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Another morning, another case, another body. My ringing mobile had woken me up at 5am, on the other end my governor, Detective Inspector Nightingale. He informs me about a body at the Elephant & Castle Underground station.
The first assessment of the crime scene pointed to Falcon involvement, more accurately: traces of vestigia were detected, which had to be pretty strong, if an amateur had been able to identify them definitely. Hence, Nightingale as the head of the special assessment unit, aka 'the Folly', code name 'Falcon', was alerted, who in turn called me as the currently only other official member of this unit.
While I get dressed quickly, the coffeemaker in the kitchen gargles. I grab the coffee, get into my blue Asbo and head towards Elephant & Castle. Thankfully, the traffic is decent this early. On my arrival, a uniformed officer points me into the direction of the crime scene.
-
The crime scene looks no different than most other I've been to: police tape and officers to secure the place, the forensic team doing their work, mostly blocking my view on the body in the process and all the higher officials standing at the side, likely discussing the following steps. There, I locate Nightingale, still wearing one of the white overalls, in conversation with the head of forensics. I decide to leave him be for now and make myself more familiar with the whole scene first.
As the forensics team starts packing up their gear, my line of sight towards the body starts to clear. Which is the exact moment, when, in the midst of all the usual proceedings, I spot two teenage boys lingering near the body. One of them, an IC1 with neatly combed dark hair, kneels and examines the dead man with the aid of a strange looking device.
Weirdly, he appears to be wearing breeches and stockings as well as a shirt with bowtie, a jacket fitting his breeches and another piece of clothing underneath, probably some kind of vest. Definitely not something to wear in 2024 in London during summer. I almost start sweating by only looking at him.
Just now, he looks up to the other boy who is standing slightly behind him, saying something, to which the standing boy starts rummaging through a backpack, that had been slung over his shoulder until then. His arm disappears into the backpack further than should be possible - 'like the TARDIS or Hermione's handbag', my brain supplies (un)helpfully. After about half a minute he pulls out something unidentifiable and hands it to the kneeling boy, who continues his examination.
I assess the standing boy, who is watching the other one's actions attentively over his shoulder. He has some kind of IC4 background, black curls, an earring dangling from his left ear and a slim golden chain around his neck. Where the other boy appears to have gotten his clothes from an exhibition about the life of school boys during World War I, this boy must've raided his dad's wardrobe from when he was a teenager; in other words, he looks as though he stepped straight out of an 80's magazine.
He wears black slacks that are well-fitted, white sporty socks and black loafers. His black coat with the red, put up collar is adorned by various pins, that I can't distinguish from the distance, as well as a 'Rude Boy' and a Union Jack patch. Underneath he seems to be wearing another, burgundy-looking jacket and a polo of the same colour. His (maybe, hopefully infinite) backpack is once more slung around his shoulder. From his left arm hangs a coat of some kind, presumably belonging to the kneeling boy.
Who, in this moment, gestures for the 80's boy to have a closer look at something he found. He does as demanded, bending down and listening closely to what the other one is saying.
Suddenly, someone touches my shoulder. I startle slightly. A uniformed officer asks: "Sorry, Sir. Are you alright?"
"Yes, why would I not be?", I ask, a bit confused.
"You've been standing here, staring at the body for over a minute now, so I thought it to be appropriate to check on you", she explains.
"Oh, thank you, but I'm perfectly alright." I say, 'I've just been watching these two teenage boys, about whom nobody else here seems to care.' After this reassurance, that I will neither faint nor combust spontaneously, the officer retreats.
I observe the people surrounding me. Still, nobody else seems to be bothered by the two teenage boys hanging around this crime scene, or even seeing them, for starters. Well, nobody except Nightingale, who lets his eyes wander over to them every now and then, as if to check up on them. Having noticed this, I make up my mind that I have to talk to him as soon as possible after all and make my way over to him.
-
I arrive, just as he finishes his previous conversation. "Good morning, Sir", I greet.
"Good morning, Peter."
I decide to just rip the metaphorical band-aid off. "Sir?” I ask.
"Yes, Peter."
"What are these children doing here and why does nobody else notice them?" Nightingale’s expression turns disconcerted for a second, before he catches on to where I'm pointing at.
"Ah, these two boys are the newest assets to our network of helpers and informants. I'll introduce you shortly, once they finish their investigation. And as to why nobody sees them - well, they are ghosts."
Applying this new information, I look at them again. "They are not like the ghosts I have seen before," I state. I contemplate my statement for a beat. "Are they, like, a different kind of ghosts - are there different kinds of ghosts?" And just like this I have a million questions.
"Quite so", Nightingale confirms, “at least that's what Abigail and I figured." At this, I forget all the questions that had been burning on my tongue just a few seconds ago.
" Abigail knows about them, but I don't?" I ask incredulously.
"She not merely knows about them, she knows them", he says, as if this would explain everything, as if this could defuse this situation. I want to retort, but he holds his hand up. "Actually, she was the one who found them in the first place." And now I'm just about ready to explode.
"I cannot believe this!" I exclaim. People start looking in our direction, so I continue whisper-hissing, "You let her go after them? Alone? After everything that has already happened? That is a total Dumbledore-move and by the way, that is not a compliment. What-"
I am interrupted by a polite cough. The two ghost boys are standing at Nightingale's side, looking a mixture of uncertain and embarrassed. Nightingale turns to face them."
"We'll continue this later", I promise him, still fuming, and face the two dead teenagers as well.
Nightingale starts speaking as though nothing had happened just now. "May I introduce to you Messers Edwin Payne", he gestures to the boy in the old-timey school uniform, "and Charles Rowland" - the 80’s boy and, apparently, ardent Ska fan, as evident by his, now readable, pins, "of the Dead Boy Detective Agency.
"Now addressing the two boys he announces: "Gentlemen, this is my apprentice, Peter Grant. I believe I have mentioned him before." 'So they already knew about me, while I didn't even know of their existence', I thought and made a mental note to have a long discussion about the proper chain of information with my superior later.
"Indeed, Sir", the school boy, Edwin, confirms Nightingale's last statement, while reaching out his hand towards me. "It is my pleasure to meet another practitioner." He utters, with a small, polite nod, but otherwise unmoving features.
Until now, I had not thought that anyone could behave even more old-fashioned or sound even more posh than Nightingale, but this ghost, with his mannerisms, his clothes and posture and articulation, basically screams early 20th century and for a short moment I wonder if this is what Nightingale looked like as well, when he was a boy. I shake his hand, which, decidedly, does not feel like nothing.
When I let go of his hand, the other boy, Charles, takes a small step towards me, stepping only slightly in front of Edwin, as if to shield him, and proffers his hand. I accept and he says, with an admittedly charming smile: "Nice to meet you. Like your boss just said: we're detectives. Edwin's the brains and I'm the brawn. Right, Edwin?" He turns towards the addressed, who seems to be holding back rolling his eyes at Charles' antics.
"As I am telling you frequently, Charles, you are plenty clever." Charles says the last two words simultaneously, so, obviously, this is far from the first time they are having this exact conversation. "I know, mate, but I deffo can't compare to that big brain of yours. Also, I do most of the hitting."
The boy turns back to face me and Nightingale, a cheeky grin on his face. A small, private smile forms on Edwin's face as he continues observing the other for a few more moments and I realize with a sudden flash that I should know what this kind of smile means, but I cannot place it currently. I look at Nightingale out of the corner of my eye briefly, who must have come to some kind of understanding as well, by the looks of it.
Eventually Edwin turns towards us again as well, stating: "Apologies for this mucking about, you requested us here for a reason, after all. Thus, let us tell you what we were able to gather from the circumstance at hand."
"With pleasure", Nightingale replies, while I nod.
"There appears to have taken place some form of possession, most likely by a ghost." "- which is not a clever thing to do, really, as it sets of all sorts of alarms in the afterlife", Charles adds.
An image arises in my mind, unbidden and inexorably: Leslie, her face falling apart while I watch, unable to stop it. I feel myself flinching. I hear Mr Punch's laughter echoing in my head. I hate possessions, wholeheartedly and with vigour. I take a few deep breaths and concentrate on the conversation again.
"As far as I can tell, however, the victim did not die as a result of the possession per se." Thank god. "It rather seems like he did not know about the possession at all until today, by which I deduce that the ghost was in hiding from another supernatural entity and also highly knowledgeable about the arcane. The creature in question must have detected the stowaway inside the victim this morning and attacked, killing the victim in the process." - "Honestly, we are not a hundred percent sure of our theory yet. To check it, we would wanna take something from that poor chap, like, a bit of hair or some kind of jewellery to give to our medium for verification", Charles adds.
"Why is your medium not here with you?" I blurt out.
Edwin looks me in the eye estimatingly, says, with what feels like slight condescension: "She is alive", and turns back to Nightingale, who announces: "I'll see what I can arrange. In the meantime, do you have any idea what the attacking creature was?"
"Our analysis points towards a djinn, a ghost-like and highly intelligent creature. Djinn are quite powerful entities and seldom appear before humans as they are also very capricious and a little haughty. They exclusively appear before humans whom they deem worthy of their attention. There is, however, as with most supernatural beings, a way to force a djinn to grace oneself with its presence", Edwin elaborates excitedly, smiling, and I can almost feel the energy his being seems to emit. "Frankly, this whole affair is greatly fascinating." Charles, smiling, puts his hand on friend's shoulder, which appears to ground the other boy a bit. "What Edwin means to say is that we never actually investigated in a case with a djinn before, but he read loads about them in his books, alright. So we would love to help you out further, if you could just get us that item for our medium?" He squeezes Edwin's shoulder and looks at us expectantly. Edwin looks at him with that look again, briefly. "Please", Charles adds like an afterthought, when none of us reacts, overwhelmed by the full force of excited-teenage-boys-energy.
I recover first and offer: "I'll get you that strand of hair", and to Nightingale, "if that's alright, Sir?"
"Very much so", he replies, which makes Charles beam at Edwin as if he just announced that this year, Christmas and Easter are on the same day, "but don't forget to ask the forensics team first. You know they don't like people-"
"messing with evidence", I finish the sentence. "I know." I turn to go get that hair. "Be back in a few."
"I'll come with", Charles announces, falling in step next to me.
I remind myself that nobody else is able to see the ghost boy and how it would look from the outside if I just talked to myself or whatever. I pull my current burner out of my pocket and hold it up to my ear quickly.
"Good thinking", Charles comments, "took our medium, Crystal, a good while to catch on to doing that."
We walk a few steps and I wait for him to say what he meant to say. He turns around facing me, continuing backwards and starts: "Listen, I'm sorry about before." I wonder what he's talking about. "Edwin didn't mean to be mean or anything, it's just that he is not very good with other people."
"Does he always let you apologize on his behalf?" I ask, without any further intention behind it.
"Well, somebody has to play nice with the clients, right? Everybody likes me eventually", he says with conviction.
And something about that statement and Charles' cheerfulness sets off an alarm inside my head, an alarm created by years of working as a policeman and workshops about abuse prevention. Had Charles been a living teenager, I would try to ask him about his home life inconspicuously, get him to talk about his family, see, if he tries to evade the topic or says anything suspicious. But he is not alive, he is already dead and - 'oh god, I hope that is not how he died' I think as we approach the head of forensics and I start the negotiations on behalf of some hair from our victim.
-
My efforts are not in vain and soon I am the proud owner of some strands cut from the hair of our recently deceased. "That's aces. Cheers mate!" Charles expresses happily while I sign a form documenting the removal of the hair. On our way back to Nightingale and Edwin I try to make some small talk. "So, how long have you two known each other?"
"That's almost 35 years now", Charles replies without much thought. 'Almost my whole life', I think in comparison. 'Theoretically, that makes Charles older than I am, doesn’t it?'
I wonder whether asking my next question is a good idea. Probably not, then. I ask anyways. "And how did you meet each other?"
Charles hesitates and takes a deep breath before saying "Well, I was dying and hiding in an attic of my and Edwin's old school and that's where he found me." This is the moment the reality of their existence hits me: These are two boys, who died far too young, when they were still in school and have been ghosts twice as long as they ever were alive, at least in Charles case. "He kept me company the last days of my life and so I decided to stick to him once I was dead. We've been a team ever since and solving cases since 1990!“ he announces proudly.
We reassemble with Nightingale and Edwin, who seem to have been talking as well. I hand Charles the bag containing the victim's hair. "Cheers!" he reiterates, putting it into his backpack.
"Very well", Edwin speaks up. "We shall take our leave, then. We will be in touch once we have attained new data, if that is agreeable."
"Of course", Nightingale agrees, "you know how to reach me." The ghost boy nods and they shake hands. We all shake hands then and Nightingale and I watch as the two teenagers leave the underground station.
-
By the time we get up the next morning, the case is clear. If only solving the cases could be this easy every time… The paper work, on the other hand, is a whole another story.
Turns out the two boys were right about everything they told us at the crime scene:
Some guy had conjured and imprisoned a djinn to get the djinn to grant him all his wishes. (Maybe, Charles had joked, the guy had read Aladdin one time too often as a child and mistaken a djinn for a genie. Although this had been meant as a joke, Nightingale and I found this to be the most plausible explanation for the guy's actions. Whatever.)
The djinn had, understandably, refused. One day the guy died, with the djinn still imprisoned and very much pissed off. Somehow the guy managed to evade his afterlife, continuing as a ghost, unbothered. At least until the day, the djinn got freed by chance and sought to get revenge on his jailor. The djinn's first attack failed by a hair's breadth, alerting the guy he wanted to suffer like he himself had. And that is, where our victim came into play.
Unbeknownst to the man he got possessed by the ghost of a guy that a djinn wished to capture. In the end, the djinn got the ghost and managed to imprison him in a rose jar, but not without killing the ghost's host in the process. 'Collateral damage', Edwin had said, when explaining what their medium, Crystal had been able to gather from the hair, onto which the ghost had imprinted many of his own memories during the possession.
-
That same evening Nightingale and I sit in the library together, Nightingale reading while I struggle to translate Pliny. After an hour I am tired of Pliny and this stupid language he had to write in. Also, the case is still processing in the back of my head and I just realized what Edwin's smile must've meant back then, so I ask "Sir?" because I need to know if Nightingale agrees with my conclusion.
"Yes, Peter?" He looks up from his book and suddenly I am not so sure this is a good idea.
"It's just that - I realized just now - That one ghost boy, Edwin, he's in love with Charles, isn't he?" Nightingale freezes for a moment, as though he had been dreading this conversation, before raising his eyebrows. Had I not been watching him intently I would've missed it. He puts a bookmark between the pages of his book and sets it down, obviously anticipating a longer conversation.
"It certainly seems like it, yes", he responds precisely.
"Do you think he knows ?" I wonder loudly.
Nightingale raises his eyebrows again. "Do you mean to ask whether Edwin is aware of the nature of his feeling for Charles specifically or whether he is aware of his inclination towards the male specimen in general?"
"Both, I guess." Then another thought occurs to me. "Do you think Charles knows?"
"If I had to take an educated guess I would have to say that he certainly might be aware of his best friend's sentiments. However I also think that he feels deeply enough for Edwin himself and that, not unlike you, he feels secure enough in his own identity to not give this circumstance any second thoughts." He pauses, arranging his thoughts. "With regard to Edwin I am almost certain that he has realized and understood that he, like most of us are at some time, is quite enamoured with his best friend."
I wonder if Nightingale is aware that, with the way he phrased his sentence, it is open to interpretation whom he means by 'most of us'; 'most of us' as in gay people, or 'most of us' as in everybody. Had he been trying to include me and my former interest in Leslie by that statement or had he been trying to tell me that he, himself, is gay? Had he once been in love with his best friend, too?
"At second thought", Nightingale continues, effectively pulling me out of my thoughts, "I am ninety-five percent sure he is aware of his feelings. Whether he has accepted them however I can barely even begin to estimate."
I ponder this for a moment. "You mean his internalized homophobia is keeping him from accepting his feelings?” I try following Nightingale's thought process up.
"Exactly”, he confirms. "You have to understand that Edwin, like me, has been born in 1900 and grew up with the ideology and morality of that period of time."
"Wait a second", I interrupt, "so you and Edwin are actually the same age? That's wild."
"If you will, yes. Although I certainly hope to never have to return to the same physical age as his ever again." I almost start laughing at the worried expression on his face.
"However, that is beside the point I was just about to make. I know, obviously, that, even today, this issue is far from resolved, but you can believe me when I say that growing up as our kind at the beginning of the 20th century was, to put it nicely, an overall unwholesome experience..." Aand here comes the confirmation. So Nightingale had been trying to tell me he was gay earlier. Huh. "... and I would be lying if I said that I don't think that Edwin's inclinations had anything to do with his death."
Well, shit. How had I not been able to see this? 'Probably because it doesn't affect you', my mind supplies. I look at Nightingale, his expression pensive and sad, melancholy even. Had he ever told this anybody before? But more importantly even... "What about you, Sir?“ I ask carefully. "Have you accepted yourself?" Nightingale contemplates this for a long moment.
"I am not sure yet", he answers," but I think I am on a good way."