Part One

Early November, 1991

You knew it'd happen. Don't say it never crossed your mind. You just didn't want to believe it. Deliberately ignored the facts. And all the time you thought it was going to go away. Well it hasn't. And now you're on your own.

Marty Hopkirk stood, alone by the graveside, trying to make sense of it all. He wasn't doing very well. For the first time, he was alone, with no one to see or hear him. He'd always had the niggling thought that Jeff wasn't going to last the hundred years he was condemned to walk the Earth, but he'd just chosen to forget about it. Big mistake. And now Marty had to cope alone; somehow.

You're an idiot, Marty Hopkirk, he scolded himself. You never faced up to it. Even though you're dead you still haven't learned.

But the question right now, seven days after Jeff's death was - What on Earth was he going to do for the next seventy-eight years?

You're wallowing in self-pity again. Stop talking to yourself and DO something!

What though? He sighed and turned away from the black and gold headstone. It's so depressing. Think of Jeff before this - positively.

It was difficult to be cheerful. Jeanie had re-married about six years ago; much to Marty's chagrin. It had been Jeff who'd persuaded him eventually to leave well alone; but it hadn't deterred the spirit from pestering Jeanie's intended for a few weeks. That had cheered him up a little, but it hadn't altered the fact - which he couldn't accept - that Jeanie wasn't a major part of his life (or should that be afterlife?) anymore. If only... he began, then cut the thought short. No. Don't start that again. You've got to get on with it. Might as well start now. He decided to at least try and make the best of a bad situation. He turned back to face Jeff Randall's headstone and folded his arms, feigning annoyance.

"Well, thanks a bunch, Jeff, now what am I supposed to do? You've gone and left me all on my own! Who am I supposed to haunt now?"

The response he got was not what he'd been expecting.

"Do you make a habit out of talking to yourself?"

It was a question he'd heard directed to Jeff on numerous occasions, but this time appeared, at least by the voice's proximity, to be directed at him. Curious, he turned to his left to see a young woman; in her late twenties, standing near him, dressed in black trousers, a black jacket over a black jumper, her head tilted to one side enquiringly. She was looking straight at him. Not entirely sure she had actually spoken to him, he looked round, saw nobody, then responded carefully.

"I... guess I sometimes get a more intelligent conversation out of myself than I did with Jeff."

"You knew Jeff?" she asked.

It confirmed Marty's hopes. His blue eyes widened in a mixture of horror, relief and joy.

"You can see me!"

"Of course I can see you...why shouldn't I be able to?"

"You can see and hear me!" He almost didn't want to believe it.

She gave him a look that said, 'Which loony bin did you escape from?' but nodded slowly.

"You knew Jeff, then?" she asked again, as she took in Marty's white attire.

A bit bright for a cemetery, surely? Had grief driven him over the edge? She'd heard some strange stories about it. Then again, he might be some nutcase from the local asylum...she stood her ground, curiosity getting the better of her.

Marty's previous euphoria now deflated faster than a rubber dinghy in shark-infested waters. He turned back again to face Jeff Randall's headstone, and answered her question.

"Yes. He was my best friend. We ran a private detective agency..." he trailed off, wondering who she was and if she knew about that. As he studied her features, he took in her short, brown hair and hazel eyes and had the oddest feeling she looked familiar, but he couldn't quite pin it down...

"His best friend? Jeff didn't have one; his best friend was killed." She frowned at him. She distinctly remembered Jeff telling her about it in one of his lengthy letters. "What's your name?"

Go on. Tell her. You'll have to do it sometime.

"Hopkirk. Marty Hopkirk." His expression was deadly serious.

"Hopkirk?" She shook her head in disbelief, "Jeff said he'd been murdered, I remember him telling me!" she challenged him. How dare this...person claim to be her dead uncle's best friend!

Marty simply nodded, he'd been expecting this reaction.

"That was me. I'm Marty Hopkirk. Jeff's partner."

She narrowed her eyes at him. She remembered Jeff telling her this...Marty Hopkirk had been murdered in 1969. The funny thing was, though, he hadn't seemed upset about it, her mother told her, apparently a week or so afterwards Jeff appeared like it had never happened.

"How were you killed, then?" She knew, all right. Just how much did this loony tunes know?

Marty flinched visibly at the question. The entire incident replayed before him in slow motion, as if it had happened yesterday. How could you forget something like that?

"I was cut down by a hit-and-run driver. It was Jeff they were after, but he'd gone away on holiday. I should have, too."

Marty's face sobered considerably, and he sighed for the umpteenth time, heavily. Jeff had always teased him about his workaholism.

"So, are you trying to tell me you're a ghost?" She looked incredulous. Marty took a defiant stance.

"Yes I am. And now Jeff's gone, you're the only one who can see or hear me. And I can prove it!"

"All right. Prove it."

"Right!"

He disappeared. Blinking, Jane Randall frowned as she turned to look around herself. The huge graveyard was empty, the cold November wind stinging her face and hands. Rubbing them together, she wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing; until Marty reappeared behind her.

"There!"

She jumped, startled, whirling to face him. Folding her arms, she pondered the idea that she might herself be going mad.

"I'm not convinced. How do I know I'm not dreaming? Or just nuts?"

"You're not, believe me!" Marty, desperate to convince her, glanced back towards the church which was holding a mass. Then he had an idea. "Come on!"

Beckoning for her to follow him, he walked off, towards the nineteenth century building. Sceptical, Jane shook her head, but went after him, determined to get this over with. Marty motioned for her to stop as they reached the back of the main hall.

"Right. Watch this."

He disappeared again, this time materialising at the front of the congregation. Jane's mouth dropped open as she waited for the reaction from the assembled churchgoers. There was none. Marty then flailed his arms in front of the vicar's face as he read the sermon from the lectern, with not so much as a twitch in response. He then turned round to Jane and capped it all off by shouting, his voice echoing round the seventy-foot high arched ceiling.

"See?" he crowed triumphantly, "They can't see me!"

She had expected someone to hear that, but no one lifted their head or said a word. Despite her disbelief, it began to get quite funny, watching his antics in front of the church choir. Unfortunately, she began to chuckle out loud and drew a few stares from the congregation as well as the vicar.

"Time to leave, I think!"

Marty grinned, turning to a tall vase of assorted flowers by the pulpit. It fell to the floor as he blew at it, the crash creating a sufficient diversion for Jane to leave. He reappeared beside her as she stopped outside, leaning on one of the stone buttresses of the church. She was genuinely helpless with laughter for a good few minutes, until Marty cut in.

"Well?" he asked, folding his arms and tilting his dark head to one side.

If that hasn't convinced her, he thought, nothing will. Her hilarity subsided at his demand. Slowly, she began to realise, and, looking up at him, wished she hadn't. Her face was now a picture of mixed bewilderment and alarm as she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

"Oh, sweet Jesus...no...you're...you're a ghost!"

Marty rolled his eyes.

"Isn't that what I've been trying to tell you?"

"And I'm the only one who can see or hear you?"

Her breath formed white mushroom clouds in the bitter air. She now noticed his didn't; yet more irrefutable proof of his claim.

"Looks like it."

A brief silence followed, as she began to grasp the situation.

"Wait just a minute. Are you trying to say I'm stuck with you?"

Suddenly something dawned on her, and her eyes widened, "That's why Jeff recovered so quickly from your death! You were haunting him!"

Marty nodded. Both reflected on past events for a few moments, until Jane decided she couldn't handle it. Muttering, she held up her hands, palms outward, at shoulder level, then lowered them. "No. No, no, no, no. No way." She shook her head as she began to walk away from Marty, towards her car which was parked near the front gates. The spectre came out of his reverie and realised she was gone. Looking round, he saw Jane's rapidly diminishing form heading towards the car park.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"Away from you!" she shouted back over her shoulder, as she fished in her pocket for her car keys.

"What do you mean? Away from me?" Panic set in, "You can't leave me!"

"Just watch!"

As she bent to open her car, he appeared next to her. She groaned, as she straightened up, her shoulders sagging.

"Leave me alone! I don't want to be haunted! When I do, believe me, you'll be the first to know!"

The congregation was now coming out of the church. Its members, mainly consisting of elderly people, made their respective ways, mostly to cars parked near to Jane's. Marty realised that he didn't even know this woman's name, and ventured a question, hoping she wouldn't think it rude.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name - I told you mine."

"I never told you mine, that's why you never caught it." She paused, considering, then turned to him. "Jane. Jane Randall."

Her last name didn't seem to trigger anything in Marty's mind, he was concentrating so hard on getting her to listen to him. He continued to pester her.

"Please, Jane, I need you! You're the only one!"

"Mr. Hopkirk, if you don't leave me alone, I'll have you exorcised! Go away!"

Marty recalled the last time a psychic had tried just that, and felt ill at the thought of going through it again, but he couldn't let her go now. An elderly couple passed by Jane and gave her a strange look, wondering why this woman was talking to herself. She glared back at them and opened her Escort's door.

“You’re not getting off that easily,” he said. Staring hard at her car's front right tyre, he focused his efforts. It burst, air hissing from the resulting hole. This gained Jane yet more looks. Slamming the car door shut, she glowered at him.

"That...was a mean thing to do," she growled through clenched teeth. She was trying the hide the fact that to anyone else, she was talking to thin air.

"You're not going anywhere till...hang on a second..."

"What?"

"Randall...Did you say your name was Randall?"

"Yes," she sighed, "I am, or was, Jeff's niece."

Marty thought about this, as Jane went to the boot for the spare tyre. He moved out of her way as she came past. She might be able to see me because she's a relative, he thought. Jeff had mentioned a niece; but only a few times and Marty had never met her. Until now, that is. The point was, she could see and hear him - and that was all he needed. He renewed his efforts.

"I'm sorry about the tyre, but please, you've got to help me!" he begged, hoping his powers of persuasion with Jeff would work on Jane. He gave her his best pleading expression. Jane pulled out the tyre from the boot and looked up into his face. She groaned again. He was winning and she knew it.

"Stop that, will you!" she hissed, trying not to look directly at him.

"Please?"

He followed her as she yanked the jack from the car and took it round to the damaged tyre, which still squealed as the air escaped. Putting the jack down, she stood up briefly and glanced across the top of the car to see if everyone had gone. The coast seemed clear. She ducked back down and began to loosen the wheel-nuts, stopping occasionally to wipe her hands on her black trousers, cursing the cold.

"Will you help me?"

"Wait a minute! Let me sort this out first, then we'll talk. OK?"

"Oh, all right," he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"You blew the thing, not me!"

"I said I was sorry, didn't I?" he retorted indignantly. Jane bit her lip with barely restrained annoyance.

"Just...sit in the car, will you, and shut up!"

He went to say something in response, but bit his tongue. It was the sort of remark he'd say to Jeff, but this wasn't Jeff. And he didn't want to make her any madder. He rematerialised inside the car, in the passenger seat, and waited.

It took twenty minutes to change the tyre, and another ten to put everything away. Jane noticed Marty's impatience but made little effort to hurry up. He had blown her tire, so why should she? Besides, he wasn't going anywhere. She opened the car door and slid in, pulling her seatbelt across. The cold made her shiver. This has got to be the worst week of my life, she thought. First I lose Jeff, now I've got his dead friend haunting me. Things just couldn't get any worse.

"Will you listen to me now?" asked Marty, getting increasingly impatient. He sat, arms folded tightly. Jane sighed again, partly from the effort she'd exerted in changing the tyre, and partly because she regretted coming down here from Nottingham in the first place. Placing her hands on the steering wheel, she slid them down to waist level, then turned to Marty and conceded.

"What is it, exactly, that you want?"

"You're going to our office, aren't you?"

"'Our' office?"

"Jeff's office, then. You are, aren't you?"

"Yeeess...," she answered warily, "but only to sort out the papers and records...just clearing up, really. The lease runs out anyway next month - "

"You're not clearing the office!" Marty looked horrified.

"What would you like me to do? Turn it into an art gallery? Come on, now..." she hesitated.

"Marty."

"Marty, I can't keep Jeff's business going! I'm not a detective - I have a steady job in Nottingham, which means regular payment! Jeff was always in the deep end with the police and the landlord - "

"Not even to help finish the last case we were working on?"

"Look, Martin - "

"Marty," he corrected, irritably, breaking eye contact and folding his arms tighter.

"I can't do it. I wouldn't have the first idea! Please, leave me alone so I can sort out Jeff's things in peace."

He fell silent for a few moments. No, his mind said, She's the only chance you've got. Don't give in now! He turned back to her.

"Well, just let me tag along? I've got some things there too. Jeanie never moved them; she couldn't bear to."

Jane shot him a dirty look. "I'll be quiet, honest! It's not like I don't miss Jeff too, you know!"

She relented, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine turned over and came to life.

"All right. But you've got to promise me - no trying to get me to finish what Jeff started!"

Marty nodded assent. At least that was something. After pulling out of the church car park, Jane headed for the West End of London. The journey took about fifteen minutes, the Friday afternoon traffic contributing to the time. The silence was deafening. Eventually, she managed to find a parking space close to the offices and, getting out, Jane locked up as Marty disappeared again. He reappeared as she got inside and up to the office that had 'Randall and Hopkirk: Private Investigators' painted on the door.

"Will you quit doing that!" she jumped, startled.

Marty just blinked, then vanished again, presumably inside the office. Jane fished in her pocket for the keys, then let herself in, switching on the lights as she did so. Marty was sitting on Jeanie's desk as Jane entered. Putting the keys down on the desk next to him, she looked enquiringly at Marty, who appeared a little melancholy.

Don't you dare ask him what's wrong - you'll only get roped into doing something! she thought, turning to Jeff's desk. She almost couldn't bear the thought of actually going through her uncle's personal things. Another question sprang to mind and, without looking back at Marty, asked as she picked up some papers, "How come Jeff isn't a ghost like you, then?"

Marty came back to reality with a thud as she spoke. He hadn't really heard the question.

"Hmm?"

"I said, how come Jeff isn't a ghost like you as well?"

She turned her head to see him. Marty, shoulders slumped, folded his arms and sighed.

"Because I was murdered. Jeff wasn't; he died from natural causes. I only stayed because I wanted to help Jeff find who killed me."

"Stayed?"

"Yes. We found them, of course, but I didn't get back to my grave before dawn, so I'm stuck here for a hundred years - well, seventy-eight now, anyway."

Jane nodded comprehension, as she flicked through the sheaf of papers in her left hand. They were mainly records of cases; dated from about 1988, obviously left by Jeff who was never the organised person Marty had been.

"Just why are you hanging round me?" she asked.

"It's like I said. You're the only one who can see or hear me. Besides, Jeff was working on a missing person case - "

"No!" Jane cut him off, throwing the papers onto the desk with a startling anger. "I refuse to allow you to get me to carry on where Jeff left off!" She gave Marty an accusing stare. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"

Marty looked hurt, taken aback at her outburst.

"All right then. That's the way you want it." He took on an indignant stance, folding his arms tightly.

"Yes! I do!"

He could feel a sense of déjô vú about this, but stood his ground. Jane, by now frustrated with the stress and grief, and increasing uncertainty regarding her sanity, was in no mood for him.

"Martin, just...go haunt someone else! Go on!"

That did it. He may be a ghost, but he had feelings too; and right now he felt angry. He stepped as close to Jane as was possible and scowled down at her, his blue eyes dark with stinging rage. Jane stared back, defiantly, although her eyes showed a trace of fear and surprise at his reaction.

"I can't haunt anyone else," he growled.

It was several seconds before the deadlock broke; Jane doing so by releasing the tension in her shoulders and redirecting her eyes to the floor. Marty was surprised at his behaviour. He couldn't remember being that aggressive. Possessive, yes, he admitted that, but aggressive? Rarely, if ever. He turned away, taking a deep breath, drawing a hand over his face, mentally chiding himself and fixing his attention on the view out of one of the windows that overlooked the main road.
Finally, Jane broke the silence.
"I'm sorry, Martin. I..." she shrugged, struggling for the right words, as he turned his head to see her. She sniffed, then wiped her face with the back of her hand to remove the silent tears that had slipped out in that brief moment. Meeting his gaze again, she continued, "I guess I'm a little tetchy right now...Jeff..."

Marty inclined his head, acknowledging her apology, then offered up his own.
"I know. I'm sorry, too."

"I didn't mean what I said - "

"It's all right, Jeff used to lose his rag with me all the time."

He tried to lighten the situation as he continued, "He couldn't hit me though, which really made him mad!" Marty gave Jane a wry grin, which she returned. She felt relieved, all she needed right now was an irate spirit following her round. Picking up the papers again, she began to sort them into some kind of order, ready to be boxed up.

"Tell me about your cases, then, while I do this," she said to him as she opened a filing cabinet. Walking across, Marty leaned on the cabinet and took her up on her request, and relayed the case where a psychic had tried to exorcise him. She began laughing as he told her about the doctor who had diagnosed him as having the 'symptoms' of someone three months pregnant!

So involved with his tales was she that she failed to hear the office door open. Jean Hopkirk walked in to hear Jane chuckling at something. She frowned.

"What's so funny?"

Jane’s expression turned to one of horror, and she looked at Marty, who said simply, "She can't see me." Shutting the cabinet drawer, she cleared her throat, then swivelled to come into eye contact with Jean.

"Hello, Jean. What are you doing here? I thought you'd taken everything of yours."

"Old times' sake I guess. Some of Marty's things are still here, too. I thought I'd better take them."

Jane couldn't help glancing at Marty, who appeared faintly surprised.

"I thought she'd forgotten all about my things," he murmured, pensively. Jane was finding it difficult not to look at him directly and also remember that Jean couldn't hear him. She had to do her best to ignore Marty without offending him. This was going to be hard to get used to.

"You still miss him?" she asked, shooting a look at the person in question. If only she knew, she thought.

"Terribly; but we all have to move on, don't we? Is it all right if I...?" She gestured to her desk, which had been Marty's until his death.

"Sure."

Jean moved past her to open the desk drawers, Marty stepping aside automatically.

Jane frowned at him inquisitively, puzzled that he had done so. Once Jean had left, she turned to the spectre and voiced her query.

"Why did you move out of the way? I noticed you did that with me too - it's not like I'm going to walk into you as opposed to through you."

"Simple reason, really," he replied, sitting back on his desk. "Having someone walk through you isn't very pleasant. Doors and walls are my limit!"

Jane smiled wryly, cocking her head to one side as she did so. She returned to sorting the papers, and stopped briefly at an unfinished report. The case Jeff was working on...and never finished, she thought, sombrely. His heart attack had seen to that.

Marty saw her hesitation and moved to see the paper over her shoulder.

"What's the matter?" he asked, then on reading the report, said, "Oh."

Jane sighed heavily and replaced the papers into the drawers of the filing cabinet. She sat down behind Jeff's desk and, leaning her elbows on it, rested her head in her hands.

"I don't know what to do... I can't cope. Being harassed by my uncle's dead best friend it just doesn't happen! What am I going to do? I'm not staying here, Martin, I'm going back to Nottingham in three days, and somehow I've got to get this... mess... sorted out." She looked up at him wearily, then dropped her head back down.

"Maybe you should try again tomorrow," Marty suggested, "Jeff was never the tidiest of people."

Jane raised her head again and saw a photograph in a gilt frame sitting just to her right. She reached out a hand and picked it up, drawing it closer. It was a picture of Jeff and Marty; an informal snap, probably taken by Jeanie, outside their office, when Marty had been alive.

"You're probably right," she said, standing up with the framed picture in her hands. "I'll try tomorrow. Best to get some sleep, really."

Marty nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. Jane picked up the keys, switched off the lights and locked up the office, aware of his presence and feeling distinctly uncomfortable knowing that he appeared no older than he did in the photo, even now, twenty-two years later.

"Where are you staying?" Marty asked, as they went outside.

"You're not going to follow me again, are you?"

"No, I'm just curious." His expression was all innocence.

She looked at him askance, but relented.

"I'm staying at the Angel Hotel. Know where that is?"

He nodded. "In room 204. But don't take that as an invitation! If I wake up and find you within a three metre radius of my bed, ghost or not, I'll find a way to have you painfully removed!"

He didn't doubt it.

"Just in case," he replied.

"In case of what?" she laughed, opening her car door and getting in.

"Well, you never know," he shrugged.

"Afraid someone might run off with your body? Oh, come on, now, Martin, be realistic!"

"Marty," he corrected her again.

"Whatever. I'll see you here tomorrow - and not a day sooner!"

Marty remained alone on the pavement as Jane drove away into the evening traffic. He almost went after her, but it was against his better judgement. She's lost Jeff; let her be. You'll see her tomorrow.

With that in mind, Marty turned and walked away as darkness encroached upon the city.

Jane sat on the end of her bed in her hotel room, staring hard at the photograph she'd taken from Jeff's desk. Jeff had been his typically scruffy self, cigarette in hand, while Marty had been dressed smartly in a grey suit and blue tie. And he doesn't look any older than when it was taken, she thought. At least there's one advantage to being dead. She chuckled wryly at that, then placed the picture on the dressing table. It was now close to eleven o'clock, and Jane was tired. Tired of grieving, tired of remembering, tired of being alone. She almost - almost - wished Marty was here. Just to have someone to talk to, even if he was dead. Don't tempt yourself. Knowing him, he'd probably turn up right now.

The more she thought about Marty Hopkirk, the harder it was to accept. She was beginning to think it was just a tired mind imagining it all, until she glanced again at the photograph. She'd never seen Marty before, so how could her mind have created him just like that?

Things like this just don't happen, she told herself, but her heart said, But it has, and you're stuck with him.

Jane, in an effort to understand the situation, began to think from Marty's point of view. If the person you'd been haunting had just died, wouldn't you be desperate to cling onto the first person who could see you?

As she pondered this, it became clearer why he'd been so insistent, and felt for him. She lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind her head. She almost couldn't stand the thought of going back to Jeff's office tomorrow, but it had to be done. There was no one else to do it; she was Jeff's only living relative. Jane reached across and switched off the lamp, then turned over, hoping sleep would win over her worries and carry her away to blissful oblivion.

* * * * * * *

Marty Hopkirk roamed the streets as he had done frequently for the past twenty-two years, watching young couples having fun at a nearby fair, seeing football fans drowning their sorrows or celebrating their team's victories in the numerous pubs, joining in the odd theatre production on Broadway; and indulging himself in a little mischief every now and again. Tonight, as it had been since Jeff's death, it was different. Usually Marty enjoyed watching the nightlife around London; but now it had lost its appeal. No Jeff to wake up in the dead of night, no Jeff to get jealous of whenever he got a little too cosy with Jeanie, no Jeff to interrupt as he attempted to gain a girlfriend and no Jeff to help out of a life-or-death situation. It was beginning to become clear that he missed his friend more than he cared to admit.

He sat on a bench in Hyde Park, trying to politely ignore the canoodling couple next to him. It made him feel just a tad intrusive, even though they couldn't see him. He directed his attentions to a blade of grass and folded his arms, thinking.

What on Earth do you do now? Your only chance is leaving in three days. You can't let her go!

He tried to rid his head of the thought but it came back stronger. Look what happened when you denied the fact that Jeff wasn't going to last your hundred year walkabout. You keep trying to deny the facts, things will happen. Face up to it, Hopkirk, you're going to have to try to get her to stay at least!

Marty's shoulders sagged, as an Alsatian, having a run off its leash, sat in front of him, pink tongue lolling from its mouth, its head on one side. Marty was too distant to notice.

"It's too selfish!" he declared aloud, trying to finish the matter. This outburst made the dog whimper loudly, although the couple next to him were oblivious. Marty frowned at the animal.

"Go away! Go on, off with you!"

The Alsatian trotted off as he flapped at it. Even when he was being depressed he couldn't be alone! The day's events nagged at the back of his mind for the next couple of hours, even though he attempted to take his thoughts off the matter by messing about with the Tiberius Casino's roulette table. He did feel slightly cheered when he managed to influence the outcome of several turns for a kindly old lady he remembered from when he was alive.

It was two in the morning when the trouble started. Marty was sitting at a bar, when the strangest feeling came over him. He straightened suddenly, frowning. Then came the instinctive thought, Something's wrong! He felt...displaced, somehow, but not like the time the psychic had tried to exorcise him. No, this was different...very different. He began to panic, and disappeared to rematerialise at his headstone. He suddenly felt dizzy, and blinked hard to clear his vision. What he saw made him feel overwhelmingly nauseous, and he clutched desperately at the white marble gravestone for support.

Three men were exhuming his grave!

END OF PART ONE

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Requiescat in Pace - Part Two

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