Simon Green: Ghost of a Smile

“Did the police find any physical evidence?” JC said immediately. “Anything useful, or indicative?”

“Not a damned thing,” said Melody. “I read the official reports. They didn’t turn up a thing. Which is surprising, in this CSI day and age.”

“Tell me again about the state of the body,” said JC. “How did Albert Winter die?”

“Messily,” said Melody. “Ripped apart. Bones broken, organs torn out, skin shredded. You’d have to put a man through a wood chipper to do that kind of damage.”

“So we are assuming a supernatural death?” said Happy. “A supernatural killer? Oh dear. I can feel one of my heads coming on.”

“Could it be a werewolf?” Kim said brightly. “I used to love films about werewolves! I was up for a part in Dog Soldiers 2, before I was murdered.”

“More likely the Big Black Dogges,” said Melody. “They’re not just a local legend; you get the same kind of phenomenon reported all over the British Isles. Dogges hunting… chasing, headless Dogges.. .”

“How do they smell?” said Happy. “Terrible!”

He broke into giggles again. Melody glared at JC.

“You let him dose himself again, didn’t you!”

“He works better that way,” said JC.

He slapped Happy casually across the back of the head, and Happy stopped giggling immediately.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Serves you right,” murmured JC. He knelt beside the murder stain again and considered it for a long moment. He gestured for Happy to kneel beside him. The telepath did so, careful to keep out of arm’s reach, and glared at the murder site in a sideways fashion.

“Stop that,” said JC, not unkindly. “Look at the blood stain, Happy. Tell me what you See.”

“Blood,” Happy said immediately. “Lots and lots of it, and a hell of a lot of spattering. If a man had done this, I’d have said there was serious passion involved. I’m picking up anger, rage, hatred, revenge… But this still looks and feels more like an animal attack to me.”

JC nodded slowly. “Any ideas as to what kind of animal?”

“Old,” Happy said immediately. “And wild. Not feral, though; there was intent and purpose behind this. And… the rush is wearing off, and I’d really like to go home now.”

“Your metabolism eats pills alive,” said JC. He looked thoughtfully about him. “Bad places make ghosts… And this is a bad place. Made bad, long before Albert Winter was killed here. So what makes this factory building a bad place? There’s no record of any work disaster, or any great loss of life, and yes, Melody, I do occasionally do my homework… The real question is why did Albert Winter die now, when this place has been worrying but basically harmless for so many years?”

“Hush!” Kim said suddenly. “Someone else is here with us. Someone living.”

“Retreat into the darkness, my children,” said JC. “Let us watch and learn.”

They quickly abandoned Melody’s workstation to hide in the deepest of shadows at the nearest wall. An old man and a young woman came hesitantly through the open doors and advanced slowly into the great open space of the factory floor. The old man held up an old-fashioned storm lantern before him, the flame’s soft yellow glow pushing back the gloom. They moved steadily forward, sticking close together, looking about them with keen interest. Neither of them seemed particularly scared or intimidated.

The old man was a stooped, fragile-looking black man, well into his seventies. He wore a battered jacket over a heavy sweater, faded jeans, and sensible shoes. His eyes were bright, and his mouth was firm, but his wrinkled face had sunk right back to the bone. His head was mostly bald, with little white tufts of hair above the ears. His stride was slow but steady, and he looked quietly determined, as though he had come to the deserted factory with some definite purpose in mind. And for all his evident age and fragility, there was something about the man that suggested he’d survived hard times and could survive more, too, if he had to.

The teenage girl at his side towered over him, big, black, and busty, with a strong face that held rather more character than was good for her. Or anybody else. She held herself with defiant pride and dignity, and wore a long, patterned robe over practical sandals. Her hair had been scraped back in tight cornrows. She walked beside the old man like a body-guard, but there was something in it of family, too. She held a mobile phone to her ear, then waved it about, trying for a signal, before swearing dispassionately and putting the phone away.

The old man stopped abruptly. The girl stopped with him and looked quickly about her. The old man held up both hands before speaking in a firm, rich, and carrying voice.

“Is there anybody here? Be not afraid, be not alarmed. We have come to talk with any who might remain here and to offer any help or aid that might be required. Please, come forward and talk with us. We are not afraid. We are friends.”

“Bloody cold in here, Gramps,” said the girl. “Cold and dark and a complete lack of comforts. Like most of the places you drag me to. Just once, couldn’t we go ghost-hunting in a first-class hotel, or a nice pub, or a decent restaurant?”

“Quiet, child! Show respect for the spirits!”

“I am not your child, I am your grand-daughter, and I’m sure this is bad for me. I’ll bet there’s mould here, and all kinds of spores, waiting to be breathed in so they can break-dance in my lungs. You’re not going to find any ghosts here, Gramps. For one thing, this place isn’t old enough.”

“Hold your peace, child,” said the old man. “You only show your ignorance. Spirits accumulate in the dark places of the world, and this has been a bad place for many years. Have I not told you the old stories…”

“Yes, Gramps. Many times. But they’re only stories. Something for old men to tell, when they’re losing at dominoes and want to distract their opponents.”

“Stories have power, child. In many ways. Trust me when I tell you, the past does not lie easily here…”

“Well,” said JC. “Never let it be said that I don’t know a cue when I hear one.”

He stepped briskly forward, and waved cheerfully to the startled old man and the girl at his side. “Hello, hello! Welcome to the dark and spooky and almost certainly haunted abandoned factory! Guided tours a speciality! Psychic phenomena guaranteed or your money back. I am JC Chance, of the Carnacki Institute for Finding Ghosts and Doing Something About Them. May I ask whom have I the honour of addressing?”

The teenage girl had actually jumped a little when he appeared, but the old man was made of sterner stuff. He stood his ground and held his lantern a little higher to spread more light. He looked suspiciously at JC, and Happy and Melody behind him. Kim remained in the shadows, being diplomatic.

“What the hell are you doing here?” said the teenage girl, moving quickly forward to put herself between her grandfather and JC.

“I’m JC,” JC said patiently. “And these are my colleagues in spiritual affairs, Happy Palmer and Melody Chambers. Don’t let them worry you, they’re supposed to look like that. It helps scare the spooks. We are here to investigate the unnatural phenomena surrounding the recent death of Albert Winter. Might I inquire what you’re doing here?”

“Don’t tell them anything, Gramps!” snapped the girl, matching Happy scowl for scowl. “We’re not obliged to tell them anything. We don’t have to justify ourselves. We’ve got as much right to be here as anyone!”

“Mind your manners, child,” said the old man, stepping past her to nod politely to JC and his team. “You were brought up to behave better than that. I am Graham Tiley, Mr. Chance. This is my grand-daughter, Susan. We are here to make contact with the spirits.”