Simon Green - Ghost of a Dream

“The train will be coming into Leicester soon,” said Melody, glaring meaningfully at Happy and JC. “And, for once, it would be nice if we could all arrive knowing why we were there.”

“She’s going into lecture mode,” Happy said to JC. “Indulge her. She’ll only make a fuss otherwise, and I can feel one of my heads coming on. Try and keep it down to a précis, Melody, there’s a dear. Some of us have important eating and drinking to be getting on with. Or important existential brooding, in JC’s case.”

“Go ahead, Melody,” JC said courteously, not looking around. “Distract me. I could use something else to think about.”

“We’ve been called in to investigate a suspected haunting at the old Haybarn Theatre, in the city of Leicester,” said Melody.

She looked around to see if any of the business men were paying attention…but they all gave every appearance of being absorbed in their work. Possibly in self-defence.

“Ooh, the theatre!” said Happy, unexpectedly. “Does that mean we’ll get free tickets for the shows?”

Melody actually lowered her file to get a better look at him. “Since when have you ever been interested in going to the theatre?”

“Take your freebies where you can find them, that’s what I say,” Happy said complacently.

“Well, unless we can sort this mess out, it doesn’t look like there’s going to be any more shows at the Haybarn,” said Melody, returning to her file. “Says here, the place was shut down twenty years ago. It was about to be restored and reopened…But recently there’s been a series of unnatural happenings. The workmen have downed tools and scattered, and restoration has ground to a halt.”

“This is all starting to sound depressingly familiar,” said JC.

“There’s no way this case could turn out as complicated as Bradleigh Halt,” said Melody.

“God, I hope not,” said Happy. “I mean: Ghost Callers, trains full of insane souls, and people wandering around with sawn-off heads…Why can’t things be simple, now and again?”

“Quiet in the stalls,” said Melody. “Keep the noise down and pay attention; or after all this is over, I won’t take you back to our hotel room and play medical experiments with you.”

“Far too much information,” said JC, shuddering genteelly. He turned around to look at Melody, doing his best to appear professional and interested. “What kind of unnatural happenings are we talking about here, Melody? Actual ghosts, with names and histories and legends?”

“No actual visitors from the spirit realms, as far as I can see,” said Melody. “Only voices, glimpses, bad feelings…all the usual atmospherics. General unease and a certain amount of What Was That?”

Happy frowned. “Why have we been called in for such a minor haunting? I thought we were officially an A team now? Not that I am in any way keen on throwing myself into danger; but I’m damned if I’m giving up on the danger money. It’s not the principle of the thing, you understand; it’s the money, every time.”

“Apparently,” said Melody, in that particular tone of voice that meant she suspected much but could prove little, “a homeless guy found his way into the Haybarn and was discovered there the next day, quite dead. Possibly frightened to death. The workmen and restorers have refused point-blank to go back into the building, until Something Is Done…”

Happy sighed heavily. “That still doesn’t explain why we…”

“The Boss is sending us in as a personal favour for an old friend,” said JC.

“Wish she’d do one for us,” growled Happy. “Like approving my expense claims without laughing in my face.”

“Dear Catherine Latimer, our revered Boss and leader of us all, spoke to me personally about this,” said JC, and the other two immediately gave him their full attention. JC smiled faintly. “I was phoning in a preliminary report on what had gone down at Bradleigh Halt, when she broke in. Which is a bit like going to confessional and having God herself butt in. She said some very nice things about how we’d handled the mission, which should have been a warning in itself. The Boss has never been one for honeyed words when a whip and a chair are so much more effective. She said that she wants us on this case precisely because we did such a good job at Bradleigh. Which, of course, suggests to me that there must be a hell of a lot more to this theatre haunting than we are being told.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” said Happy. He glowered at the food piled up before him and pushed it away, his appetite gone. For the moment.

“I have to wonder,” said JC, “whether Catherine Latimer, her own bad self, is deliberately keeping us busy and occupied with one case after another, so we won’t go off on our own to look for Kim.”

There was a pause then as JC looked meaningfully at Happy and Melody, and they both looked at each other so they wouldn’t have to look at him. None of them had to say anything. They’d already talked themselves hoarse on the subject and knew exactly what the others thought and believed. None of them was ready to give up their various positions.

“The Boss says she’s got all her best people investigating the infiltration of the Carnacki Institute,” Melody said finally.

“She says …” Happy said darkly.

“No,” JC said immediately. “We have to trust the Boss in that, at least. Or we’re completely on our own.”

“When you spoke to her,” Melody said carefully, “did you happen to mention seeing Kim at Bradleigh Halt?”

“No,” said JC.

“So we don’t trust her that much…” said Happy.

“When we’ve got anything worth telling her, then I’ll tell her,” said JC. “One sighting doesn’t make a summer.”

“Or one swallow make an orgy,” said Melody.

“Who knows?” said Happy. “If Kim really is your guardian angel now, guardian ghost, whatever…Maybe she’ll turn up again, at the theatre.”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Melody. “Usually to us.”

She carried on reading aloud from the briefing file, and the others pretended to listen to her. Happy leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, the better to concentrate.

A very modern taxi took the Ghost Finders straight from the railway station to the Haybarn Theatre, situated right in the middle of the city centre. It was a grey, overcast day, with lowering clouds and the threat of thunder. The taxi had Thank You For Not Smoking signs plastered all over the interior, along with half a dozen little pine-tree deodorant things, and the interior still smelled like something large and unpleasant had recently been very ill in it. The driver had a great deal to say about the immigration situation, none of it helpful, and ignored all attempts to shut him up, including Please shut up or I will have to kill you from Happy, who then had to be physically restrained by Melody and JC.

When the taxi finally arrived at its destination, Happy volunteered to pay the driver. He fumbled crumpled notes and assorted change from his pockets while Melody hauled her precious scientific equipment out of the taxi’s boot, and JC wandered over to stare thoughtfully at the exterior of the Haybarn Theatre. Happy slapped a bunch of well-worn notes into the driver’s hand and carefully added the right amount of change. The driver looked at his hand, then glared at Happy.

“What? No tip?”

“Okay,” said Happy. “Here’s a tip. Wash your mind out with soap, and try to at least slow down for the red lights. Now piss off sharpish, or I’ll set my girl-friend on you.”

“I heard that!” said Melody, slamming the taxi’s boot shut with unnecessary force. “Don’t make me come over there!”