Part Three The two spent the best part of the day going through the various documents and files. When it came to clearing Jeff's desk, however, Jane hesitated, then headed for what had been Jeanie's desk. "There's nothing in there," Marty said seeing her sit behind it, "Jeanie cleared it ages go. She took what was left yesterday." He sat on the corner of the desk, folded his arms, and peered across to see what she was doing. Jane pulled open the drawers, one by one, and found he was right. She pulled them right out and put them on top of the desk, just in case anything had slipped behind. As she removed the bottom drawer, something small fell to the tiled floor, making a metallic chime as it did so. "What was that?" asked Marty, leaning over as Jane crouched down to find whatever it was. She picked it up and inspected it. It was a ring; a man's ring, and a wedding ring at that. There was only one person it could belong to. Jeff had never married. "I think this belongs to you," she said, straightening and holding it out for Marty to see. He looked hard at it, then realised, frowning. "My wedding ring? But I never took it off!" He glanced down at his left hand, to see the gold band round his finger. "So what's it doing here? Surely Jean would have remembered something like this if you'd left it here." The spectre turned away, thinking, trying to recall. Jane wandered round the desk to stand next to him. After a few moments, he clicked his fingers as it came back. "Ah, yes, I've got it. I was wearing it when I died, so I'm wearing it now, but the police removed my watch, my keys, my wallet and my ring and bagged them. Everything was given to Jeanie. She told Jeff she'd misplaced the ring before the funeral, so it wasn't put back on me when I was buried." Jane fiddled with the ring, the yellow metal barely scratched, glowing under the lights. "Do you want me to give it to her?" she asked. Marty was about to say yes, then remembered, Jeanie was married to someone else now, and to have the past brought up again would be unfair to her. It had been painful enough the first time round. "No," he said finally, "She doesn't need reminding again." "So, what do you want me to do with it?" He thought hard for a while, considering the options, then turned to look directly at her, and gestured to the ring as he spoke. "I don't need it," he shrugged, "You have it." Jane glanced briefly at the circle of metal in her hand, then shook her head. "I can't, Martin, it wouldn't be right. Here, I'll put it back in the drawer - " "No, Jane!" Marty moved as if to block her way. She halted, surprised, and turned to look at him. "It's not right, Martin, it's your ring, your wedding ring, it's a very personal thing." "Which is why I want you to have it." Her brow creased in puzzlement. Marty continued, "I'd rather you had it than leave it here for anyone to find. At least I'd be sure it was safe with you." Jane sighed, but began to see his side of it. "I still don't think this is a good idea. I think Jean should have it, but if you really don't want me to give it to her, then OK." She went to place the ring in her jeans pocket, then had an idea, and unclasped the gold necklace she was wearing. "I'll put it on this, all right? So I don't lose it. Maybe it'll be a good luck charm!" she smiled, and turned to the filing cabinets as she re-clasped the necklace plus ring round her neck.
Ten o'clock, and Jane had pulled up outside the medium's house. She snapped off the car's air conditioning, which the bitter November wind was whistling through, in favour of the heater. Folding her arms around herself, she looked askance at Marty, who wasn't even the slightest bit cold, despite his fatigued appearance. A slight pause, then Jane gave the spectre a pointed look. "What?" he asked, frowning. "Make yourself useful. Go get him." Marty rolled his eyes, but vanished anyway. Jane shivered, and wished summer would come early this year for a change. She looked into her rear-view mirror as she heard a front door shut, to see Alan shuffling towards the car. Sighing, she steeled herself for the blast of cold air that was to come as he opened the car door. The gust of November air pierced through her very skin. The door was pulled shut by the medium, who was sensibly wrapped up in a thick dark coat and scarf, with a woollen hat pulled over his head. He eased himself across the back seat to peer between the front seats, squinting through his bifocal lenses. Marty rematerialised in the passenger seat. "Cold tonight, isn't it?" remarked the medium, as Jane restarted the engine and pulled out into the street traffic. She gave Marty a scathing look as she answered. "It's all right for him," she replied, "He can go round in Arctic temperatures and not even get a sniffle." Marty wasn't taking the bait, unusually enough. Shaking her head, she allowed the ghost to direct her to the disused warehouses near the docks. It was a good thirty-minute drive, allowing for traffic, which in London was constant. Marty reflected on the changes around the city since the end of the sixties, most of all the increase of vehicles. There had been times, twenty-odd years ago, when the roads around the Houses of Parliament would be completely deserted by eleven. Not any more. It seemed like it had happened overnight, too. How had he managed to miss it? The medium's presence was helping to reduce the level of weariness, and the queasy fluttering of what would have been his stomach had stopped. He wondered how long it would last. One more turn, to the left, and the car found itself moving slowly down a dark alley, leading to a large pair of metal-wire gates, long since broken through, rusted with age. Jane cut out the engine, and got out briefly to push open the gates, then drove through, and pushed the gates to again, just in case. She shuddered as she got back into the car, quickly shutting the door. "Go on, Marty," she said, the cold making her teeth chatter, affecting her voice. Marty glanced back at the medium, who nodded. He blew out his cheeks. "Here goes," he said, "Wish me luck." "Good luck. And be careful," she replied. He nodded, then disappeared. Jane continued to drive the car slowly, away from the entrance, and into a small alleyway running between two dilapidated warehouses, shutting off the engine and the headlights. Now all she could do was wait.
Twelve-thirty, and Jane was trying hard not to fall asleep. Marty had had no success as of yet, reporting back at regular intervals. Alan had given in to sleep's temptation about an hour ago, and he lay across the back seat, snoring loudly. Sinking down in her seat, Jane turned on the radio, only to hear a song by the Righteous Brothers playing. Grimacing, she turned it off, and pulled her coat tighter about herself. She peered into the darkness ahead through the windscreen, glad she'd brought a torch with her. Suddenly, she heard a faint scrunching of tires on the loose sandy gravel that passed itself for a road alongside the row of warehouses. Her heart began pounding, as she sank even lower down into her seat, hoping the car wouldn't be spotted. She could just see, in her wing mirror, a dark shape move past, going out of the lot. It had the profile of a Transit van, a very modern one, but that was all she could see in the inadequate light. The noise faded, and after a few minutes, Jane was convinced they hadn't seen her. Sitting upright, she breathed freely again, only just realising she'd been holding her breath. Marty chose this moment to reappear again, startling her. "I do wish you wouldn't do that!" she hissed, angry at herself for not being prepared for his sudden materialisation. The recent sighting hadn't helped her nerves, either. "Do what?" "Never mind. Did you see them?" "Yes, I saw the van leaving, I know which warehouse it is, but let me just check it first. I don't want any nasty surprises." "All right. I'll wake Alan up." "Give me five minutes," the ghost replied, and vanished. Jane turned to Alan as she unfastened her seat belt. Reaching between the seats, she prodded him in the ribs. "Wake up, Alan, we're on the move," she said. His only response was to roll over. She narrowed her eyes, and pursed her lips, then dug him in the ribs again, harder. He sat bolt upright with a slight yelp, banging his head on the roof of the car. Jane winced as he rubbed the injured patch of his head through the hat. "Marty's found something, I take it?" he said. "Yes... sorry about that..." "It's all right, I'll live. Shall I come with you?" Jane hadn't actually thought about it, to be perfectly honest, and was just going to reply when Marty reappeared. "It looks safe; but you'll need the torch. Oh, and you'll have to get in through a window. The doors are padlocked." "How...big...are the windows? Just out of curiosity?" "Oh, it won't be a problem... unless, of course, we get caught, then it becomes tricky..." Jane's shoulders slumped as she fished for the flashlight under her seat. "Alan, stay here in that case - and if they come back before I do, run for a 'phone," she said, as she unfastened her seatbelt and got out of the car. Alan responded in the affirmative. Marty asked him if he'd still be able to find Jane easily. "You shouldn't have any problems, within about a one to two hundred yard radius." "That's not far," he looked worried. "Suppose - " Alan held up a hand to quiet him. "Jane is wearing something of yours, is she not?" Marty frowned, wondering how he knew, but nodded, as Jane anxiously tapped the window of the passenger seat to get him out. "That should help to amplify her psychic vibrations. Don't worry." The tapping became more insistent, and Marty turned round to see Jane scowling at him through the glass, her breath steaming it up. "Go on, Marty," urged the medium, adjusting his glasses. The apparition vanished from the car to accompany Jane to the warehouse. Jane's trainers scrunched on the loose gravel scattered on the paths, Marty walking beside her as he pointed out the window she could climb through to get inside. Shivering, Jane stopped and squinted up, her eyes readjusting to the darkness. She wasn't going to put on the torch until she was inside for obvious reasons. She shot a glance at Marty, who was sizing up the stone window ledge. It was about a foot from the floor, the top half of the dirty window open. The brickwork had been taken over by a rampant ivy, which crept surreptitiously onto the windowsill. "This it, huh? OK, make sure there's nothing I can fall on inside," she said, walking up to the sill and pulling herself onto it. "Already checked. You're all right," replied the ghost, who disappeared to get inside. Jane picked up the torch and put her arm through the window, dropping it to the floor. Marty looked alarmed as it landed with a rubbery thud onto the cracked tiles. Seeing his expression, Jane reassured him, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's OK, it passed the child test at my friend's house a few months ago." He looked relieved as she said it, and watched her clamber through the gap. She managed to avoid any incident, and picked the torch from its resting place, switching it on. "So, where now?" "This way," he answered, walking off into the darkness. Jane swept the white beam of light around the room. It was roughly ten feet by thirteen, and had tiles on both the floor and on the wall, up to about shoulder level. Most of them were broken, and the only light on the leaking ceiling was now a couple of bare wires hanging forlornly in the midst of the dilapidation. Carefully, she picked her way round an upturned table to follow Marty out of the room and into another, making sure there were no large holes in the floor she might fall through. "This way," he whispered, "We're pretty close now." "Why are you whispering? Nobody can hear you," Jane said. Marty turned and shrugged. "Habit?" he suggested, as Jane rolled her eyes. He turned back to walk out of this room into yet another, when something in the beam of the torch moved. He yelped involuntarily, and promptly vanished, startling Jane out of her wits as she crouched into a defensive posture. Her heart was pounding, she could feel it in her throat. "Martin?" she hissed, beginning to panic. She moved the torch round to see him hiding behind an oil drum, peering round cautiously. "What is it?" He said nothing, but pointed down into a corner. Jane straightened and swivelled the beam. It landed on a mouse, which squeaked indignantly at having its night-time wander disturbed, then dashed off. Jane closed her eyes, briefly, trying to slow her rapid breathing and heart-rate, then glared at Marty, who had by now emerged from his hiding place with a sheepish look on his face. "Don't you dare do that again, or I might just have a heart attack and end up exchanging punches with you on the other side!" she growled, her muscles releasing the tension, although she remained fairly edgy. Who wouldn't be jumpy, wandering round this place in the dead of night? "Errr...sorry, Jane. Got a little too cautious," he apologised, moving off into the next room. She shook her head, and tried to stop her teeth from chattering as she shuffled past the oil drums in this room and into the next. "Here!" Marty suddenly declared, from around the corner. Jane picked up her pace, narrowly avoiding a collision with a door frame - which had no door in it - as she did so. As she came into this larger, colder room, she saw the apparition standing on the far side. This room was in a better condition than the rest, and as she scanned the place with the powerful torch, she could see the floor had been recently retiled, and several long metal tables lined up like a hospital ward stood along one side. She shuddered as a chill ran down her spine. As she went in, she could see the lights here were working, but dared not switch them on. "I'm in here," called Marty, who was standing next to what at first glance appeared to be yet another door, but which actually, upon closer inspection, was a shiny, steel door, leading to what must be where the dead bodies were being kept. Jane was suddenly not so sure if she wanted to go in there. She'd never seen a dead body before...and how was she going to get him out of there without being violently sick? He's been dead since 1969, she thought, I dread to think what kind of state his body must be in... "Come on, Jane, hurry!" "How do I get you out of there?" she looked puzzled, as Marty appeared to be almost hopping from one foot to the other in excitement. "The police can take care of that! Just get evidence, Alan can phone them and they'll do the rest!" Jane sighed, and steeled herself for the stench of rotting flesh; although she was unsure what rotting flesh smelt like, having never come across a corpse before. "I take it this is a kind of cold storage?" she said, as she undid the chain lock, and looked around for something to lever the door open with while she went in. No way was she going to get locked in there. "Yes," came the response, "Hurry!" Gingerly, Jane opened the heavy door, an extremely cold wave washing over her. She opened her eyes slowly, dreading what she might see, as she wedged it open with an upturned bucket. She saw what could have been something from a science-fiction movie. Marty couldn't believe it either. He stood and stared speechlessly for a few moments, next to where his body lay, without its coffin, on a metal table similar to those outside the cold storage unit. The ice-cold sub-zero temperatures were only bearable for a short time, as Jane fought back the urge to run, instead coming slowly in to join Marty by his side. She forced herself to look at his dead counterpart lying in front of her. She raised her eyes gradually, only to be astounded by what she saw. Marty Hopkirk's body was in perfect condition!
End of Part Three
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