Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts AJ Matthews (c) 2006
Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts AJ Matthews Published 2006 ISBN 1-59578-189-7 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2006, AJ Matthews. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email:
[email protected] Editor Barbara Marshall Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Dedication For Judith and Brent-”Highlanders to the front!”
Chapter One “So, here we are, Mr. Grey. ” Claudia Mackenzie opened the door of the cab and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “The Chestnut Mansion Hotel, in all its faded glory. ” Martin Grey hefted his attaché case and got out of the cab, wincing at the cold blast of air that hit him as soon as he emerged. He pulled his overcoat tighter as he stood beside Claudia, and looked up at the ten-storey frontage of the old hotel. “It certainly looks impressive.” The Yellow Cab driver leaned out of his window. “It's a great old place, folks. Lots o' history there. Watch out for the ghost!” He flashed them a grin and drove off. Martin looked ruefully at Claudia. “Does everyone in New York know our business?” Claudia grinned. “Guess so. You'll find that in this neighborhood, all right.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Don't worry! It took me some time to get used to it.” Martin looked again at the old hotel; his next mission. He felt the familiar surge of excitement at the prospect of the new challenge. He took in the boarded-over windows on the ground floor and the patches of wall where stucco was peeling off in scabrous flakes. Generous layers of graffiti covered most surfaces reachable without a ladder. Ten stories above, pigeons stared down at them from their roosts along the carved molding, their droppings ugly grey stains stretching down the wall almost to the ground. A decrepit, faded red candy-striped canopy over the main door offered some protection from the wind and the odd spot of rain. The whole structure had an air of moldering gentility that sat at odds with the thriving commercial neighborhood. Overhead glowered the dull skies of late fall in New York. “It looks better inside,” Claudia reassured him with professional ease. “C'mon, let's go in.” She led the way to the revolving door and knocked, peering through the glass into the shadowy interior for a sign of life. Eventually a middle-aged man in a dark blue uniform appeared from the depths carrying a torch, which he switched off as he neared the doors. Claudia held up her company ID card, and the man unlocked the doors and let them in. Martin stepped inside, grateful to be out of the cold air of the street. The foyer was dark and still; the cool air held the musty smell of dust and damp. “What happened to the lights?” Claudia asked the man. He shrugged. “The power's out, ma'am. This'll be the third time in two days.” “Not again? I thought the power company fixed it last week.” “So did they. ” He sighed. “I'm going down to the basement to check the fuses. I don't think I'll find anything. Last time this happened, they were okay. ” Claudia fished in her purse for her cell phone. “Have you called it in? ” “No, ma'am.” “Okay, I'll do it,” she said, pressing the keys on her phone. Even as the little screen lit up, the foyer lights flickered and came on. “Guess the lights fixed themselves, unless the ghost decided to give us a break,” she said and grinned at Martin.
He smiled. “Stranger things have happened.” She gave him a direct look. “I guess you could tell some stories, huh? ” He nodded. “I have a few. ” Now that there was light, Martin could see the foyer was cavernous. Dull brass-work gleamed from the elevator cage at the far end, on either side of which swept two broad stairways of smooth, dark wood. The foyer itself was floored in a red carpet, sadly worn and stained almost to oblivion in places. To his left was the reception desk, beyond which doors marked with boards indicated the manager's office and staff room. He could hear a radio burbling from the office, showing where the watchman spent most of his time. To the right was a restaurant, separated from the foyer by a glass and wood partition. Art deco motifs frosted the glass and a sign over the double doors displayed the legend “Chestnut Grove ” in a swirling script. Martin wandered over to peer in. A maitre’d’s lectern stood just inside the doors, a worn track on the carpet showing the tread of countless feet. Claudia finished her call and walked over to him. “Okay, that's fixed. Now, where would you like to start?” Martin looked round, and let his instincts guide him. His eye was drawn to the stairs. “Upstairs first, I think.” “I'm going to go check the fuses,” the watchman called over to them as they made their way to the stairs. “Watch yourselves if you go on the roof garden, folks. It's kind of cluttered up there in parts, wouldn't want you to fall off the roof or something.” “Thanks, we won't,” Claudia replied. As they climbed, Martin glanced at the tall young woman by his side. Her long, rich dark-copper hair glowed like embers in a wood fire and her poise was elegant without being studied. The tight skirt she wore accentuated every movement of her hips and butt. He stared briefly before tearing his gaze away and clearing his throat. “I presume your company's having a problem selling this place,” he said. Claudia grimaced. “Yeah, you could say that. The local zoning laws say we must sell, or maintain it until we do, which is starting to cost the company several thousand bucks a month. Rather that than risk a lawsuit because masonry fell on a pedestrian. It's all very awkward. The Chestnut Mansion's a good-sized building in an increasingly successful area.” She shook her head. “Honestly, Martin, the right people with the right cash would jump at the chance to buy and refurbish it, put it to some new use; ye t we can't move it off our books.” “Because of the ghost?” “Because of the ghost. We can't think of any other reason. ” She paused on the stairs, her long fingers stroking the fine teak handrail. “Martin, I tell you, ghost stories are nothing new here in the States. People are even attracted to them. Sometimes we can even sell a place on the strength of a haunting. But here, there's something different, something that's really turning prospective clients away. ” “So you mentioned in the e- mails you sent.” Martin produced a folder from his attaché case. “Yet you also say here that no one would comment on what they allegedly saw?” “Not one who wanted to be named in my report.” She shrugged apologetically. “Does that make it difficult for you to get a handle on this?” “Not necessarily. I work by feeling, intuition if you like. That, and a few
instruments.” “I'd like to see you work.” He shrugged and gave her a wry smile. “You're more than welcome to, but most of the time, there's nothing to see.” “What about now?” She stared at him intently. “Do you feel anything?” “I feel… something, ” he said softly, looking up at the broad landing. “There's certainly an atmosphere here.” Claudia shivered visibly. “Well…” she began, just as the lights flickered and sank to a faint yellow glimmer. “Aw, what is it with these lights?” She sighed and got her phone out again. “I'd better call the power company again and make sure they're on the way. ” She peered at the screen. “Lousy signal here.” She moved upwards a few steps, checked again and shook her head. “No better. I'll go down to the foyer, phone them from there. Are you coming?” “No, I think I'll press on. The ballroom's up here, yes?” “Yeah. The windows aren't boarded over, so you should be okay for light. Will you be okay on your own? ” she asked anxiously. “Oh, yes.” He smiled. “I'm not nervous.” “Glad someone isn't around here,” she said with a grin, and headed downstairs. Martin continued up to the broad landing and found a tall set of double doors. A plaque bore the legend 'Ballroom' in ornate gold script, and he pushed them open. The chamber beyond was huge, the ceiling seeming to loft far overhead. Brass rosettes marked the mountings for long- gone chandeliers. The floor was of sprung maple, the sumptuous rich yellow of the wood coming through the thick layer of dust that covered everything. Tall windows shed a pale, mote- laden light, creating pools of greater brightness crisscrossed with the shadows of their frames. The walls still wore a coat of flock wallpaper, the heavy printed swags of foliage bordering each panel little more than dark stains on a faded green. At the far end was a stage, with threadbare velvet curtains tied loosely to either side. As Martin walked out onto the dance floor, he could picture the scene of days gone by, when the room would have been full of music, chatter and laughter, the swirl of bright skirts beneath the blaze of the crystal chandeliers, the sober hues of uniforms… He pinched his nose and shook his head, surprised at the intensity of the image. Delving in his coat pocket he brought out his micro-cassette recorder and switched it on. “Chestnut Mansion Hotel report, entry one,” he said into the microphone. “First location, the ballroom. I'm getting an impression of a dance here, perhaps a military ball. Claudia's report mentioned something about this room.” He put his case down and flipped through the folder. The light was too poor to read where he stood, so he moved to the nearest window and laid the folder on the sill. He began to flick through it. “Page ten…” A bright shaft of sunlight suddenly lit the papers. Astonished at the intensity of the light after the dullness of the day, Martin glanced out of the window at the street—and froze. Horse-drawn carriages thronged the cobbled street below, the drivers and passengers wrapped against the cold in mufflers, scarves, tall stove-pipe hats and bonnets. Steam rose from the mouths of humans and horses alike. Piles of snow lay at the side of the road where they had been swept, the slush mingling with mud and horse dung to make life
difficult for the pedestrians on the boarded sidewalks. At the far end of the street a company of infantry marched past, their uniforms the rich blue of the Union. The sunlight gleamed on fixed bayonets and brass buttons, and positively shone off the flanks of the grey ridden by the heavily-bearded officer at their head. Only the faithful cassette was on hand to record Martin's words. “Oh dear! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” **** Claudia found a very thoughtful Martin Grey sitting on the top step of the rise to the ballroom, his chin resting on his hand. As if to highlight his pose, the lights had come on fully once more. She stared at him, a quizzical smile playing about her lips. He seemed totally unaware of her presence, and she took advantage of the moment to explore her initial attraction to him. Martin Grey was tall, perhaps six feet compared to her five- nine, with neatly-cut, short dark hair, and a body she guessed to be in very good condition beneath the plain dark suit he wore. They'd climbed two flights of stairs and he hadn't been even slightly out of breath. Not bad for a guy in his early thirties, certainly compared to some of the guys she worked with in the office, who wore their paunches with pride. His clean-shaven face was attractive, with regular features that would be unremarkable in most places. Yet there was a sense of contained energy in the way he sat, thinking, chin on fist. Behind the professorial air was a man of action. “I hesitate to say this, but yo u look like you've seen a ghost!” she said at last. “I'm not sure what I've just seen, ” he replied softly. “Tell me?” she asked, sitting beside him and adjusting her sensible skirt over her long legs. She thought his friendly blue eyes looked troubled. “I think I looked through a window onto the past,” he began, and explained what he had seen. Claudia nodded slowly. “And this is unusual?” “Very! It has supposedly happened in other places; an incident at an Oxford college springs to mind, but it's not something I've ever encountered.” “What do you think it means?” She looked at the closed doors to the ballroom. Martin rubbed his face wearily. “Early days, Claudia. Early days.” He sighed. “This could be complicated.” “In this city, complicated usually means expensive.” He looked at her askance and she shrugged. “Hey, don't worry about it; the company will pick up the bill. Kyle just wants this case closed for good.” “Kyle?” “Kyle Marshall, the senior broker for my division. He's the one who hung this albatross around my neck. If this place doesn't get sold soon, it'll look bad for his promotion prospects.” She gave him a direct look. “Can't say it'll do mine any good either if you can't solve this. Not that I want you to feel under pressure or anything!” “Thanks!” He shook his head. “Trouble is, these things are not quantifiable; nothing's ever black-and-white where a 'haunting' is concerned.” She laid her hand on his. “Martin, I hired you because you have a good rep. Those articles on your work in Occult Times magazine fascinated me. God knows, from what I read, England has more history of haunted houses and ghostly goings-on than anyplace
else in the world. So I thought, if we want the best results, get the best guy for the job. That's you. ” “Thank you, ” he said, blushing. “You're welcome.” She grinned. “Okay, your ego-stroke's over. Let's get going on this.” **** They returned to the ballroom. “I'm surprised you've even heard of Occult Times,” Martin remarked as they searched. “It's hardly that well-known in England.” “Oh yeah, I've heard of it.” She peered into the small backstage area. A faint smell of old sweat and greasepaint hung in the air of the minuscule dressing room. “I've loved that stuff since I was a kid. They called me 'Creepy Claudia' at summer camp; I was always reading books on ghosts. Finding Occult Times magazine on the 'net three years back was a bonus. I took out a subscription. ” She cast him a coy look. “Perhaps you'd autograph a copy for me?” Martin blinked in surprise. “Certainly!” he replied, flustered, then he laughed. “Sorry, it's not something I've been asked before.” “No problem. I'll bring it in tomorrow. Just wanted to check with you first.” “Thanks.” “You're welcome.” Claudia looked around. “Okay, nothing's presented itself. Where to next?” “Downstairs, I think; the basement, restaurant and kitchens; then work our way up through the accommodation floors to the roof garden. ” “Suits me,” she said, leading the way. **** They reached the basement area via a set of concrete stairs through a door in the service area near the manager's office. The air seemed cold and damp to Martin, even more than he expected to find in a building left shut up for too long. “Sure smells musty down here.” Claudia followed him as they made their way down and into the lighted corridor. “It certainly has atmosphere.” He wrinkled his nose. “Can you smell burning? ” Claudia sniffed tentatively. “No, just damp.” Martin sniffed again then shook his head. “I thought I could smell something burning. My nose must be playing up after the flight over here.” “Could be. Pressurization does that to some folks. My mom's a martyr to it.” She pointed to an open door further along with light spilling through it. “Looks like the watchman's down there.” When they arrived the watchman was peering at an old- fashioned fuse box, a circuit tester in one hand, unlit torch in the other. He turned and looked at them keenly for a moment, then relaxed. “Hi again, Miss Mackenzie,” he said. “Hi yourself, Mike. How's it going here?” Mike scratched his head. “Damned if I know, miss.” He sighed. “These fuses look okay to me. It's just like last time; we get a brown-out or a total outage, yet everything down here's just dandy. Are all the lights on up top?”
“Yeah. I called the power company; the y're sending someone over to check it out.” Claudia indicated Martin. “Mike, I forgot to introduce you to Mr. Grey, from England. He'll be working here for a while.” “You're the ghost-buster?” Mike grinned, putting his torch down and offering his hand. “Not quite, Mike.” Martin smiled. “I don't like busting anything. A friend of mine had a better phrase for it: 'de- haunter.' Have you seen anything unusual?” “I've seen plenty in my time as a cop on the old 96th Precinct.” Mike chuckled again. “Round here? Well…” He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “I can't rightly say I have.” “Don't worry about telling me of anything you've seen. It'll all be treated with the utmost confidence,” Martin said, with a quick look at Claudia. “There's the roof garden. ” Mike shrugged again. “Maybe it's just all those old things, the summer house, the plant boxes and that, all rotting away up there. There's a kind of sour smell that hangs around, even in a strong wind. It makes me think of a murder scene for some reason. ” He frowned. “I try not to go up there much. ” Martin rubbed his chin. “A murder scene, you say? ” “Yeah. Saw enough of those, too, before I retired. Can't really explain why I feel that when I'm up there.” Claudia looked at him keenly. “Cop's instinct?” Mike gave a short laugh. “Could be you're right, ma'am. Once a cop, always a cop.” “Smell can be important in my job, Mike,” Martin said, noting the remark. “Have you noticed anything else, anywhere in the building?” “No, nothing that I can't explain.” Mike tucked the circuit tester into his pocket. “Now, if you'll excuse me, folks, I'd better get back upstairs ready to let those power company guys in. ” Martin and Claudia stood aside to let him through. Mike paused at the doorway. “Mr. Grey, I don't know what's going on here. Maybe it's something, maybe it's nothing. I'm sure you'll find out. But I can't say the place, the atmosphere, feels bad as a whole. Know what I mean? ” “Yes, Mike.” Martin nodded. “If it's possible, I'll find out what's going on. ” Mike nodded and moved off in the direction of the stairs. Claudia looked at Martin. “He felt something weird on the roof garden. ” “I heard.” His lips twitched. “Nice to meet someone honest enough to admit to an odd experience.” **** The basement yielded little. Some of the small rooms bore signs of electrical appliances having been removed; the redundant cabling was still in place. Others held heaps of dusty old furniture, including a room with a stack of chandeliers, their gilt cracked and peeling. “All the useful stuff that was down here was taken away years ago,” Claudia said, as they made their way upstairs. “The basement mostly held the utilities, laundry, bootblacking room, all that kind of thing. I saw the figures from the hotel's heyday. The sheer amount of washing they got through in a day was awesome.” Martin nodded. “A big hotel is like a swan; all serene and elegant on the surface, paddling away like mad underneath. ”
**** In the restaurant the aroma of expensive meals eaten long ago still lingered, overlaid by the general air of mustiness. All the furniture had been removed, apart from the lectern, leaving worn trails in the red carpet and still-plush areas where tables and chairs once stood. A mezzanine floor occupied one whole side; it was the kind of place where the great and the good came to see and be seen over the heads of lesser folks. Darker patches on the wall showed where pictures once hung. Claudia watched as Martin turned slowly on the spot, his eyes half-closed. “Do you feel anything? ” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I'm only getting a general sense of the past. I can imagine how busy this place once was.” Claudia consulted her notes. “'The Chestnut Grove was one of the finest restaurants in New York City in its day,'“ she read aloud. “'It played host to statesmen and famous folk from all across the world.'“ “All of them long gone. So much for fame.” “Yeah, I guess so.” She shrugged. “Shall we look at the kitchens?” **** The large room was empty. Old capped-off gas pipes protruded from the tiled floor like stumps in some petrified forest, marking where ovens and ranges had once been. The stainless steel hot-cabinets remained against one wall; Claudia peered into them as Martin looked around. “Hey!” He turned to see her pulling a framed picture from one of the cabinets. When he walked over she held it up for him to see. “This is a signed photograph of President Theodore Roosevelt!” He looked in the cabinet. “There are others here,” he said, drawing out a sizeable stack and setting them on the floor. He looked through them. “Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford. Puccini. David Niven. President Franklin Roosevelt. Winston Churchill! All signed.” He looked at the next photograph and frowned. “Who's this?” Claudia peered over his shoulder, her closeness bringing a waft of warm scent that made his nostrils twitch. “President McKinley. Guess you wouldn't know him much in the UK.” She leaned closer, a breast pressing lightly against his back, and he felt her start. “Whoa! It's dated 13th September, 1901!” “Is that significant?” “I'll say! He was assassinated up in Buffalo the very next day. ” She shook her head. “This could be the last formal portrait ever taken of him. What with this and the others that are signed,” she pursed her lips, “they'll be worth a tidy sum!” “It appears someone else thinks the same. I have the sneaky feeling these were hidden here for collection later.” “Wonder who hid them?” She took out her notepad and made a quick entry. “Guess we'd better find out.” She looked at the pile of photographs and shook her head. “This case just gets better and better!”
Chapter Two “Feel like lunch? ” Claudia asked as they emerged blinking into the wan sunlight of early afternoon. “There's a deli around the corner from here.” She touched his arm. “My treat.” Martin hesitated, then nodded with a rueful grin. “Jet lag's making me feel all over the place. But I am definitely hungry. ” “Good! Let's go eat.” In the delicatessen Martin surveyed the huge range of food offered, trying to peer through the few gaps presented by the throng of people at the counter. “How on earth will you get served?” he asked in a near-shout over the hubbub of orders. “This'll take ages!” “Not so, Martin.” Claudia grinned and winked. “Trust me! I'll order. What do you want?” “I've heard of something called 'lox,’” he said. “Could you tell me what it is?” “Lox? Lox is smoked salmon, really thinly sliced. Great with cream cheese and a bagel. You want to try some?” “Sounds okay to me,” he said. Claudia nodded, and disappeared into the crush. She reappeared some minutes later with a pressed paper tray on which were two paper bags and two Styrofoam cups the size of small pails, full of cappuccino coffee. All the seats were taken by folk deep in earnest conversation but luckily, two were vacated as they passed so they slipped in quickly. “So, what do you think?” Claudia asked, uncapping her coffee to release the heady aroma. She inhaled it appreciatively. Martin took a bite of bagel and chewed appreciatively. “This is delicious!” he said around the mouthful. “Isn't it just? You should try a little of everything while you're over here. We have some great food in this city. ” He thought ruefully of muddy coffee and limp sandwiches bought over several years of office lunch breaks and resolved to make up for lost time. “So,” Claudia drawled, “what do you think of the situation at the hotel?” “Something is definitely happening there.” He mused for a while, chewing on his bagel. “I'll need to spend some time in different parts of it, to get a kind of background check.” “You say you can sense ghosts, or spirits?” she asked, clearly intrigued. “What exactly do you see?” The people at the next table looked askance at them. “I see them as people.” He shrugged. “Overlaid and interwoven with their surroundings, but essentially as people. Sometimes I see events as they happened. Sometimes they are re-enacted by the spirits, especially when they first appear to me.” The couple at the next table was looking from one to the other, their mouths open. “How long have you had this ability? ” “Since I was a teenager. When I was twelve, I saw the spirit of a farmer's daughter who lived in my uncle's house in the 1800's. The place was always said to be haunted. Sometimes a baby could be heard crying in one of the upstairs rooms, when there were
no children in the house.” “What did you do?” Claudia asked. “Were you frightened?” “Not in the least. I knew by some instinct the girl meant me no harm; rather, she needed help. I saw her several times, until she was able to show me how she could be moved on. ” “Moved on? As in put to rest?” “Yes. I saw the cause of her distress. She'd had an illegitimate child by a soldier billeted nearby. The child died soon after birth, and her father buried it near one of the outbuildings to hide the shame. I sensed that she had died soon after, perhaps from complications following the birth. Her spirit showed me the spot the child was buried in, I persuaded my uncle to dig, and…” He shrugged. “There were the bones of the child.” “Whoa!” Claudia gasped softly. Her word was echoed by the man at the next table. “Sorry, folks!” he said, putting his hands up. “Didn't mean to intrude, but that is so fantastic!” “I suppose so.” Martin smiled at him. “It seems natural to me.” “Yeah? What happened next?” “The child's bones were properly interred in the village churchyard, and the woman's spirit never appeared again. It was all she had wanted, that chance to lay her child's own soul to rest in a dignified way. ” “That is so cool!” the woman said after a long pause. “You must get a real warm feeling out of helping that way. ” “I'll help any way I can. Not just for those who hire me, but for the souls of the departed.” Martin gave a shrug. “They were people once.” The man offered his hand. “My name's Bruce Baker, this is my wife, Ursula.” Martin introduced himself and Claudia. Baker shook hands then went on. “I run an architectural business, with an interest in a resort in the Catskills. Maybe I have something in your field which might interest you if you're over here a while,” Baker said with a significant look and drew a card from his wallet. “Look me up when you're done here. I'll make it worth your while.” Martin took the card. “Thanks.” “You're welcome,” Baker said as he looked at his watch. “Got to go, honey, ” he told his wife, and rose from his seat. He nodded to Martin and Claudia. “It was nice to meet you, folks.” The couple disappeared through the door into the street and Claudia grinned across the table at Martin, sitting nonplussed with Baker's card in his hand. “Does that happen often here?” he asked plaintively. “Yep. Welcome to New York!” She laughed, then cocked an eye at him. “I take it you weren't always in this business?” “No,” he said. “When I left college I went straight into the Inland Revenue. Fifteen years.” He winced. “More years than I care to remember.” “You're a tax man? Ouch! ” She winced in sympathy. “So you left?” “After a fashion. The British Civil Service allows its officers a career break after they've worked for a certain number of years. We get a number of months, or even years, depending on time served. I qualified, so I followed my inclinations.” “You went into this line of work?” “Yes. I feel I can be of use to people, both living and departed.”
She dabbed at the crumbs of her bagel and licked them off her finger. “Would you call yourself a parapsychologist?” she asked, crumpling up the bag. He sipped some coffee, then nodded slowly. “Yes, but it's not really an accurate term. In truth, I'm not sure what to call my work. 'Spiritualist' gives the wrong impression, 'medium' much the same.” “You're definitely not an exorcist?” She smiled, cradling her cup in her long fingers. “Definitely not,” he replied equably. “Are you married, Martin?” she enquired, idly toying with her coffee spoon. “Your profile didn't say. ” “I was. I got divorced four years ago.” He shrugged. “I'm afraid we both grew apart. My… abilities didn't really help, especially when I began to travel around the country. My ex-wife didn't understand how important my work can be.” Claudia shook her head sympathetically. “It takes all sorts, I guess.” “Yes. Not her kind of thing at all.” He sighed. “Life got a little taut towards the end.” Claudia reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze in sympathy. “I understand. By the way, I loved that Occult Times article on the case you solved in Warwick,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Won't you tell me something of the background?” Martin opened his mouth to reply when Claudia's phone warbled a cheerful tune. She pressed a button and looked at the screen. “Damn,” she said quietly. When Martin raised an inquiring eyebrow she shrugged. “My boss just sent me a text message. He's in the area, called to say he'll meet up with us at the Chestnut Mansion. ” She gave a soursounding laugh. “We're less than a day into the job and he's already after a progress report.” **** Kyle Marshall turned out to be around forty, tall, with short blond hair, and fleshylooking. A paunch overhung the flamboyant cowboy belt buckle he wore on his pants, almost concealing it. Hard blue eyes raked over Martin as they shook hands in the foyer of the old hotel. “So you're Mr. Grey, ” he said. His attitude conveyed the distinct sense of being unimpressed. “Yes, Mr. Marshall, ” Martin replied quietly. “Nice to meet you. ” “Yeah, likewise,” he said, turning to Claudia. “How's it going here?” “We've had power outages again, Kyle. The power company should be here anytime.” “Shit, how many more times is this gonna happen? ” he complained to the ceiling. “Claudia, this is costing the company a mint!” “I know, Kyle.” “That's good, Claudia. Just so you know what's at stake here. Anything else happening?” “Someone put aside the photographs that hung on the restaurant walls. I think they were intending to steal the m later when the coast was clear.” “Who would be interested in a load of junk like that?” he scoffed. “Collectors, Kyle. The photos are all of famous people; they're all autographed. They could be worth a fortune.” “Yeah? ” He snorted. “Maybe we should sell one or two, to defray the costs.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “Whatever. Call the security company; have them check
the guys watching this place. We don't want anyone screwing us.” Claudia grimaced. “I don't know, Kyle; it'll look like we don't trus t anybody. ” Marshall looked at her impatiently. “Why should we care? This is a business. We got to stomp on this kind of thing. Do it!” As Claudia moved away to make the call, he turned to Martin. “How about you, Martin? ” he asked with a jerk of his chin. “What do you say about this ghost business?” “I'm getting a feel for the atmosphere. Something's happening here.” “Really?” His skepticism was obvious and Claudia flashed Martin a despairing look as she spoke to the security firm on her phone. “Can you fix it?” “I'm sure I can. ” Marshall looked at him. “Confidence. I like that. Keep it going, Mr. Grey. ” He clapped him on the arm. “And try to wrap it up soon, okay? ” Martin nodded in a non-committal fashion, earning another mildly derisive look from the realtor. Marshall checked his watch. “Okay, enough already. I'm out of here. See you back at the office, Claudia.” With this he departed in a swirl of his cashmere overcoat. “Is he normally that bad?” Martin enquired as Claudia rang off and came over to him. She grimaced again. “Oh, yeah, he's a real jerk at times. Most other times he's just a royal pain in the ass.” “I know what you mean. It's something I definitely don't miss about the tax office.” “You're lucky, Martin. ” She sighed. “I had hoped New York would be a real career break for me. Nowadays, I'm not so sure. I'd give a lot to tell Kyle Marshall to shove his job, and go back home.” “Aren't you a native New Yorker?” “No, I come from some little place you've probably never heard of. ” She smiled, the tiredness lifting from her pretty face. “I come from Indianapolis, Indiana, as it happens. The 'Hoosier State.' Racing and basketball. I graduated from college, worked real estate back home in Indy for a while. When that palled I decided to see what the Big Apple could do for me. I've been here five years this fall.” She lifted a shoulder. “It's been fun, most of the time. Others…” She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “So, enough of me, back to business. What are your plans now?” “I plan to go to my hotel, sleep for a few hours, and then come back here to stand watch for the night.” He smiled. “This is one time the jet lag will help.” “Do you need help setting up here?” “No, it's okay, thanks. I don't need much equipment, and what I've got is light and easy to use. For the rest I rely on my own abilities.” She nodded. “Okay. I'm going out with a girlfriend tonight. I'll stop by on the way home, see how you're doing. You won't be alone in the building anyway; there're two security guys here for the night shift. If you have any trouble, just holler.” “Will do.” He looked at her quizzically. “Do you think the security men have been hiding the photos?” “No,” she said decisively. “We hire a good security company; most of their guys are ex-cops or ex-armed forces. It's just the kind of idea Marshall's nasty little mind would spring to, believing they'd steal anything. Their boss was kind of angry when I phoned. I'll call him later to soothe his feelings.”
She chewed her lip. “As to who would be doing it, I've no idea. Several people have the need to be in and out of this place, for maintenance or whatever. It's mainly why we have a guy on duty during the day, to let them in. Any one of them could have hidden the photos.” “I suppose it'll all be sorted out. Now the photos have been found, the thief probably won't risk trying anything else.” “Hope you're right.” She checked her watch. “I got to go show my face at the office. Want to share a cab?” “Fine by me.” “Good, let's go.” **** Martin returned to his hotel, watched some of the output from the local TV stations with open disbelief at their inanity, then slept through the afternoon and into the early evening. He had a bite to eat in the hotel restaurant, then visited a nearby deli to buy food for the night. Seven o'clock found him in the Chestnut Mansion foyer once more, busily unpacking and checking his equipment. One of the night watchmen came to look over his equipment. “You figure on finding anything, sir?” he asked after a while. “Oh, I know there's something here,” Martin replied cheerfully. “It's just a case of finding out what and who and why. ” “Yeah? ” The man looked skeptical, and gestured to the equipment. “So, what does this gear do?” “These are tape recorders fitted with extra-sensitive microphones,” Martin said, showing him. “I'll set them up in the ballroom and the kitchen. This is a camcorder, modified to run at a slower than normal speed. That'll go in the ballroom too. These others are motion detectors linked to small cameras,” he said, indicating small black boxes with small silver lenses. “If anything crosses the path of the beam, they take a picture and register the contact on a central control. I'll dot them about the place. It'll be okay if you trip one, I can adjust for your security check.” “You figure the ballroom's spook-central in this place?” “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” “Then I guess that's where you'll be spending the night,” the watchman said and grinned. “Oh, yes.” “Why are you checking the kitchen? ” “There may be something going on there too,” Martin said evenly, his expression neutral. “I'm not what you'd call sensitive, sir,” the man said, scratching his head. “Never seen a ghost, and guess I never will. But off the record, some of the other guys have talked of some weird stuff going down in this place. Rather you than me on this one.” “That's what I'm being paid for,” Martin replied mildly. ****
A knock sounded at the office door and Claudia looked up from her e- mail to see a slender, dark-haired young woman standing there with a file. “You wanted the Rosencrantz file, Claudia?” the girl asked in a New Jersey accent. “Yeah, Carla, come on in,” Claudia said. She glanced at the clock on her computer monitor. It read 7:35. “It's late. Throw it in the tray, I'll get to it tomorrow—sometime,” she added under her breath. Carla dropped the file into the in- tray. It landed with a thump that sounded too solid for Claudia's taste. “Is anything new happening around here?” she asked the girl. “No, it's pretty quiet.” “I can cope with that. Have you got time to talk?” Carla nodded and rubbed her eyes. She looked weary. “Yeah, I'm done for the day. ” “Good. Close the door; I'd like a chat with you. ” Carla closed the door, and came back to the desk. Claudia waved for her to sit down. “How are you doing?” “I'm doing okay. ” Carla slumped into the chair and folded her arms under her breasts. Claudia gave her a wry smile. “Obviously Kyle hasn't tried hitting on you yet?” “No!” The girl flushed. “He hardly knows I exist.” “He's like that.” Claudia nodded as she skimmed through the contents of an e-mail. “You wouldn't be interested if he did?” Carla shuddered. “No way! ” “Believe me, you'd best try and keep it that way. ” Claudia shot her a hard look. “I went down that road, and sure wish I hadn't.” “I didn't know that,” Carla said softly. “I'm surprised the office gossip didn't reach you when you started here. But then, I guess it was a while back.” She nodded at the open office beyond the glass partition; the outer office was emptying rapidly as the workers he aded for home or the nearest bar. “It's old news to those guys out there.” “Guess so.” Carla cocked her head. “How did it go with the Brit ghost- hunter today? ” “Martin?” Claudia smiled in recollection. “He's a nice guy. ” “Martin?” Carla grinned at her, the tip of her tongue showing between her teeth. “He must be something if it's 'Martin,' already!” She leaned forward. “What's he like?” “He's cute. Early thirties, tall, well-built. A butt you can bounce a quarter off. And I just love his accent!” Carla giggled. “He sounds cute alright! Bet it must be real hard, working this assignment.” Claudia pressed a hand to her chest and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, you don't know how hard, dear!” “Do you really believe there's anything in these stories of ghosts and things?” She leaned back in her chair, and looked thoughtfully out the window at the dark sky over the city. “Yeah, I guess I do.” She smiled. “I guess there must be something about the paranormal if it brings me into contact with a guy like Martin. ” “It sounds serious!” “Oh, it's nothing. Maybe won't ever be anything.” Claudia made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now run along! I got to wrap things up here. I'm going out tonight, and I
don't want to be late.” “You got a date with him already? ” Carla exclaimed as she got up. “No-o! With a girlfriend. Now, scoot!” Carla left. Claudia picked up the Rosencrantz file, dropped it with a sigh of disgust, and spun her chair so she could gaze out the window. Work was not on her mind. “Although a date with that gorgeous Englishman is definitely on my to-do list,” she said quietly. **** The night was fully dark when Claudia showed up at the hotel door. Martin had come downstairs to the foyer to check on his devices and to stretch his legs. He saw her at the door and let her in. She was wearing a faded red and white Indiana University sweatshirt and jeans; her face looked devoid of makeup but it gave her a pleasant freshness. With her copper hair tied up in a pony tail held by a gold-colored scrunchy, Claudia's casua l appearance was in total contrast to her business-like daytime guise. “You're earlier than I thought you'd be,” he said. “Yeah. ” She smiled ruefully. “I didn't go out on the town tonight. My girlfriend's down with gastric flu. ” “That sounds nasty! ” “Oh, it is!” she said, shaking her head. She looked around the dimly- lit foyer. “So…anything happening here?” “Not yet.” He shrugged and led the way towards the stairway. “Early days, I think.” Claudia pointed at the brass cage of the elevator. “I checked the records in the office this afternoon, ” she said. “That's one of the oldest elevators in the USA, if not the world. Quite the marvel of its age. It still works.” “Wish I'd known that earlier.” Martin smiled. “It would have saved my legs.” “Sorry about that, I wasn't sure it was working, so I didn't like to use it. I didn't want anyone getting trapped!” “It's okay, I understand.” He gestured to the elevator. “I'm going back up to the ballroom, so shall we use it now? I like seeing these old machines still in use.” “Sure.” He slid the latticework gate back and they stepped in. A small light came on overhead. “I like this,” he said, looking around. “It's bigger than the modern type; less claustrophobic. The controls are in good condition, ” he added, inspecting a lever and a row of buttons. “It's quite surprising, given its age.” Claudia leaned against the back of the cage and looked around. “I read the first elevators were built this size to accommodate the female fashion of the day. Those wide skirts needed a lot of room. This one was 'sympathetically refurbished' back in the fifties. The Otis Company took out the hydraulics and refitted it for electric. Lucky they didn't rip the whole lot out and replace it with a modern one, I guess.” “Some people do care about their heritage,” he said, pulling the lever. “Thank goodness! Ballroom, madam?” She grinned. “If you please, kind sir!” The elevator gave the slightest of jolts, and rose smoothly up through the ornate cage-work of the shaft. It was a gentle, even ride. Martin smiled with the sheer pleasure of seeing something so old work so well. The dim outside lights of the stairway flickered
through the gaps, casting brief shadows over them as they rose. As they neared the top, the light brightened and the car glided to a stop with a hiss of hydraulics. The elevator attendant stepped forward to slide the gate open and saluted them…
Chapter Three They stepped forward into the crowd of people gathered at the ballroom doors, a host of ladies in fine colorful gowns and gentlemen in the sober blue of the Union Army waiting to be announced by the majordomo. From within the chamber lively music was playing over the noise of a sizeable assembly. As they approached, those nearest turned and acknowledged them courteously. Two gentle men in particular, one a general officer with splendid dark whiskers, the other a civilian with florid cheeks, smiled upon them with clear favor. Martin was numb with shock and dislocation. This couldn’t be happening…could it? As his 'host' turned to smile at the slender woman with auburn hair Martin knew to be his wife, he swore he could see Claudia's spirit looking out of her emerald green eyes, equally shocked if not terrified. Around her neck was a splendid riviére necklace of gold and rubies; the multitude of rich red stones seemed to absorb and throw back the light. The civilian, an avuncular grey-haired man in a rich fawn coat with a florid patterned waistcoat, beamed a welcome. “Why, Joseph! There you are, my boy!” He clapped Martin on the arm, and turned to take the lady's hand and kiss it. “Mrs. Cloverdale! I'm charmed to meet you again, ma'am. You look lovelier every time I see you! ” “Thank you, Senator,” she said with a smile and curtseyed. “That uniform suits you, son, ” the general said gruffly, looking Martin up and down. “I'm mighty glad to see you wearing it.” Martin glanced down at the blue serge coat of the Union, the twin gold bars of Captain's rank on the shoulder boards. “I'm proud to wear it, sir,” he said, stiffening to attention. His vo ice had a definite Southern drawl. “To do my best for the Union cause.” “Good man. ” The general clapped him on the shoulder. “Ma'am.” He bowed courteously to Mrs. Cloverdale. “I hope you both have a pleasant evening.” “Thank you, General,” she replied as she took Martin's proffered arm. The queue moved steadily forward, the majordomo announcing each party and couple. It came to their turn. “Captain and Mrs. Cloverdale!” the man called, and they entered the ballroom. Within, the crowd was hundreds-strong. The presence of so many people and the heat from the gas-lit chandeliers high overhead made the huge room quite warm, in spite of the cold of winter. Snow flurries whirled past the tall windows through the indigo backdrop of night, each flake caught for a mo ment in the yellow light spilling forth. An orchestra played elegantly on the stage, and waiters moved smoothly through the throng to serve drinks and refreshments. Captain and Mrs. Cloverdale circulated, seemingly unaware of the incredulous passengers rid ing in their minds. Martin's initial panic subsided, to be replaced by strong excitement. He fervently wished he had some means of recording all he saw and heard. The whole experience was quite beyond anything he'd ever encountered. As the orchestra struck up a lively reel Martin grinned and swept his wife onto the floor with dozens of other couples. “My, but they're playing all our favorites tonight!” she laughed as he led her in the dance. Her voice was a husky contralto with a Maryland
twang, her laugh a pleasant throaty little chuckle. “And you're the belle of the ball, Claire!” he replied and grinned. They whirled around the floor, lost in the pleasure of the music and the moment, delighting in each other's company. And then the dance ended and the dancers applauded the orchestra. As Joseph and Claire turned to walk off the floor, they came face to face with a very angry man. “Traitor!” he hissed through clenched teeth. The first syllable was drawn-out by his strong Southern accent. “James!” Joseph stepped in front of Claire as if to protect her. “What are you doing here?” “I've come to give you some news, brother. Our father is dead!” Martin felt his host reel back in shock. The stranger's face flushed a deeper crimson as he looked him up and down with contempt. “He died on the field of Fredericksburg last year. The news just reached me here. He was wounded badly in the third assault, but a damned Yankee still shot him down like a dog! Father would be turning in his grave to see his eldest sporting that damned coat!” “Steady, son! ” The stocky figure of the general interposed, pushing his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers. “Let's cool our heads now, you hear?” “You go to hell, Yankee!” The man shook his fist in the general's face. “This is between me and my former brother here. Look at you, you damned treacherous scum!” He reached out and slapped Joseph's uniform with open contempt, then he turned to Claire Cloverdale and his eyes bulged. “And you've placed Mother's necklace around the throat of your fine Yankee whore, you bastard!” Joseph/Martin's fist lashed out of its own accord, striking James square on the jaw. He fell back, limbs flailing to crash in a sprawling heap. The crowd gasped and stepped back. “Enough!” Joseph stood over him with his fists clenched. His breath was quick, ragged. “I'm mortally sorry for father's death. You know that, in your heart. You're angry, upset. Yet you will pay my wife due respect!” “You're no brother of mine!” James came up from the floor with murder in his eyes. At that moment two officers took a hand, rushing forward to seize and drag him back before he could reach their comrade. James struggled furiously in their grip. The General gestured brusquely. “He's under arrest! Take him away! ” The two officers twisted their captive's arms behind his back and frog- marched him from the chamber. “Hurrah!” James struggled in their grip. “Hurrah for Dixie! Hurrah!” A door slammed, and the rebel cry was cut off. The Senator bustled up, his face red. “Damnation! ” He looked around and bowed. “Begging your pardon for my intemperate language, ladies, but it makes my blood boil to hear that vulgar Secessionist cry here in our city. I'm especially hurt that it should be directed at a fine, upstanding young man like Captain Cloverdale here. A young man who, like so many of a just and righteous mind, has given up his home and birthright to fight for the Union. “Hear me, ladies and gentlemen! ” He warmed to his theme and exploited the
moment like any good politician. “This dreadful war has torn families asunder! Father fights against son, and, yes, brother against brother.” He nodded gravely. “Yet the blood of our soldiers, whatever or wherever their birth, stirs to the clarion call of our cause! They hear the call that summons all good men to preserve the Union, founded by our forefathers many years ago on the principles of Liberty and Justice for All…” “Joe, take me away from here,” Claire whispered as the diatribe got into full swing, the audience hanging on the Senator's words. “That fight, your brother's foul words, have left me quite ill!” “Let's go to our room, my darling,” Joseph said soothingly. “The Senator, bless him, has no need of us here!” He took her arm and led her from the room, unnoticed by the majority of the crowd. The elevator boy was by the door, where he had been avidly watching the proceedings, and he hastened to operate the elevator for them. They rode up two floors, and made their way to their room. **** Inside, private at last, Claire put her arms around her husband and held him tight. “I do worry so, Joe!” she whispered. “About what, my dear?” he asked softly, breathing the scent of her hair. “About you; about this war. I fear…” “That I won't come back?” He smiled gently. “I have to serve, Claire. I must do my duty, to preserve the country I believe in. You know that.” She sniffled and nodded dolefully. He touched her cheek. “Yet I will come back, I swear, from whatever distant field I serve in.” “Oh, Joe!” She clung to him, her body shuddering with emotion. He kissed her, his hands wandering of their own accord to hold and embrace his wife. She sighed deeply and melted against him, a warm, lively human being he felt so damn lucky to have. Then, somehow, the laces of her dress were undone, his fingers untying the cords almost of their own volition. Claire pulled the heavy fabric from her shoulders, letting it fall to one side, and following it with the cumbersome hoops of the crinoline. She stood before him in her most intimate garments, a bloom coloring her cheeks. His eye was drawn to the tight knot of curly hair between her thighs, showing dark and clear against the pale fabric of her crotch- less pantaloons. They had been married only a few weeks, and Joseph marveled at the way she still flushed with pleasure and a becoming shyness as he gazed upon her. Her flush grew deeper as he stepped close, slipped one hand around her waist and the other between her legs. Claire gasped as his fingers slid slowly over the melting softness of her pussy lips, feeling the warmth, the wetness of his wife's response to his touch. She fumbled with the buttons of his tunic, her usually delicate fingers turning rough with urgency, until she pulled it from him and flung it away. His pants followed the tunic to the floor, and then the y set about the combinations, giggling at the awful garment even through their mounting lust. Joseph writhed out of the combinations, shedding the cloth like a chrysalis, and stood, feeling mighty proud at his physique. Claire's face wore the look of wonder and pure glee he now associated with their most intimate moments; the look of a woman not
long out of virginity who was discovering all the pleasures of sex. She trembled as she wriggled and pushed her way out of her chemise, pantaloons and stockings, he r gaze flickering between his face and his tumescent cock. At last she was naked, her face and throat flushed dark in the dim lamplight. The lamp cast planes of light over her breasts and belly and thighs, and deep, mysterious shadows haunted the folds und er her full round orbs and between her thighs. Joseph stepped close, embracing her, reaching down to pull his penis up so it lay pressed between the softness of her belly and his harder, more muscular one. Her wonderful breasts pressed against his chest, fat round pillows of delight he loved to touch and squeeze and taste and suckle upon. Then Claire's lips were on his, her hands clutching his head to pull him down, her tongue sliding between his lips to twine and dance in his mouth. Her breath was hot on his face and growing steadily more ragged as her passion mounted. Joseph cocked an eye towards the bed to get his bearings, and steadily pushed her back toward it until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the high bed and they toppled onto it, giggling and clasped together. He lay upon her then, hands wandering, feeling and savoring every square inch of her wonderful curvaceous body. She was pliant in his arms, flexing and sighing and moaning as he touched her, kissed her lips, her cheeks, her throat, then down, down to her full breasts. Her moans reached new heights as he pinched her nipples, hard. It was something he had learned inadvertently the second night they had spent together as man and wife. Where he had thought he had done harm, she had responded with unexpected pleasure. Claire responded now, clutching him, holding him against her, as she writhed to position herself directly under him. His cock dragged across her belly, through the wiry hair of her pussy, and dropped between her thighs. Her legs twined themselves around his hips, and he could feel her heels pressing into the taut muscles of his butt. “I want you inside me! Now!” She moaned. He chuckled. “I believe I can oblige you there, madam!” She took his hand and wrapped the fingers around his shaft. Together they guided it to the sopping wetness of her quim, and Joseph entered her. Much as he wanted to plunge fathoms deep into his wife, he found enough resolve to heighten her pleasure. He entered her a little way and then withdrew, using his hand to slide the head of his cock up and down her soft inner lips. Claire moaned and writhed. He gave a snort of teasing laughter and entered her again, moving in a little further, then out once more. “Ohhh! Damn you, Joe!” Claire's face was inflamed by passion and she looked at him with an expression in which pleasure, hunger and reluctant amusement mingled. He winked, and entered her again. Cruelty could only be taken so far. He slid deep inside her until his balls smacked lightly against her butt. Claire's legs tightened convulsively around his hips and her arms crushed him against her. She breathed deeply in contentment, and kissed him, long and tenderly. “I love you, Joe Cloverdale!” “And I love you, Claire.” He began to ride her then, long, slow, deep and leisurely thrusts, each stroke using the whole of his shaft. Claire's soft moans of contentment gave way to little cries of
pleasure, as she nibbled his lips and ears. Joseph could feel her breasts moving against him, her nipples brushing through the hair on his chest, as they rolled and swayed in time to his thrusts. His own passion was rising now, and he leaned into Claire with a growing urgency, spurred on by her cries of encouragement. Her juices slicked his cock and coated his groin as he pushed deep into her, her pussy mashing against his loins as she matched his rhythm, her hips bucking hard to meet his. Claire's tight pussy clasped him convulsively, each muscle spasm coming faster and faster, and faster, until she screamed with release. Joseph winced as her nails raked across his back, but the pain and his wife's cries served to topple him over the edge. He groaned, long and deep, as he spent inside her, his cum flooding her, mingling with her juices in the ultimate act of their joining. All through their love-making, Martin was an astonished and totally embarrassed passenger in Joseph Cloverdale's mind. As Joseph gazed lovingly into his wife's eyes and smiled at her in post-coital bliss, Martin could see an equally astonished and embarrassed Claudia looking at him from Claire's eyes. **** At that moment, from outside the room, there came the cry of Fire! Rolling off the bed Joseph hurriedly donned his trousers and stumbled to the door. When he opened it thick grey smoke rolled into the room, making him cough violently. “Oh, my Lord!” Claire screamed, clutching the sheets to her naked form. Inside Joseph Cloverdale's mind, Martin felt the surge of adrenaline as the man's natural courage leapt to the occasion. As Joseph reeled back into the room and slammed the door, Martin began to feel anxious at the turn events were taking. Making love to Claire/Claudia had quite removed any objectivity he'd held since finding himself in the past. Now it looked like their hosts, and perhaps they themselves, were in mortal danger. “Quickly, dear, there's no time to lose!” Joseph called. Swiftly wetting two towels from the washstand jug, he pressed one to his mouth and urged Claire to do the same. “Wrap yourself in the sheet and press this to your face. You must leave, quickly! ” He pushed her through the door. “Use the stairs, not that elevator contraption. ” She clasped his arm. “What about you? ” “I must spread the alarm and see everybody is awakened before it's too late!” Clutching the sheet around her, Claire stumbled down the passageway and Joseph began banging violently on all the doors. “Fire!” He made his way swiftly down the passage, yelling the alarm over and over as he hammered on the doors. Soon the passageway was filled with night-dressed forms, all bemused and becoming increasingly terrified as the smoke began to give way to flames further along the building. Joseph urged and directed, ordered and soothed where needed. Other army officers had left the ball and begun to help guide the guests to safety. One man paused at the head of the flight of stairs leading down. He glanced at the rise heading up, then at Joseph. “Joe! What about those upstairs?” Joseph nodded. “I'll go!” He headed for the stairs. On the next floors he repeated the alarm, his breath harsh, his voice becoming ragged with the smoke and fumes. Pain shot through his lungs with every breath. The final guests headed past him, hurrying downstairs as fast as their feet would carry them, some
tripping and tumbling to the foot of the stairs in a flurry of limbs. Cries and screams sounded over the distant roar of flames. Joseph followed, bringing up the rear and helping those too weak or scared to help themselves. The smoke billowed and grew thicker. The crackling sound of the hotel burning grew more violent as he went down, and he wondered at this in some small part of his mind. The towel he held was quite dry now with the heat and the smoke, its protection scant; he held onto it as being better than nothing. Finally, he reached the last flight leading down to the foyer. The staircase was well ablaze, the passage to safety narrowing by the second as the fire greedily consumed the wood. To his horror he saw the last two people stumble and fall, to drop screaming through the burned-out banisters into the heart of the fire. “Joseph! ” Claire's voice rang out across the noise. He saw her in the press of people by the doors. “Joseph, my dearest!” she cried again, and would have rushed to him had she not been held back by an officer. “Claire.!” Joseph gasped for breath, looking from her to the inferno of the stairs. He had only seconds. Bracing himself he prepared to leap when something seemed to explode under his feet. The whole structure gave way, hurling him down to oblivion… **** Martin woke up in a chair in the office to find Claudia sitting opposite and looking at him with a quizzical expression. “Just what the hell happened there, Mr. Grey? ” she demanded. He sat up straight. To his surprise he was fully dressed, his lungs clear of smoke or any traces of it, and he was sitting in the office used by the watchmen. They were noticeably absent. Holding up his hands, he stared at them, expecting to see them smokeblackened. They were clean. He looked at her, appalled. “Did you? ” She nodded vehemently. He felt his face grow hot. “Did we?” She nodded again, slowly this time, her eyes unreadable. “Claudia, I'm sorry!” he said. “Martin… Oh!” She sighed and rubbed her face. “Just tell me; is this likely to happen often with you around?”
Chapter Four Claudia leaned on the table and read aloud from the newspaper in front of her. “'Joseph Cloverdale, Captain, 104th New York Regiment, late of Wilmington, North Carolina. Died on the 8th February in the course of saving lives during a terrible fire at the Chestnut Mansion Hotel. Buried at Our Lady of Grace Cemetery, New York City, 12th February, 1863. Given a public funeral with full military honors in tribute to his heroism.’” “It’s strange, we saw no evidence of such a horrific fire. Don’t you think we would have seen some evidence of it?” Claudia skimmed further down the article. “Maybe not. It says here that the hotel was to be restored to its original glory as soon as possible.” They were in the public library, checking the newspaper archives. The warm, dry, unemotional atmosphere of the library seemed a million miles removed from the upheaval generated by their experiences of the night. By some instinctive, tacit agreement, neither Martin nor Claudia yet acknowledged what had happened. Neither felt ready to confront it. “Any mention of his wife?” Martin asked. “She survived the fire unscathed. At the funeral they gave her the flag which draped his coffin. There's a daguerreotype picture of the scene.” “It would have been a comfort, I suppose, knowing her husband died saving others instead of taking lives in battle.” Claudia nodded somberly. “Yeah, I guess. Here, it goes on to mention the fire itself. 'Suspected to be arson, due to the sudden onset and the speed with which it spread.’ And here: 'Following an incident at the ball given in honor of the 104th Regiment, James Cloverdale, estranged brother of the deceased, was arrested. He later escaped from temporary military custody with the aid of fellow Southern sympathizers.’” “Interesting,” Martin commented. “Isn't it, tho ugh? And here: 'Senator Murdoch of Ohio, a sponsor of the deceased Captain, sees the mark of Cain on James Cloverdale in the foul deed which took the life of a gallant officer. He berates the bloody band of Southern agitators present in the shadows of the city and calls upon the mayor and governor to sweep them from the city.’” She grimaced. “Trust a politician to capitalize on a disaster. They never change.” “I thought he was an oily sort at the time,” Martin remarked, then flushed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, so did I.” Claudia didn't quite meet his eye. “Oh, damn it, Martin!” She sighed and closed the folder then turned to face him squarely. “We can't dance around this until the end of time. Those people in the past; Joseph and Claire Cloverdale. Were we them or not?” “I think we were just along for the ride.” Martin shrugged. “I wasn't aware of Joseph knowing I was there in his head. Did you sense anything from Claire?” “Not a peep. But I could see everything; feel everything; sense her emotions. She sure loved her husband,” she added quietly. “And he loved her.”
Claudia's lips twitched. “He was good in bed, too!” “Er…yes. And so was she.” They looked at each other. The librarian emerged from her office to throw them out just before they totally collapsed from laughing. **** The taxi ride to the Chestnut Mansion passed in companionable style, with Claudia pointing out the landmarks they passed. “Down there is Our Lady of Grace Cemetery, ” she said. “We could check it out later; see if we can find the ga llant Captain's grave.” “It'd give me an odd feeling, seeing what is, in effect, my grave.” Martin craned to look down the length of the road as they passed. He caught a glimpse of a wide space between the buildings at the far end of the street, the trees in the cemetery glowing gold. “We'll have to follow this through, Martin, ” Claudia said, squeezing his arm. “Any ideas yet on why we went through all that last night?” “I have the feeling it was by way of scene-setting. ” He frowned. “It's as if someone, or something, wanted us to see the opening of this affair.” “You're not sure what, or why? ” “That'll come later, I think.” “Oh goody! I wonder what caused Joseph Cloverdale to abandon his homeland for the Union cause?” “Who can say? ” He shrugged. “That Senator had it right. The Civil War divided so many families.” “We'll need to dig into the Cloverdale family history, see if we can find the whys and wherefores. It shouldn't be too hard. I got the impression he was from a moneyed family. They tend to make an impression on the world. At least we have the name to go on. ” She leaned forward to peer out the windshield. “We're nearly there.” The world seemed to flicker, almost as if a movie reel the size of the cosmos had jumped a frame. Around them the quality of the light changed, and then— The cabby drew the hansom up to the curb outside the hotel and reined in the horses. General Moore alighted first to hand Claire Cloverdale down from the vehicle. The soldiers and police officers guarding the wrecked structure came to attention and saluted them. Within the general's mind, Martin gazed about with somber astonishment at the scene. The wreckage of a severe fire lay all around. The stonework of the hotel's lower frontage was badly scorched, the windows glaring black holes from which trailed the occasional wisp of steam or smoke. Soot and embers covered the sidewalk for hundreds of yards, the stink of burnt debris filling the air enough to make the general's eyes water. Martin felt the deep regret in his mind for the death of a good man and his admiration for the fortitude shown by the young woman in her loss. Claire stood on the sidewalk and stared in quiet horror at the burned frontage of the Chestnut Mansion. Her new widow's dress matched the blackened exterior in somber complement. “My stars!” she gasped. “It's a wonder anyone got out alive!” “It's thanks to Joseph's bravery they did, my dear,” the general said gravely. “Is it safe to go in? ” she asked softly. “I'd… I'd like to see where Joseph died once
more.” Moore hesitated, then nodded. “I'll enquire, my dear. Excuse me for a moment.” He spoke quietly to one of the officers at the door, who nodded and led the way inside. The foyer was all but gutted, the sturdy brass of the elevator cradle surviving like a blackened skeleton to the rear. A temporary stair had been erected from ladders to allow access to the upper floors. Policemen, both uniformed and plain-clothed, picked their way through the debris, searching for evidence of arson. Claire Cloverdale entered at his word and stood in silent misery as she looked at the spot where her husband had fallen in the burning ruin of the staircase. In the general's mind, Martin felt his own consciousness prickling at the thought of 'his' death only the night before. “Is it possible to recover anything from our room?” she asked softly. “My necklace was there; after the incident at the ball, we went straight to our room. I didn't give it to the manager for safe-keeping. It… it belonged to Joseph’s mother.” “I shall see, ma'am. The fire didn't reach that far. It should be safe, the place has been well- guarded.” A conference with the head of the detectives gained the man's assent. The general eschewed dignity and began to climb the ladders. Reaching the top, he found the other stairs were still serviceable and progress was easier, even though the walls and floors were smoke-blackened and soaking wet from where fire hoses had sprayed and snow had entered through heat-shattered windows. As he neared the room occupied by the captain and his lady, a man emerged from it clutching something under his coat. With a sudden flash of anger the general recognized James Cloverdale. “You! Stand where you are, you wretch! ” he shouted, drawing and cocking his pistol. Startled, James Cloverdale looked up then began to run down the passage, away from the angry officer. General Moore fired, the big Le Mat pistol bucking in his hand. Cloverdale gasped, dropped his burden, and lurched into the well of the servant's stairs. Moore set off in pursuit, roaring for the guards at the top of his powerful voice. Cries and exclamations came from below as he reached the stairwell. Bright splashes of blood starred the sooty floor, marking a hit on the fleeing man. The dropped bundle lay at his feet. Casting a quick look down the stairs, Moore fired again at the shadowy figure turning the corner of the flight below but failed to hit. Hoping the bottom of the stairs would be covered, he picked up the roughly-bound cloth bundle and pulled at the string. The gleam of gold and rubies met his gaze. “Well, well!” he said softly to himself. “The Cloverdale jewels!” He returned to the foyer to find Cloverdale had not been seen. “Double the guards outside!” he ordered the highly- embarrassed police chief. “Send a message to the nearest barracks for more soldiers to reinforce your men. Search the building and the neighborhood. This man must be caught!” The police scattered. Grimly, he offered the bundle to Claire, who unwrapped it to stare with astonishment at the jewels. “He came back for these?” she asked wonderingly. “I guess he felt they were his family's.” The general shook his head and sighed. “With the deaths of his father and brother, he would feel he had to recover something.” “But they're mine now, ” she said hoarsely. “They were Joseph's wedding gift to me!” “Of course, ma'am. No one doubts that. And no one will take them from you now. ”
The scene flickered and changed— Martin and Claudia stood in the foyer and stared at each other. She groaned. “Jesus! How often is this going to happen? ” “Where did you folks come from? ” Mike asked, emerging from the office to stare at them. His mouth worked as he chewed his lunch and they could hear the sounds of a football game in progress from his radio in the office. “I didn't hear you come in!” “We…came in the back way, Mike,” Claudia said, looking at Martin. “No you didn't, miss,” Mike said with a frown. “That door is locked and I have the only key, remember?” “Mike, just leave it, okay? ” she said tiredly. “We're here. We won't be long. ” He hesitated, and then nodded. “Okay, whatever. By the way, your boss sent a girl from your office to collect those photos. She left an hour ago.” “Thanks, Mike. Don't let us keep you from the game,” she added pointedly. Mike went, grumbling, and Claudia looked at Martin. “Like I said, how often is this going to happen? ” “I don't know, ” Martin admitted, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Not often, I hope. It's giving me a headache.” “A headache?” she said in disbelief. “You should be so lucky! This is making my whole life ache!” She walked with unsteady legs to sit on one of the stairs. “I'm beginning to wonder where Claudia Mackenzie ends and Claire Cloverdale begins!” “But now we know James Cloverdale escaped from the officers who arrested him, then returned here to try and recover the jewels.” Martin walked over to sit beside her. “It's beginning to center on this Cloverdale necklace. I wonder what it is the… presence here is trying to show us?” “Do we really have a choice but to find out?” she asked wryly. He shrugged. “I guess not.” “And what is this presence?” “I have no idea.” He sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “No idea. Huh! ” Claudia clenched her fists, then relaxed them, splaying her fingers out as if inspecting her nails. A silence stretched between them, until Claudia finally sighed and slapped his knee. “Okay, buck-up, Sherlock. What next? Where can we go so these ghosts from the past can suck us into them once more?” Martin thought for a moment. “Do you fancy attending a military funeral?” **** Our Lady of Grace Cemetery lay quietly slumbering in the midst of the New York bustle. The only bright splashes of color amidst the trees were bunches of flowers placed on the more recent graves. An air of gentle melancholy hung over all as Martin and Claudia made their way along the path, led by a caretaker. “The Captain's grave is along this row, ” he said, indicating a line of Civil-War-era headstones. “Most of our military gentlemen from the Civil War are located here.” Martin thanked him and the man walked away. Claudia watched him go with raised eyebrows. “He makes them sound like they're residents at some rest home!” “Whatever gets him through the day, I suppose,” Martin said with a smile, his eyes scanning the orderly rows of lichen-spotted bla ck and grey tombstones. “Ah, here it is…” Claudia peered at the worn stone. “'Sacred to the memory of Captain Joseph
Cloverdale, 104th New York Regiment, Born 3rd March 1834, Died 8th February 1863. He died that others might live.' That's a sweet epitaph. ” “Do you notice something?” Martin asked after a pause. She looked at the headstone then around the general area of the grave, and frowned. “No…Oh! His wife isn't buried here.” She cocked an eye at him. “I wonder if she remarried?” “It's quite possible. A search of the records will show…” Once more there came that strange shifting of reality, a flickering between one world and another— Claire Cloverdale stood beside the 104th Regiment's chaplain at the head of the grave. Snow fell silently upon the graveyard, turning the world into a monochrome image of bare black trees and half- hidden buildings. The dark earth yawned like an ugly mouth, waiting to close about the flag-draped coffin that rested on short wooden booms stretched across the grave. Her eyes were moist, her heart full to bursting with love, sorrow, pride and deep regret, as the chaplain uttered the final words. “…And so we commit our dear brother to the earth, in the sure and certain knowledge that Life Eternal awaits him. No greater gift hath any man, in that he lay down his life for another. Joseph died that many others may live. He was a brave man; he was an honorable man. May he rest in peace. Amen. ” The crowd of mourners murmured the response. An officer of the regiment stepped forward to draw the star-spangled flag from the coffin. He and another officer began to fold it into the classic triangle. With a soft-spoken word of command, the bearers removed the booms and began to lower the coffin into the grave with white ropes. Claire watched it descend, its shiny wooden surface speckled with drifting snowflakes. A brass plate bore the name, rank, age and epitaph of Joseph Cloverdale. Her husband; her love. Within her breast, her heart felt full to bursting. The coffin reached the bottom with a soft thump, and the bearers drew up the ropes. As they withdrew, the color guard formed up in two ranks, one either side of the open grave, their blue tunics somber against the white of the snow covering the graveyard. They held their long rifles at rest by their sides, the brass butts pressing into the snow. The officer presented Claire with the flag. She took it and pressed it to her breast, her heart aching as he stepped back and saluted her. Tears spilled openly down her cheeks as the command was given, the officers and chaplain saluted the grave, and the firing party presented arms. On the word of command they raised their rifles to their shoulders and began the salute. The three volleys crashed out, startling the roosting pigeons from the trees around the graveyard and echoing down the deep-walled streets of New York. As the last echo died, Claire turned away and the rest of the funeral party began to follow. Behind them, the grave diggers replaced their caps on their heads and moved in to complete the sorrowful business. The scene flickered again, the figures of mourners and grave diggers melting into nothing against the backdrop of the cemetery. Claudia stared at Martin, her eyes wet, hands clasped to her breast. She looked down and saw to her surprise she was not holding her country's flag. “Oh, that poor woman! ” She blinked away her tears. “Martin, I didn't expect all that. Did you? ” “I had the feeling it would happen like that, yes,” he replied softly. “I'm sorry you
went through it, but I think it was necessary. ” “Why? Jesus, Martin!” She looked back at the quiet grave of the soldier, and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What's going to happen next?”
Chapter Five Martin was busy shaving the next day when an urgent knock sounded on the outer door to his hotel room. He opened it and was almost bowled over as Claudia rushed in. She pulled up short at the sight of him in his pajama trousers, his chest bare, shaving foam around his jaw. A slight flush colored her face. “Whoa! Excuse my hurry, Martin, but I hit pay-dirt with the Cloverdale history! ” “I'm always pleased to see you, ” he said with a soft chuckle, silently thankful that he kept himself in condition. “What have you found?” “You carry on shaving and I'll set it up,” she said, sitting on the bed and opening her laptop computer. Martin returned to the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could see and hear Claudia. She tapped busily at the keys as he scraped his chin. “I checked the census records for 1860 and downloaded what I found. Here, listen to this. 'Joshua Cloverdale, widower, age 52. Three sons: Joseph, 25, James, 23, and Samuel, 13. They were residents of the Southshore plantation, near Wilmington, North Carolina, in 1860.’ Now, ten years later…” Claudia tapped more keys. “We have one Claire Cloverdale, widow, age 36, resident in Baltimore. Martin?” He leaned back from the mirror and looked at her. “She had a daughter!” Martin grunted with surprise, his razor poised. “A daughter?” “Yep! Anna-Grace Cloverdale, aged 7. She must have been conceived just before Joseph died.” “Perhaps we both know when, too,” Martin said softly. Claudia blushed. “Yeah, well…” She pointed at the screen. “James has disappeared. No trace on any record I can find. Their younger brother Samuel joined the 1st North Carolina Cavalry Regiment; he died at Gettysburg. I checked the archives of a web site run by a history group that researches the Civil War battles. He was only sixteen. ” “What a waste; what a sheer bloody waste.” “Maybe. At least he and all those others died for a cause they believed in. ” “What you've found is all very useful stuff.” Martin mulled over the data as he wiped his face with a towel and moved through to the bedroom. “I'm not sure where we go from here, though. It may be the presence in the hotel will show us more.” He touched her shoulder. “Claudia, what are your feelings on this?” “My feelings?” Claudia asked softly. She looked up at him, and took the towel he held. “You've got soap on your neck.” She wiped it away, looked at him thoughtfully, and sighed. “I admit it scares me a little, Martin; all this popping in and out of the minds of people from the past.” She wrinkled her nose as she breathed in his cologne, a subtle, rich and pleasant scent. “Being in Claire Cloverdale's body as she was making love was something totally out of this world! Nothing could have prepared me for that.” “I agree entirely! ” She gave him a half- smile, and rubbed his arm in a friendly way. “Yeah, well, you were there at the time.” “Do you want to continue, Claudia?” He spread his hands. “I've never had an experience like this in my whole career. Honestly, it's so far out of the normal run of
things—if paranormal research can ever be said to be normal…” “Martin, you're digressing.” He gave a snort of laughter. “Yes, I am. It's because I'm unsure about this. I've no idea of the dangers involved. It might get rough. ” He took her hand and held it gently. “If you don't want to go on, I'll understand.” She made a noise of disgust. “Quit? Like hell I will! Martin, I find it all so intriguing, I'm more than willing to continue.” She squeezed his hand. “I want to know how this ends!” “I'm glad.” He smiled, and reluctantly released her clasp. “This intrigues me too.” “So, that's settled,” she said brightly, grinning up at him. “What do we do next?” “Go back to the hotel and wait?” he suggested. She laughed. “I knew you'd say that!” **** The hotel was quiet. Martin and Claudia spent the whole morning wandering the echoing corridors, peering into dusty unfurnished rooms, and checking the sensors. The watchman remained in the office. Martin sensed he was not happy about something and he could guess what from the resentful attitude he adopted whenever Claudia was around. She grimaced when he mentioned it. “That's Kyle Marshall for you. There's nothing he does better than screw up happy working relationships.” “Lord preserve us from ambitious men!” Martin responded. “Amen!” Claudia checked her watch. “Lunch? ” “Okay, my treat.” “No, this is New York; put it on your expenses.” “Ah! Not that different from the Revenue Office, then. ” **** They ate at the delicatessen around the corner, working their way through some more novelties for Martin's benefit. Claudia chewed her ham-on-rye and regarded him thoughtfully. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, sipping his coffee. “Nothing happened this morning. ” “No. I couldn't sense anything.” “Biding its time?” “Perhaps. I think we should go back, see what happens. Maybe try the roof garden? We haven't been up there yet.” “Not an inviting prospect in this weather,” Claudia remarked, looking at the flurries of sleet falling outside. She shivered. “Reminds me of that graveyard, the funeral in the snow. ” **** The old brass elevator took them to the 10th floor. After that, they had to use a stairway to reach the roof.
“I didn't think city buildings were built as high as this until the 20th Century, ” Martin said, looking out over the derelict expanse of old plant boxes and small, decrepit summer houses. “And this garden must measure nearly an acre!” “The Chestnut Mansion was one of the tallest in its day, ” Claudia replied, pulling the hood of her coat up to protect her head from the probing icy wind. “It's why they had one of the first elevators installed.” She peered out at the rainy cityscape around her. “Imagine what it was like before these other buildings went up. It must have been quite a view.” She pointed. “The Hudson is somewhere over there.” They walked together, mindful of the debris littering the flagstone paths between the old beds and boxes. A tall shrub had grown wild in the years since the hotel had been properly maintained, its branches overhanging the path and forcing them to move to one side. Martin wondered nervously what the roots were doing to the fabric of the roof beneath their feet. The world flickered silently around them as two realities crossed in time. As they rounded the corner the sun blazed from a summer sky, and the neatly tended plants were in full bloom. Martin and Claudia stumbled to a halt and stared around, struck by the light and the sultry heat of a New York summer. Not far away, there was a large group of people gathered near the iron railings surrounding the roof. All were dressed in old- fashioned servants' uniforms, and all were in a state of high agitation. The cause was easy to see. A slightly-built, swarthy young man was hanging onto the other side of the railings, the sheer drop to the street yawning beneath him. He was yelling and cursing in what sounded like Italian. “Giuseppe!” one of the group, a tall man in a manager's suit was pleading, wringing his hands with anxiety. “For Chrissakes, come in from there! We can talk about this!” The man had a strong Bronx accent. “No! You accuse me!” the man over the railings yelled. “You call me thief! I no thief! You call me thief, I jump!” To emphasize the point, he pulled off his striped waistcoat, shifting his grip to do so with heart-stopping agility, and flung it away. The garment fluttered briefly on the up-draught from the street, before falling like a strange butterfly to the sidewalk far below. “No, Giuseppe, we just want to settle this peaceably. There's no need for you to do this!” “You dishonor me!” the man yelled back, swaying visibly. “I kill myself!” Martin and Claudia stared at each other. “We're in the past again!” She gasped. “And we're not in anyone else's bodies!” “Yes! Look around; the roof garden's as it used to be,” Martin replied, watching the drama before them. Some of the people were looking around too, but it seemed they couldn't see the two strangers in their midst. Suddenly Claudia gave a cry and gripped his arm. Martin followed her pointing finger, to see a man crouching by the railings in the shadows of a planter full of tall ornamental shrubs. He had what looked like a thick electrical cable in his hands, and was peering through the foliage at the group and Giuseppe. “Is he going to lasso him?” she wondered. Martin followed the line of the cable, and saw it connected to a black enameled junction box on the wall of a nearby summer house. He frowned; something didn't look right.
Just then the hidden man made his move. Reaching out, he touched the end of the cable to the railings. Bare copper wire flashed in the sunlight. A fat blue spark of electricity cracked audibly as the cable made contact with the iron. Giuseppe gave a gargling scream and hurtled backwards into the awful gulf of the street. The crowd screamed and shouted as they surged to the railings, and the man in the shrubbery hurriedly drew back the cable. With a satisfied grin, he slid like an eel through the undergrowth to emerge, looking innocent, on the path near the summer house. Making sure he was not being observed, he calmly unplugged the cable and threw it into a corner, before running to join the group. “Oh my God!” Martin breathed heavily in distress. “Did you ever see anything so cold-blooded?” “Not even in this city, ” Claudia said, looking equally appalled. “You know, that guy looks familiar.” Martin took her arm and they cautiously approached the group. The female staff members were weeping; a few had descended into hysterics. The manager hurriedly delegated those who had kept their heads to look after them before rushing off in the direction of the stairs. The murderer sat with his arm around a maid, comforting her, his face the picture of shock. Claudia gasped. “It's James Cloverdale!” He looked up then, as if he had heard her speak and she drew back in alarm. Martin had time to recognize the man through years of aging on his face before the scene faded swiftly to nothing, leaving them standing on the deserted roof of the old hotel. **** “Okay, what do we have here?” Claudia asked, quietly nursing her coffee. Outside the street was busy with traffic. From the café window they could see the corner of the hotel, and the long, long drop to the street below. She looked at it again and shivered. “For one thing, it looks like Mike was right. That old 'cop's nose for trouble' shtick worked for him. He said it felt like a murder scene up there and it is; cold-blooded murder.” Claud ia grimaced, and cocked an eye at him. “Now here comes the $64,000 question; why did he do it?” “Perhaps we can work it out.” Martin thought for a few moments. “This Giuseppe chap who was killed. It seemed he was being accused of something serious enough to threaten to kill himself over.” “Serious, yeah. If he was Italian, it's a near certainty he was Catholic. Suicide's a mortal sin to them.” “Extreme as his actions were, I got the distinct impression he wasn't serious,” Martin said slowly. “It was all so confusing at the time, yet now I suspect he was trying to divert suspicion from himself over something.” Claudia thought, then shook her head. “You could be right. He had a tight grip on those railings.” “Tight, yes, yet 110 volts of DC current was enough to loosen it.” “DC? Don't you mean AC?” “No, DC. Nowadays it's AC, but in the late 19th century, the US adopted Edison's DC standard.” Martin flushed with embarrassment as she gave him a level stare. “Sorry. It's part of the trivia I've picked up over the years.”
“I can imagine!” she said dryly. “So DC current would have affected him differently?” “Yes. It causes all the muscles to spasm. The greater the charge, the more violent the spasm. To those people watching Giuseppe, it would have seemed as if he had hurled himself into the street.” He shook his head in reluctant admiration. “As a means to murder, it would be near-perfect for that time. Forensic science would have been primitive back then. I'm reasonably sure they had no means of detecting death through electric shock unless the person was burned by it.” “With that kind of voltage his hands could have been burned. Mind you, if they were looking at a body which had fallen ten floors, there'd be even less to go on. ” Claudia shuddered. “Ewww!” “Yes. If it's any consolation, I think Giuseppe was dead of the shock long before he hit the street.” He sipped his coffee and put down his cup. “So, by implication, James Cloverdale had a role, perhaps the leading role, in whatever crime Giuseppe was accused of. Up on the roof, he saw the perfect opportunity to get rid of an accomplice and cover his own tracks into the bargain.” “So what would it have been?” Martin shrugged. “He was interested in the Cloverdale necklace before. It's not likely he'd be after the same thing, in the same location. There's sure to be some mention of Giuseppe's death in the papers of the time. Even in a city full of life and death like New York, the manner in which he died would be sure to make the news. We need to check the records.” He drained his coffee and stood up. “In which case, I think we'd better try to patch up our relationship with the librarian. ” **** As luck would have it the librarian was away. Her deputy had no knowledge of their misbehavior during their previous visit and readily brought them the microfiches they requested. After an hour of careful searching, Martin looked up. “Damn!” he whispered. “Wrong again. ” “What have you got?” Claudia asked, moving up to peering over his shoulder at the screen. He pointed. 'Cloverdale Necklace Stolen!' screamed the headline for the New York Sun. 'Big jewel heist at Chestnut Mansion Hotel.' “Dated the 3rd May, 1896,” Martin said. “Now, let's look further.” The fiche scrolled up, and a new headline blazed. 'Chestnut Mansion Shock! Hotel porter kills himself. Italian accused of jewel heist.' Claudia sighed. “Ah! Jackpot!” “'Giuseppe Loretto, 25, an immigrant from Bari, Italy, stood accused of stealing the famous Cloverdale necklace belonging to Anna-Grace Palmer, née Cloverdale. Mrs. Palmer is an honored guest at the Chestnut Mansion Hotel where her father, Captain Joseph Cloverdale, died heroically in 1863 whilst saving lives during a fire. On being accused, Loretto headed for the hotel's roof garden, where he climbed onto the border railings and made several clear threats to kill himself. As the manager, Charles Kleber, tried to reason with him, Loretto hurled himself off the ten-story building.'“ “Like you said, when he took the electric shock, it would appear to anyone watching
that he did hurl himself off,” Claudia said quietly. “And look here…” Martin pointed at the screen. “'Police believe Loretto had an accomplice amongst the guests but have so far been unable to uncover the person or recover the jewels.'“ “James Cloverdale! He got away with it.” Claudia sighed and thumped the table softly. “Dammit!” “Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn't,” Martin said soothingly. “Let's check further, see if there are any reports of an arrest.” After a further three hours Claudia pushed herself back from the table and stretched. “A dry hole,” she said, and sighed. “It looks that way, ” Martin agreed. “There's no news here of arrests, nothing about the jewels. The necklace and Cloverdale himself vanished.” “Maybe not,” Claudia said thoughtfully. “I recall an entry about the old guest and staff registers being included in the papers handed over to our company when we took on the property. Now that we have a date, we can check through those tomorrow, see if any name springs out on us. James Cloverdale had to be using an alias, if he was either posing as a guest or a worker at the hotel. After thirty or so years, I doubt any of the staff from the Civil War days would have been around to recognize him, so he'd have felt himself pretty safe.” “An excellent idea! Perhaps we should check any earlier archives we can gain access to, particularly the Civil War era,” he added thoughtfully. “James Cloverdale has to have a record somewhere. At the ball, he seemed an impassioned type, ready to fling himself into a cause.” “I think you're right, Martin. Maybe he escaped from New York after the fire, found his way back to the Confederacy? ” “It could be. I just hope he didn't use an alias then. ” Claudia pursed her lips. “Did you notice what he was wearing in that rooftop scene?” Martin thought briefly. “It looked like a formal day suit of the time.” “I think it was too. So he was more likely to be a guest than a worker at the hotel. Whatever he was, I'll find where Carla stashed those books and take a look at them tomorrow. ” Martin nodded then yawned hugely. “Good grief! I think I need my nap if I'm to be any good in the hunt tonight.” Claudia smiled and touched his hand. “Is jet lag still playing around with you? ” “More like time- lag.” He grinned. “All this jaunting around the years takes it out of one.” She laughed. “Doesn't it just? Come on, Sherlock! If you're good, I might tuck you in and read you a bedtime story. ” “So long as it isn't a ghost story, ” Martin replied with a grin, standing up and putting on his coat. They emerged onto the steps to find a fine layer of early snow had fallen whilst they were in the library. Claudia laughed with delight. “Great! I love to see the first real snowfall of the year. It makes everything seem so crisp and clean, even a dirty old place like the Big Apple.” “We don't really have much snow in winter where I live,” Martin said sadly. “What we get may last a day or two, and then it vanishes in the rain. ”
Claudia looped her arm through his as they walked in the direction of her car. “Martin, it suddenly strikes me I don't really know much about you. Oh, I know your address and all that, but I know next to nothing about you; what you like to do, what kind of place you live in, what it's like living there. All that kind of thing. ” Martin cocked his head to look at her. “Well, if you like, we could have dinner tonight,” he said, his heart beating a little faster. “Maybe we could go to see a show or a movie. I can give you all the boring details then. ” He gave a wry smile. “If nothing else, it'll take our minds off the case for a few hours.” She stopped and gave him a searching look. “I'd like that,” she said slowly. “And I'd like to know more about you, ” he said seriously, a light flush coloring his face. Claudia nodded and smiled. “It's a date—providing we go Dutch. ” Martin's smile slipped. “Oh, Claudia! I'd prefer to treat you, you know. ” She tipped her head to one side and thought briefly. “Okay, how about I buy the show tickets if you buy dinner?” He grinned with relief. “It's a deal, and a date!”
Chapter Six “I've always loved Oklahoma.” Martin hummed a few bars from Oh What a Beautiful Morning in a pleasant tenor, waving his fork gently to the rhythm. Claudia grinned at him from across the table. “Yeah, it's a real feel- good show. This is the second time I've seen it. I'm glad you enjoyed it too.” “I did. It was wonderful!” They sat companionably at a table in the restaurant overlooking Times Square. Martin looked at Claudia, thinking how the soft glow of candlelight enhanced her pretty features to real beauty. Her dark eyes took on a sparkle that matched her shimmering black dress as she raised her glass to him. “Thank you for treating me to dinner. I'm really enjoying tonight.” He raised his own glass. “Thank you for treating me to the show. And I'm enjoying being with you. ” She flushed slightly as they touched glasses. “I feel the same. A shame we couldn't get around to doing this earlier.” Martin nodded slowly. The moment seemed to stretch. “Have you ever been to Oklahoma?” he asked, to break the awkward silence. “Once, barely. My cousin Paula lived in a town called Bartlesville, near the Kansas state line.” Her lips twitched. “We're a big country, Martin. Not many Americans get to visit every state in the Union. ” “Of course. I keep forgetting just how big this country is.” “Oh yeah! I know it's huge. It's just that living here tends to make folks forget until we have to travel anyplace. That's why we have good air services across the country. ” She popped some risotto into her mouth and chewed fo r a while, looking at him with a considering expression. “What about you, Martin? Have you traveled much? ” “A little. I've been to Paris a couple of times, Dublin, Budapest; once as far as Thailand.” “I'd love to see Paris,” she said wistfully. “Best to be there with somebody. It's true what they say; it's a city for lovers.” “Were you there with a lover?” she asked in an arch tone. “No, only my wife,” he replied, then winced and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Ouch! That sounded terrible, didn't it?” “Yeah, it did!” she said with a wink. “Never mind, Martin, I knew what you meant. When did you go with her?” “Five years ago.” He toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “It was a last-ditch attempt to save something which wasn't worth saving by then. We got divorced the next year.” “Why did you break up?” “She was having difficulty in accepting my abilities. Then she met a chap where she worked and they had an affair for a few months until I found out. We tried a reconciliation, went to Paris as a kind of second honeymoon. ” He grimaced. “I'd forgotten the football…the soccer World Cup was being played there that year. The whole place was in an uproar, with noisy fans all over the place.” He drank more wine.
“Not exactly conducive to rekindling a dying romance.” “I can imagine!” She chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment. “Still, at least you tried. A woman can respect that. Do you have any children? ” “No.” Martin shrugged. “Jenny didn't feel ready to commit to children. ” “Perhaps it was for the best. Divorces can be hard on kids. Would you like to have children?” She flushed slightly. “I mean, would you've liked to have had children? ” “Oh yes.” He smiled gently. “I'd love to have kids, someday. ” She smiled back. “So would I—someday. And what about you since your divorce? Has there been anyone else in your life?” “Oh, I had a couple of dates, which went nowhere. To be honest, I wasn't ready for another relationship.” “Until now?” she said lightly. “Perhaps,” he replied with a little smile. “If the right woman comes along. ” Her eyes sparkled as she turned to her meal once more. “You never know. ” “And what about you, Claudia Mackenzie?” he asked. “What's your story?” She chuckled. “Oh, I'm the daughter of two parents, one man, one woman…” “Seriously!” “Oh, yeah. ” She shrugged. “Okay, I'm twenty-nine years old, stand five-nine in my bare feet, weight mind-your-own-business, vital statistics take-a-guess…” Martin laid down his fork and looked at her and she laughed. “Okay, okay! Seriously. I was born in Indianapolis, capitol of Indiana, to my parents Andrew and Marcia. I have an older brother, Tom, a lawyer who lives in LA, and a younger sister, Caroline, who's a nurse and still lives at home. I can tell you, it isn't easy being Claudiain-the-Middle with those two.” She lifted one shoulder. “It was one reason I left home, got this job here.” “I have an older brother.” Martin grimaced. “Much as I love him, I know what you mean. ” Claudia winked. “Yeah. ” “What do your folks do?” “Dad's worked as a manager on the railroad since I was very small; my Mom's a high school teacher. What about your folks?” “My father died ten years ago. He had his own horticulture business. My mother's still alive. She runs a bed and breakfast on the North Norfolk coast.” “That's cool. What does she think of your line of work?” “At the Tax Office?” “No, silly!” Martin laughed. “Just trying to dodge the question! She's not as worried as she used to be. My father was a devout churchgoer, who didn't like my 'mucking about in things we're not meant to know.' It got worse when I told him the afterlife is open to all, regardless of religion—or lack of it.” “You think?” Claudia asked dubiously. “It's been my experience, yes.” She grinned. “Now that won't please some folks!” Martin shrugged. “It didn't please my father! It wasn't easy for my mother, trying to keep the peace between us. Now, she's more relaxed about the idea.” “The pressure's off.”
“Exactly. ” They paused as the waiter brought their dessert. “Ah, zabaglione!” Claudia smiled, looking at her dish. “Nice, although I would cheerfully kill for a good frozen custard. That and chocolate.” Martin laid down his spoon. “My name's Martin, and I'm a chocoholic…” he said solemnly. She laughed. “Yeah? That is so cool! I don't meet many guys who understand chocolate; it's more a woman thing.” “Oh, I love it!” “Good for you!” They ate companionably, enhanced by small talk and the occasional warm glance, until the table was cleared and Claudia stood up. “I know a bar near my place. We could go there for a night-cap.” “I'm with you. ” **** They took a cab to the bar, driving through a slushy night, the wet streets gleaming like oil under the millions of city lights. Claudia nestled close to Martin, who put his arm around her with a sense of wonder at how natural it felt. “Do you like this city? ” he asked, turning his head slightly to catch the scent of her hair. “It has good and bad points, like anywhere else. On the whole, yeah, I do.” She turned to look up at him. “You'll have to come to Indy sometime, though. They call it the Big City with the Small Town atmosphere, and that's true. Maybe, if I can get some time off and you can stay over, we could go together?” His heart gave a strong beat. “I'd like that. My visa won't run out for a while, so I'm safe from the authorities.” “Yeah, there is that to think of. ” He felt her shiver against him and held her closer. “Since 9/11, everything's been so tense here.” “Were you here that day?” he asked quietly. “Yeah. That Tuesday, I was in the office working on the paperwork for a sale, when someone yelled that there was a fire in one of the World Trade Towers. You could just see them from our floor.” She grimaced and looked up at him. “We were all at the windows watching when that second airliner flew into the East tower. Martin, I've never, ever, felt such a sense of horror, of revulsion, of sheer uselessness in all my life! How could anyone do something like that?” “I can understand how you felt,” he said softly, remembering that time. “Those next few days were a nightmare. We all did what we could. I donated blood, which I hope helped somebody. Yet there was such a sense of anger, of fear. I went to bed that night and cried my eyes out.” “Understandable. It was similar in London when 7/7 happened.” He held her close, wishing he hadn't raised the subject and trying to think of a way to comfort her. “At least you know there is an afterlife. However cruel the loss in this world, there is survival afterwards.” “Yeah, I have to hold on to that.” She kissed him gently. “Thanks.” “You're welcome.”
“You're a nice guy, Martin. ” Before he could reply, they arrived outside the bar and the cab swung up to the curb. Claudia hesitated before opening the door. “I hope we're going to get out in the right century this time!” **** Later, much later, he walked with Claudia to her door. She unlocked it, then turned to take him in her arms. “I've really enjoyed tonight,” she said softly. “Me too.” She kissed him, a long, tender kiss, and he felt her hands running slowly up and down his back. Martin responded in kind, even going so far as to stroke her butt lightly, savoring the closeness of her, the warmth, the feel of her breasts against his chest. Having a desirable woman in his arms had the inevitable effect. After years of celibacy he felt his growing arousal with embarrassment, but Claudia raised no objection, even snuggling a little closer to him as they kissed. At last he groaned and pulled away. “Oh, Claudia! I've really enjoyed tonight.” He stroked her long hair and gazed at her wistfully. “I don't want it to end, but I really should get along to the hotel and set to work.” “Back to the case, huh? ” Claudia smiled gently as she held him and looked into his eyes. “Martin, I'd love to invite you in anyway, but I'm not the kind of girl who goes all the way on a first date.” She squeezed his hands. “I hope you understand?” His lips quirked. “I think I do. You'll have to excuse my…erm, reaction. ” “I do.” She tapped him lightly on the nose. “And if you're good, I could find it in my heart to help you out there sometime—but not tonight. It's been wonderful being with you.” She pecked him on the lips. “And tomorrow's another day, right?” “I look forward to it, Claudia,” he said earnestly. “Good man. ” She kissed her finger, then pressed it lightly against his lips. “And goodnight.” She opened the door, stepped inside her apartment, and was gone, leaving Martin staring at the bland wooden door. The tiny spot of light in the peephole blacked out and he smiled and blew a kiss at it. A soft double knock sounded, Claudia's acknowledgement at seeing him. With a light heart, Martin headed down the corridor. Tomorrow would be another day.
Chapter Seven Mike was just going off duty when Martin arrived at the door to the hotel. “Ready for your shift, Mr. Grey? ” he asked. “As always,” Martin replied affably. “You're working late, aren't you, Mike?” “One of the guys on this shift was delayed, so I stopped over till he got here.” He grinned. “Hey, it's overtime, right?” “Oh yes, always worth having. Anything happen whilst I was out?” “Mr. Marshall came and poked round some this afternoon. He had a cute office chick with him. Asked some pointed questions about those photos you and Miss Mackenzie found. Reckon he thought I stashed them there.” “Odd. He didn't seem to care that much about them. ” “Guess he just used them as an excuse to make trouble. I know his type; a chickenshitter. Met them all the time on the 96th Precinct, and before that in 'Nam. I tell you, Mr. Grey, I don't take kindly to people like him.” “He isn't the most pleasant individual I've had to deal with either.” “Glad I'm not working for the puke,” Mike said, tucking his lunchbox under his arm and settling his cap straight. “Anyway, the other two guys are here now, doing patrol. I'm off. Have a good one, Mr. Grey. ” “You too, Mike.” Mike left, leaving Martin to stare round. He realized with a pleasant shock that he missed Claudia. For a moment, he could even imagine the touch of her lips as he kissed her. **** At that same moment some miles away Claudia was showering, washing away the odor of cigarette smoke and stale perfume that lingered on her skin from the date. To her mind, the caress of hot water foaming over her skin mimicked a warm, human touch. Martin's touch and his kiss had been tender as he had held her outside the door scant minutes before, but she chuckled at the memory of his hardness pressing against her, the contrite look in his eyes when he apologized. For all her first-date rules, she'd felt the desire to pull the good- looking Brit inside and ravish him until he begged for more. The memories of that first encounter with Joseph and Claire Cloverdale were so strong! Aside from the incredible experience of being there, in that time, the memories of their love- making brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks and a moistness to her pussy which owed little to the shower. As she rubbed the shower gel over her breasts they began to feel so damn tender. Her nipples began to swell and crinkle, until each stood a half- inch proud of her cherry-red areola. Claudia stopped washing herself and pressed her forehead to the cool glass of the shower door. “Damn!” She hissed through her teeth, and tried to think of boring things. Work; shopping for food; paying bills; an appointment with her dentist. It was no good. Her mind was still filled with the image of Joseph Cloverdale laying upon her, his cock filling her/Claire's pussy, with Martin Grey staring out of his eyes.
She stepped out of the shower and tippy-toed across the cold floor to the cabinet, leaving a wet trail on the tiles. The gel dildo was on the shelf where she'd left it, clean and wrapped for emergency use. She flexed it, feeling the subtle plastic yielding to her fingers, and then held it up. “Martin's not here, little dil- friend, so you' ll have to do the job,” she said with a sigh. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye and she wiped away the condensation with her hand. “Talking to inanimate objects, girl? Damn, but you've been without a man too long!” Giving the blurred image a friendly parting wink, Claudia returned to the shower, grateful for the warmth after the cooler air of the bathroom. She leaned against the wall, gasping at the touch of the cold tiles on her back, and adjusted the shower head until it played over her breasts. “Mmmm!” It felt good. Bracing herself, she ran the tip of the dildo over her breasts, tracing lines and circles around each nipple, and along the crease below the flesh, working downwards. “Oooh, Martin!” she cooed, fluttering her eyelids. And down, sliding the dildo over her wet skin, over ribs, and belly, to her thighs. “Mmmm, yeah, babe.” Up and down the inside of each thigh, imagining his cock there, that it was Martin playing games with her like this. Bringing the toy up, closer, and closer to her pussy, until she drew it across her swelling lips and shuddered as ripples and ribbons of pleasure surged through her body. Her breath quickened. Unable to tease herself any more, she hefted the thick end of the dildo and drew it up into her pussy as if she was sheathing a sword. Her most tender flesh parted before the cool phallic bulk of the dildo. Claudia shuddered and jerked forward, biting her lip and drawing the toy up as far as it would reach. Water sprayed over her face and she gasped and shook it away, flinging droplets of water from her hair. Drawing a breath of hot, steamy air, she began to fuck herself with the dildo, drawing it up, deep, and out, until the bulbous head showed between her pussy lips, and up, and out, and up… A fierce, hot tingling grew between her legs, spreading out further with each thrust, and withdrawal. She braced her feet hard against the shower floor, and quickened the pace. Droplets of her juice began to mix with water in the wiry red curls on her mound as her hand brushed against them. “Uhhh! Martin, oh yesss, oh yess please!” Giving herself up to the moment, her imagination, feeling the water substituting for Martin's hot body against her breasts and belly, his cock, deep inside her, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting… “AAAaaaaaaaaaahhhh!” Claudia came, shuddering and jerking like a woman possessed, her legs suddenly weak, thighs closing around her hand, pussy clamping around the dildo, until the flash and flare of fireworks died behind her eyelids, and the sensations faded. **** Checking the instruments for the day's results took Martin an hour, spread as they were over the hotel. Martin hoped to gain as much data as he could. So far results had been negative, but not disappointing. The experiences he and Claudia had been having were entirely different from the normal run of his work—as far as his work could be said to be normal. He had more than enough material already for a new article for Occult
Times. Any information would help tie the case together; any sensory feedback or lack thereof, was useful. Which was why he was puzzled to find some of the recording devices showed slight shortfalls in their running time. A quick check showed them to be working properly, yet he couldn't account for sporadic gaps of five or ten minutes. As he passed through the foyer to check the last device which he'd located in the kitchen, one of the night watchmen leaned out of the office door. “Hey, buddy? Would you like some coffee?” he called. Martin nodded and went over to him. “Yes please, I could murder a cup.” The man laughed. “No need to kill it, feller! It's right here ready for you. C'mon in and sit a while,” he said, gesturing to a chair. He sat, and the watchman passed him a steaming mug. Martin sipped it appreciatively and smiled. “Good coffee!” The man grinned. “Yeah, it's from real beans. I bring my own from home. The company supplies some for us to use, but frankly, it's crap.” “Company coffee usually is, no matter where you are in the world.” Martin nodded, shuddering at the memory of innumerable machine- made brews lurking in his past. “Damn straight! A night like this, it's good to have something warm when we're done patrolling for a while,” he added, sitting down and putting his feet up. “How often do you patrol this place?” Martin asked. “Every two hours; we make one circuit of the ground and first floors. Takes around fifteen minutes.” “You don't bother with the higher floors?” The man grunted. “Nah. Not worth the effort. The fire escapes are all secure; they're the only way anyone could get onto those floors without coming through the foyer.” “Do you have much trouble with squatters?” “Nope. Never used to, either.” The watchman shook his head. “Nor druggies. Most other places don't have trouble now either, since old Mayor Guilliani cleaned up the city. It's stayed that way, thank Christ, but this always was a good, quiet detail.” Martin nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose Mike has little else to do during the day either apart from letting in the occasional caller.” “Mike? Yeah, he always liked the cushy numbers, ever since he got kicked off the force.” Martin looked at him keenly. “Kicked off? I thought he retired.” “Yeah, that's what I meant,” the watchman said, with a non-committal air. “Mike's okay. He has his round, we have ours. We hardly ever meet, except when we're changing over of an evening and morning.” “He helped us earlier, in an indirect way, ” Martin told him. “His experience in homicide gave us a clue of sorts.” “You don't say? ” the man said, giving him a direct look. “By the way, how's the ghost-hunt going?” “It's progressing,” Martin said slowly. “I think we're getting to the bottom of it.” The watchman chuckled and drained his coffee. “Not my kind of work at all,” he said, putting down his mug. “Gimme something I can see and touch any day. ” “Oh, you'd be surprised at what you can see and touch in my work,” Martin replied with a smile.
**** Some hours later Claudia lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. A glance at the clock showed 1:33 a.m. and she felt tired after a long day at work, a great date with Martin, and two sessions with the dildo. Yet she couldn't sleep through thinking of him, wondering what he was doing, virtually alone in the haunted hotel. She rolled over and closed her eyes, determined to push all thought s of the day from her mind and settle in to some much-needed sleep. Three minutes later she sighed and reached out blindly for her cell phone. She would call him. The phone proved elusive; her questing fingertips finding nothing but the cold wooden surface of her bedside cabinet. Swearing softly under her breath she reached up to turn on the light over the bed. Waiting a few moments for her closed eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, she opened them and turned to look on the cabinet. With a yelp of fright she rolled violently to one side, pitching headlong out of the bed to land with a thump on the carpet. The duvet slid on top of her and she fought it off, rolling away until she was clear of the bed. Rising quickly to her knees, she stared at the figure of a woman standing silent and unmoving by her bed. The light was on, flooding the room with illumination, yet Claudia realized with an extra thrill of horror that the woman cast no shadow. She appeared to be in her thirties, and wore a green silk dress with leg-of- mutton shoulders. “Who…who are you? ” Claudia gasped. The woman's head turned towards her, as if only vaguely aware of her voice. Then her focus seemed to sharpen suddenly, and Claudia found herself the subject of an intense stare. “I said, who are you?” Claudia demanded, rising to her feet and tugging her pajamas back into place. “Oh God! Martin, where the hell are you when I need you? ” she wailed. Martin? The woman's voice was soft, cultured—and inside her head! No, Mr. Grey won't be required. But your services will be, if you would oblige me? She glided through the bed towards her, hands reaching out and Claudia screamed. **** A mixture of sleet and rain was falling on New York City as Claudia walked through a brightly lit street of newly refurbished brownstone houses. Her legs were numb in the soaked pajama bottoms, and the raincoat she had somehow put on before leaving her apartment offered scant protection from the cold. Somewhere in the frightened core that was still her conscious self, she was thankful she had also managed to put her shoes on before setting out. This way… the woman whispered in her mind and Claudia turned abruptly to follow the order, for order it was. She had no more control over her actions than when she was riding in Claire Cloverdale's mind. And it was not Claire Cloverdale in her own mind now, but a presence never encountered before. A cold, hard-driving female presence that brooked no timidity from her. She was brought to a stop in front of a seedy bar, somewhere off the main drag in what she knew as one of the more wholesome neighborhoods. Gas lamps hissed above the door, lighting the name “Molloy's Bar. “ The large plate glass window was
illuminated with a cheery red-tinted light and posters for upcoming events were plastered here and there. Gas lamps? Claudia thought, even as she was propelled closer to the glass. From her raised position on the sidewalk she could see around the posters and fancy engraving on the glass. The barroom lay slightly beneath road-level. It was packed with people, a rough, lively- looking crowd sporting the clothing of a bygone era. Waiters and waitresses moved through the press here and there and a heavily- mustachioed barkeeper wearing a white apron served behind the long sweep of the counter. A huge mirror behind him reflected more of the room than Claudia could see directly. There! Her head was brought round; her eyes focused on a solitary figure reflected in the mirror, a man sitting in a corner booth, his hunched form just visible over the heads of the crowd. James Cloverdale! Claudia thought. Yes! Now, observe. Cloverdale dragged his fob watch from the sober brown waistcoat he wore and looked at it. Claudia saw him grimace, then fish in his pocket for a few coins which he put on the table before rising. She thought he looked unsteady on his feet for a moment, until he seemed to collect himself. Making his way through the crowd, he seemed unaware of her watching him from the street. Cloverdale emerged through the door and climbed the few steps to the street, turning his coat collar up even though the night was warm. As he turned away from her to walk towards the main street, Claudia wondered if she should follow, yet she remained planted firmly where she stood. Other eyes were watching him also, in that long-ago time and place. A few moments later two men emerged from the bar, each wearing grubby mariners' pea-jackets and woolen caps, their grey trousers stained from oil and other substances. She caught a reek of tobacco and unwashed bodies as they passed her, ignoring her, their attention fixed on the solitary figure walking through the night ahead of them. Then she followed, keeping up with the men until they picked up their pace. She saw why a few moments later, as James Cloverdale passed a service alley behind the corner brownstone building of the main street. The men rushed up, seized him and bundled him roughly into the darkness of the alley mouth. The deed was done in a moment, without so much as a cry from the victim. She ran up, ignoring and ignored by one of the pair who emerged to keep watch as his partner dealt with Cloverdale. The alley was dark, yet she found she could see as clearly as day. Claudia winced as heavy blows from a blackjack landed on the older man's head and back, his attacker belaboring him with ferocious concentration. Cloverdale tried ineffectually to shield himself with his arms until a particularly savage blow drove him to his knees. Satisfied that the victim was cowed, the assailant bent over him to seize his collar and twist it. “Where is it, ya bastard?” he hissed. “You won't…” Cloverdale began to say but yelped as another blow fell. “We read the papers! Ya got the goods, ya promised to have them here tonight!” the attacker snarled. “If ya try t' hold out on us, ya fink, I'll drop you in the river with a chain
round ya legs!” To add to the message he clubbed Cloverdale between the shoulder blades and the man grunted and sprawled on the filthy ground. “Quick, Larry! ” the second man spoke urgently from his post. “Someone's coming!” “Remember what I said, ya bastard!” the first man growled, shaking his fist at Cloverdale as he rolled over to stare up at him with helpless hatred in his eyes. The two men ran off along the alley, their footsteps fading then vanishing. Cloverdale rolled onto his knees, gasping and favoring one side where Claudia felt sure his ribs were broken. Somewhere down the road footsteps were approaching at an easy pace, but she moved closer to the injured man. The woman's presence inside her mind had begun to exude a feeling of mounting anger mingled with satisfaction. Watch. Cloverdale tried to rise but fell back, his face contorting with agony, one hand clasped over his heart. As he flopped onto his back his body shook, then arced with pain. A strangled cry escaped from his lips, to be heard by the approaching pedestrian. “Anyone there?” The voice came from the alley mouth. “Don't try anything funny, I've got a gun! ” it added, the accent noticeably Irish. “Help me!” gasped Cloverdale, then he gave another cry and fell limp upon the ground. The passerby moved cautiously into the alley, ensuring there were no nasty surprises waiting for him, until he saw the dead man lying there. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” He gasped, reeled back and crossed himself. “Hey! Hey! Murder!” He retreated to the alley mouth and ran off. Claudia hoped it was to summon help. Claudia and the presence watched as a pale light seemed to flicker above the recumbent form of James Cloverdale. It coalesced into a human shape; a brief flash of light and suddenly James was standing above his own body. He looked at his corpse, then up at her. Claudia realized to her shock that he could see her. Or, to be more accurate, he could see the woman's presence. An unspoken communication seemed to pass between the two, before Cloverdale smiled in a particularly nasty way and faded into nothing. **** Claudia awoke to find herself on her bed, with no recollection of getting there. Her unwanted and unnamed passenger had driven her through the night to witness the assault but had somehow brought her safely home. In spite of the cold and wet she'd encountered, she was puzzled to feel her legs were warm and dry. It was now morning. Early light was beginning to filter through the drapes over the bedroom window. On unsteady feet she managed to reach the bathroom to relieve herself and shower. The hot water eased the residual feeling of cold from body and mind, and brought a welcome feeling of alertness. As she let the water pour over her, she pondered what to do. One thought rose above all else. I need Martin! **** Martin was lying half-asleep on the inflatable mattress he used for naps between rounds when his cell phone buzzed by his ear. Coming awake in a fuddled state he
fumbled with it, dropped it, cursed, picked it up again and answered. “Hello…? Claudia? What are you doing up? It's…” he checked his watch, “only 5:30.” Claudia's voice was loud in his ear. “Martin, I need you here at my place, now! Something happened to me last night. It's serious.” Her tone gave credence to her claim. Even over the phone he sensed how scared she was. “Okay, I'll get a cab and come over.” “Martin? Please hurry? ” “Will do, Claudia. Sit tight, I'll be there.” The watchman looked up as Martin appeared in the office doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Hi, Mr. Grey, ” the man said. “Are you okay? ” “I'm okay, but Miss Mackenzie isn't. Would you happen to know where I can find a cab at this hour? I need to get over to her place.” “Jeez, I'm sorry to hear that. You don't need to phone, just walk outside and wait.” He gave Martin a half smile. “They don't call this the city that never sleeps for nothin'. Cabs pass up and down here all the time.” “Thanks!” Martin took his advice and walked outside. Sure enough a cab came along in minutes, its yellow sign glowing cheerfully in the bleak early morning light as he flagged it down. **** The next fifteen minutes passed very slowly for Martin. His mind churned over and over as he tried to work out the nature of Claudia's predicament. When the cab drew up before the apartment block, he handed the driver a bill to cover both fare and tip, then ran into the building. Claudia opened the door and all but pulled him inside. “Thank God you're here!” she said, firmly closing and locking the door before slipping into his embrace. “I'm no scaredy-cat, but what happened tonight really threw me!” “What happened?” “Come on in and I'll tell you. ” She took Martin through to her sitting room. It was a nice, clean, cozy apartment, he thought as he passed through; the kind of place used by a single working woman. Tights were draped over the radiator; a box of leg wax lay open on the table, and photographs of family stood here and there. An aroma of percolating coffee coming from the small but neatly- fitted kitchen wafted invitingly past his nose. Claudia sat down opposite him, wearing jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. She swept her long bedraggled red hair away from her face then pressed her hands together between her knees. He waited quietly, letting her begin in her own time on her own terms. “I had an encounter last night, just after 1:30,” she began. He listened as she recounted her tale, summoning his professional experience to resist the urge to ask questions, reluctant to interrupt the flow of words. From time to time Claudia referred to notes she had made whilst waiting for him to arrive and he admired her clear thinking. Too often he had interviewed clients who had been caught up in some paranormal event who had gone to pieces afterwards. “So that's it,” she said finally, spreading her hands with a small, helpless shrug. “I
woke up in bed, alone and wondering what the hell had happened to me.” “You'd walked through the rain and the cold, felt it all, yet when you woke up, you were perfectly dry and warm?” “That's about the size of it, yeah. How come?” “It could be a case of projection, where your consciousness can leave your physical form and travel to another location. Some people can do it at will. I think in this case you have a latent natural ability, which was discovered and exploited by this lady. She gave no name?” “None.” “You describe her as being in her thirties, wearing a long green dress with leg-ofmutton shoulders and tight cuffs?” “Yeah. ” “From that, I don't think it was Claire Cloverdale,” he said slowly. “The style of dress you describe was fashionable in the 1890's and 1900's. Which means your spirit was more likely to be Anna-Grace, her daughter.” He felt his face grow warm. “You had an intimate link with her mother; it's logical tha t she would also have an affinity with you.” “I'll say, given that I was in her mother when she was conceived!” Martin resisted the urge to look away, however embarrassed he felt. Claudia winked at him. Her spirits seemed to be reviving by the minute. “Anna-Grace could have acted as a spirit guide to you last night. The spirit showed you that scene for a reason. ” “Spirit guide? You mean like an Indian brave?” Claudia looked askance at him, a faint smile twitching her lips. “Oh, they take many forms.” He smiled in return. “For some reason, Native Americans are the only ones anyone thinks of—well, those, and ancient Egyptians. Spirit guides are very popular with some mediums. To get a message across to the living world they usually speak and act through the medium in the same way this lady did to you. It's called 'channeling.'“ He spread his hands. “I suspected from the first time we met you might have a talent in that area. It doesn't always show itself.” “Whoa! So I'm a medium now!” Claudia said sourly. “'Gypsy Rose Mackenzie, knows all, sees all.' Except I don't. I figured it could be Anna-Grace. She certainly knew and hated James Cloverdale.” “That's odd in itself,” Martin mused. “Anna-Grace had cause to hate him after he had killed her father, yet would she have known him to look at? He wouldn't have featured in her mother's life after what happened during the Civil War; I can't see Claire keeping any photographs or paintings of the man that her daughter could see.” “Could she have learned of his identity after her death? ” Claudia shrugged. “You know more about what happens in the 'Great Beyond,' so you're the best person to make an educated guess.” “It's quite possible,” he said slowly. “From discussions I've had there are more than a few spirit guides who display knowledge of events after their death. ” He looked at her guardedly. “There is one way we can confirm it was Anna-Grace who channeled through you last night—if you're willing.” “How?” she asked quietly. “By spirit-writing. There's no risk to you, I can assure you of that. Simply take that
pad and a pen, place them on your lap, and begin to write. It doesn't matter what, really, but keep it to short sentences. Whilst you do that, try to let your mind go blank. After a while, you should begin to write the name of the person who channeled through you last night.” Claudia looked at him, and nodded. “Okay. I trust you, Martin. Let's do it.” Taking the pad and pen, she laid them in her lap and began to write. Her eyes drifted off to gaze at some point over his right shoulder and soon, the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the scratch of the ball-point over the paper. After a while Claudia's breathing slowed, deepened, and her eyes became unfocused. The pen scratched busily across the blank sheet, random words at first, an arrhythmic sound that gradually took on a measured, stately pace. Five words, over and over again. “Claudia? Claudia?” Martin leaned across and gently squeezed her arm. With an effort she came back to herself and gazed at him blankly. Then her gaze dropped to the pad on her lap and she stared at it for a long moment. Wordlessly Claudia held it up for him to see. Written on the blank sheet beneath the gibberish of random words, a name stood out. Anna-Grace Palmer, née Cloverdale.
Chapter Eight Claudia took Martin to her office that afternoon. Phaeton Realtors, Inc. occupied half of the 25th floor of a modern block halfway towards Queens. “It's better than the old office, which was on the fifth floor when I started here. From there on a clear day you could almost see New York City, ” Claudia muttered sourly as they emerged from the elevator into the reception area. The glossy blond-coifed receptionist looked up in surprise. Her name badge proclaimed her to be Andrea. “Claudia, honey! Didn't you call to say you're taking a personal day? ” “I did and I was,” Claudia replied curtly. “Kyle called back right after. Told me I had to be here this afternoon. Any idea why? ” “Could be something to do with the Chestnut Mansion, ” Andrea replied with a shrug, looking Martin over in an obvious way. “Carla pulled the hotel files for him a while ago.” “Humph! ” Claudia snorted, and introduced Martin. Andrea's eyes took on a distinctly cool look as she handed him a visitor’s badge to wear. Martin gazed around at the busy office as Claudia led the way. Smartly-dressed men and women were busy in their open-top cubicles, poring over computer screens, printouts and faxes, all busily serving their corporate master. The heady scent of money filled the air. It reminded him in some ways of the Revenue Office and he suddenly felt depressed. Claudia took him to her own small office. As a relatively senior broker she rated something larger and more private than a cubicle. His eyes wandered over her tall, trim form in the charcoal grey suit, admiring the sway of her hips as she moved, musing on her transformation from the frightened young woman he'd encountered early that morning. “Here it is, my own little nook.” She smiled a thin smile as she pushed open the door. “I'll ask Carla to look after you while I'm gone. Take a seat. Don't be afraid to yell if you need anything. ” Martin found himself in a small room some ten feet square. One side was a wide window looking out onto the street and Manhattan in the distance; a glass partition on the other side separated the room from the bustle of the main office. A few potted plants arrayed along the sill added a touch of nature. Two prints of Impressionist works hung on the wall opposite the desk, the vivid colors adding a splash of light to the utilitarian layout. On the wall behind the desk hung a framed realtor's license and two diplomas, all bearing Claudia's name. A plain gray plastic desk with a clutter of office items, a PC, three padded chairs and a beige carpet, and that was Claudia's working domain. Claudia disappeared back through the door and he heard her giving instructions to someone. She popped her head in briefly to say, “I'll be back,” blew him a kiss, and then she was gone. Moments later a short, dark- haired girl came in. “Hi, Mr. Grey; my name's Carla. Can I get you anything?” Her smile seemed forced, her nature listless. Martin mentally reviewed his initial assessment of the office working atmosphere and concluded it definitely wasn't a happy one.
“Hello, Carla!” He smiled. “A coffee will be fine, please.” “Sure thing. ” She disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a large blue china mug and a selection of cookies. “Anything else I can do for you? ” she asked in a hopeful tone of voice. “Have you a few moments to chat?” he asked. She raised one shoulder, let it fall. “Sure.” He gestured for her to sit, and she did so. “What about?” “I believe you went to the Chestnut Mansion to collect some photographs we found there. What did you do with them?” “They're in storage right now, ” she said, wrinkling her nose in thought. “Mr. Marshall said to leave them until the new owners decide if they want them or not.” “New owners?” Martin sat up. “Has the place been sold?” “No.” She hesitated, shrugged again. “Although I hear Mr. Marshall reckons this time it will sell. That's what the meeting's about this afternoon; to arrange a new viewing. He seems confident.” Oh.” Martin stirred his coffee. “I hope my work will be finished by then. Are the old registers from the hotel also in storage?” Carla glanced guiltily at the closed door behind her. “I'm sorry, Mr. Marshall told me to dump them.” “What?” Martin stared at her. “Oh, Carla, no!” She stared at him, her huge green eyes beginning to water. “I'm sorry! ” she nearly wailed. “I was ordered to!” “Carla, it's me who should say sorry, ” he said hurriedly. “I didn't mean to snap. I'm angry at Mr. Marshall, not you. ” He glared out through the glass partition at the busy office. “God, I hate that kind of attitude! When I think of the history tied up in those old documents, all those people over all those years!” He shook his head. “It beggars belief that anyone could be so casual about disposing of them. ” “Maybe it's not that bad?” Carla said softly. “If you need that info, surely there's a load of other places you can get it from.” “It's not quite the same, Carla, or as easy. It's really part of your heritage that got dumped.” Claudia came in just then, wearing a sour expression. Carla got up and smiled briefly at Martin before fleeing the scene. “Anything wrong?” he asked. “Could be plenty, ” she grumbled. “Some party is going to look at the hotel. Kyle thinks this time the place will be sold.” “So I gather from Carla.” “Yeah, it's common knowledge around here.” She sighed and sat in her chair, rocking it back to stare out of the window. Weak sunshine had worked through the rain clouds to do wonders in lightening the fall day outside. “Thing is, Martin, the prospective buyers will be viewing the place tomorrow. I've been told in no uncertain terms to keep you and your equipment out of it until the day after.” “Ah,” he said quietly. “Ah, indeed. So, we'll have to get to work to put this case to bed before the rug's pulled out from under our feet,” she said decisively, turning back to face him. “I'm free for the rest of the day now Kyle's had his say. What can we do next? Check some
records?” “We could, but I'm afraid they won't include the hotel registers. Marshall told Carla to throw all the hotel records in the trash. ” She groaned. “Oh, my God! There goes any chance we'd have had to track down James Cloverdale.” “I know; it's a sheer bloody waste.” She shook her head. “That's Kyle Marshall all over. That guy can be unbelievably crass.” “How long have you worked for him?” Her glance flickered up to the door, then through the partition window onto the office floor. The people there were keeping their heads down, concentrating on their work. “Five years. I worked in real estate in Indianapolis after graduating from college, and then I came here. After four years I was promoted to my own section. ” “And he's been like that all the time?” “Nearly,” Claudia shrugged. Then she flushed. “I have to admit, Martin, he had a certain charm about him the first few months. We dated a couple of times. Nothing serious,” she added emphatically. “Oh, ” he said, nonplussed. “Oh. ” She smiled, as if sensing his mood. “You're so reserved, Mr. Grey! Has nothing of this city rubbed off on you? ” “Oh yes! Especially its charming citizens,” he said gallantly, raising his coffee cup in toast to her. “Why, thank you! ” she smiled warmly, picking up her bag. “Drink up and let's go, before Kyle finds something else to hassle me with. ” **** They descended to the foyer and made their way to the door. “Claudia? Mr. Grey? ” someone called behind them and they turned to see Carla emerge from the other elevator. “Carla? What's wrong? ” Claudia asked. The girl cast a quick glance back at the elevators as if checking for pursuit and came closer. She looked up at Martin. “I'm sorry, Mr. Grey, but I lied to you. ” “My name's Martin,” he said lightly as he regarded her. “What did you fib about?” Carla flushed. “When I said I trashed those books from the hotel? I wasn't exactly telling the truth. ” “You mean you haven't dumped them?” Martin asked eagerly, casting a quick look at Claudia, who raised an eyebrow. “No, sir.” Carla glanced around again and headed off to one side, giving Martin cause to wonder again at the way the realtor's office was being run. “It was like you said, Mr. Grey. About all those books being part of my nation's heritage? I took them down to the dumpster in the alley like Mr. Marshall told me, but when I got there I found myself leafing through them. All those people, all those names from the past; they, like, just seemed to speak to me, y' know?” “What did you do with them, Carla?” Claudia asked the girl gently. “Don't worry! Nothing you say will get back to Mr. Marshall, I promise.” “My uncle's the secretary of a family history society. Old books full of names are
meat and drink to him. I called him and he came right over to pick them up. It isn't theft, right?” she asked Claudia anxiously. “I mean, they were going to be dumped anyway. ” “No, it's not theft. No one else wanted them; as you say, they were going to be dumped. If your uncle can use them, he's very welcome to keep the books. But we do need to look at them,” she said, indicating Martin. “You did exactly the right thing, Carla.” “Thanks!” The girl sighed and looked a great deal happier. “We'll need your uncle's address,” Claudia said firmly. “Perhaps you'd call him, ask if he's free to see us sometime soon?” “Sure!” Carla pulled a post- it pad from a pocket and scribbled an address. She handed the slip of paper to Claudia. “I'll call right away, and let you know. ” “Excellent!” Claudia smiled. “Just when I thought things were going to be washed out, we're back on track. We're going now, Carla, but call me on my cell as soon as you hear something, okay? Keep your chin up, you did good.” **** Claudia drove back to her place, silent for the most part. Martin looked at her but held his peace, being more concerned with the novelty of driving on the “wrong” side of the road. As they entered Claudia's apartment, she let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the door. Her eyes were troubled as she gazed at him. “So, that was my office, my little place of work. Gruesome, isn't it?” “Far be it for me to comment,” he protested mildly, holding up his hands. “But yes, I thought the atmosphere was strained.” “Strained isn't the half of it!” Claudia groused, moving into the kitchen to fix coffee. “Poor Carla's a bag of nerves. Kyle just has to raise his voice and she goes to pieces. It took real pluck on her part to disobey his orders.” “Could she not get another job?” Martin asked, leaning on the door frame to watch her work. “I don't know. ” Claudia paused in the act of setting out the mugs and stared at the coffee pot. “She's on the very bottom rung of the realtor ladder and it's a long haul upwards, especially here in New York. If she can't cut it with Phaeton, then I don't know what else she can do. There won't be many other realtors who'll take her on. ” “That's a shame.” He shook his head, and looked at her keenly. “And what keeps Claudia Mackenzie working for the bloody tyrant of Phaeton Realtors?” “Oh, the old story. ” She switched on the coffee maker. “I need the work. It's a money-hungry city and this apartment doesn't come cheap. And I couldn't face going home to Indianapolis with my tail between my legs. 'The Girl Who Failed in the Big Apple,'“ she said in a deep voice, her hands mimicking the spread of a newspaper headline. “I'm sure your folks won't think that.” He reached out to rub her back. She pressed back against his hand. “A little higher…that's it, perfect!” He continued to rub as she leaned on the counter, watching the coffee beginning to drip through the machine. “You're right, my folks are fine about what I do. If I don't hit the dizzy heights here, I can always find realtor work back home. It's just…inertia, I guess, keeping me where I am. ” She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Maybe a certain
British de-haunting expert has need of an assistant?” she asked with a mischievous smile. He laughed, then kissed her gently on the lips. Claudia returned his kiss with growing eagerness, her body pressing closer to his. Martin's hands slid slowly down her back to encircle her waist and he drew her closer yet. Claudia's cell phone sounded a cheery tune from the worktop where she'd placed it, making them both jump. Excusing herself with a rueful look she moved away from him and took the call in the passageway. Martin waited patiently, fiddling with the coffee mugs until she came back. “That was Carla. Her uncle can see us in an hour's time.” She put the phone down, came up and pressed close to him once more. “Trouble is, it'll take an hour to reach his place.” She smiled at the mixed expressions that crossed his face and pushed his nose lightly with her fingertip. “Don't worry, Mr. Grey, I'll still be here tonight if you'd like to book an appointment now. ” **** Carla's uncle was waiting eagerly for them when they pulled up in front of his smart low-rise house on the outskirts of White Plains. “Mr. Swinburn, I presume?” Claudia called to him as they got out the car and walked up the path. He came down the stoop to shake hands. “Yep, the one and only!” He grinned, a friendly man of middling height, his age around the mid- fifties. Martin noticed a pale scar showing along his left jaw. “Come in, come in! Carla told me all about your search. ” The house was neat and tidy, thanks mostly to Mrs. Swinburn, a small, plump woman with graying black hair. “Hope you don't mind Chuck's study, folks,” she said with a smile. “It's a pit of lost papers in there, yet he'll never let me clean it.” “I know where everything is,” he protested, leading the way to the basement. “If it gets cleaned, it'll take me years to find everything again!” Most of the basement had been converted to a wide home office-cum- library, a cluttered space with the musty smell of old paper but one with a cozy charm. Martin ran his gaze along the shelves, noting copious numbers of books on genealogy and history. Chuck indicated a pile of old, black leather-bound books on a table which had been swept clear of papers. Gold embossed lettering on the spines was cracked and peeling under the onslaught of time; the leather was also cracked and blotched in places. “I think these are what you're here to see, folks,” he said. “Seriously, I hope Carla isn't in any trouble over my having these? She's a good girl; I don't want to see her fired for her kind thought.” “She won't be, I can assure you of that, Mr. Swinburn, ” Claudia said firmly, going over to rest her hand on the books. “The name's Chuck, and I'm glad to hear what you say. ” He looked upon the pile of old registers with great benevolence. “These are a potential goldmine for my society. Which particular books are you folks interested in?” Claudia looked at Martin, who thought briefly. “The guest register for February, 1863, then the guest and staff registers for April and May, 1896,” he said. “Sure thing. ” Chuck examined the spines. “Here we go.” He hefted the two thick books out of the row and placed them on the desk. “The 1863 one first?” Claudia asked. Martin nodded. “Aside from names, may I ask what exactly are you looking for, folks?” Chuck
asked, peering at them curiously as he placed the tome on a raised book rest for them to study in comfort. “Anything which corresponds to certain events in the past,” Martin explained, beginning to leaf slowly through the book. He felt the familiar mild despair and mild euphoria which mingles in the bosom of any historian faced with ancient crabbed writing in a previously untapped source. “We're looking for the family name of Cloverdale.” “Go right ahead, I'll fetch the coffee. Unless you'd like tea?” he asked Martin. “Coffee's fine. I'm acquiring a taste for it.” Whilst Chuck was upstairs, Martin and Claudia began their search. Claudia stood behind Martin to watch as he turned the pages, pressing close, her hand on his shoulder. Her nearness caused him more than a moderate amount of distraction. “Here!” Some minutes later he tapped an entry, the ink, once black, now nut-brown with age. “Captain J. and Mrs. C. Cloverdale booked in at the Chestnut Mansion Hotel on 5th February, 1863.” His finger slid further down the page, then overleaf to the next. At the top he tapped again. “And here's another J. Cloverdale, who booked in on the 8th. ” “The day of the fire.” Claudia breathed deeply, and let the breath out in a long sigh. “Damn! I think we're onto something here.” “Yeah. James must have kept out of sight of his brother during that day. I would assume because he wanted to cause that scene in the ballroom. Being seen earlier would spoil his grandstanding.” She snorted. “What a jerk!” Reaching out a hand, she ran her finger lightly over the thick paper. “I'm surprised this register survived the fire.” “It's one of the first things hotels get to safety during an emergency, ” Martin pointed out. “Then rescuers know who's likely to be in the building.” “Oh yeah; good point.” Claudia pressed her forehead. “Sorry, even those few hours’ sleep I got this morning haven't set me straight today. ” He smiled up at her and stroked her hand. “It's okay, I'm nearly running on fumes myself.” “Let's get going, then, ” she commanded, clapping her hands softly. “Before we both collapse. Next book!” “Okay, 1896 it is. But first, look at James' writing from the 1863 register and try to memorize the style. We've got to see if it comes up later so we can find his alias—if he's using one. I doubt he'd bother to disguise his handwriting. ” **** A trawl through the records for 1896 came up with a number of possible names for James Cloverdale but nothing definite. Chuck returned with the coffee and sat quietly for a while, watching them work. Martin explained what they were looking for and Chuck nodded. “If I may make a suggestion? ” he said. “This business of signatures and writing in general is one that crops up time and again in genealogy. There've been countless folks who changed their names for whatever reason, not all of them legal. I've got a little trick which could help.” So saying he pointed to a flat-bed computer scanner. “Lay the 1863 book on there, open at the page for James Cloverdale. I'll scan it, and then print off a transparency of his entry on the page. All you need to do then is lay it over all the suspect signatures until
you see letters which match. ” Martin grinned. “Chuck, you're a genius.” “Oh, hey! Spare my blushes.” The older man got to work. Within fifteen minutes, they had a match. Martin laid the transparency over the signature for one James Covington, purportedly a resident of Jacksonville, NC. “See how 'James' is written the same way? And the loops of the C and the O in Covington look similar to those in Cloverdale,” he said softly. “I think we've got him!” “Clever,” Chuck remarked. “Monogrammed personal items like trunks, cases and vanity things were very popular in those times. He didn't change his initials, so he wouldn't need to explain if anyone at the hotel saw him using such items bearing a different set.” “When did he check out?” Claudia asked. Martin looked ahead for a few entries. “A week later.” “So he was no longer staying at the hotel when he was murdered.” “Murdered? Quite a little party you seemed to have stumbled into,” Chuck said seriously. “So this James Cloverdale, a.k.a. James Covington, was murdered? Whereabouts?” “Near Queens, New York City, in an alley off 6th and Arnold.” Claudia shook her head. “He was the victim of a vicious assault which left him badly injured, but I'm sure he died of a heart attack immediately after as a result.” “You know something about him already, then? ” Chuck asked and Martin gave Claudia a gentle nudge. “Only hearsay so far,” she said, quickly. “We'd need to look up the details in the police files of that time,” Martin pointed out. “Would you know where we can find them, Chuck?” “City Archives,” he replied promptly. “All public records go there anyway once they pass a certain age. Anyone can access them under the Freedom of Information Act.” Martin smiled and rubbed his hands. “Excellent!” Chuck nodded. “It makes life easier for us researchers.” Claudia looked at her watch. “I don't think we'll make it this afternoon. We do have tomorrow free, so we can check then. ” “Good idea; it'll give us a clear run at the task. For now, I think we've taken up enough of your time, Chuck. Thanks very much for that and the use of the books.” “You're welcome!” The older man led the way upstairs. “I love history; it's great to meet two fellow enthusiasts.” He paused near the front door. “That name—Cloverdale,” he said thoughtfully. “It rings a bell with me. It's British in origin, undoubtedly. Perhaps I'll look up a few sources myself.” “You may have started something here,” his wife said, as she emerged from the living room to see them off. “I don't think I'll see much more of Chuck tonight…” **** As Claudia drove them back into the city Martin looked at his watch. “Still some daylight left,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we could try to locate the alley where James was murdered?” “I recall every detail,” Claudia said grimly, watching the road. “Asleep or awake, I
know where it is.” “Are you okay about going there?” Martin asked tentatively. “You saw him die.” “I'm okay. ” She gave him a forced smile and patted his hand. “I saw Cloverdale commit murder himself. It was an evil act. So was his death, but I guess you could call it poetic justice.”
Chapter Nine Thirty minutes later they arrived in the area Claudia had walked through on her nocturnal journey. Parking the car by the road, she guided Martin along the row of houses, her step confident. “This area was really run-down a few years back,” she told him as they walked. “Then the money started to flow in from the neighboring blocks and the whole district was gentrified. Our company sold quite a few properties around here; it's why I know it so well.” She stopped, and pointed to a shop-front further along the street. “That's Molloy's Bar!” Standing on the sidewalk they peered in through the window. The bar still bore the old name in shining red neon. It was busy with workers unwinding after a day in the neighborhood offices, the old booths and tables Claudia had seen long since replaced with modern furnishing. “It certainly doesn't look like a dive now, ” Martin said. “No.” Claudia shook her head. “Back then, it did look rough. At least the internal layout hasn't changed. There's the place Cloverdale, or Covington sat,” she said, pointing to the rear. “His attackers were watching him from in there?” “I think so,” she said slowly, rubbing her forehead. Recollection came. “Somehow I had the feeling they were watching from across the room, although I never actually saw where they were sitting.” “So, Cloverdale came out of the bar and turned right?” Martin asked, looking up and down the sidewalk. “Yeah, he went this way. ” They walked further, towards the main street. Rain had begun to fall again and the street lights cast halos of orange over the darkening street. “The weather was better back then, ” Claudia observed dryly, turning up her collar. “Ah! Here it is!” She stopped at the opening of an alley, the last before the street corner which lay some fifty yards away. Martin walked a little way down and looked around. Claudia followed reluctantly a few moments later, her memories of the night strongly revived at the sight of the alley. It had the depressing smell of alleys all over the world, even those in more respectable neighborhoods. Urine, vomit, the smell of rotting garbage emanating from the rows of dumpsters lining the way. A mesh gate closed off one section, the ragged remnants of wind-blown paper pasted to the wire. The whole area was poorly lit. Martin closed his eyes, and she looked at him curiously. “It feels unpleasant,” he murmured after a while. “There's an air of…” Suddenly Martin reeled backwards as if struck. “Martin!” Claudia grabbed him. “Are you okay? ” She stared as garbage suddenly whirled into the air, plucked from the ground and dumpsters to swiftly form a small tornado. “What the hell?” The vortex suddenly swelled in size and swept up to enfold them, and she felt a malevolence within the rush of wind. The air around them was full of flying debris and she screamed as a heavy polythene bag full of tin cans bounced off her shoulder to burst
in the maddened air. A flying can slashed across Martin's left cheek, sending bright drops of blood to join the supernatural storm. Somehow she grabbed hold of Martin's arm and dragged him back to the alley mouth, their heads bent against the howling wind. And it was literally howling, she realized; a strong male voice amidst the rushing wind raged with anger and loss. Suddenly they were free. The wind dropped, the garbage settled to the ground as if it had never moved. Chill air and sporadic pellets of sleet surrounded them now on a normal, everyday street. A few pedestrians passed them by, unconcerned or only mildly curious at the presence of two bedraggled people emerging from an alleyway. Cars moved on the road, bearing folks home to their evening meal. “What the hell happened in there?” Claudia whispered as she rubbed her bruised shoulder. She stared into the alley, half-expecting a renewed attack. Martin blinked and fumbled in his pocket for a tissue. “That was James Cloverdale making his presence felt.” He dabbed his cut cheek and sounded groggy. Claudia realized then just how shaken he was. “Claudia, that was ugly! I'm sorry, I didn't expect it to be so bad.” “You expected something to happen? ” she asked, drawing him further away from the alley. A few scraps of paper whirled in a stray eddy of wind and she flinched. “Were you going to try to contact him?” “Yes. It's the scene of his death-trauma, the most likely place for his spirit to be. I hoped to reason with him, to persuade him to move on to a higher existence.” He glanced at the alley. “It seems I hoped in vain.” “Is he still there?” she asked, peering into the gathering dusk. Martin didn't answer. Instead he drew himself up to his full height, and walked with a firm tread back towards the alley. “Martin, no!” she gasped, trying to hold him back. “Claudia, it's okay. ” He paused, kissed her then stroked her cheek. Gently taking her hand from his arm, he gave it a squeeze. “I know what I'm doing. He won't catch me out a second time. Please. Watch and wait.” “Okay, okay! ” She backed away with her hands up. “But I do it under protest.” He flashed a smile, then turned to walk into the alley. Claudia heard him chanting something under his breath. Litter stirred, rose threateningly, began to whirl. Martin chanted louder in a language strange and fluid to her ears. The garbage hesitated, and then dropped. Shadows flickered in the alley, seeming to creep towards the upright figure of the Englishman but vanishing when she tried to focus on them. Martin came to a halt and remained still, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Soothing words, coaxing, cajoling, issued from his mouth. From time to time he paused, as if listening. After long minutes, he turned and walked steadily over to where she waited. A look of disgust and defeat filled his face. “Not good,” he said, touching the cut on his cheek with his fingertips. “Cloverdale's too strong here. He's full of hatred, refuses to let it go and move on. ” “You tried to exorcise him?” Claudia asked, glancing back. “No. I don't like exorcising a spirit.” Martin frowned as he took her arm and led her away. He didn't even glance back to the alley. “It's a last resort for me. Too much like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. I find reason and explanation work far better. Sometimes, as in the alley tonight, I use a Gaelic prayer. It's a very ancient and soothing language which seems to work well in these cases. Exorcism's only for the really nasty
stuff. ” “Jesus!” She clasped his arm and took a deep breath. “I'd hate to see what you categorize as nasty! ” “Believe me, you don't want to!” he said tersely. **** Back at her apartment she settled Martin on the couch and tended to his wound with iodine and a Q tip. Martin sat quietly, letting her work, flinching at the sting of the iodine. “How bad is it?” he asked. “Long but shallow, thank goodness. I have some butterfly Band-Aids that should hold it closed.” She stroked her finger along his jaw. “It won't look pretty for a while but I don't think they'll start calling you Scarface back home!” He took her hand and kissed it, then held it as he gazed into her eyes. “Thanks,” he murmured. She smiled. “Just thanks in general, or for something in particular?” “Oh, a little of both! ” “You're welcome.” Leaning forward she kissed him, then pushed him gently aside. Snaking her arm around his waist she sat and leaned close. Martin pressed his face into her hair, comforting and drawing comfort. “I was scared out of my wits back there.” She sighed as she stroked his hand. “Nothing I've ever encountered comes close to that.” Martin grunted in non-committal fashion and she leaned back to look at him closely. “You've seen worse.” “Yes—and dealt with it. There are some terrifying things out there, love.” He settled back. “That hoary old saying 'things man was not meant to meddle in' is true. Yet people still meddle.” “And you're the one-man firefighter preventing the blaze from spreading?” “Oh, I'm not alone. There are many others who do some good.” “What about the churches? They're the ones who usually get involved in this kind of thing.” “Some are good, others not so good.” Martin stared up at the ceiling and Claudia cuddled closer. “A few clergymen back home realize that any ally is a useful one. Others scream for their Archdeacon if they know I so much as set foot in their parish. ” “It must be frustrating, knowing you can help but facing so much antipathy. ” “Sometimes. It's not as bad as it was. In Brit ain at least, the established churches are nowhere near as powerful as they once were. That can be good and bad, depending on circumstances and point of view. The New Age mentality saw a lot of people taking an interest in spirituality, most of them in a positive way. They define themselves as spiritual rather than religious. If 'official' sources are closed to me, I can usually find what I need to solve a case elsewhere.” He grimaced. “Of course, the New Age also led to a number of people opening doors onto things they found to their cost are best left alone. I've had more than one case where I had to deal with the fall-out.” “You said back in the alley that you can carry out exorcisms. Isn't that the preserve of a church? ” Martin shook his head. “No. Anyone determined enough could perform one, equipped with bell, book and candle. Doing it for the right reason is another matter
entirely. Some clerics tend to act like storm-troopers, smashing a 'haunting' without looking at the situation first. I try to be more sympathetic to all concerned.” She smiled gently, amused and touched by the seriousness in his voice. “Is that because ghosts are people too?” “Because they were people, once.” “What's your take on this case? Where do we go from here?” “James Cloverdale has to be persuaded to go on his way, ” Martin replied firmly. “It's not doing him any good, remaining locked to this plane of existence.” “But how will you do it?” “Find the necklace, the Cloverdale jewels. They're the cause of his being tied here. If we could discover what happened to them, we can find the rightful heir and perhaps, just perhaps, it will persuade him to let go.” “You're convinced no one recovered them in the hundred or so years since his death? ” “Oh yes. Whatever presence is showing us the scenes in the hotel wouldn't do it without good reason. ” His eyes narrowed. “Those jewels were hidden somewhere, perhaps in the hotel itself, either by James or his accomplice, Giuseppe. I have the feeling we're getting close.” “What can we do next? Those buyers will be looking around the place tomorrow. We don't have that much time.” “We'll check the police records. Find any trace of James in this city between the hotel fire and his death. And we'd better try to get a line on the Cloverdale family descendants, particularly Anna-Grace. Her heirs would inherit the jewels—if the family line still exists.” “Chuck said he would trace their family tree.” “True, he did. He's in a good position to do it. I hope he finds something. At this stage of the game, we could be running out of time to search the hotel before it's sold.” “But there's nothing we can do to further the search tonight?” “Nothing I can think of, ” he said after a pause, shaking his head. “Good!” She chuckled and let her hands wander. “Because I can think of something else to do!” **** Martin still seemed shy; he trembled against her, and she felt a warm glow of affection for this solid, upright Englishman. Her heart began to beat strongly in her breast as they kissed, and she drew him closer. In the back of her mind a small voice was emphasizing the need to take things slowly, not to scare him with an untimely surge of passion. She took the advice; Martin Grey had become very special to her in the few days they had known each other. There was no way she was going to let him leave without satisfying his need or hers. His hands slipped beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, and she could feel the warm, tender touch of them as he stroked her bare flesh. Claudia put her hands around his neck and kissed him deeply, sliding her tongue between his lips to flick it against his teeth. His hands moved up and down her back now, reaching a little higher each time, until they encountered her bra strap. “Undo it, Martin, ” she whispered. “Go ahead; I won't bite—much! ”
His laugh came as a gust of warm air, and she felt his strong, supple fingers feeling their way over the hooks. A brief tightening, then a wonderful release as the pressure of the cups on her breasts ceased. Drawing back, she slipped the sweatshirt over her head. The bra cups came away and dangled on the straps. Martin's eyes were fixed with wondering delight on her breasts as she emerged from the sweatshirt. She tossed it aside, gave a coquettish shake of her body to make her breasts sway, and smiled at his pop-eyed reaction. “You like?” “Damn straight!” he said with a laugh in his voice. The bra followed the sweatshirt onto the floor, and she cuddled close, kissing him. “Mr. Grey, you're wearing far too many clothes compared to me. I call that unfair!” He leaned back and let her unbutton the plaid shirt he wore. She pulled it open and ran her hands over his strong, manly chest. “I couldn't help but admire this the other day, when you were shaving.” She leaned against him and pecked him on the lips. “I have very good self-control, but you sure tested it then!” Martin's fingers came up and stroked the outside of her breasts where they squashed against his chest. “I think I'd have let you do what you like, Claudia,” he said softly. “I just reckon you would ha ve.” She kissed him again, and got up from the sofa. Taking hold of his hand, she drew him onto his feet. “And I've got just enough selfcontrol left to make it to the bedroom, where you and I will be much more comfortable.” Claudia had expected to lead him by the hand to her bed. To her mild surprise he laughed, slipped his arm around her waist, and walked with her to her bedroom. He closed the door with his foot, and clasped her about the waist. Drawing her close, he kissed her deeply, their tongues entwining, and she felt his fingers slide under the waistband of her pants. Claudia felt her self- control begin to slip as he knelt and pulled her pants down, his breath gusting hot on her thighs. She stepped out of them, holding onto his shoulder for balance, and shivered as he stroked her thighs, up, and down, gazing up at her with lust clear in his eyes. “Want to taste me?” she asked, a catch in her voice. “Oh yes!” he replied. She couldn't speak, just gestured for him to pull her panties down. He did so. Claudia blinked and shivered with delight, her hands pressed firmly to her flanks as he cupped her butt and leaned close. The first touch of his tongue on the smooth skin of her belly made her jerk. He buried his nose in her pubic hair, kissing and licking until she felt his hot breath playing over her sex. “You smell wonderful!” he said. “Yeah? Good,” she managed to say. “The taste of a woman is like a fine wine,” he said, and laid his tongue along her lips from front to rear, making her shiver and cry out. “Bed, Martin! I don't think I can stand much longer… Ooooh! ” She gasped again as his tongue flicked over the bud of her clitoris. He stood up as she felt her way back to sit on to the bed. Martin gazed down at her as he unbuckled his pants, dropped them and kicked them away. He wore briefs underneath; these followed, releasing his tumescent cock to her eager gaze. “Whoa! You're hard already! ”
He spread his hands and smiled. “How could I not be, in your presence?” “Oh! You say the sweetest things!” He grinned, knelt at the foot of the bed, and, with his hands on her knees, pushed them apart. Claudia flopped back, and closed her eyes. The soft tip of his tongue began to trace a line from her left knee upwards. She could feel the moistness of it, as she could feel the moistness of her pussy as it flooded in earnest. His mouth drew closer and closer to her pussy, licking, kissing, sucking at the soft flesh on her inner thigh. She drew a deep breath and braced herself for the touch of his tongue on her pussy lips—then the brute withdrew and began on her other leg! “Ohhh, dammit, Martin! ” she moaned, and her hips flexed of their own accord. His laugh in response was muffled by her flesh, as he kissed and licked her thigh, working upwards as before, closer, and closer… “If you go back to my other knee, I'll kill you! ” In response his tongue slipped between her outer pussy lips and deep inside her, his lips meeting hers in a slick wet kiss. Her butt buried itself in the softness of her bedspread as she jackknifed. “Oh, God!” As she relaxed, his hands wandered up and down her sides, then over her ribs to clasp and squeeze her breasts. All the time his lips and tongue worked magic inside her pussy, until Claudia could feel her juices flowing like a river. When he touched the button of her clit this time she cried out loud, grasped his head and pulled him against her. “Suck me! Bite me!” she gasped. Martin obliged, teasing her clit with his teeth, nibbling, pulling on it, suckling as if it was a nipple. Claudia felt the tingling in her sex flood up and out, until her ears began to sing with the oncoming orgasm. She gave herself up to it, losing all control, and screamed as one final pull of his lips on her clit detonated her orgasm. Blood pounded in her head, her mind was full of flashes of fire and light; her body twisted and writhed, all conscious control gone. When she came to, Martin was lying beside her, his hands lightly stroking her belly and thighs. She looked up into his smiling face, and reached up with trembling fingers to trace a line along his jaw. “Thank you for that, lover,” she said with a shaky voice. “Damn, but that was sooo fucking good!” “It's not over until the fat lady sings!” “Who are you calling fat?” He grinned, and slipped his fingers between her thighs. “It's a figure of speech!” She slapped his chest. “I know!” He lay close beside her as he slid his finger deep into her pussy. Lowering his head he sucked her nipple into his mouth. She could feel his tongue playing over it, hot and moist and so damn sexy, as his finger continued to stroke, stroke, stroke. Then another finger joined it, stretching her a bit more. Claudia lay back and let him play with her, closing her eyes and concentrating on the shivery feeling building up in her pussy once more. A third finger pushed in, stretching, spreading her vagina walls until she bit her lip and gasped with the sheer sensual touch. His thumb rubbed over her clit bud, his pinky fingernail scratched her anus. Somehow he must have sensed her thought, for he paused long enough to moisten his little finger in her pussy juices before sliding it
around and around her butt hole. His eyebrow cocked in enquiry and she nodded quickly. “Oooh yesss!” she murmured, as she felt his pinky slide into her hole. And his fingers got back to work in her pussy, his thumb returned to her clit, and Martin Grey, her tame and not-so-tame Englishman, began to bring her to pleasure once more. His chest rose and fell against her side as he breathed. She gave him a long, sultry look as he nuzzled her breast, pushing her flesh around with lips and tongue, teasing her nipple until it throbbed. Inside her his fingers began to move quicker, and quicker, as he set to finger- fucking her with a will. “Yes! Yes! Oh, yes!” she said urgently, her breath quickening. Faster, and faster, his arm rubbing on her thigh and fingers probing as deep as his knuckles with each thrust. Claudia pushed her head back and clamped her pussy onto his fingers, bringing the maximum amount of flesh into contact with her lover's hand. Once more the sudden surge of orgasm rolled through her, bearing her up and rolling her body through the mill race of lust and passion. Her own cry seemed faint to her ears as she came, her pussy clamped like a vice around Martin's fingers. Slowly, she came to, and found him smiling gently down at her. Claudia reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw line, feeling a great warm wash of contentment flowing through her body and soul. “Damn, but you're good with your hands!” she said softly. He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I aim to please, my love.” “Mmm, love!” She stretched and yawned. “I like the sound of that.” His cock lay hard against her thigh. She reached down, and clasped it. “Now, let's find somewhere for this big boy to play, shall we?” He laughed and kissed her, his solidity and warmth so comforting against her. Claudia savored his presence in her arms, stroked his hair, and whispered, “You'll find a small red packet in the top drawer of my cabinet.” Martin leaned across her to explore the contents of the drawer. A hair- lined nipple hung above her face and she reached up with her lips and sucked it hard. He gasped, so she did it again. “Oooh! Blimey! ” Sliding back beside her he held up the red foil packet. “Will you do the honors, or shall I?” Claudia twitched the packet from his fingers. “Lie back.” He rolled onto his back as she tore open the foil. The mixed smell of latex and lubricant wafted into the air as she slid the coiled rubber out of the pocket and teased it open. “The first time I used these, I never could figure which side was which, ” she said. Pinching the teat, she placed the rubber like a crown on the head of his cock, liking the way he stood tall and proud. A fresh gush of warmth flooded her pussy at the thought that it would soon be deep inside her, and she rolled the rubber over his shaft with more haste than she intended. He winced, and she gave him a lingering kiss by way of apology, even as she stroked his balls with her fingertips. Bracing a hand on his chest, she straddled him, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. She reached beneath her and guided his cock to her pussy, moving her hips until she felt the tip of the rubber touching her labia. Martin's face took on a look of mixed urgency and pain as she began to lower herself onto him, and she chuckled as his eyes fixed on the sight of his cock as it disappeared into her hole. Claudia felt her cervix being pushed upwards and she grunted with delight as she
sank onto him. She drew her knees up so she could le t her weight settle on him until he filled her to the last hair. “Ooh, my God!” Martin groaned, and his hands played with her breasts, making them swing and tremble. He began to rise against her, his fingers pinching her nipples. Claudia ran her fingernails over his chest, leaving faint red wheals, as she began to match his rhythm, sinking down onto her lover as his hips rose up, rising when they fell back, riding him. Letting the rhythm build for a few minutes, she gave a sudden twitch of her hips, rocking quickly from side to side even as she mashed her pussy down onto him. The feel of his cock moving hard inside her made her grit her teeth and cry out. “Oh, God! Yes, oh yes!” Martin groaned, his eyes half-shut, and his fingers closed convulsively about he r breasts. Claudia leaned forward and gripped his shoulders, bracing herself, and she began to ride him like a jockey in a gallop over a rough field, pounding down onto Martin's cock with every stroke. His hands closed about her hips, holding onto her, striving to rise against her weight, his eyes fixed on her breasts as they bounced and bobbed in front of his face. “Oh God! Oh God!” It felt like someone else was crying out, it wasn't her. The heat in her pussy was rising to boiling point. “Oh please, yess, yesss, yessss!” Martin gave a great groan and surged up against her, impaling her on his cock like a harpoon. His head pressed into the pillow, his back arched, and she could feel his cock pumping inside her as he spent. The feeling tipped her over the edge. Shaking and shuddering she came in screaming orgasm, her heels locking under his butt as she clamped herself to him in a paroxysm of lust. Somehow, at last, they sank back onto the bed, and lay together in each other's arms in warm, drowsy, post-coital bliss, heedless of the damp sheets beneath them. Claudia found the energy to lean over and kiss him. “Welcome to New York!” she said with a laugh. **** Martin whistled cheerfully as he knocked on the front door of the hotel the next morning. As he waited for Mike to appear he looked up at the old building with mild affection and felt a warm glow as he remembered the night just passed. Claudia was at her office preparing the viewing for Kyle Marshall, and he missed her deeply already. A strange watchman came to the door and peered out at him. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked. Martin blinked at him in surprise. “I'm Mr. Grey, ” he said, holding up the pass Claudia had given him. “I need to clear my equipment away before the viewing this morning. ” “Okay, wait one minute,” the man replied, sorting through the bundle of keys at his belt until he found the one for the revolving doors. “Is it Mike's day off? ” Martin asked pleasantly as he walked in. “Mike isn't working for the company anymore,” the man said with a thin smile. “My name's Tom, ” he added, holding out his hand. Martin shook it and introduced himself. “That was a sudden departure.” He frowned.
“I hope nothing's wrong?” “I can't say, sir.” Tom gave him a knowing look. “Someone's been stirring the pot back at base. You'd have to ask them.” “Well, it's none of my business, I'm sure,” Martin replied. “I'll go and collect my things. I shouldn't be more than an hour.” “Okay, sir.” Tom jerked a thumb at the office. “I'll be in the hooch when you want out.” It took Martin less time than he expected to collect all his sensors. Again, he was puzzled to find that some showed discrepancies of five or ten minutes in their running time. As he was thinking over the possibilities, his cell phone rang. “Hi, honey!” Claudia's voice sounded bright and cheery in his ear. “How's the lover this morning? ” “Just great!” Martin smiled at the sound of her voice and leaned against the wall. “How are you? ” “Oh, just wonderful! Especially since a nice bouquet from a certain English gentleman was delivered to me at the office this morning!” He grinned. “You're very welcome, love.” “Thanks again, Martin. It was a lovely thought.” He heard her inhalation of breath. “Martin, I hate to spoil the moment, but a lot's going down at the office this morning, not all of it good for you or me. Where are you now?” “I'm at the Chestnut Mansion, sorting out my sensors. There's something funny going on. I think they've been tampered with. ” “Really?” Her voice quickened with interest. “Who or what would do that?” “I don't know but I'll work it out. Are you okay? ” he asked. “You said you're fine but you sound harassed.” “More than somewhat, Martin. First up, Kyle's been on my back about the viewing; he wants you out of there ASAP.” “Not a problem, I've just finished.” “Great. Second, I had a call from the security company manager. It seems Mike told a few whoppers to get his job, so he got the sack. Company policy. ” “Good grief! ” Martin gave a silent whistle. “There's a new watchman here this morning; he hinted that things weren't right where Mike was concerned. Now I think of it, one of the night watchmen also danced around the subject when I asked him. Is it anything we should know about?” “Not sure; if I find time, I'll chase the manager on it, but I can't promise a result. Martin, I'm not going to make it to see you this morning. Shall we meet up for lunch?” “At the deli?” She laughed and he could picture her face at the other end of the connection. “You're getting a taste for deli dining, aren't you? ” She sounded better. “It's a date! Leave your equipment in the office there and we'll collect it later, it'll be safer than toting it around the streets. Oh damn, Carla's here. Gotta go. Love ya!” “Love you too!” He closed the call and smiled. **** Early afternoon saw Martin and Claudia at the archives. Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act there was no difficulty in gaining access to the police files covering the
deaths of one James Cloverdale, a.k.a. James Covington, and Giuseppe Loretto. Long ago each folder had been marked “112th Precinct” with a smudged stamp, the once-blue ink turning mauve with age. A more modern touch was a white label with a bar-code, stuck in the top-right corner. Claudia opened the bulky manila folder on James and began to leaf through the musty documents inside. “Seems our James was a busy boy, ” she muttered, scanning the crabbed writing of a past generation of police officials. “Look at this. 'Deceased victim identified as James Cloverdale, suspected agent provocateur in the anti-draft riots in New York during 1863.'“ “That would suit his Southern sympathies,” Martin observed, picking up the next sheet. “From this it looks like he tried disrupting the recruitment of the Northern forces all through the Eastern states of the Union. ” “1863?” Claudia mused. “Until Gettysburg in July that year, it was still anybody's war. After that, the South was never going to win. ” “Good job too.” Martin read on. “It seems James thought the same. In 1864, a Pinkerton agent in Charleston reported seeing him board a blockade-runner, the Southern Cross out of Wilmington, bound for Liverpool, England. Hah!” He pointed at the next line. “It says here the vessel belonged to the late Colonel Joshua Cloverdale!” Claudia gasped. “The family had a shipping business!” “Somehow I imagined them as plantation owners.” “You've seen Gone with the Wind too many times.” Claudia grinned and poked him in the ribs. “So he went abroad, to England and all points east. I guess he had a price on his head too. With his record, he'd face the noose for sure if he stayed around. When did he come back to the US of A?” “Nothing here to say, ” Martin said, after he had checked the few remaining papers. “It seems he left the scene to cool off for a good long while before returning. Ah!” He tapped a sheet headed Baltimore Department of Police. “An attempted burglary at the house of a certain Mr. and Mrs. Palmer! The police failed to catch the intruder. And here's an unconfirmed report of a man answering James' description having been seen loitering outside the house during the week previous.” “He was still trying to get hold of the jewels.” Claudia set her chin on her hand and looked at him. “Martin, we never really asked ourselves why he wanted the necklace.” “Humph! You're right. I always assumed his aim was to return it to his side of the Cloverdale family. Yet it looks as if he was the sole survivor. There's no record of his ever marrying. What about the family estate and the shipping business? Would he inherit those?” “Perhaps. I'm not sure if they would have done him any good,” Claudia replied softly. “Aside from the fact he was a wanted man, he may not have had a business to inherit. Taxes in the Southern states went sky-high after the war. It was a case of the Union government screwing them to pay for the war they caused. A lot of Southern businesses went to the wall due to their inability to pay. ” “Foreclosure?” “Uh huh.” “So it's possible he was ruined, even if he hired a manager to run things whilst he was in exile. Reason enough to want a few thousand dollars worth of gold and rubies.”
“Perhaps Claire inherited the Cloverdale estate!” Claudia said, sitting up in excitement. “As the widow of the gallant Captain, she'd have a good case, especially if the other family members died without issue. Perhaps the tax authorities would have been more lenient if the business was Northern-owned?” “Perhaps,” Martin said dryly, thinking of the prosaic attitude his own office would take in similar circumstances. “But if so, it would be one more reason for James to hate her. Thinking of 'the fine Yankee whore' lording it over his family fortune would probably have driven him a bit mental. ” “Nice turn of phrase.” Claudia laughed. “But apt!” Martin read on. “It says his rented apartment was searched by the police the next day. Nothing suspicious was found.” Claudia held up a browning photograph showing the dead man lying on a mortuary table. Heavy bruising covered the upper parts of his body and his face was swollen. “And here he is,” she said sadly. “All that passion, all that life, snuffed out, reduced to mere meat on a slab.” “Ugly, ” Martin said sympathetically as he took her hand. “Yet now you know yourself, there's life beyond life.” “It's a great comfort, Martin. ” She sighed and leaned close. Her lips twitched. “That's one of the great mysteries of life settled. Now, if we can figure out why people phone just as you get settled in the bath, we'll be rolling!” “That I can't help you with!” Giuseppe Loretto's folder was slim by comparison. The statements given by the hotel manager and others present at his apparent suicide were all included, along with the autopsy report. “'The cause of death was due to injuries sustained by a fall from a great height,'“ Claudia read aloud. “’The body is in poor condition due to the impact.’ No mention of any burns on the hands. Cloverdale got away with it—at least, for a while.” “It looks like it.” Martin leafed through the rest of the report, pausing to scan any particularly relevant passages. “These statements report Giuseppe being suspected of theft. He had no previous record. Here's a police report concerning a search of his quarters along with all the others in the staff area, all negative. No jewels, not even a trace.” “We've drawn a blank, then. ” Claudia rubbed her face and sat back in her chair. “Possibly. We've learnt quite a bit, though. There must be something here which will take us further.” “Not much time to go,” she said. “The potential buyers still seemed keen on the hotel this morning. Looks like Kyle could be in for a sale at last.” “How soon?” She shrugged. “Depends. Could be a couple of days, could be a month. ” “We have some time, then. Oh, well, let's pack up here and have a coffee somewhere. We need to think about the next step.” As Martin began to replace the contents in the folders he hesitated, then drew them out again. “Odd,” he murmured, looking at the covers. “What is?” Claudia asked. “These bar-code strips have the words 96th Precinct printed underneath, yet the covers read the 112th. ”
“A mistake?” “I doubt it. We can ask the archivist.” When approached, the archivist smiled understandingly. “No, there's no mistake. The NYPD goes through the occasional spate of reorganization, just like any other public body. The precincts were re- numbered in this borough to account for the expansion in housing, that's all.” “When did these files come here to be archived?” Martin asked. “Just a minute, and I'll tell you. ” The archivist scanned the bar-code under the laser and checked his computer screen. “1996. Every precinct off- loads a batch of files each year just to free up storage space. Looks like they were two of a number sent in for that year.” Martin thanked the archivist and returned the files to the stack. Claudia squeezed his arm. “Mike the watchman was a cop in the 96th Precinct,” she murmured as they made their way out. “Could he know anything about the files?” “It's possible.” Martin chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Having said that, why would he? They're over a hundred years old; there's nothing remarkable about them. ” “Guess you're right,” she said with a frown. “It could be a coincidence.” “The universe runs on coincidence.” Martin smiled and linked arms with her. “Even in a case of haunting?” she asked skeptically. “Um…no. Perhaps not. We'd better see if we can speak to the security firm manager. There may be something he knows about Mike that could set us right.” “We'd better go see him in person. He won't be able to evade easily if we see him face-to-face.” **** Unfortunately the manager was made of sterner stuff. When they tackled him on the subject in his office downtown he held up his hands. “Look, folks, I can't tell you anything about our employees, past or present. Mike broke the rules, he paid for it. He's no longer working for this company, period.” “Can't you even give us his address? We need to talk to him.” “No way! I'll get sued if I let unauthorized people have that information, and you aren't authorized. Now, if you don't mind, I got work to do.” “We could try the other security men,” Martin suggested as they made their way down to the street. “It's all we have left.” Claudia checked her watch. “That or check the hotel office, see if he left anything with his address on it.” **** At the Chestnut Mansion, Tom let them in. “You just missed the showing party, folks,” he told them as they made their way to the office. “That guy Marshall looked like the cat who got the cream.” “Uh-oh!” Claudia grimaced. “I know that look of old. I think he just made a sale. Martin, we really don't ha ve much time now. ” She turned to the watchman. “Tom? I need to get in touch with Mike, the guy who used to do this job. Do you know where he lives?”
“I used to, ma'am, ” he replied, with a slow shake of the head. “I heard tell he moved recently, though. Why do you need him?” he asked suspiciously. “He may have information about something that happened here once,” Martin replied as they headed into the office. “You won't get much out of that remf,” Tom muttered. “Remf?” Martin asked, eyebrow raised. “What does that mean? ” “A term we had in 'Nam. It stands for Rear Echelon Mother-F…” Tom glanced at Claudia who was beginning to search the desk. “I guess you can figure out the last word,” he said with a wry smile and a nod towards her. “Mike was one of those. The y sat around the rear areas, all nice and cozy, just heaping the tin on themselves and saying how tough it was there; but they did f-all fighting. I knew him slightly, back in '68. He was a jerk then, and he's a jerk now. ” “It would help a lot if we knew his surname,” Claudia muttered moodily, flicking through a notebook. “Covington, Mike Covington. What? What?” Tom asked, as they stared at him. **** A check at Mike's last known address drew a blank as the day drew to a close. Claudia paced the lounge of her apartment, in animated conversation on her cell phone whilst Martin sat quietly watching her, admiring her energy. “No forwarding address!” she fumed, closing her cell. “It's as if the guy expected trouble and he's covering his tracks.” “It makes me more certain than ever that he knows something of the jewels.” Martin sighed and leaned back in the sofa. “You're sure he's related to James Cloverdale?” “It would be an awful coincidence if he wasn't. That's why we drew a blank over James marrying and having kids. If he did, it wasn't under his family name but his alias.” “And Mike is his descendant!” “And he knows about the jewels, either through family legend or something he once found in the police archives.” Martin leaned forward and stared at her. “Think about it. If he knew that a fortune in jewels was possibly hidden in the hotel, he'd be in a perfect position to search for them without being disturbed. I'm sure it's why my sensors were interfered with; he didn't want us to know what he was doing whilst we were out of the building. ” “Could he have found the jewels? It'd be a good reason to bug out of his job and his apartment.” “No,” Martin said slowly. “All we've experienced so far would be pointless if he'd found them. They must still be there.” “Could he have been contacted by his great-grand-pappy or whatever, the way this presence contacted us?” “Possibly. Without seeing the man, I couldn't say. ” “Well…” Claudia was interrupted by her phone ringing. She swore softly when she saw the name of the caller on the tiny blue screen. “Hi, Kyle…” She pulled a sour face at Martin as she listened. “Yeah… Yeah? I'm not sure… Well, yeah…” The other voice went on at some length, with Martin catching only the faint angry buzzing of the bombastic manager. “Whatever you say, Kyle. Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye.”
Claudia snapped the phone shut. “Trouble?” he asked, rising to take her in his arms. “Trouble, Martin. ” Claudia sighed, cuddling close. “What kind?” “As in the Kyle Marshall kind. The hotel's all but sold. The potential buyer doesn't care about ghosts.” She squeezed him gently. “Martin, I'm sorry. There's no easy way to say this, but the case is closed. Marshall has told me to tell you your services are no longer required. He's paid you in full to date and terminated your contract.”
Chapter Ten Claudia leaned on one elbow beside Martin, tracing a finger through his chest hair. They lay together quietly in her bed, listening to the hum of traffic in the street far below. “How are you feeling?” she asked at last. “Not too chipper.” He sighed. “It was all rather abrupt.” “I know, and I'm sorry. Maybe there's something we can still do to close the case without needing to go into the hotel.” “Perhaps. We'll have to sleep on it.” “If we sleep!” She laughed wickedly. “Look, are you planning to go home to England just yet?” “And leave you so soon? ” He smiled up at her in the soft half- light and stroked her chin. “No.” Claudia nestled her cheek into the palm of his hand. “Would you like to stay with me? If you don't need to rush home, I'd love to spend time with you. You haven't seen much of New York while you've been here, and I'd like to make up for the way you were treated. My girlfriend got me tickets for an off-Broadway comedy production, so we could take in the show. ” “I'd like all of that, Claudia. Thank you very much, ” he replied happily. “Great!” She smiled wickedly at him as her hand slipped down over his stomach. “In the meantime, let's find something to do nearer home.” She kissed him deeply as she fondled his cock. A delicious thrill of anticipation ran through her as she felt it hardening in her hand; that unique, living feel of a man, a handsome, charming man, so warm and tender and passionate. “Mmmph!” he mumbled, stirring against her, and she felt his strong, dexterous fingers stroking along her arm and then down to her breast. He had already found what she liked, for he pinched her nipple, rubbing it between finger and thumb. “Ooooh! ” She gave him a sultry look. “I like that. Is there something I can do for you?” “You could suck me, if you like?” he whispered. “I like,” she said, smiling at the hopefulness in his voice. So reserved, these Brits! “I think you'd best lie back for this.” Martin lay back, trembling with barely controlled lust as she straddled his thighs and closed both her hands around his shaft. She leaned over it and inhaled discreetly. It smelled sweet and clean. Nice to know some guys take that little extra care. Tenderly she rolled back his foreskin, exposing the heavy purple bulb. A trickle of pre-cum dripped from it and she licked it away, savoring his taste. Moistening her lips, she glanced up at him, winked, then set to work. * Martin tipped his head back and sighed deeply as Claudia's tongue and lips began to weave a spell on him. He was astonished at how deep into her mouth she could take him, and trembled at the feel of her fingernails lightly scratching his balls. He looked down, marveling at the sight of the beautiful woman engaged so earnestly in pleasuring him. His shaft slid in and out of her mouth as her head bobbed rhythmically, the picture framed by
her long red hair. Claudia's hand was between her parted thighs; she was masturbating, using her only her fingertips to stroke herself. Jenny would never do anything like this! He thought ruefully. Martin hoped that this wonderful relationship, unlooked- for but oh so welcome, would develop. He was falling deeply in love with this smart, beautiful Indianan. The feel of her lips and tongue around his cock and balls were having a huge effect. It was so different from entering a pussy. He was so looking forward to the time they could make love without a rubber. He wanted to experience Claudia's wonderful body in every way possible. He stroked her hair, running his fingers through the shining coppery strands, teasing it out to the very ends. With his long fingers he caressed her head, following the shape of her ears and jaw. A weird feeling, almost of detachment came over him as his senses quickened with every stroke of his cock in and out of Claud ia's mouth. His nerves trembled, a tingling rose up the back of his neck and into his ears. The room suddenly became brighter. “Oh! Oh! Oohh!” He gasped as a feeling of pressure rose in the root of his cock. “Gonna cum!” Claudia stopped briefly and looked up at him with sultry eyes. “That's it! Cum for me, Marty, cum for me!” she whispered. She engulfed his cock once more, running her tongue all over his throbbing head, feeling the heat of his blood pounding in the thick meat. Martin twitched and shuddered, then gasped. “Oh God!” He gave a jerk and his cock thrust deep into her throat. * Claudia was prepared. She drew back quickly and took the first jet of cum in her open mouth, tasting the salty bitterness. Holding his shaft she watched through blinking eyes as jet after jet of creamy white cum shot up from Martin's engorged cock. Hot wet cum impacted on her face and throat and trickled downwards. Moving his cock, she directed more of it at her breasts until they swam with his juice. At last he was spent. She looked up at him, smiling with deep pleasure at the brief look of stupidity that always came over men's faces in the aftermath of climax. When his eyes stopped rolling enough to focus on her, she slowly wiped his juice from her breasts, her eyes fixed on his. Raising her fingers to her lips, she deliberately licked them clean. The look on his face made her fall even deeper in love with Martin Grey. **** In the morning Martin breakfasted on a piece of toast whilst he read the paper. Claudia bustled about getting ready for work, a pleasant background sound of domestic activity he realized he'd missed over the years of a single life. “I'm going to look into what we can do in the hotel, ” she said decisively. “Maybe the new owners will concede a point and let you finish the job if they don't have to pay for your services. If not, there's always that Baker guy. You could see what he wants.” “It's a possibility. There's one ploy I'd like to try at the hotel if I can. ” “What's that?” “A séance.” Claudia stopped short and looked at him. “A séance? Are you serious?”
“Yes. I think it's time we forced the pace; see if we can persuade the presence, or spirits that time is running out.” She looked dubious. “I've never done anything like that before. Will it work?” “It should do. To be honest, I can't think of anything else.” “Okay, I'll see what I can do. You're sure you'll be okay until I get back?” she asked, stooping to kiss him. “Apart from missing you terribly already, I think I can cope,” he smiled, cuddling her. “Good to hear it!” She smiled, kissed him again, and picked up her attaché case. “And Martin? Try not to brood on all this.” “I won't, I promise,” he said, placing his right hand on his heart and raising his left. “Good man!” She grinned, and gave him one last kiss before heading out the door. **** She was on the phone to Martin within the hour. “Hi, I'm at the office. Sorry, Martin, but Kyle's making life difficult here. I daren't ask if I can approach the new owners. He's so cocky about off- loading the hotel, he doesn't want anything to spoil it. Poor Carla's running around like a headless chicken trying to keep up with his demands.” “Damn!” Martin muttered. “Claudia, I've thought this over; we really need to get in and hold that séance. How much time do I have to collect my equipment?” “Not long; I guess you could drag things out for an hour, no more.” “Hmm. Perhaps we can still do something.” “Look, I've got to tie things up here. Stay where you are, I'll call to pick you up then we'll go on to the hotel.” **** When they arrived at the hotel Carla was hovering inside the foyer. Tom was standing behind the reception desk, sorting through a pile of papers. “Kyle sent me over to keep an eye on you, ” Carla said wretchedly, looking at Martin. “He wants me to make sure you just collect your gear and leave. I'm so sorry! ” “Carla, we've nearly cracked this case,” Claudia said gently, touching her arm. “Mr. Grey needs a few more minutes. Then we'll go collect his things and leave. Okay? ” “I'm not sure.” “Please, Carla?” Martin asked quietly. “It won't take long. ” Carla glanced between the two of them then back to Tom, who was quietly observing the scene. He merely shrugged and leaned on the desk. “Your call, lady, ” he said, “but Mr. Grey's an okay guy. I ain't gonna throw him out if he says he'll leave.” “Oh! ” Carla sighed and seemed to collapse in on herself. “I guess it'll be okay. So long as Mr. Marshall doesn't know. ” “We're the last people to tell him, I promise!” Claudia said. “Let's get going, Martin, then we can be out of here. Where do you want to try your plan? ” “Plan? What plan? ” Carla asked. “Follow us, and we'll show you, ” Martin said, as he headed for the elevator. “You're going to hold the séance in the ballroom? ” Claudia asked as the three of
them rode up. “It's where it all began, ” Martin said firmly. “I can't think of any other place in this building which would be more suitable.” “A séance?” Carla gasped. “Oh, no!” She drew back to the rear of the car. “I don't want anything to do with anything like that!” “You don't have to get involved, Carla, I promise you, ” Martin said. “It's my lastgasp attempt to clear up this case. If it doesn't work, I'll collect my things and we'll leave.” The look on her face showed the girl wasn't reassured, yet she followed them out onto the landing and to the ballroom doors. Martin pushed them open. The world flickered as they stepped through the door, reality shifting yet again from one time to another. Strong afternoon sunlight glowed in the chamber, striking off the crystal drops of the great chandeliers far above their heads to scatter precious stones of light around the walls. In the middle of the floor stood a long pair of step-ladders, at the top of which an overallclad man was working busily amongst the pendant drops of the middle chandelier. He was so engrossed in his work he didn't appear to notice their entrance. “Something's not right,” Martin said, staring intently at the man. “Have the new owners got workmen in already? ” Claudia asked Carla, gazing at the figure high above. “They don't get in until next week,” Carla replied, looking puzzled. She walked into the room, her step uncertain. “Excuse me? Sir?” she called. Above her the man continued to work, unheeding. From their position near the door Martin and Claudia could see he had unscrewed the base of the chandelier, a hollow bowl- like component of gilded brass. Reaching into a pocket of his overalls he drew out a brown paper package. Glancing at the door but seemingly unaware of their presence, he slipped the package into the chandelier base and screwed it back onto the main unit. Once it was in place, he drew out a small tool and made some final adjustment. “Claudia!” Martin hissed, clasping her arm. “It's not real! It's another scene from the past!” “Excuse me?” Carla called up again, knocking timidly on the ladder. “Sir!” Her call and knock had no effect. A few seconds later the man finished his work and began to descend the ladder. Martin recognized him. “James Cloverdale!” Carla stepped away from the ladder as the man came down. “I want to know what authority you have to be here, sir,” she said firmly when he reached the floor. Ignoring her he moved towards the door—then he and the ladder melted away into nothing. With a stunned expression Carla waved her hand through the air where he had been. Then she gave a small moan, and collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. **** She was still unconscious when they carried her into the foyer office. “Whoa! What happened?” Tom asked, getting up. “She fainted,” Claudia replied tersely, opening Carla's blouse wide at the neck. “Give her some room. ” “Sure thing!” he said, and produced a bottle of mineral water from his bag. “Looks like she could use some of this.”
“Great!” Claudia poured some onto her handkerchief and dabbed Carla's face. The girl blinked and stirred, gradually coming to. Her eyes opened, fixed with blank incomprehension on Claudia, then she sat up abruptly. “He was a ghost!” she gasped, wide-eyed. “Yes, honey, but there's nothing to worry about. He's gone, so relax. ” Claudia pushed her gently back into her chair. “Now do you see why Mr. Grey has to be here?” “Yes, yes, I do,” the girl whispered, looking at Martin with respect. “Does this happen to you often? ” “Quite often, ” he nodded with a lopsided smile. “You get used to most of it.” “My God!” Carla gasped, sinking back into her chair. “I admire you, sir!” “It's Martin, remember?” he said gently. “Now sit there for as long as you need. We'll check on a few things, then we'll be right back. Will yo u look after her, Tom? ” “Sure thing!” Tom smiled genially. “Sounds like quite a story. ” “Carla saw it all, too,” Claudia murmured as they left the office. “She didn't know it for what it was,” he replied. “But it tells us where the Cloverdale jewels could be hidden. ” “In the chandelier? But why there?” “Perhaps Cloverdale feared the necklace would be found in his possession when the hotel was searched after Giuseppe’s death. It would be unlikely that the ballroom would be searched before the guest rooms, especially if it was closed for maintenance. I'd guess he knew that and took the chance to hide the jewels.” “In a chandelier?” “Why not? Where better to hide something than in plain sight? He must have got hold of the overalls to disguise himself as a gas-fitter. Perhaps he hoped to return and recover the jewels when the coast was clear.” “Only he wasn't able to satisfy his cronies when they wanted to know where the jewels were. They inadvertently murdered him before he could recover the necklace.” Claudia shook her head. “Tough break for them.” “I doubt he ever intended to split the proceeds of his own heirloom,” Martin said thoughtfully. “Those men were just the means to an end. Perhaps they helped with false papers, or were old associates of his from the war years. Whatever the details, at least we know where the necklace is likely to be.” Claudia stopped and looked at him wide-eyed. “We do? Where?” Martin smiled. “The basement. Remember that pile of discarded chandeliers in that room down there?” **** Borrowing a torch from Tom they headed for the stairway down to the basement. As they walked along the musty-smelling passage, the neon lights ahead of them cast cold blue-white light on the bare concrete walls. Within a few minutes they were in the storeroom, looking at the pile of discarded junk accumulated over the years in the life of the hotel. “What a mess!” Claudia nudged the nearest tangle of chains and brass with her toe. “How will we know which one has the necklace inside?” “If I were Cloverdale, I'd mark it so I could find it again,” Martin said slowly. “He was intelligent, so he'd consider the possibility they'd be taken down for cleaning before
he could get to them. Check the bases of all those you can find.” They set to work, sorting through and untangling the brass chains and bodies of the chandeliers from several wall-sconces and the broken remnants of a Tiffany lamp. The sickly smell of verdigris rose into the air. “Good job the pendants aren't still attached,” Martin said, wincing as his finger was pricked by a sharp edge of metal. Claudia glanced up. “I think they're in some of these boxes,” she said, pointing to a pile of old shoe boxes stacked against the wall. “My great-aunt had a chandelier in her dining room. She was always careful to keep the drops well-packed if the thing was taken down for cleaning. I used to play with them and get told off for it.” “Claudia!” Martin said, pulling a chandelier body free of the pile. When she looked over, he held his fingertip to a mark scratched into the peeling gilt. “J. C.,” she read. “Martin, that's it!” Carefully they examined the mounting, an oval body about the size of a pumpkin with a broad band around the middle. Taking a grip on the top and bottom halves he strove to twist it. After a moment or two of straining the bottom half began to turn, the metal screeching, reluctant to move after so many decades spent in the damp air of the basement. With a final effort it separated, revealing a hollow interior crisscrossed with thin copper gas tubes. Martin and Claudia's heads moved slowly together as they peered inside. Wedged between two of the tubes was a package wrapped in mottled brown paper, brittle with age. Hardly breathing, Martin reached inside and tugged it free. As it moved, the fragile paper ripped and the light sparkled red and gold off the object within. Tearing the shreds of paper from the necklace he held it up in triumph so it blazed bravely before their eyes. “The Cloverdale necklace!” Claudia breathed heavily as she reached out with a trembling hand to take it from him. She slowly turned it over and over, and hefted it to feel the weight of the gold and the stones. “Look at the rubies! They must be the size of pigeon eggs!” “It must be worth over a million dollars at current prices,” Martin said, shaking his head. “Whew! All of a sudden I feel exhausted.” Claudia grinned. “Oh, I don't think I'll tire of looking at these just yet!” “I'm afraid you won't have the chance, lady, ” a hard voice said from the doorway. They looked up in shock as Mike stood there, a revolver trained on them. “Yep! It's me.” He grinned, his dark eyes fixed on the necklace. “The bad penny turning up at last.” “How did you get in?” Claudia demanded after a long, shocked silence. “Through the back.” He looked at her pityingly. “I was watchman here for three years, stupid! How long do you think it takes to get a set of keys copied?” He held out his hand. “That belongs to me, Miss Mackenzie. Pass it over here, please.” Claudia hesitated and the gun moved slightly to point squarely at her chest. Mike's eyes hardened. “Don't think I won't shoot you, miss,” he said firmly. “We're deep underground here and the stairway door's shut. No one will hear a shot. And I've shot a few folks in my time. Want to be the next?” Claudia scowled. With great reluctance she passed the necklace into his outstretched hand. He stepped back, gun leveled. “Good girl! Now, both of you take out your cell phones and slide them out the door. That's it. I don't want you making any calls for a while.”
Grinning broadly, he tucked the necklace into his jacket, stepped into the passageway and slammed the door shut. They heard the sound of a key turn in the lock. Claudia rushed at the door and hammered on it. “You bastard!” Martin moved to her side and laid a hand on her arm. She shook it off then sagged against the door. “Oh, damn! I'm sorry, Martin. After all our searching, to have the thing in our hands at last only for that bastard to take it from us!” “The others are still upstairs,” he pointed out. “There's plenty of stuff in here we can use to break the lock and get help.” Martin moved away from the door then stopped, his head cocked. “Listen! Can you hear something? ” Claudia frowned, and joined him as he pressed his ear to the door. “It's Mike,” she whispered. “He's arguing with someone.” After a few more moments, realization dawned on her. “It sounds like James Cloverdale! What on earth is going on? ” “I don't like the sound of it, whatever it is!” Martin said. Outside all went quiet. A few long moments passed, before footsteps and muffled voices could be heard approaching. “Is it the others?” Claudia asked. She banged hard on the door with the flat of her hands. “Hey! We're in here! We're in here!” A shot sounded, roaring and echoing down the hard concrete passage outside and making them both leap back in shock. The echoes died away, then scuffling and bumping sounded. Somewhere a wheel squeaked and the sound of water trickling, then pouring from an unknown source. Another shot, then a door slammed, and all was silent for a while. Claudia looked at Martin with dread in her eyes, then renewed her assault on the door. “Is anyone there? Help! We're in here!” “Claudia?” Carla's terrified voice sounded outside the door. “Tom's been shot! And there's water pouring in!” Claudia gasped. “Oh, my God!” “Carla!” Martin shouted with his face close to the door. “Is the key in the lock?” “No!” “Bugger!” He grunted with frustration, and stood back. “Claudia, look for something heavy to break this door down with. ” He glanced down at his feet as Carla wailed in the passageway beyond. Water was beginning to seep under the crack. “And hurry! ” A rapid search turned up an old fire-extinguisher. Martin hauled it free of the pile of junk and hefted it. “Plenty of weight,” he said. “The door opens inwards, but we should be able to break the lock.” “Hurry!” Claudia pointed at the water which was spreading out across the floor of the room. Martin squared up to the lock, and swung the old extinguisher like a battering ram. The door shuddered, the noise of impact loud in the room, but the lock withstood the blow and the water rose higher. “What the hell did Mike do out there?” Claudia put her hand on Martin's arm to stop him from swinging the extinguisher again. “Carla? Carla! Are you okay out there?” “Tom's in a bad way! ” The girl sobbed. “I'm trying to keep him off the floor but the water's rising fast!” “Where's the water coming from? Can you turn it off? ” “No! Mike took the wheel off!”
“It must be coming from the laundry pipes, or the sprinkler system feed,” Claudia said to Martin. “Whichever it is, they're connected to the main supply so it isn't going to stop!” Martin redoubled his efforts on the obstinate lock, landing blow after blow on the buckling metal. At last, it broke under the repeated impacts and the door opened slightly under the pressure of the water building up in the passage. Hurriedly they waded into the passageway. Carla crouched on the floor in a growing pool of water, supporting Tom in her arms. A red stain spread out in the water from a sopping wet wad of cloth pressed to his side. Carla looked up at them with a haggard face. “He's still alive!” Tom grunted. His eyes flickered half-open. “Hell, yeah, I'm alive! It'll take more than a fuckin' remf to put me down! ” He grimaced and sank back, unconscious. “Mike locked the door at the far end,” Carla said, pointing. “I think there's someone else with him, I could hear them arguing.” Martin and Claudia looked at each other. “Unimportant right now, ” he said quietly to Claudia, then knelt to examine Tom's wound. “This looks nasty, but I think it missed anything vital. Let's get you both up to the stairs. Even if the door is locked, we'll all be out of the water and have some time to think what to do.” Claudia reached into the water by the door and picked up their cell phones. She groaned. “Ruined! We can't call for help, even if we could get a signal down here.” “We'll have to shift for ourselves, love. Let's go.” Martin grunted as he pulled Tom's arm around his shoulders and took the big man's weight. Carla helped carry the wounded watchman the fifty yards to the stairway. Tom, still half-conscious through pain and loss of blood, grunted and moaned as they waded through the ankle-deep water. When they reached the stairwell Claudia pointed ahead. “Look at that!” Water poured from a valve in the pipe-work fixed to the wall. A shiny bright scar of metal shone through the thick paint of decades. A bullet had smashed the workings of the valve, preventing it from being turned off even if another wheel was found. Claudia flinched as they ducked past the icy cold stream. “He was just trying to scare us or slow us up. The water will run off down the laundry drains before the basement floods.” Carla groaned. “If he's trying to scare us, he's succeeded with me!” She shivered in her soaked clothing as she helped Martin lower Tom onto the stairs above the water level. Claudia clasped Carla's arm. “Don't worry, we'll get out of here soon. ” “We'll have to!” Martin said, pointing to a junction box mounted low down on the wall. The cover had been unscrewed, exposing the wiring inside. “It won't take long before the water reaches that thing!” As one they shivered. The prospect of electrocution wasn't one they relished. “Looks like Mike got inspiration from someone,” Claudia said quietly to Martin as they moved up onto the still dry stairs to examine the door. “Perhaps.” Martin pushed at the door, although he didn't expect it to open. “Lunatics sometimes say they were driven to do things because voices in their head told them to. In Mike's case, he may have more than just a voice to blame.” He grasped the pipes by the door and kicked at it. “Damn! He must have pushed something against this!” “Who's there?” A male voice spoke from the other side of the door.
“Hello?” Carla got up quickly from the steps, suddenly animated. She pushed past Martin and Claudia to beat on the door with her fists. “Help! We're in here!” “What the hell's going on here?” the voice sounded again. “Who put this crap in front of the door?” Claudia groaned. “Oh great! I recognize that voice.” She turned a sour face to Martin. “We've been rescued by Kyle Marshall. Now he'll be worse than ever!”
Chapter Eleven Kyle Marshall did have a loathsome air of righteousness and self-satisfactio n as he opened the door. It vanished abruptly when he saw the blood trickling from Tom's wound as Martin carried him out of the flooded basement. Kyle went pale. “What the hell happened?” “He's been shot, Kyle!” Claudia ground out. She was soaking wet, cold and very angry. “Did you think it was a fucking paper cut? Call the paramedics, then the police!” “Yeah, right, okay, ” he said hurriedly, backing away into the foyer. He pulled out his cell phone and made the call. A small group of people in business suits were waiting in the foyer behind him and they gasped as the bedraggled foursome emerged from the stairway. A woman came forward, hesitated when she saw Tom. “Is he badly hurt?” she asked anxiously. “Yes,” Martin replied. “I'm qualified in first aid; I'll do what I can now we're out of the water.” With Claudia and Carla's help he lowered Tom carefully to the floor, putting his folded jacket beneath his head to support it. “I think there's a first aid kit in the office.” The woman fetched it. Tom's eyes flickered open and he grinned mirthlessly as Martin gently pulled open his uniform jacket and got to work with the bandages. “Takes me right back to Tet, '68.” He chuckled softly. “I stopped one outside Pleiku. No Purple Heart this time, though. ” He closed his eyes and winced as Martin cut free a mass of blood- matted cloth. “Plugged by a remf! Shit! That hurts as much as the bullet!” “Hang in there,” Carla whispered, her eyes wide, clasping Tom's hand. “You'll make it.” Kyle returned, pale of face, deliberately not looking at Tom. “So, what the hell happened here?” “Never mind that!” Claudia snapped. “There's a guy on the loose with a gun! Did you see him?” “Yeah!” One of the group spoke up. “We were out on the sidewalk looking the place over when we saw someone run up to the door. He saw us on the other side, then ran back in here. We thought it was suspicious at the time.” “Who are you people?” Claudia asked, looking up at them. “Prospective owners of the hotel,” the woman replied crisply. “We wanted to view the place again so we can tie- in our plans with the zoning laws.” She glanced up at Kyle. “Although at this juncture I think we'll be reconsidering our purchasing options.” Kyle blinked, then flushed, darting Claudia and Martin a furious look that promised trouble later. “We didn't expect all this,” the woman went on as an approaching siren wailed in the street. “What is going on? ” “It's a long story, ” Martin replied, leaning on the counter and wiping his bloodied hands on a wad of tissues. Claudia was secretly pleased to see Kyle flinch and turn paler still at the sight. He moved away hurriedly and pretended to be busy with his cell phone. “The main point is, there's a former watchman on the loose somewhere and he's armed and dangerous,” Martin went on. “If he didn't leave through the main door, where could
he have gone?” “Out the back?” Claudia asked. “He couldn't go that way, ” the woman said doubtfully. “Our architect is out there with a photographer taking some shots of the rear of the building. If they saw anything, they'd be sure to yell.” The ambulance crew arrived. Claudia unlatched one of the ordinary emergency doors alongside the revolving ones to let them in. Soon Tom had been laid on a stretcher and wheeled away, giving them a shaky thumbs-up as he went. As the gurney passed through the door, two cops stood aside to let it pass, then entered. “What's happening here, folks?” one demanded, looking them all over, one hand on the butt of his gun. Claudia crossed her eyes with brief annoyance then explained as quickly as she could. The cop nodded. “Okay, folks, you'll have to leave the building 'til we've checked it out,” he ordered, pulling out his radio. “Make your way out to the opposite sidewalk, head round the corner to your right. Get out of the line of fire. We'll take it from here.” **** Other squad cars were pulling up and the street was quickly closed off. An icy north wind made Martin, Claudia and Carla shiver as they walked quickly across the street in their wet clothes. Another cop, alerted by the first to arrive, guided them around the corner and into a police truck. Once inside, he turned up the heat and settled in the front seat to watch, wait, and listen for radio reports. The three of them gradually warmed up. “This whole thing has turned absolutely nuts!” Claudia settled back in the seat and attempted to peel her damp clothes away from her skin. Carla shivered and sneezed violently. Martin leaned forward to catch the chatter on the radio. “What's happening now, constable?” he asked the cop. “Constable?” The cop looked at him askance, and then light dawned. He grinned. “Oh, you're British? We've got the place surrounded, sir. Couple of our guys out back of the place saw the fugitive on the fire escape. He saw them, went back inside.” The cop peered across the street at the building. “You folks were in on the start of this. Care to tell me what happened?” Martin heard Claudia take a deep breath and he hurriedly supplied the details. The cop turned around in his seat and stared at Martin. “Mike Covington's in there?” he asked. “What the hell is that old fart doing?” “You know him?” “Yeah, sure I know Mike. He served in the traffic section down at the precinct house. Retired not long after I started.” He reached for the radio handset. “I'll call this in.” He spoke quickly, giving his fellows an outline of events. “He told us he was in homicide,” Claudia said when he finished. She sounded aggrieved. “Was everything he told us a lie?” “Could be, ma'am. ” The cop shrugged as he hung up the handset. “When the old mayor cleaned up the town he had Internal Affairs work through the police department as well, looking for cops on the take.” “Mike was corrupt?”
“I didn't say that, ma'am,” the cop replied evenly, looking her in the eye. “All I know, Mike took early retirement. Capische?” “I don't suppose you'd know if he worked in the records department before he was in the traffic branch? ” Martin asked. “Yeah, he did.” “Bingo!” Martin sat back and smiled at Claudia. “That could explain everything. ” “You think he saw the file on the hotel theft?” she asked. “Theft?” the cop looked round again, eyebrows raised. “A theft from a long, long time ago,” Martin told him. “It was something we were researching. It's as good a guess as any, ” he said, turning back to Claudia. “Perhaps the file opened as he was readying a batch to send to the archives. Maybe it even opened itself,” he added softly, with a glance at Carla, who was sitting with her head tipped back, seemingly too drained of energy to take much notice of proceedings. “James Covington's hand, again,” Claudia mused. “I wonder what the connection is?” “I certainly think he's related to James. Family links tend to be the strongest, even through several generations.” “Whatever, he's treed now. ” Claudia leaned forward to peer up at the building. Carla moaned softly. Martin glanced at her. “Carla? What's wrong? ” “I feel…funny,” the girl whispered, pressing her hand to her forehead. It was beading with sweat. “It could be shock,” Claudia said, concern on her face as she felt the girl's forehead. “Martin, perhaps you'd better get her something to drink.” Carla shivered, then convulsed. “Carla!” Claudia clasped her arm and tried to hold her still. “Hey, miss, what's happening? ” the cop asked, turning his attention away from the street. “She may be suffering from shock. Could you call the paramedics?” “No need for that, Miss Mackenzie,” a woman's voice said firmly. Carla went still, and her eyes opened. For a moment Martin saw them swim with an opalescent light. Then they cleared and someone other than Carla looked out of her eyes. Her features seemed to melt, flow, and settle into a new pattern. Martin and Claudia found themselves face-to- face with Anna-Grace. The cop gaped at her. “Jesus H. Christ!” He crossed himself as he stared at her. “Who the hell are you, lady? ” “This does not concern you, officer,” she responded tartly, and turned her attention to Martin and Claudia. “Follow me!” Carla/Anna-Grace opened the door and got out, then began to walk towards the hotel. Martin shook his head and climbed out after her, followed by Claudia. Reality swam briefly, the effect seeming to emanate from Anna-Grace like a heat haze from a sun-scorched road— They followed her across a street busy with horse drawn traffic, the acrid reek of dung, dust and coal smoke filling the air. As they neared the awning of the hotel the commissionaire stepped forward, touching his hat as he opened the door for Anna-Grace to pass. The hotel foyer thronged with people of all descriptions. There were elegantly attired
ladies in lace shawls, leg-of- mutton shouldered dresses and long skirts, broad brimmed hats with flowers and feathers upon coifed hair. Many were escorted by gentlemen in town coats of sober black or gray, set off by outrageously colored waistcoats. There were even a couple of tall, deeply tanned men wearing Stetsons and lariat ties with their smart town-suits. Brightly uniformed bellboys and soberly dressed managers threaded amongst the crowd, busy with the affairs of the hotel. Anna-Grace swept through them all with the stateliness of an ocean liner amongst small craft. Martin clasped Claudia's hand. “When is this?” she asked, leaning close. “The 1890's, again,” Martin replied softly. Anna-Grace made for the elevator, the attendant hurrying to open the cage for them. “Top floor, please,” she directed him, her cool gaze sweeping over other folks who made to board with them. Something in her eye made them step back hurriedly. At the top, she made for the stairway to the roof garden. “That wretched man has brought his puppet up here,” she called back over her shoulder. Her face was grim. “I would be most obliged to you both if you would give your assistance in settling this matter once and for all.” “We'll be glad to help, Mrs. Palmer,” Martin replied firmly, as they emerged onto the roof. She nodded. Another wave of change flowed out from her, filling the world and altering reality— The barren space stretched away from them on all sides, abandoned planters and decrepit summer houses dark and forlorn under the lowering sky. Martin looked around. A burly figure hunched over some stacked lengths of timber near the railings opposite an adjoining building. He seemed to be trying to dislodge a long plank from the pile. “It's Mike!” Claudia hissed, gripping Martin's arm. Anna-Grace Palmer walked forward. “Stop where you are!” she thundered. Her tone had a strange resonance that seemed to impinge on the brain independently of the ears. Mike stiffened, jerked around to stare at them. “Stay back!” He pulled his gun from his belt and aimed it at them. “I don't want to use this!” “Rather late for that, isn't it, Mike?” Martin called. “Tom will live, no thanks to you. Now why don't you…” Mike gave a kind of spasm. A shot rang out and gravel flew up from the path at Anna-Grace's feet. Martin and Claudia flinched. Anna-Grace ignored it. Mike hunched over the smoking gun, gripping it tight with both hands, his face sweaty, eyes bulging. “I said stay back!” he said through gritted teeth. “Jesus, Martin!” Claudia clutched his arm and tried to pull him back. “Don't be a hero!” “I don't think he's entirely in control of himself,” Martin said, stepping back. “Watch. ” Mike glared at them for a few moments. When they made no further move toward him, he bent over the woodpile again. His movements seemed jerky and his face twitched. Anna-Grace walked forward again with measured step and he stood up to face her, gun leveled. “You would shoot your own cousin? ” she asked in a cool voice. “What?” He glared up at her.
As she spoke, her features flowed and settled into those of a highly confused Carla. Mike stood up straight and stared at her. “What kind of shit is this? How the hell did you do that?” Carla's glazed eyes focused on the gun and she gave a little scream, stepping back hurriedly. “Carla is my direct descendent,” came Anna-Grace's disembodied voice. “As you are the illegitimate descendant of my uncle, James Cloverdale!” Mike jerked and twitched. He stared around wildly. “Who are you calling a bastard? Where are you? ” “Here.” A hazy female outline appeared to Mike's left, away from the direct line of fire to Martin and Claudia. He fired, the gun- flash bright in the darkening sky. “Stop, you fool!” came another disembodied voice, a man's in familiar tones. “She's provoking you!” “Or am I here?” He fired again, his eyes bulging more than ever, hand trembling violently. “Or perhaps here?” “Stop, damn you! ” Mike fired again, his arm jerking as if he struggled with an unseen opponent. “No, here I am. ” Click. The hammer fell on an empty chamber. Mike stared down at the gun in disbelief, just as a thick baulk of timber slammed into the back of his head. Carla dropped the wood and stared down at the recumbent form of the ex-cop. She pressed her hands to her face and tears began to trickle silently down her cheeks. “I've killed him!” she moaned, as Martin hurried over to kneel by the prone figure. “No, he'll live,” he replied, moving Mike into the recovery position. “He must have a thick skull.” Glancing at the pistol which lay nearby, he fished a pen from his pocket and slipped it through the trigger-guard, using it to lift the weapon out of Mike's reach. Standing up, he glanced around, and let his perceptions shift. Anna-Grace Palmer faced James Cloverdale across a few feet of gravel path and several decades of history. Bitter defeat and anger twisted the man's face, as his niece stared at him with disgust. “You have lost, sir,” she said with quiet dignity. “Now leave my family in peace!” “You Yankee bitch! ” he spat at her. “Why should I? My family suffered because of my so-called brother's treachery! I'm going to see yours suffer too!” “Why should you? ” Martin asked quietly. James Cloverdale spun to face him, his fists clenched, mouth opening in surprise at the intervention. “After all, have you asked your family what they think?” “My family?” The spirit glared at him, confusion etched on his features. Martin concentrated. “Think of them, ” he said. “Think of how they were when you were all younger, before the war drove you apart. Before the bitterness and the hatred spoiled everything.” To Martin's right, a number of figures began to emerge as if from a mist. As the foremost drew near, they took the forms of Joseph and Claire Cloverdale, Joseph in his uniform, Claire in the elegant lady's attire of their age. Anna-Grace gave a little sigh and
reached out her hand. “Mother? Father?” she called softly. Joseph drew her into his arms, as Claire pressed close to both of them, her cheeks wet with tears. “Anna-Grace!” She sighed, caressing her daughter's hair. “I've longed for this moment so much!” Behind them was an older man, a stern, patriarchal figure with a splendid set of graying whiskers. He wore the gray uniform of the Confederacy, the gold braid about his cuffs denoting Colonel's rank. Martin saw he shared certain characteristics with both of the other men, a fact more clearly seen when he approached James. James stared at the man. “Father!” The older man stopped before him, his sorrowful gaze fixed on his son's face. “My boy, why do yo u harbor this hatred in your soul? ” he asked him gently. “Your family has missed you these long years. Only that bitterness inside you has kept you from reuniting with us.” “But, Father!” James protested. “Our honor deserves to be upheld! What my brother did…” “…was to save lives!” Joshua Cloverdale shook his head sadly. “Lives placed in jeopardy by your actions! Oh, my boy, how could you? ” “They are our enemies, Father!” James cried, raising his fists in exasperation. “I had to strike at them for what they did to the South! ” The old man drew himself up to his full height and glared sternly at his errant child. “Son, I was a soldier; an officer! I faced Union soldiers in open battle, took my chances along with every other man at Fredericksburg that day. But I never, ever contemplated killing innocents, that I do assure you! ” His expression softened and he placed his hand on his son's shoulder. “In my heart, I know you never really intended to harm others. Did you?” James raised his fists. “I did, damn it! I am angry at Joseph for betraying our cause, angry at his placing Mother's necklace around the neck of his whore.” He glared at his brother, who stood with his arm around the daughter he had never met in life. “You are a traitor, Joseph! Joseph? Hah! You sho uld rightly be called Judas for what you did to your homeland!” “My homeland was the United States of America, James,” Joseph replied in a low, angry voice. “United, do you hear?” He waved his free arm, his other tightly clasped around his daughter. “Lift up your eyes from your hatred, brother, and see what our nation became in all the years after us! Do you think our descendants would ever have achieved anything like the glories they did if we had been a nation divided?” “We were all of us human, my boy, ” Joshua said sadly. “Weak of flesh, and spirit. Yet you always were strong willed.” He looked at James with deep compassion etched on his handsome features. “I hoped great things would come of your life.” James sneered. Martin could feel the power surging in the spirit and stepped closer to Claudia. “What's going on? ” she asked. “It's a face-off,” he said. “James is getting nasty. Carla, get behind me, quickly!” Carla, looking completely baffled, did as she was told. Quietly, Martin began to gather his own energy, letting it build slowly, unobtrusively. James glared at his father. “I did what I damn well saw as my duty, sir! You forged your course, and I sure as hell forged mine!”
The Colonel looked pained. “And so you did, my son. But James, all that is over now. Put it behind you, it's time to move on! ” “I won't do that!” James raised an accusing finger at Joseph. “I will pursue this until that bastard and his spawn are finished, do you hear?” “You cannot!” “I will, damn you! ” James turned and strode to where Mike lay slumped by the railings. He knelt and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. “This is my descendant!” James looked round at them, his lips twisted into a bitter smile. “He may not look like much, but I shall possess him and mold him. Through him I shall live again, and put right what was done to me.” He shot a look of pure hatred at Joseph. “The Cloverdale name shall live again through the rightful heir!” Martin sensed a surge of power pass through James into Mike. The burly ex-cop stirred and groaned, and rolled onto his back. “You cannot do this!” the Colonel roared. “It is forbidden! ” James laughed out loud, a harsh bark of laughter that dripped with venom, and gave them a last, triumphant look. As Martin watched, horrified, James poured himself into Mike's body. Mike stood up, his eyes rolling wildly. His thick lips moved as if unsure of how they should work. “Oh, damnation! I'd forgotten what this was like!” “Martin! Listen to his voice!” Claudia stared at Mike. “It's James Covington's!” Martin stepped back, drawing Claudia and Carla with him. “James has fully possessed Mike! He's no longer just a puppet; he is James Covington! Be prepared, this is going to get nasty!” “Nasty!” Claudia gave him a look of disbelief. “Martin, one of these days, you're going to have to lose that Brit habit of understatement!” “Yes, sir!” Suddenly, Mike was composed. His stocky form took on an air of studied nonchalance and he laughed at Martin. “Understatement is fine in its way, but this is hardly the appropriate time.” He began to walk towards them with a slow, confident swagger. “I am going to get very nasty indeed with you meddlesome people!” “I don't think so!” Martin retorted, and raised his hands. He began to chant an old, old invocation, a ward against evil, letting his power feed into the words until they took shape in the air around him and the two women. James paused, glared suspiciously, then came on. His swagger was gone; Martin could see he now looked more businesslike. “You have power, it seems!” the spirit said through Mike's lips. “Yet I feel I am the stronger!” He flicked a meaty hand and a bolt of energy seared the air. Martin felt it impact on his ward; it held. Time to counter-attack. “Deep peace of the rolling wave to you! Deep peace of the flowing air to you!” he intoned. “Peace, you…you maggot?” James roared, and unleashed another bolt. It slammed against the ward in a wash of coruscating light. “I. Do. Not. Want. Peace!” “Deep peace of the quiet earth to you! ” Martin responded, and focused on the flickering image of the spirit he saw within the man. “To you and your spirit forevermore!” A bolt of blue light surged out of his fingers and struck Mike full on. The spirit of
James shuddered under the assault, but rallied. “Nice try, human! ” he said in a reedy whisper. “Now try this!” Blackness poured out of his eyes and mouth, swept across the ground and surged around Martin, Claudia and Carla. Martin felt the icy chill of death in the black tide and shuddered. **** Claudia felt strange. A coldness touched her limbs and she flinched. Beside her Carla was moaning softly, her eyes glazed. Martin was standing stock still, facing the swaying figure of Mike Covington. Then suddenly there were other people standing near. Figures in the garb of bygone days who had emerged from the cold bright air to take on a solid reality. Two women and two men. One man she didn't recognize, but the other… “Captain Cloverdale?” she called. The man turned his head and looked at her in surprise. “You can see us, Miss Mackenzie?” Claire Cloverdale clasped his arm. “How can she not?” she said urgently. “Miss Mackenzie has a link to us both! Remember the night of the fire, dearest?” Joseph Cloverdale blushed. “How could I forget that?” “What's happening to Martin?” Claudia asked ur gently. “He's fighting my brother!” Joseph replied, glaring at James/Mike. “Can't you help him?” “We cannot!” the older man replied. “James is drawing on the power of his host's life and twisting it to his own dark usage!” The man's face twisted with anguish. “If that fool son of mine does not desist, he will kill young Martin and his host!” Claudia could now see and feel the surge of powers slamming back and forth between Martin and the possessed form of Mike. She flinched and bit back a cry as Martin rocked under the impact. “Isn't there anything I can do?” she cried. “You also have power!” Claire Cloverdale said. “Lend it to your man! Give him your strength! ” “How?” Claudia clenched her fists and cried aloud as Martin rocked again, and sagged to one knee. James/Mike's face was set in a grin of anticipation more horrid than anything she had seen before. “Let me inside you, and I will show how!” Claire said quickly, moving to her side. “Open your mind to me!” Claudia stared at her, nonplussed. Then she remembered the night in the hotel room before the fire broke out. She remembered the essence, the feel of Claire Cloverdale's body and soul. The feel of a good soul; a warm and loving wife; a tender mother to be. “Yes! Yes, that's it!” And suddenly Claire Cloverdale was inside her, cohabitating her body, looking out through her eyes. Claudia felt her arms rise under Claire's compulsion, and watched, feeling oddly detached, as her hands spread themselves on Martin's back as he rose to his feet. Like this! Claire's voice sounded in the halls of her mind.
**** Martin was in deep trouble. His carefully gathered power had not reached a high enough level to take on James Cloverdale before the fight began. His ward was being punched full of holes; it was only a matter of time before it failed. And then, he, Claudia and Carla would be exposed to the full malice of the evil spirit. Desperately he set aside a little power from the ether as he fought, trying to build it up, to husband it for an all-out assault on James when the ward went down. The look of triumph on the spirit's face was more than he could bear. And it was James who stood more clearly in the mixed images of the man facing him. Mike was dying on his feet, his own life essence being drained at a phenomenal rate by the evil that rode him. Yet Martin suspected James would win long before his host collapsed. The malice emanating from the spirit was palpable. The ward began to flicker and fail. A discharge of black-hearted power washed across Martin's face, making him shudder and gasp. Cold fingers seemed to rip into his flesh wherever the power touched, as if searching for his very soul. It was time for that last assault. He reached for the power, his last reserve—and felt a sudden surge of wonderfully fresh and sparkling energy. The ward flared brightly, and easily deflected the attacks directed at him. Martin felt the solidity of it, and let his mind return briefly to the normal world. Claudia's hands pressed firmly against his back. Her breath was warm on the nape of his neck where she leaned close and her perfume hung in the air around him. Love and determination poured into him from her, bolstering him, building up the ward and turning the reserve into an overwhelming force that he shaped and hurled at James with no more than the will and a word. James screamed and writhed in a halo of blue fire. Martin poured it on, uncaring about his defenses, beating the combined figure of human and spirit back, and back, until Mike was pressed against the railings. James' spirit began to separate from his host, torn from it like a rag, until it stood naked and helpless. “Mercy! ” it cried. “I'm not the one to ask, James!” Martin said through gritted teeth, and hurled his last bolt. With a despairing shriek, James Covington's spirit was hurled away. It shot into a gathering darkness, a ragged, dwindling, pathetic gray figure, until the dark clouds of oblivion closed about it. **** Mike slumped to the ground and lay utterly inert. Carla seemed to snap out of whatever trance she'd been in since the combat with the spirit. Now she looked at the fallen man with a frown creasing her brow. Joshua Cloverdale came up to stand beside Martin. He looked at the point in time and space where his son had departed the earth forever, and sighed, a deep, bone-weary sigh. “I had such hopes of my boy, sir,” he said to Martin, and gazed at him with tears in the corners of his eyes. “Never did I think it would come to this!” “He still needs your prayers, Colonel, ” Martin replied, and gestured out over the rooftops. “Where he is now, he needs all the help he can get.” He spread his hands,
feeling helpless in the face of the elder ghost's palpable misery. “I'm only sorry I had to do it.” Joshua Cloverdale looked at Martin, and nodded his fine gray-whiskered head heavily. “You did what had to be done. It is over, sir,” he pronounced, then turned away and faded into nothing. Joseph watched him go. A weary smile tugged at his lips as Martin turned to him. “It's not quite over, Father,” Joseph murmured and looked at Martin. “Mr. Grey? ” He saluted. “I'm mightily obliged to you, sir, for all you've done. My wife, daughter and I much appreciate it.” He pointed at Carla, who had walked slowly over to kneel beside Mike. As they watched, she bent forward and drew out something which shone like the sun. “There is the Cloverdale necklace,” Joseph said, and gestured to Carla. “I know our great-greatgranddaughter will put it to good use. As for ourselves,” he went on, looking around at his wife and daughter, “I think we'll be getting along. Goodbye to you, sir.” He smiled at Anna-Grace. “We have much to catch up on, my dear. Come.” The ghosts of the hotel faded into nothing, leaving Martin and Claudia standing amidst the swirling winds. Martin held out his arms, and Claudia cuddled close. “You were wonderful, Martin! ” she said. “I couldn't have done it without you, love,” he said earnestly, and, brushing the hair back from her face, he kissed her deeply. When they came up for air, she gave him a smile. “Oh, I had a little help from an old friend. I was in Claire's body at the first, it was only right she should try mine for size.” She shivered; Martin held her against him. “But from now on, the only other person I want inside me is you! ” “Hey, guys!” Carla called, walk ing toward them. She held up the necklace, and a look of awe came over her face. “See this?” She held the necklace up and let the fine golden chains and set rubies run from one palm to the other. “It must be worth a fortune!” Martin looked at her and felt his face grow warm. In the sheer pleasure of holding Claudia, he had forgotten Carla was there. “It's all yours, Carla,” he said, winking at Claudia. “I think you'll find your uncle will tell you why later.” “What? Mine?” The young woman stared at him open-mouthed. “Yep, the necklace is yours,” Claudia told her firmly. “Now put it away somewhere before the cops get here. It may be difficult to explain why you've got it.” “We'd better take care of Mike,” Martin said. “The police will want him for questioning.” Claudia looked around. “Say, where is Mike?” Martin looked around at the railings. “Damn! Where did he go?” Something clattered over on the other side of the roof and a faint cry rose in the air. “Over there!” Claudia pointed. They ran across, dodging the decrepit debris of the roof garden, until they reached the side bordering the neighboring building. A wide gap yawned between the hotel and the property next door. A deep and hungry void lay below them as they leaned carefully forward to look. The railings here were rusty; three had broken away recently, leaving small nubs of silver metal amongst the red on the stumps. As they leaned forward, Mike Covington stared back up at them, his hands two white knots of straining muscle as he held on desperately to the railings. His feet kicked in the
air as he made futile attempts to gain a foothold. On the ground far below lay the plank he had attempted to use as a bridge to the other building. Two cops appeared in the alley, guns drawn, their figures tiny and foreshortened. “Up here!” Martin called to them and waved. Claudia gave a gasp and pressed her hands to her mouth as one of Mike's hands slipped, leaving him dangling by one arm. Martin reached down, clamped his hand about the man's wrist, and pulled him up, muscles and sinews straining. “Oh no!” he said, grunting with the effort of lifting the burly man. “There'll be no more ghosts haunting this hotel! ” The End About the Author: A native of the County of Norfolk, England, Adrian (44) attended a school in a village right on the North Sea coast before moving on to further studies at college and university. After an early career in the leisure/tourism industry, he worked in the Inland Revenue and local government, before starting his own courier business. His hobbies include history and archaeology, science and technology, and he has traveled in Britain, the USA, Canada, Hungary and France. He lives within a stone's throw of the beach with his two adorable dogs, Ellie and Suzy.
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