The Unquiet Dead Read online

  Jessie beckoned him into her office. She inserted a CD-ROM into her computer and selected an image of a dark-haired girl wearing high-heeled boots and trousers, covered up by a large jumper. She was carrying a duffel bag.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Burrows.

  ‘You’re probably going to think I’m mad, but I reckon that is Anna Maria Klein.’

  Burrows set the image in motion again. ‘Boss, she’s a brunette and she’s wearing cheap clothes.’

  ‘She looks like a brunette, I agree.’

  ‘You can’t see her face – she’s wearing huge glasses, a hat and she’s looking at the pavement.’

  The girl disappeared from the screen. ‘But look at the boots! I’ve ordered footage from all the cameras in the NCP car park and I’d like you to go down there and question the waiters in that little café near the baths. Those are the only two places she could have changed without being noticed.’

  Burrows looked at her in disbelief.

  Jessie played with the computer and located the footage of Anna Maria Klein standing at the crossroads. ‘Let’s see how long it took her to change.’ Together they watched Anna Maria move away, and then waited in real time for the brunette to reappear.

  ‘You think that Anna Maria ran into a smelly, grotty car park, stripped off her clothes, put on a wig, threw everything into a duffel bag she spirited from nowhere, and then marched back out again and disappeared into the ether?’

  ‘I think she was wearing some of the gear under her dress and coat – that’s why she appeared bigger that usual. The rest she was carrying in that big bag. All she would have had to do was throw them off, put on the wig and shove everything into the duffel that she’d hidden inside her other bag. Hey Presto, new identity. Quick sprint back to Carnaby Street and young Anna Maria Klein has disappeared. We have a missing teenage girl on our hands and all the hysteria that ensues. For once, all focus is on the daughter of the star.’

  ‘You think she’s doing this for attention?’

  ‘Why not? Young girls run away all the time. This is just a trifle more theatrical.’

  ‘You know what DI Ward would say.’

  Jessie raised an eyebrow. ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Which is why I need proof from the car park or café. Come on, it won’t take long.’

  ‘What about the case we’re supposed to be working on – or the GBH, or any of the other stuff that has been piling up on your desk for weeks?’

  ‘We don’t have another case while all this is going on. You said so yourself, all the manpower is tied up on the Klein case.’

  Burrows didn’t answer her. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and pretended to watch the screen.

  ‘Don’t blame me, blame Moore and her band of merry men.’

  ‘Do you know what I think?’ he said finally.

  ‘By the look on your face, I’m not sure I want to,’ she replied petulantly.

  ‘I think it would be easier for all of us if you and Mark just left each other alone. I don’t know what has got into the two of you all of a sudden.’

  ‘He’s been winding me up.’

  ‘So? Rise above it.’

  ‘Hey, normally you’re on my side – by my side,’ she said quickly, seeing Burrows’ expression. ‘I meant “by”.’

  He wasn’t convinced. ‘This is a wild-goose chase, and it’s not even your wild goose to chase.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s her then?’ Jessie pointed to the brunette who now crossed the screen. ‘Seventeen minutes – more than enough time to change her appearance.’

  ‘Even if it is – which I think is highly unlikely – what does it matter? This isn’t your case.’

  ‘So you can just sit back and watch thousands of pounds being wasted on this circus?’

  ‘But it isn’t about the circus, is it? It’s about you and –’

  ‘Shh!’ exclaimed Jessie, staring at the screen. ‘Quick, stop the disk!’

  Burrows leant over and hit a button. The screen went blank.

  ‘Get it back.’

  ‘You said stop –’

  ‘I meant pause, pause the bloody thing. Just before the brunette leaves the picture.’

  Burrows fiddled with the mouse and the disk resumed playing. He reviewed the image several frames and then stood back to watch as the brunette walked across the screen frame by frame. Just as she was about to exit, he paused the image. Jessie leant in. Then she pointed to the left of the screen where a man in a trilby stood frozen in time. ‘There –’

  Burrows looked.

  ‘She’s being followed.’

  Burrows frowned. ‘By whom?’

  ‘By Father Forrester.’ Jessie pulled out a notebook from her back pocket and flicked over several scribbled pages. ‘He turned up at the baths late last night and was wittering on about Anna, about how she needed forgiveness. Told me the place was infested or something.’ She found the page she was looking for. ‘Here it is – he said it was something to do with old money. That was a great circus act.’

  ‘You didn’t question him properly?’

  ‘I thought he was a nutter,’ she said defensively. ‘I wasn’t really paying attention. The caretaker didn’t seem very well and I didn’t want him ending up back in hospital.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s following her?’

  ‘Go back.’ Burrows played the scene again. ‘Definitely. It’s the hat, I’ve seen it before. He was outside the baths on the morning the roof caved in.’ Check the date. ‘I think he tried to speak to me.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Jessie shrugged. ‘I was in a hurry.’

  ‘You want me to tell Mark?’

  ‘Just to be insulted? No thanks.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Go visit some nuns,’ said Jessie.

  ‘Then I’m coming too.’

  Jessie smiled. ‘You and my brother.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bill, he likes nuns … You met him the other day in the pub. He’s staying with me at the moment.’

  ‘That was your brother?’

  Jessie looked at him quizzically. ‘Who did you think he was?’

  ‘I …’ Burrows shrugged. ‘Well, he did look a bit dishevelled.’

  ‘I’ll tell him you mistook him for a perp. So, how about it? Will you go with me on this one?’

  Burrows turned back to the screen. ‘And if it’s nothing …?’

  ‘I’ll drop the whole thing.’

  ‘And keep out of Mark’s way?’

  ‘And keep out of Mark’s way,’ she promised.

  ‘You didn’t introduce me, by the way.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To your brother.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, grabbing her jacket. ‘Sorry.’

  Jessie checked the A–Z and directed Burrows down a narrow cul-de-sac off Wapping High Street. The mottled city tarmac gave way to the smoothed humped backs of old cobbles. The car juddered along the narrow street as it snaked around to the left. On either side of them garage doors were chained or boarded up. They drove as far as they were able until Burrows halted the car outside the only building that looked remotely habitable. Tucked away in the middle of this industrial wasteland was a two-storey redbrick house with an arched door, stone windows complete with grimy glass and several chimney stacks.

  Jessie checked the map. ‘Maybe he gave me a false address.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Burrows. Jessie looked up.

  ‘Either not many visitors come down here or you’re expected, boss.’

  The door was pulled back to reveal a gloomy hallway. Thin bony fingers clasped the peeling paint. It was all they could see of their welcoming party.

  ‘What do you think now?’ asked Jessie as she opened the car door.

  ‘Never mess with an intuitive woman,’ said Burrows, simultaneously easing open the door on his side of the car. As they approached the building a dog barked ferociously from
inside. Jessie jumped. The fingers disappeared. The door started to close. Burrows caught it just before it shut on them and slowly pushed it open again. Inside, a tiny woman stood holding on to a dog that stood level with her shoulders. The dog snarled and barked again.

  ‘So sorry,’ said the tiny woman in a high-pitched voice. ‘It’s only Deuteronomy. He’s a sweetie, really, just looks a little frightening.’ The dog barked again. Her small hand rubbed his nose affectionately. ‘Daft old thing. Settle down now, we don’t like to bark at friends.’ She looked up to Jessie and Burrows. ‘You must be the police officers. We thought you were coming yesterday. Deut was locked up yesterday.’ The giant German shepherd growled again; clearly he hadn’t enjoyed being locked up.

  ‘Is Father Forrester here?’

  ‘Absolutely. He’s in the study. Would you mind waiting while I put Deut in the kitchen?’

  Jessie shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Come on, Deut, biscuits.’ The woman and her enormous dog turned away from them. She trotted after the animal as they disappeared around a corner. Jessie looked briefly at Burrows, shook her head as if she was trying to clear her vision, then looked back up the hall. The tiny woman was back. All four feet four of her.

  ‘So rude of me,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘I am Sister Beatrice, a fond and faithful friend of Father Eric. Welcome to our little rectory.’

  ‘I didn’t see a church,’ said Jessie.

  ‘No,’ said the nun. ‘It burnt down eighty-two years ago. Terrible, terrible. Would you like some tea? The kettle is on.’

  ‘Thank you, no, but if you could just tell Father Forrester that we are here to see him, I’d appreciate it.’

  She smiled at Jessie. ‘He knows. He won’t keep you long, in fact … yes, I think that’ll be him just now.’

  The white-haired man Jessie had encountered at the baths now emerged from the gloom and walked along the black-and-white diamond tiles towards them. He wore grey trousers, a blue shirt that had worn thin at the elbows, a burgundy sleeveless cardigan and brown shoes. His white hair glowed like a halo in the dark. He removed his spectacles as he approached them, smiled widely and extended his hand. Burrows nodded curtly, took the offered hand and introduced himself. Jessie was about to speak when Burrows addressed the vicar himself.

  ‘Sorry to intrude on you, Father,’ he said. ‘But we need to speak with you on a delicate matter.’

  ‘Is it still Father?’ asked Jessie. ‘Even though you’ve retired?’

  Burrows looked at her sharply. Father Forrester seemed unperturbed. ‘I gave up my day job, not my life’s work. But if it makes you feel more comfortable, you could call me Eric.’

  ‘Well, Eric, I’d like to talk to you about Anna Maria Klein.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl who disappeared, Father,’ the diminutive nun chipped in. ‘We watched it on the news. Such an attractive newsreader.’ She turned back to Jessie and Burrows. ‘Short-term memory isn’t what it was,’ she said quietly, giving a nod in Father Forrester’s direction.

  ‘Oh, I think the Father remembers only too well,’ said Jessie.

  The nun looked searchingly at Jessie, then at Burrows, then back to Jessie. She tilted her head gently to one side, smiled, turned away and left in the same direction she had taken the dog. ‘I’ll make some tea anyhow.’

  ‘You’d better follow me,’ said the elderly man. ‘This way.’

  He moved quickly for an old man, and was soon lost in the darkness. Burrows grabbed Jessie’s arm.

  ‘You should show these people some respect,’ he whispered.

  ‘We don’t even know if he is a retired vicar.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Burrows. ‘You think the church gives out these properties to anyone? You think Sister Beatrice is wearing a habit for fun?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time some nasty little man has hidden behind a cassock and a cross, Burrows. Mostly with the church’s blessing, I seem to remember. So forgive me if I don’t seem quite so reverential as you.’

  ‘You’re making a mistake, boss.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly found religion,’ said Jessie before following the retreating footsteps up the dimly lit corridor.

  Of the seven doors leading off the hallway, only one was open. Jessie knocked briefly and, without waiting for an answer, walked in. The man sat behind a desk, dwarfed by bookshelves plump with reading material. He slipped his glasses back up his nose.

  ‘Sister Beatrice is right, my memory does get a little fuddled now and then. Reprehensible in a parish priest, I’m afraid. Does the Church no good if the doddering old vicar can’t remember his eulogies from his Eucharist. Is your colleague going to join us?’

  Jessie slipped a colour printout of the brunette over the blotting pad that lay ink-stained between them. ‘Do you recognise this girl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How can you be so sure, if you have problems remembering things?’

  ‘Things maybe; names often; but never faces. No, never faces.’

  ‘How about this face?’ Jessie passed over a picture of Anna Maria as she usually looked.

  ‘It’s the same face.’ He looked up at Jessie. ‘You haven’t really come here to talk about this girl, have you?’

  ‘Why, are there others?’ asked Jessie.

  Father Forrester leant back in his chair. He folded his hands across his chest.

  Jessie pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘You came to Marshall Street Baths and you told me that this girl needed help. You said that Anna needs help.’

  ‘Did I say Anna? I thought I said –’

  Jessie interrupted him. Her temper rose a notch. ‘Yes. You did. You also said something about old money and forgiveness.’

  He nodded. ‘I believe you need my help in that place.’

  ‘I need your help in locating Anna Maria Klein. The girl who you followed out of Marshall Street.’

  ‘Is she dead?’

  ‘I don’t know – you tell me.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the white-haired man. ‘Someone is, though. They’re stuck there, one of a number of unfortunate spirits who cannot cross over. I felt it very strongly at that place, and I am not the only one.’

  ‘Why did you follow that girl?’

  ‘Terrible feeling of regret, the moment you step inside – did you feel it?’

  ‘Had you met her before?’

  ‘Strange things have been happening there for some time.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  He looked straight at Jessie, then his focus wandered just to the left of her. ‘I’m sorry, we seem to be going round in circles. Perhaps I haven’t explained properly what it is that I do.’ He looked straight at her again.

  ‘You told me you were a vicar.’

  ‘Indeed, but even vicars specialise in something these days.’

  ‘And what do you specialise in?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘Deliverance,’ said the old man.

  ‘Had Anna Maria Klein been bad?’ she asked.

  He chuckled to himself. ‘No, no … I mean I do soul rescue work.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Exorcism, boss. Father Forrester is an exorcist.’

  She turned around crossly. Behind her, Burrows filled the door frame, holding a tray full of tea things. He looked ridiculous. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped.

  ‘As a matter of fact, your sergeant is right,’ said Father Forrester. ‘Except we don’t like to use that term any more, it has too many negative connotations. That film undermined the integrity of our entire profession. You see, very few infestations are actually demonic, though it is always wise to keep the devil in your sights, just in case he is plotting some nasty surprises. Usually it’s simply a matter of some poor soul who has lost his way and is causing a little trouble until someone notices they are there and helps them move on. The trick to my work is finding out why they got stuck in the first place and then releasing
them from their earth-bound locality. See? Deliverance, as I said. It’s all very simple really.’

  Jessie listened to the sound of clattering porcelain as the nun poured the steaming brew into a mismatched collection of chipped cups. She wanted to say something, but all her words had evaporated. Sister Beatrice passed Jessie a cup of hot sweet tea. She was about to refuse, but the nun pressed it on her so forcefully that she took a sip and was surprised to find that hot sweet tea was exactly what she wanted.

  ‘You’ve told her about Mary?’ said the nun.

  ‘No,’ replied the vicar.

  ‘Oh.’

  He nodded knowingly.

  ‘Oh,’ she said again, this time holding the word until it stretched out like gum. She passed Burrows a mug with a picture of St Christopher on it. ‘Whom did you lose, Detective?’

  Jessie slammed her cup down on the desk. ‘I’m sorry to break up this happy tea party, but we are talking about the disappearance of a girl and you haven’t answered any of my questions yet.’

  ‘This may seem far-fetched …’ said the priest.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Marshall Street Baths houses a stubborn spirit who will not move on. The name An—’

  ‘Yes, yes, you’ve already told me that bit, but it doesn’t explain what you were doing there,’ said Jessie.

  ‘Before a priest can enable a soul to leave a place, they must first find out who they are and why they are stuck. Although I have heightened psychic awareness,’ he said, ‘for the tough ones I require help.’

  ‘Mary,’ said Sister Beatrice. ‘She’s what you might call a medium.’

  ‘Someone who talks to the dead,’ said Jessie with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

  ‘Not dead. In limbo.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Boss,’ warned Burrows. Even Jessie was taken aback by the force of the sneer in her voice. She inhaled slowly and sat back.

  ‘The ones that get stuck often have a message they need passing on. Mary gets those messages, she can tie up the loose ends, help with the unanswered questions.’

  The white-haired vicar with the smiling eyes leant forward over his desk. ‘There are many reasons why a spirit would remain here. A horrific act, for example, an injustice – this is often the case in unsolved murders. An inability to accept one’s death, when death has come too quickly and the person hasn’t had enough time to examine their life. Sometimes they are obstinate and won’t move on, and sometimes they are confused and can’t.’