’m Curtis Philpot. I work for the government—the Ministry of the Supernatural. I’ve heard an awful lot about you, Kester. I saw the video footage of you forcing the Bloody Mary through the spirit door. Very impressive.”
Kester blushed, aware of Larry Higgins’s contemptuous glare burrowing holes into his back. “Yes, well, it was only an accident really, I didn’t—” He stopped as Mike elbowed him in the ribcage.
“Of course.” The man nudged his glasses up his nose, then gestured to the empty seats. “Well, good to meet you. Shall we begin?”
“We’d actually begun fifteen minutes ago, but I suppose we’d better begin again, hadn’t we?” Higgins said with a sarcastic laugh before placing himself on the nearest chair, which wheezed under his weight. “Before we start, allow me to introduce my team here. They’ll be working with us on the case. This is Lara Littleton, my spirit extinguisher. Highly qualified. One of the best in the field.”
The woman with the close-cropped hair and the most spectacularly high cheekbones Kester had ever seen gave them a dazzling smile. Kester noticed that her sharp collar was trimmed with metal, like a cowboy’s shirt. Nice touch, he thought as he smiled in return. Indeed, it was impossible not to. Her huge grin insisted upon a response.
“Howdy,” she said, tapping her forehead. “Nice to meet you folks.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Mike replied, rather over-enthusiastically.
“And this,” Higgins continued, “is Dimitri Strang. He’s our resident psychic. Also highly adept at accountancy work.”
“Always a valuable skill when getting rid of spirits,” Mike muttered.
Dimitri folded his long fingers and bowed his head in greeting. He looked ever so slightly like a B-movie vampire: dark, ominous, and menacing. What has he got on his hair? Kester wondered as he eyed him with fascination. My father always uses way too much hair wax, but this guy looks like he’s dumped a whole pot of oil over his head. However, he conceded that the man was handsome, in a heavy-browed, humourless kind of way.
“Well, niceties over, shall we commence?” Curtis Philpot said after he tapped at his watch. “I’ve only got another half hour to spare, and this is a complex case.”
“Yes, let’s crack on, shall we?” said Higgins, leaning back in his seat like a languid walrus. “We’ve got plenty of work to be getting on with too. I presume time isn’t quite so pressing for you, is it Jennifer? Heard you were struggling to pick up any work at present.”
Miss Wellbeloved smiled tightly and shot Mike a warning look. “Indeed,” she said quietly. “Let’s get started.”
“Well, as I was just saying,” Philpot continued, “there have been some rather alarming developments.”
“Another old bird has been bumped off,” Higgins interrupted with a satisfied nod. “Her husband said he heard her saying she’d seen herself before she died, so it’s obviously the same spirit.”
Curtis Philpot coughed. “Yes, thank you, Larry. That’s absolutely correct. Mrs Meredith Saunders, to be precise. Lyme Regis again. She slipped and fell in the bathroom, and suffered fatal head injuries. As Larry just said, the husband reported hearing her saying that she could see herself. It correlates perfectly with the other cases.”
“How many victims so far?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, leaning forward.
“This one brings the total to five,” Philpot replied smoothly. “First incident was a Mr Earnest Sunningdale. We weren’t initially sure it was supernatural, especially given that his wife runs a business as a professional tarot-card reader down by the beach. She wasn’t exactly the most reliable eyewitness, if you take my meaning. Those charlatans are all the same.”
“What was in his wife’s report?” Dimitri Strang asked in a velvety Russian accent. He flashed a look at the others with dark, tunnel-like eyes, as though daring them to object to his question.
“She claimed that she heard her husband shouting that he was being haunted by himself shortly before he died.”
“And how did he die, exactly?” Miss Wellbeloved asked.
Curtis Philpot looked uncomfortable. “Nasty business, really,” he said, then glanced at the females in the room. “Hardly makes for pleasant conversation.”
“Oh, I reckon we can take it,” Lara Littleton said brightly. She had a deep, rich Texan accent, which explained the rancher-inspired clothing. “Hit us with the facts. After all, how are we going to get this son-of-a-bitch if we don’t know what it’s doing, eh?”
Mike chortled, clearly impressed.
Curtis Philpot pursed his lips. “Very well. The poor gentleman appeared to have tripped in his shed. Perhaps frightened into tripping over, we don’t know for sure. But anyway, he managed to fall upon his shears, which impaled him through the chest.”
“Ouch, that’s got to sting,” Mike declared.
“Quite,” Philpot concluded drolly. “Second victim, Mrs Edna Berry. Vicar’s wife. This was when we realised the case was supernatural. Again, her spouse reported hearing her say she was being haunted by a ‘devil pretending to be her’.”
“How did she snuff it?” Mike asked.
“She managed to hang herself when she was practicing bell-ringing in the church.”
“Is that even possible?” Miss Wellbeloved said sceptically, rapping her biro against the desk.
“Apparently, Mrs Berry used to practice the bell-ringing every evening. This time, something scared her enough to cause her to tangle herself in the ropes. She was hoisted up into the belfry, and by the time her husband reached her, she had already asphyxiated.”
“Jeez, what a way to go, eh?” Lara declared, then delivered a warm smile around the room as though discussing the weather. “Quite a dramatic exit for a vicar’s wife.”
“Third victim,” Philpot continued, ignoring their comments, “Dr Jürgen Kleinmann. Retired doctor, his wife heard him shouting in German, claiming his doppelgänger was pursuing him. He fell down the stairs and twisted his neck. And our fourth was a Mrs Deirdre Baxter. Found dead in her bed. Heart attack. Her husband said he’d heard her talking about seeing herself in the night.”
“So, it seems pretty clear-cut then,” Larry Higgins interrupted and pummelled his fist against the table. “We’ve got a dangerous doppelgänger on our hands.”
“Something like that,” Philpot concluded. “However, this case has been raised to high priority, given how frequently the spirit is striking. It needs to be dealt with speedily, efficiently, and effectively. There’s no room for errors.”
Higgins shot a look at Miss Wellbeloved. “Think you lot can manage that, Jennifer?”
Miss Wellbeloved straightened in her seat. “I see absolutely no reason why not,” she replied sharply. “The question is, can you, Larry? After all, this isn’t your region. You don’t know the area as well as we do.”
“Ah, come now, Jennifer,” Higgins said patronisingly, eyes gleaming. “A spirit is a spirit, whichever part of the world it chooses to haunt. The question is, are you still using water bottles to trap them?”
Dimitri and Lara both raised an eyebrow.
“We are using an effective form of spirit storage,” Mike interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t see why you felt the need to raise that, to be honest.”
“Well, I personally prefer using my bottle of water to drink from, not to contain potentially murderous spirits,” Higgins replied, clearly enjoying every minute of the conversation. “But each to their own. Hopefully one day you’ll be able to afford some proper equipment. For this job, you’re welcome to borrow ours. It’s state-of-the-art, of course. Designed by the top developers at Infinite Enterprises.”
Mike muttered something under his breath which contained a rather audible expletive. Miss Wellbeloved shook her head, silently warning him to keep his cool.
Curtis Philpot tapped at his laptop, and at once, the PowerPoint display changed to an image of a map.
“These red crosses,” he said, pointing earnestly, “are the locations of the deaths. As you can see, they’re all contained within a two-mile radius. This might be worth keeping in mind when you’re investigating.”
“That is curious,” Kester said as he studied the map. “I wonder why that area in particular? And why only old people? Why does this spirit strike in Lyme Regis and nowhere else? It’s a bit odd.”
“Does it matter?” Higgins scoffed. “At the end of the day, it’s a problem, and we need to get rid of it. It’s not going to benefit us much to start digging too deeply.”
“Sometimes it’s worthwhile trying to understand why a spirit is acting in a certain way,” Miss Wellbeloved said dryly. “If we can work out why the spirit is behaving in this manner, it may help us to address the problem.”
“Is that the way you normally go about solving your cases?” Larry Higgins mocked. “No wonder you take so long. We prefer to get the job done, with minimal time wasted.”
“We prefer to understand each case, rather than blundering in blindly like a stampeding elephant,” Mike retorted. Lara tittered, then stopped at the sight of Larry Higgins’s expression.
Curtis Philpot coughed loudly. “I do hope there’s no animosity between the agencies?”
“Goodness me, no,” Miss Wellbeloved exclaimed with just a fraction too much sincerity. Higgins snorted disdainfully and made no comment.
“Very well.” Philpot rummaged in his briefcase before pulling out two enormous folders and slamming them on the table. “Here’s the case notes. I suggest you all acquaint yourselves thoroughly with them before commencing.” He straightened his tie, then scanned the room severely. “Now, we’ve set a provisional deadline for the case as the fifteenth of January. This gives you precisely two months. Does that sound about right?”
Miss Wellbeloved choked slightly. Larry Higgins nodded, rolling his fingers smugly across his large stomach.
“No problem at all,” he said grandly and delivered a significant wink to his team. “In fact, probably too much time, if we’re honest.”
Mike muttered something under his breath that definitely included a vulgar word or two.
“Righty-ho,” Philpot concluded as he shut his briefcase with a dry snap. “Any questions then? Or shall I leave you to discuss the details?”
“Er, may I ask a question about payment?” Miss Wellbeloved asked tentatively, hand quivering in mid-air.
Philpot frowned. “Yes,” he said slowly. “What about it?”
“Is there any advance payment for this contract, to cover expenses and so forth?”
“We pay expenses one month after you’ve filed them,” Philpot announced curtly. “Standard procedure for national cases, unless it’s a priority project. I trust this isn’t a problem?”
“Oh dear,” Higgins said, voice dripping with barely concealed glee. “Are we a bit short on cash, Jennifer?”
Miss Wellbeloved ignored him. Despite her glacial composure, Kester could see that she was getting irritated. Her left eye was twitching ever so slightly, which was a sure sign that a severe, headmistressy outburst would shortly follow.
“Don’t worry,” Higgins continued, then he waved a flabby hand in the air. “If you need to borrow any, we’d be more than happy to lend it. Anything to get the case completed. We’re dedicated to the job.”
“What a load of cobblers,” Mike muttered.
“I shall bid you all farewell then,” Philpot said as he shut down his laptop and folded it under his arm. “If you require any further information, you can contact me via email.”
After the door had closed, Larry Higgins leaned back in his chair and sighed with obvious satisfaction.
“So,” he began, eyes twinkling with unbridled hostility. “Old Ribero didn’t want to face me today, did he?”
Miss Wellbeloved clucked irritably under her breath. “He’s not very well,” she muttered. “Though of course, he asked me to send his warmest affections.”
Higgins snorted, sounding uncannily like a piston firing on a steam engine. “Like hell he did. Is he cowering back in Exeter, sending you to do his dirty work for him?”
“That’s my father you’re talking about,” Kester piped up suddenly, quite forgetting himself. “I’d rather you didn’t refer to him like that.”
Larry’s gaze slowly shifted to his direction, then narrowed. “Ah, so you’re the prodigal son, are you?” he spluttered and eyed Kester with open scepticism. Kester reddened, noticing that the gazing seemed to focus rather disproportionately on his pink tie. He wished he’d taken it off before he’d entered the building.
“I’m his son, if that’s what you mean.”
“And the famous spirit door-opener,” Lara Littleton interrupted, then leant across the table. “I’ve never met anyone who could do that; it’s damned amazing, my friend. How does it work?”
“Well,” Kester began, feeling rather pleased with the response, yet somewhat embarrassed at the same time. He never had been very good at talking to women, especially when they were very good looking and dressed like cowboys. “Um, I’m not sure really. It just kind of happens.”
Higgins snorted again, even more loudly than he had done before. “Well,” he wheezed, crossing his arms across his chest. “If you’re that talented, why don’t you join a decent agency? I’m sure the whole country would be willing to hire you. Your talents are something of a rarity.”
“I’m happy where I am, thank you,” Kester snapped. “I like working with my dad.”
“Hang on,” Higgins replied as he took a deep breath. Kester realised with foreboding that the man was clearly just starting to get into his stride, like a sumo wrestler limbering up before a big fight. “You’re telling me that you feel loyal towards the man who never bothered with you? Why?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Miss Wellbeloved said crisply. “And exactly what it has to do with the case, I have no idea. You always were a stirrer, Larry.”
Larry Higgins held his hands up in protest and cast a wink at his team. “Ah, come now Jennifer, I’m just asking,” he said, batting his hand against his thigh. “No need to get hostile. Though I did always wonder why you stuck around with Ribero too. Given that he was giving Gretchen a good seeing-to behind your back . . .”
“Mr Higgins!” Miss Wellbeloved snapped, composure finally broken. “That is Kester’s mother you’re talking about!”
“Not to mention the fact that you’re being bloody rude to Miss Wellbeloved here,” Mike growled, then rolled his sleeves up threateningly. The atmosphere darkened considerably as the two agencies glared at one another furiously across the table.
“This Doctor Ribero. He sounds interesting,” Dimitri commented. He scooped up one of the case note files, completely oblivious to the hostile looks around him. “I want to meet this man.”
“Well, you’ll be seeing lots of him soon,” Mike said sarcastically. “Given we’ll all be working together like a big happy family.”
“I’m really looking forward to it!” Lara proclaimed. “I think this case sounds so interesting. I literally cannot wait to get started.” She leant across the table, patting Kester on the arm. “And I wanna hear all about your talents. I ain’t never met someone who could see spirit doors before. Your gift is like gold dust. It’ll be great to see you in action.”
Mike sniggered and gave Kester a wink. “You’re in there, mate,” he mouthed in a manner that was horribly obvious. Kester blushed furiously.
“Well, moving forward,” Miss Wellbeloved snipped, trying her hardest to regain her composure. “Where do you propose we start on this case, Larry?”
“We need to visit the houses where the murders took place,” he answered as he settled himself to business. “Interview the spouses. See if we can get any clues about where the spirit is likely to strike next strike next.”
“Perhaps we should collect a list of old people living in this Lyme Rebus place?” Dimitri suggested in a voice so clipped it was verging on robotic.
“Lyme Regis,” Miss Wellbeloved corrected automatically. “That’s not a bad idea though. Especially if this spirit is targeting people within a two-mile radius. Mind you, the town is known for being a popular retirement location. There might be rather a few OAPs there.”
“OAPs?” Lara asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Old aged pensioners,” Miss Wellbeloved explained. “People in their sixties or above.”
“Much like Larry here,” Mike added with a snigger.
“No need for that, thank you very much.” Higgins fixed Mike with a glare of magnificent proportions. “Let’s start with arranging interviews, then go from there. I’ll get things coordinated, then get back to you with times.”
“I suspect Dr Ribero will want to take a more active role with the organisational side of things,” Miss Wellbeloved reminded him.
“If that’s the case, he should have bothered coming to the bloody briefing then, shouldn’t he have?”
“Yes . . . but he’s not very well at the moment.”
“Not very well, my arse. But let’s not waste any more time discussing that idiot. No offence intended, Kester.”
Lara gave Kester a sympathetic look, which made him feel a little better. He stared at the floor and resisted the urge to give Larry Higgins a piece of his mind. After all, he thought morosely, we’re stuck working with him for the next few months at least. I suppose I have to be polite or risk jeopardising the entire project.
“Let’s be off then,” Mike announced as he shoved his chair back with considerable enthusiasm. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m finding it a bit stuffy in this room.”
“Stuffy?” Higgins retorted, standing up to show them out. “I’ll have you know I’ve got full air conditioning in here.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the ceiling, pointing out the large, shiny unit mounted to the wall.
Mike shrugged. “Perhaps it’s the smell that’s doing it,” he said casually as he pulled open the door. Miss Wellbeloved smiled, then hastily covered her mouth.
“Smell?” Higgins grunted, eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Not sure really. There’s just a very unpleasant whiff circulating around this office area.”
“I doubt that very much,” Higgins spat, scuttling behind them as they marched out into the main office. “We’ve got expensive air fresheners all over the place.”
Mike paused and frowned, then clasped his chin for added dramatic effect. Kester fought the urge to laugh. He had learnt to recognise when Mike was winding someone up, and it was always enjoyable to watch, particularly if the recipient was a colossal prat like Larry Higgins.
“I’ve got it!” he announced abruptly, then clicked his fingers. “I knew I recognised that smell from somewhere.”
“For goodness’ sake, there is no smell!” Higgins barked, turning a dangerous shade of plum. “I should know, my nose is particularly well-tuned to odours.”
“It’s dog poo.”
Lara guffawed, then slunk back to her desk when Higgins fixed his furious gaze upon her.
“I’ll have you know that it is NOT . . .”
“Yep, definitely dog poo,” Mike repeated as he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. He scooped up his shoes and pointed at the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to put my shoes on outside. Don’t want to get them dirty in here.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, young man, but I won’t have you saying that my carpet is riddled with dog faeces. This is finest woven Scottish sheep’s wool, for your information.”
“Hmm,” Mike mused, then opened the door slowly. “Perhaps it’s sheep poo then.” He grinned, slipping on his shoes and skipping down the corridor before Larry Higgins could think of a response. “Toodle-pip, Mr Higgins!” he called gamely over his shoulder. Kester laughed out loud. He couldn’t help himself. The sight of Mike’s burly shoulders merrily waltzing down the miserable concrete-clad corridor was just too funny.
Miss Wellbeloved cleared her throat and patted Larry Higgins on the arm, whose purple face looked alarmingly like someone had inflated it with a bicycle pump. “We’ll be in touch regarding the interviews in Lyme Regis,” she suggested in a valiant attempt to divert his attention. “If you’d rather we conducted them, just let us know. We’re much nearer than you are.”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Higgins muttered darkly, still glaring down the corridor in fury. “I think it’s best if we handle the interviews, actually. We don’t want any mistakes made.”
“Perhaps we could take half each and divide the work?”
“Fine. Whatever.” Larry Higgins folded his arms crossly, his smug composure clearly shaken. “I’ll be in touch.”
Miss Wellbeloved nodded graciously. Kester gave a little wave, felt instantly silly, then quickly lowered his hand again. To his pleasure, he noticed Lara Littleton raise her hand in response. Even Dimitri managed a small, sharp wave before slinking back to his desk.
They walked to the van in silence.
“Well,” Mike said cheerfully as he switched on the ignition and ground the van into reverse. “I thought that went very well.”
Miss Wellbeloved said nothing, only buried her head in her hands and groaned.