The Case of the Haunted Cot Page 11

  It wasn’t bad, for Price, and it even sounded like he cared, although that was likely accidental. Continuing to glare down at Price, Keith was far from relieved, but seemed to accept this answer. Taking a deep breath in, as though crushing his anger in his body, Keith took a moment to compose himself. Miller didn’t know what to say, or whether he should say anything. While he understood and could empathise with Sophie, he had no idea what was going on inside Keith’s mind; after all, the man had thought it a good idea to hire Price.

  As abruptly as he’d arrived, Keith turned around and walked back to the block of flats. As he got to the doorway, where more and more residents were milling around outside, Sophie exited the building, led by a paramedic asking her questions. Miller watched as Keith neared Sophie, as she averted her eyes away from him. But Keith didn’t move, he just stood next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t push it off at least, which was something.

  Miller’s heart went out to the both of them, but he no longer knew if he could help. He felt his part in their life had come to an end, and he could only hope that the rest of their problems they managed to sort out between them. Price was watching them too. Miller held out his hand.

  Why am I helping him?

  Price glanced at Miller’s hand and smirked, but he accepted it and pulled himself up.

  ‘I did exactly what he asked,’ Price said, indignant.

  ‘Yeah, you proved his daughter was dead and gone, then practically attacked his wife. Why would he possibly want to hit you?’

  ‘She’ll be OK because of me.’

  ‘She’s crushed because of you.’

  ‘It’ll take time to sink in. But trust me, she’ll be back at church finding solace in her superstitions by next Sunday.’

  Miller shot Price a warning glance.

  ‘Relax,’ said Price, ‘I’ll give her at least a year to get over her daughter’s death before I destroy that belief.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  No matter how much he tried, how much he wanted to, Miller couldn’t force himself to concentrate on Father Lenn’s sermon. Father Lenn was on top form as always, his heavy and authoritative voice effortlessly filling the church. Although one had been bought for them, Father Lenn had stopped using the PA system. He had control of the room through his natural voice alone, and — aside from a few young children brought here against their will — Miller was the only person not captivated by him.

  It wasn’t that the sermon didn’t resonate with Miller; everything Father Lenn spoke about was always relevant, intelligent and thought-provoking. It was just that Miller’s mind couldn’t stop bouncing around from one thing to another, although it always came back to the Fullwoods.

  Where were they now? The image of Sophie Fullwood alone in her flat, having thrown out her husband, came to Miller. He could see her sitting there, staring nonstop at the radio, waiting to hear her daughter again. And would she? If Price was right, it seemed unlikely that it would happen again. Surely the man with his daughter had either bought a new monitor or changed the bedtime routine. Miller couldn’t imagine he’d go back to doing everything the same way after discovering what it was doing to Sophie.

  ‘You might ask your-yourself. Err, you might ask yourself —’

  Miller had never heard Father Lenn stammer or repeat himself before, especially not that badly. He recovered quickly and continued on from the same spot as if nothing had happened. Miller looked up at him. Father Lenn was again speaking as professionally as ever, but he was staring down at his podium continuously. Father Lenn rarely had to check his notes while speaking, and never for longer than a quick glance. What had changed?

  Had anybody else had noticed. Several people were staring at Father Lenn with a questioning or confused expression. But several more were staring in the opposite direction, towards the door. Miller swivelled in his seat so he could see farther back.

  Standing just inside of the door, like two children nervous for their first day of school, were Sophie and Keith Fullwood. Despite how uncomfortable and unhappy they both looked, Miller couldn’t help but instantly smile when he spotted them. The kind of smile that was forced out by an overbearing amount of joy.

  There was a couple of feet gap between Sophie and Keith, and Sophie was showing little attention to him. But the mere fact that they were still together was enough to give Miller hope, as well as the fact that they were here, among friends.

  Keith took the first few steps forward, clearly conscious of those watching him. When Sophie followed, Miller realised he shouldn’t be among those subjecting them to stares, and he turned back to Father Lenn. Although his mind was still racing, its improved mood meant he had less trouble paying attention.

  ***

  ***

  Staring at himself in the mirror, at the huge bruise that had come up on his jaw in the last week, Price wondered again whether he should go to the doctor’s. Another possibility was timing how long the wound took to heal, then seeing if Keith Fullwood could hit him on the other side with the same amount of force. Then he could try alternative medicines and see how long it took to heal. It would be another chapter in his stagnant book.

  Ah, but there were too many variables, and if random luck meant it healed a day earlier the second time, the morons would consider it a win. Meaning he would have to conduct the experiment multiple times to get useful data, and with multiple participants, and they might be hard to find. Not to mention far better more effective studies had been done to disprove alternative medicine.

  Let it heal, there are still plenty of other subjects and experiments for your book.

  Yes, ‘the book’, the one his agent had given up waiting for. The one that Price would have to write bloody well in order to get past the bad reputation the first one had given him. Yes, that book.

  He wondered whether Miller was working on a new book. Price had almost finished reading Miller’s first, and was finding it a thoroughly entertaining read, although not because of the topics themselves. Miller, despite writing more competently than most on the paranormal, did fall victim to the usual circular logic and confirmation bias that kept believers believing. Throughout the book, however, Miller did suggest a number of theories that might explain various paranormal phenomena. They were all bollocks, of course, but the fact that Miller hadn’t just decided on one and was open to many possibilities meant he might just be open-minded enough to see the power of science and perception. Maybe Price could educate him on the fascinating things that really lurked behind every paranormal encounter.

  But, more than all that, what interested Price the most was how hard Miller had tried to keep himself out of the book. Considering it was about Miller’s experiences, it was among the least personal books Price had ever read. Occasionally Price found a section that felt as though it might have had some personal references at one point and Miller had removed them.

  Joseph Miller was hiding something. And that made Joseph Miller considerably more intriguing. A personal puzzle.

  And Price never walked away from an unsolved mystery.

  ***

  ***

  Miller heard the distant squeal of the chair in the nearby kitchen. He knew what was coming, but he wouldn’t be presumptuous enough to stop what he was doing, so Miller continued to mop the church floor where Father Lenn had been standing a few hours ago. He didn’t look up when he heard Father Lenn enter the hall and force a light cough.

  ‘Joseph?’ Father Lenn’s voice was softer and friendlier than ever.

  Miller didn’t go out of his way to pretend that he hadn’t known he was there until now, but he did act somewhat surprised. Since finishing his sermon Father Lenn had been in a great mood, for the same reason Miller had been, and it was clear that that mood hadn’t diminished yet.

  ‘Would you care to join me for a drink?’

  ‘You know, it’s really difficult to get any of this cleaning done if you keep interrupting with tea and coffee.’

  ‘
And biscuits.’

  ‘And biscuits.’

  ‘The floor looks lovely,’ Father Lenn said. ‘As your boss, I’m ordering you to have a break.’

  Miller chuckled, knowing he wouldn’t be able to win this, even if he’d actually wanted to avoid a drink.

  They sat down at the table, their drinks already set down ready for them. They stayed in silence for the first minute or so, sipping away. As they did so, Miller kept thinking back to seeing the Fullwoods, and he felt himself smile. Father Lenn appeared to be developing his own smile. When they noticed each other’s good mood, those smiles erupted in laughter.

  ‘I can’t believe Price was right,’ Miller said once they both calmed down a little.

  ‘Really, that’s what you’re taking away from this?’

  ‘He did say she’d be back at church in no time. I don’t know whether she’s fully accepted her loss, but certainly it’s a good thing.’

  Father Lenn appeared thoughtful.

  ‘True. You know, you’ve lost some of your anger.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘When you came back after the TV show you were clearly angry every time you mentioned Price. Just then, you looked nearly in awe of him.’

  Miller shook his head, while Father Lenn studied him.

  ‘Price is an infuriating ass, but he truly believes what he does is good. And what he did for Sophie Fullwood was good. Mostly. The result was good, but his handling wasn’t. I think, buried very deeply beneath that disgraceful exterior, is a good man. I could never have figured out what he did.’

  Father Lenn brought his mug down hard on the kitchen table, the thunk causing a brief echo. His smile had all but gone, and his mind appeared to be heading off elsewhere.

  ‘Very deeply. I’m not denying what Price did was good. But being good doesn’t stop you being an ass — as you put it. And overall, I believe Price would be bad for you. What with everything you’ve been through.’

  Miller thought on that while taking several more sips.

  ‘Surely you don’t think Price is beyond saving?’

  For a second Father Lenn was distant, lost in a depressing thought or memory. There was something Father Lenn wasn’t telling him, and it was only that obvious and felt so ominous because Father Lenn had never kept anything from him before.

  ‘Beyond saving? No. But some people don’t want to be saved.’

  ‘And aren’t they usually the ones that need it the most?’

  That cheered Father Lenn up, no doubt because it sounded like something he might have said in a previous argument.

  ‘You know he keeps texting or calling me. Doesn’t it seem curious to you that he’d be so interested in speaking to me?’

  ‘It’s curious to me that you gave him your number,’ Father Lenn said. ‘He’s interested in you because you don’t run away, you give him the arguments that he so desperately craves, and so worryingly enjoys.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. But even if that’s true, I also can’t shake this overwhelming feeling that God brought us into each other’s lives for a reason. First we happen to be side-by-side for the TV show — two nobodies, practically! Then just a few days later we bump into each other outside the Fullwoods’ flat. What were the chances? I’ve seen things even he couldn’t explain. Maybe if he saw them too.’

  ‘OK. Well when you say he texts and calls you, has he done so recently?’

  Miller thought back to the previous messages he’d received, trying to recall when he’d received them.

  ‘Not since he solved the Fullwoods’ mystery,’ Miller conceded.

  Father Lenn opened out his hands in a well there you go gesture.

  ‘You were a brief distraction. Somebody to screw with while he solved their mystery. I highly doubt you’ll ever hear from him again.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joseph Miller sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen, at the blank document, with no idea where to start. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop thinking about the Fullwoods, despite having decided he wouldn’t write about them. It wasn’t that he didn’t think their story was relevant; even without it being proof of the paranormal, their experiences were very much relevant. But, even with altered names, Miller doubted the Fullwoods would want their story told to the public.

  So what to write about? Several people had spoken to him about writing something more personal, about his own salvation. He had no doubt that it would make a great and inspirational story for somebody, but he didn’t know where to begin, or whether he wanted to.

  Standing up from the desk, Miller went to get a glass of water. As he ran the tap, he stared out of the kitchen window, barely able to see anything through the heavy downpour, nor hear anything over the belting the building took from it.

  A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Miller put his glass to the side of the sink and went to answer it, wondering how soaked they must be in this weather.

  As he opened the door, Miller was met with … nothing. Nobody was there. About to shut the door, a faint rustling made Miller look down, and there, kneeling in the dirt with one hand raised as if proposing, was Price.

  ‘Will you be my moron?’

  He was truly soaked, having forgone an umbrella or even a waterproof coat, but he appeared unperturbed. It was an all too perfectly dramatic moment, and it stunk of being rehearsed.

  ‘Did you actually wait until it was raining to do this?’ Miller asked.

  ‘It’s London; it wasn’t a long wait,’ Price said, shrugging. ‘I want you to write a book with me.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea somehow,’ said Miller.

  Price pulled himself up. His knees were covered in mud and rainwater.

  ‘It’s a perfect idea,’ said Price. ‘We’re exact opposites. We tell the stories from both points of view. With my current sales, I need someone like you to get more people to buy my books, to reach a larger audience.’

  ‘To turn them into people like you?’ Miller asked.

  ‘We investigate mysteries together, write up our opinions, and people get to see it from both sides.’

  ‘Do we get a mini-van and a snack-obsessed dog, too?’

  ‘I’m serious! Although, for future reference, I’m the flippant one, you’re the polite and nice one.’

  There was a certain appeal there. All those people he could reach out to that might otherwise start to think like Price. Maybe Price’s wasn’t the only soul God intended Miller to help. But that didn’t mean this deal was completely sincere; Miller found it hard to believe that Price would risk losing any of his diminutive fan base. Unless, of course, he was so sure in himself that he really expected to never come across anything unexplainable.

  ‘Let’s talk about this inside,’ Miller said, motioning for Price to enter the flat.

  Price backed off into the rain.

  ‘No, you come outside, it’s more atmospheric.’

  Miller sighed, slipping on his shoes. He found himself complying simply because he didn’t want Price to have the satisfaction of an argument. The deluge slapped against him all at once the second he was outside. He could already feel it in his shoes.

  ‘Yes, lovely out here,’ said Miller. ‘So why me?’

  ‘You accepted the possibility that I could be right. You were that open-minded at least.’

  ‘You’re going to lecture me on open-mindedness?’ said Miller, accompanying it with a questioning glance, which went utterly ignored.

  ‘My mind is open to whatever the evidence points to.’

  ‘I believed in the possibility of it being real,’ said Miller. ‘I just didn’t want it to be.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Price said, as if this proved his point. Miller didn’t follow, but he didn’t bother asking either; Price would hardly remain quiet on the matter. ‘That was why you saw reason. People that believe in the paranormal do so simply because they want to. Confirmation bias does the rest.’

  �
��Confirmation bias works both ways.’

  ‘And then,’ Price said, his expression turning smug, ‘there’s the prison tattoos.’

  Unable to help himself, Miller’s eyes shot up to accuse Price — how did he know? And in doing so, he confirmed Price’s suspicions. Not that he’d needed much more confirmation. Price gently lifted Miller’s arm. There was no point in fighting it now. Miller could see how the rain had quickly soaked through his shirt to make it nearly invisible. The prison tattoo down his arm was on full display.

  ‘Do you do anything without an ulterior motive?’ Miller asked.

  ‘Couldn’t have been anything too juicy like murder, or you’d still be in jail. But must have been bad enough to give you a lifetime’s worth of guilt.’

  ‘What has this got to do with anything?’ Miller asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

  ‘It has to do with the point in the book. Give me the chance to prove to you that being good does not have to go hand-in-hand with being holy.’

  ‘I was saved. You cannot take that away from me.’

  Price was openly staring at Miller now as if he were a challenge to overcome. But Miller’s anger had already subsided, and was being replaced by pity. If ever anybody needed God in their life, if anybody ever was truly in need of being saved, it was Trenton Price.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Miller.

  ‘What?’

  It was immensely satisfying to see shock on the face of a man that prided himself on knowing everything.

  ‘Seriously?’ Price said, suspicious. ‘That easy?’

  Now Price was studying Miller’s face, trying to read it. Miller made no attempt to hide his thoughts.

  ‘No, please, no, seriously?’ Price said. ‘You pity me?’

  ‘You don’t think you need help?’

  ‘So you want to try and save my immortal soul, is that it?’

  ‘And you want to take mine away from me.’

  That made Price smile, in a challenge accepted kind of way. He proffered his hand to Miller. Miller, half expecting a hand-buzzer, accepted it cautiously.

  ‘Quite the battle,’ said Price. ‘The prize: our souls … I don’t suppose there’s a cash alternative?’

  Price and Miller will return in:

  The Case of the Exploding Granny

  Afterword

  If you’ve gotten this far, I hope that means you enjoyed this book. A lot of myself has gone into it, and I’ve worked hard and had a great deal of help from some terrific people. If, however, you do spot a mistake, be it typo or factual or any other kind of error, please let me know. Despite my best efforts, I remain only human, so I am sure a fair few have slipped through.