Saving the dead saving t.., p.11
Saving the Dead: Saving the Dead Book 1, page 11
Smokey leapt from Kimmy’s lap to my side. “Well, did it work? What did he say?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. He ignored me, but he was probably in shock. I’m sure he’ll be in touch once he’s had time to process it.”
Smokey’s furry face scrunched into a frown. “I hope you’re right. A police officer on our side would be of great help.”
Kimmy punched his name into her computer search engine and began reading all the articles about how he was suspected of hiding evidence and trying to protect his son.
She pointed to the screen. “Says here a bracelet belonging to Mel, covered in her blood, turned up in a search of his house. Seems pretty damning.”
“A bracelet that Noel is adamant he found at the crime scene and processed as evidence that conveniently nobody could remember,” Smokey corrected her.
As the two of them chatted, I went to the bathroom to change and wash my dirty feet.
I was just about clean when Kimmy shouted, “Oh my, God, Cassie. You need to see this.”
Feet still dripping wet, I ran back through to the room.
“This just flashed up as breaking news,” she scooted her chair out of the way so I could see.
I leant over and stared at the article open on the screen.
I read part of it aloud. “A girl was found murdered in Princes Street Gardens. That’s not far from here.”
Kimmy fidgeted in her chair. “That’s not all, look at how she was murdered. Strangled, just like your friend.”
I shrugged. “Lots of killers strangle their victims.”
She let out an impatient sigh. “Right, but look!” She scrolled down. “Look at the picture of the suspected victim. It’s too early for them to give a positive ID but people are speculating it’s this girl that went missing a few days ago.”
My blood ran cold as the girl’s picture came into view. The victim, Lori, had brown, almond shaped eyes, perfect skin, and long black hair. Her smile was wide, with a bit of mischief to it. For a second, it felt like I was looking at a picture of Mel. I was about to open my mouth to debate that it could be pure coincidence, when I heard Mel’s disembodied voice whisper in my ear, “Round and around, don’t make a sound.”
The same words she had been uttering earlier. I had no idea what they meant, but I did know something in my gut. Mel’s killer had a type, and he had just struck again.
14
That night, Mel and Jay’s mum haunted my dreams, literally. I gave up on sleep, instead pouring over the same short articles that had been released about the new victim, desperate to see something I had missed the previous ten times I had read it. It was still on my mind in English class the next day. As my tutor droned on about hidden meanings and metaphors in classic literature, I scrolled through forums and comment sections of the articles, looking for information. Nothing. An ad for a “ghost hunting” channel that claimed they could really talk to the dead popped up on my screen and I rolled my eyes. Then, I had an epiphany and whispered to myself, “Oh my, God.”
The tutor, Miss McManus, cleared her throat. “Am I boring you, Miss Harris?”
Students at the desks in front of me peered around at me and sniggered.
I shook my head. “No, sorry. I’m just expecting a call from my doctor.”
McManus’ eyes widened. “Is everything ok? Would you like me to excuse you so you can talk to Ms. Harding?”
More laughter rang out and someone whispered, “Isn’t that the crazy girl?”
My stomach lurched with guilt in anticipation of the lie I was about to tell. “Yes, please. I don’t feel so good.”
Before she had a chance to answer, I stood up and swung my bag over my shoulder. I scooted out from the desk and she almost bunny hopped to sidestep me, as if she might catch my crazy if I were to brush against her.
I marched down the hallway, right passed Councillor Harding’s office and out into the quiet, overcast courtyard. In true British style, the scorching summer sun from the other day had vanished and a cool wind greeted me. I pulled out my phone and texted Kimmy, who I knew was on a free period: Bring Smokey and meet me by the front entrance. Bring your recording equipment.
I couldn’t sit on my hands and do nothing. I couldn’t take Noel’s no for an answer. If I could let him hear his wife’s voice, maybe then he would listen to me.
Thump, thump, thump. The sound of my fist banging on Noel’s front door echoed up the street, joining a symphony of lawnmowers and monotonous bass music playing from a radio in a window above. There was no answer. I battered the door again.
Kimmy, carrying a heavy laptop bag, sighed. “Maybe he’s not in?”
“Oh, he’s in alright,” I grumbled, as the lurking spirit of Noel’s wife gave me an encouraging nod. “Mr. Johnson, I know you’re in there! I’m not leaving until you answer the door!”
Curtains twitched above us, revealing the disapproving stares of Noel’s upstairs neighbours. I ignored them and raised my hand to hammer the door once more. Before my fist could meet wood, there was a click and the door swung open.
A heavy-eyed, dishevelled looking Noel peered around the door and hissed, “Alright, alright I’m here! Keep it down!”
The smell of smoke wafted out with his words.
He glanced from me, to Kimmy, to Smokey, and then rubbed his eyes. “Is that a cat?”
“Yes,” I said, sounding angrier than I anticipated. “Mr. Johnson, we really need to talk. There was another girl murdered, and she looks just like Mel.”
Noel ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I saw.”
I stepped forward. “Then you agree with me, it’s worth looking into?”
He rubbed the back of his head and sighed. “Come in.”
We followed him into the dreary flat. Every curtain was drawn, the wallpaper was peeling, yet the walls were adorned with dusty framed photos of Jay and his mum. The spirit of that same mum gazed at the photos lovingly.
“Who’s your friend?” Noel grumbled, leading us into the sitting room and pushing aside some blankets so we could sit on the sofa. Smokey’s nose twitched. It smelled terrible, of smoke and old man.
Kimmy cleared her throat. “I’m Kimmy, the roommate.”
Noel grunted. “And why are you girls, and your cat, here?”
I remained standing as Noel sank into the sofa. It groaned under his weight.
“To prove to you that your wife really did pass on that message last night. That I really do hear the dead,” I said.
He stiffened and glared at me, silent.
I began to explain as Kimmy unpacked her bag. “I’ve been able to see and hear things other people can’t my entire life. I mostly kept it to myself, until Mel died. But trying to explain to people what I could do wound me up in an asylum. So, I went back to keeping it to myself. Until I met Kimmy. There was a spirit hanging over her, much like your wife is hanging over you right now.”
He jumped, looked over his shoulder, and let out a breath of relief to see there was nobody behind him. I could tell by Kimmy’s face she was stifling a laugh.
I continued, “Kimmy thought I was crazy too, but when her friend's spirit appeared in the recording studio at the university, it picked up her voice.”
Noel’s eyes widened. “You… You really- “
Kimmy nodded, her face wearing a kind smile I wasn’t even aware it was capable of making. “Yes, really. That’s what this is for.” She pointed to the laptop and microphone she had plugged into it. “I think we should be able to let you speak to your wife.”
He edged forward on the sofa, bewildered eyes gazing at the laptop, the way his wife’s ghost had at the photos on the wall. My heart sank at the sight. Kimmy opened a recording program and fiddled around with the settings.
“Ok,” she finally said. “We should be ready to go.”
I turned my head to look at Mrs. Johnson and smiled. “Say something.”
Noel followed my gaze and whispered. “She’s really here?”
The computer's speakers crackled and boomed with white noise for a few seconds, before a faint voice finally answered, “I am here, my love.”
The room fell silent, save for the faint din of the music from the radio in a neighbouring flat. Noel’s eyes glistened as he gazed at the spot I had been talking to. He began to shake. He dropped his head into his calloused hands and let out a sob as his wife continued, “You promised me you wouldn’t give up on our boy.”
He shook his head, his words muffled, as he cried, “I did everything I could. I lost everything. There’s nothing more I can do. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Mrs. Johnson's words came through loud and stern, “Help this girl.”
The room fell silent, and I slowly sat down beside Noel and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your wife’s spirit is with us because it has unfinished business. She can’t pass on until we solve this.”
Finally, he lifted his head from his hands and said, “Ok, let's solve this. Once and for all.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”
His gaze lingered on the spot his wife had been standing in. “I won’t let you down.”
Kimmy closed the laptop and stood up. “Ok, no offense, Mister, but if we’re gonna be discussing the case and what not in here, I’m gonna have to let some air in.”
She walked over to the windows and pulled the curtains open. A plume of dust swirled as she did so, and Smokey sneezed.
Noel pointed towards him. “Oh yeah, why did you bring your cat along?”
My lips curled into a smile. “That was plan B. If your wife’s voice hadn’t come through, I was going to convince you using Smokey’s help.”
He frowned. “How would a cat convince me to talk?”
I grinned. “Oh, he can be very persuasive. He is a familiar from the underworld, after all.”
Smokey trotted proudly over and stretched.
Noel leaned back and grumbled. “Keep that thing away from me.”
Hours later, we were surrounded by all of Noel’s files and notes on the case. I had shown him the picture of the boy I didn’t recognise at the party, but it didn’t ring any bells for him either. We sifted through a mixture of newspaper articles, hand scribbled notebooks, and official police files that I suspected Noel could get into big trouble for even having. A gust of wind howled outside and caused the windows to rattle as I scrutinised every word in the transcripts of the witness interviews. Smokey lay curled in my lap.
I glanced over at Kimmy, her face was contorted in disgust.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She held up the file she was holding and shook her head. “The autopsy. This is…”
“It’s awful,” Noel rumbled, not looking up from the file he was reading. “Only a monster could do that to such a sweet girl. My boy was always harmless as a fly. Used to infuriate me, watching him get picked on at school. Funny how they used that against him. All the papers claimed he was a sociopath who had bided his time and built up all of this rage.” He sniffed and rubbed a stray tear from his cheek. “Load of shit.”
The room fell silent, broken only by the gurgle of my stomach, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
I broke the silence, “Maybe we should take a break and order some food.”
Noel grunted. “I’ll put the kettle on.” He groaned as he stood up and stretched, his belly poking out from under his faded t-shirt. I thought back to his days in Newton’s police force. He had always been a picture of fitness. What would his old self say if he could see him now?
I excused myself and went to the bathroom, a little worried about what state it might be in. It was surprisingly clean, given the state of the rest of the flat, if a little bare. All that sat on the sink was a lone toothbrush and an empty bottle of hand wash. The upstairs neighbours’ radio sounded much clearer in here, and I bobbed my head along to a familiar song.
It kicked into the chorus as I washed my hands and I started to sing along, “Round and around, don’t make a sound. There is no love to be found…”
I froze, hands still under the running water as a shiver trickled down my spine. I knew this song. I had heard these words before.
This was the cryptic message Mel’s spirit had been uttering to me.
15
“Slow down,” Kimmy said, “What do you mean you heard a clue in a song?”
I had almost knocked Kimmy and the cup of coffee Noel had made her flying as I had barrelled out of the bathroom.
I bounced on the balls of my feet. “I heard a song on the radio just now. I thought Mel was trying to send me some kind of message, but I couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. It’s because it’s the lyrics to a song!”
Noel took a gulp of his coffee. “And that helps us how?”
Frustrated, I shook my head and made my way to the laptop, then hammered the song lyrics into the search engine. Instantly, I was hit with the name of the band: Volatile, a local indie rock group that had recently made number one with the song Mel had been singing.
I frowned. “How would Mel know the lyrics to a song that hadn’t even been released before her death?”
Noel scratched at his beard. “Maybe it’s a cover song?”
I shook my head, scrolling down the articles. “Not that I can see.”
Kimmy appeared by my side and peered over my shoulder. “Check out a photo of the band, see if you recognise any of them?”
I pulled up a picture, my heart sinking with defeat as I examined each member. They were like four generic, indie cardboard cut-outs, with sweeping haircuts (except one who had a top knot – gross) and dressed like hipster edge lords.
Nobody stood out to me. Nobody was familiar.
I hammered my fist on the coffee table, causing my undrunk coffee to jump. Smokey mewed in disapproval. It had to mean something. What was I missing? I clicked through link after link, scribbling down all the details I could find.
The band had been formed a few years ago – maybe Mel had heard a demo online before they had been big? Eventually, I ended up on their Facebook fan site. I sank my teeth into my tongue as soon as I saw the name of the group `administrator.
Murray Ramsay.
I hadn’t heard the name in years.
Murray had always been strange. He had been in the same class as Mel, Jay, and I through most of our school years, yet I could probably count on one hand the number of times I had spoken to him. He was the kind of kid that stole other children’s lunch money and cut up bugs for fun on the playground. As he’d gotten older, his crimes had extended to light arson and petty theft. He had tried to talk to Mel once that I could recall, and she had been polite but visually uncomfortable as he had mumbled away at her behind a tousled mop of hair.
Had he taken that as a rejection? Would he have hurt her?
I swallowed, turning away from the laptop screen. “Hey, Noel, you remember Murray Ramsay?”
He had lit another cigarette, apparently unaware of the effects of second-hand smoking. “Heh. How could I forget him? That kid was responsible for half my pay cheque back in the day. Why?”
“Apparently, he’s Volatile’s biggest fan. He runs the fan page. And get this, they were in town the other night when that girl was murdered, and guess who was front and centre in the audience?”
Noel’s cigarette was halfway to his lips, a mountain of ash piling up on the end as it went neglected. “Ramsay.”
Kimmy moved from my side, hands on her hips. “One of you wanna tell me who the hell Murray Ramsay is?”
The ash from the cigarette toppled to the ground, falling like snow around Noel’s feet as he spoke, “He was a real messed up kid. Sad really. His mum ran off and left him with his drunkard father. Picked him up multiple times for vandalism, setting fire to bins and stuff like that. He was always getting into fights.”
Kimmy perched herself on the edge of the coffee table. “And nobody thought to question this psychopath at the time?”
“That’s just the thing,” said Noel, finally laying the cigarette to rest in an ashtray. “I did. He had an alibi for that night.”
I snorted. “Who gave him an alibi? He never hung around with anyone but himself.”
Noel scratched his head. “Can’t quite recall. Should be in the statements somewhere around here.”
I shook my head. “I already read through them all, I didn’t see anything about Murray.”
He stood up and began rifling through the piles of papers. “That’s odd. Should be here…” As he sifted through the papers, I couldn’t help but grow annoyed. I knew I was right, why did he have to confirm it? Probably the old cop in him, wanting to be sure, I told myself.
“Nah, you’re right,” he finally said, setting the papers down. “I could have sworn…”
“The police should still have it on file, no?” asked Kimmy, who was now scrolling through Murray’s social media.
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, jumping to my feet. “Can you ask one of your old buddy’s if we can take a look at it?”
Noel broke into a bitter laugh. “I don’t have any friends left on the police force I’m afraid.”
I scowled. “You might not have friends on the force, but you have me. I just want to help. Please, don’t give up on your boy.”
His face crumpled, and a wave of guilt washed over me. Perhaps it was harsh to use his wife’s words against him, but we finally had a lead, and I wasn’t going to let it go.
His next words were barely a whisper. “Well, my old partner is stationed here in the city. We don’t talk anymore, but we were close.”
“Excellent,” I said, scooping up my bag and swinging it over my shoulder. “Let’s go and see him then.”
Noel looked downtrodden, as if he wanted to protest, but eventually he sighed and said, “Let me get changed first.”
Smokey gave an encouraging mew.
I could feel the nerves coming off Noel as we entered the station. His hands hadn’t stopped trembling since we left his house and he had practically chain smoked the whole way here. He tried to tidy himself up a little; he was wearing a shirt that’s buttons were barely clinging together over his newfound beer belly, and ran a comb through his beard, followed by a spritz of aftershave. It wasn’t enough to mask the smell of smoke, but it warmed my heart to know he had tried.
