The Case of the Four Fingers Read online

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’ Nora looked smug. ‘You have to stay here, don’t you? You’ve got orders.’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ I said, and walked down the corridor hoping for inspiration.

  ‘I can go anywhere you can,’ said Nora. ‘This is my police station too.’

  ‘No it isn’t. You’re dead.’

  ‘So I’ve been here longer and I know it better. I know it from the surgeon’s office to the superintendent’s quarters.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know about those,’ I said. ‘Where are they?’ Perhaps they would be nicer than the rest of the place.

  Nora pointed upwards. ‘His flat’s on the roof. Through the yard and up the iron stairs. Don’t disturb him, he gets ever so cranky.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’ I held up my ring of keys and set off.

  ‘That wasn’t fair!’ wailed Nora, trailing behind. ‘You took advantage of me!’

  I laughed and kept going. Soon I was climbing the stairs, which rang pleasantly. It took a while to find the key for the door, and every so often I glanced back, expecting to find Nora at my shoulder. She wasn’t there. She was standing in the doorway to the yard, shading her eyes and looking cross.

  ‘Keep up,’ I called.

  Nora let her hand fall. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I was always nervous of horses.’

  Great. A ghost who sees things that aren’t there. ‘What horses?’

  ‘You can’t see them?’

  ‘There aren’t any to see. Besides, didn’t you have cars, even a hundred years ago?’

  ‘Barely,’ said Nora, wrinkling her freckled nose at me. ‘And just because the horses weren’t all here at the same time as me, that doesn’t mean they aren’t here now. The superintendent was, though. And if you bother him he’ll probably put you on manure duty to teach you a lesson.’ She folded her arms, her mouth a thin straight line.

  ‘There isn’t any manure.’ My head was starting to hurt. ‘Anyway, see you later.’ I opened the door to the superintendent’s quarters, gave the ghost a friendly wave, much as Sam had done to me, and closed and locked the door.

  It was dark inside, and I switched on my phone torch as I went into the biggest room. The window was grimy, and the cast-iron fireplace was coated with a thick layer of dust. The superintendent certainly wasn’t keeping up with his housekeeping duties.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Anyone there?’ I called.

  Silence.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I grinned at the lack of either sound or disquieting chills. I prowled around the flat for a bit, but it was practically bare, like the rest of the station.

  An old wooden dining chair stood in the corner of the main room. I dusted it, then sat down and pulled out Blackstone’s. I had at least two hours to kill until I could lock up and take my leave, and I intended to spend it well away from Nora. But somehow I found myself reading the same page over and over and taking nothing in.

  By quarter to six I was so fidgety that I could stand it no longer. I put the book in my bag and left, locking the door behind me. I expected Nora to be where I had left her, but she’d gone. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried. I sneaked down the steps and into the main station, but there was no sign of her.

  I took down the notice on the door. ‘I’m off,’ I called.

  Still nothing.

  Distinctly uneasy, I shut the door, which clanged like a prison door, then locked it with the big iron key.

  I tried to cheer myself with thoughts of home. I’ll make soup. I’ll make soup and wrap myself in a throw on the sofa and watch interior design shows.

  All by myself.

  I regarded the ring of keys in my hand. I didn’t like the thought of them being in my flat. ‘I’ll drop these at the station,’ I said, out loud. ‘That way, if anyone needs to visit overnight, they can, and I can pick them up in the morning.’ And I set off at a fast walk, not looking back.

  ***

  ‘How was it?’ said Huw, swivelling on his chair and grinning as I came into the main office.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. Then, after a pause, ‘Weird.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘I suppose it is.’

  So it isn’t just me! ‘How do you mean?’

  Huw looked uncomfortable. ‘Kind of creepy, being alone in that morgue.’

  Did that mean he’d seen ghosts, or not? ‘Why do you call it a morgue?’

  He shrugged. ‘Turn of phrase. What I mean is that it’s so boring your mind starts playing tricks on you.’

  ‘Such as?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you fishing for something?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ I said, dropping the keys into my desk drawer and slamming it shut. ‘Someone said no takeaways deliver to the Bridewell, and I wondered why.’

  ‘Oh! That’s ’cause some of the older residents say the place is haunted. One time this old biddy came in when I was on duty there and told me to see to the horses. She said one of them was whinnying so loud it was putting her off her knitting.’ He laughed. ‘I told her to stop eating cheese because it was giving her nightmares. Nightmares! Geddit?’

  ‘Er, yeah.’ I forced out a laugh. ‘So no one’s ever seen a ghost at the Bridewell?’

  Huw’s eyebrows knitted. ‘You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Steph?’

  ‘No, of course not. I just wondered. As you do.’

  ‘Well, you can stop wondering. No one’s seen any ghosts. They don’t exist, and if they did they’d probably be too scared of us to show themselves.’ He turned back to the file he was reading. ‘Ghosts,’ he said, and snorted. ‘That’s a good one.’

  I still didn’t want to head home to my chilly flat, though. I made myself a cup of tea, and for lack of anything better to do, reopened Blackstone’s. I was halfway down the same page when I heard someone clear their throat not far away and looked up to see Inspector Farnsworth.

  I jumped to my feet. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘Don’t apologise, Stephanie,’ said the inspector. ‘Ninja skills.’ He continued to stand there.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Inspector?’

  He twitched. ‘Oh no, nothing really. Was everything all right at the Bridewell?’

  I gave him a bright smile. ‘Oh yes. Very quiet. Nobody came. No people.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. ‘No people.’

  ‘Why do we still keep an officer at the Bridewell, sir?’ I asked. ‘Surely everyone knows to come here.’

  ‘Generally they do,’ said the inspector. ‘But there’s a few we must keep happy until we hand over the building and it becomes someone else’s problem.’

  ‘Have you spent much time at the Bridewell, sir?’

  ‘Me?’ The inspector considered. ‘Not as much as I’d like. It’s a fascinating place. Fascinating. Yes.’ He was looking past me again, but when I checked there was nothing there. ‘Anyway, you’ll be back at the Bridewell bright and early tomorrow morning, Stephanie, so don’t let me keep you.’ And with that, he wandered off.

  Chapter 4

  I ran through the corridors of the Bridewell chased by an army of ghosts, moaning gently with their arms outstretched. They weren’t moving quickly, but I couldn’t shake them off, however fast I ran. I tried the door into the yard: locked. I ran upstairs and tried a window: stuck. At last I found an empty room and shut myself in before the ghosts could reach me. I gripped the door handle, panting for breath, and a hand came through the door and grabbed me with an unearthly shriek…

  The shriek of my alarm.

  Once I had done enough deep breathing to get my heart rate down to something like normal, I hauled myself out of bed and put on my dressing gown. After spending much of yesterday evening wondering what to do, and tossing and turning in bed for a good two hours, I was glad to reach the point where I had to make a decision. I began by going into the kitchen and making tea and toast.

  Does Inspector Farnsworth know about the ghost? I thought, as I got low-fat spread and strawberry jam from the fridge. Surely he does, or he wouldn’t have come over specially to ask about the Bridewell. Then again, he hadn’t mentioned the ghosts. Or anything, really. But he clearly expected me to do my duty. ‘That settles it,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to go.’

  But then what? I could go to the Bridewell and cower upstairs in the superintendent’s flat, or I could face Nora. Neither option was particularly attractive. But at least if I humoured Nora I would have the run of the station, such as it was, instead of being stuck in a cold room with no light or power. I looked at the clock on the wall. Better hurry, I thought. All this thinking is getting in the way of my schedule.

  The station office was quiet when I went in to get the keys, which was a relief. Having decided on a course of action, the last thing I needed was to be teased about it. I grabbed the keys and took my leave.

  ‘Off to the Bridewell?’ asked the desk sergeant, as I signed out.

  ‘That’s right,’ I replied.

  ‘Give the old dump my regards.’

  ‘Will do.’

  I pondered the building as I marched along the street, kicking fallen leaves out of the way with a pleasing swish. OK, so it wasn’t for modern tastes, or much use as a police station nowadays, but if it had been maintained and redecorated, it could have been quite nice. That’s why it’s going to be luxury flats, Steph. Someone else has seen the potential.

  But would they knock it down and start again? And if they did, what would happen to Nora? What about the ghost horses, and any other spirits and ghouls who had made the place their home? What happens to ghosts when their house gets knocked down? Do they go somewhere else, or do they stay put? I imagined Nora appearing to the new tenant of a luxury flat – maybe an accountant or something in IT – and freaking them out. Or maybe they just wouldn’t see her.

  I looked up and flinched as I saw the sturdy door of the Bridewell. I had no recollection of the route my feet had taken. Am I doing the right thing?

  ‘Will you feel bad if you don’t?’ said my conscience.

  I huffed. Probably. And I do wish you’d shut up. I fished out the keys and let myself in. ‘Hello?’ I called.

  There was no answer.

  ‘Nora, are you there?’ I waited. ‘I’m making tea.’ I went into the room with the kettle and settled down with a brew and Police magazine.

  ‘So you’re talking to me today, are you?’

  I jumped half out of my seat and the magazine slid to the floor. Nora was standing in front of me, hands on hips. ‘Do you have to do that?’

  ‘No, but you deserve it. You were horrid to me yesterday. You wouldn’t even introduce yourself.’

  I was, rather. ‘I’m sorry, but you completely freaked me out. I’ve never seen a ghost before.’

  She studied me. ‘So you’re not going to run away from me today, person with no name?’

  ‘It’s Steph. And no. Not unless you or something else starts being weird.’

  ‘I’m just me.’ Nora sat on the other folding chair. ‘I can’t speak for anyone else round here. About being weird, as you call it, I mean.’

  I sipped my tea and put it on the table. ‘So … why are you here?’

  ‘Well, I died and now I’m stuck.’

  ‘You died here? In the police station? What happened?’ I studied Nora in my turn, but I couldn’t see any marks of violence on her. Maybe someone had put arsenic in her tea. Without knowing her better, I couldn’t tell if that was likely.

  Nora giggled. ‘Not in the station, silly! It was the Spanish flu. Not the first wave, I think it was the third. One of our, um, regular customers probably brought it in.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right, you weren’t to know.’ She settled in the chair.

  ‘That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,’ I said. I thought back to the internet searches I had done about ghosts and their habits the previous evening. ‘Is it because you’ve got … unfinished business?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Nora leaned forward, blue eyes shining. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve had to drift around watching clumsy handling of evidence and listening to vague cross-examinations. It’s enough to break your heart.’

  I examined Nora’s uniform. There weren’t any badges of rank, but what would a woman’s police uniform have looked like a hundred years ago? ‘So you were a police officer?’

  Nora nodded.

  ‘A female police officer? I didn’t know they existed then.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Nora confidently. ‘Edith Smith was the first, in 1915. She could arrest people and everything. We were so happy when we read about her in the newspaper. Equality at last, or something like it.’ She gazed at her feet in their sensible shoes, reflecting. ‘I never did get to vote.’

  I dragged my mind back to school history lessons. ‘So you died before 1918?’

  Nora looked at me as if I was a piece of mouldy bread. ‘Don’t they teach you anything these days? In 1918 it was only women over thirty who got the vote.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was going to meet a ghost.’

  Nora seemed to shrink, and I felt bad all over again.

  ‘I really am sorry,’ I said. ‘What is it you want from me? Do you just want to – talk about things?’ What are you, Steph, a ghost therapist? I’d seen occasional snippets of ghost-hunter shows while flicking through TV channels late at night, but I was pretty sure I’d never seen a ghost on the psychiatrist’s couch. Those shows were more about vague noises, rattles and screams.

  Nora gave me another contemptuous look, but then her expression softened. ‘I want to right wrongs. I can’t do it on my own, obviously. But you can open filing cabinets and get files and make notes. You could even make telephone calls. From a call box, I mean. The lines here shut down years ago.’

  ‘Right.’ I thought this over. ‘But surely everyone involved is dead?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Nora. ‘I didn’t say the injustices were all in my lifetime.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I folded my arms to keep them still as conflicting thoughts raced through my mind.

  This is pointless. It won’t help anyone.

  It’ll help Nora. Perhaps it will lay her soul to rest, and she won’t have to see her home being demolished.

  But it’s such a waste of time.

  And there’s something better you could be doing? At least you’d get to work on real cases. It could be good practice.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘You’re on.’

  Nora gave me a sidelong glance. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. But I want you to promise, cross your heart and hope to die – oh heck, sorry – to promise that there won’t be any weird stuff.’

  Nora bit her lip. ‘I promise I won’t be weird. Is that good enough?

  ‘I suppose it’ll have to do.’ I held out a hand, side on. ‘Shake on it.’

  ‘I can’t.’ She demonstrated by moving her own hand through the table.

  I could feel my face flushing. ‘Er, good point. Um…’ I moved my hand up and down slowly, then stopped.

  Nora looked puzzled for a moment, then moved her own hand close to mine, so that the palms were almost touching. Together, we moved our hands slowly up and down. ‘That’s as good as a handshake, isn’t it?’ she said doubtfully.

  I shrugged. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Marvellous!’ She jumped up from her chair. ‘I’ll take you to the file room and we can get started.’

  ‘Er, OK.’ And I hurried along the corridor behind Nora, whose skirt would surely have swished if it had been real, wondering what on earth I’d got myself into.

  Chapter 5

  ‘You’re joking,’ I said as I gazed at a set of knackered-looking stairs that led to who knew what. ‘I’m not going down there.’

  ‘You’ve got to,’ said Nora. ‘That’s where the file room is.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ I said, hanging onto the warped banister and peering into the gloom. ‘You don’t weigh anything. If that collapses and I’m on it I could break my back.’

  ‘You could take those big heavy boots off,’ Nora suggested, eyeing them critically. ‘That’d lose a few pounds.’

  ‘Er, splinters? Cockroaches?’

  ‘I’ll have you know this was a well-kept station,’ said Nora, gliding down the stairs. ‘Come on, do. What a fuss you’re making.’

  I heaved a sigh and picked my way down, wincing at every groan and creak, and clutching at the banister as if it could possibly bear my weight in the event of a crisis. Somehow I reached the bottom without incident, and huffed out a relieved breath as I switched on my phone torch.

  ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ said Nora. ‘We’ll make a policewoman of you yet.’

  ‘I am a policew— a police officer,’ I said. ‘Policewomen went out years ago.’

  ‘Very modern, I’m sure,’ Nora replied, with a sniff. ‘This way. Oh, and watch out for that hole.’ She waved her hand airily at two missing floorboards in the middle of the corridor.

  I bit back a swearword. ‘Good grief,’ I said in disgust as I edged round the gap.

  ‘I hope you brought your keys,’ said Nora. ‘I mean, it’s all right for me, but you can’t get through a locked door.’ She waved a hand at a formidable blue door, on which was a tarnished brass plaque that said FILE ROOM: PRIVATE.

  ‘Now she tells me,’ I said, patting my pockets even though I knew the keys were in my bag upstairs. Or were they? I stuck my hand into my right trouser pocket, brought out the large, jingling ring, and stared at it. ‘I could have sworn—’

  ‘Please don’t. Policewomen should set a good example.’ Nora stood aside to let me pass her. The fifth key turned smoothly in the lock and the door opened with an ominous creak.

  The file room was lined with dull grey metal filing cabinets. Several had dents in the bottom drawers. ‘That’s people kicking them shut,’ said Nora, pointing. Dim cool light came from a barred skylight in the ceiling at the end of the room, and separated into rays which projected bars onto the large leather-covered table in the centre. Dust, disturbed by our entrance, danced briefly in the light before settling again.