Fourteen Days (12 page)

Arriving at the police station reception, he shook off some of the rain from his jacket and ran his hands through his hair, flicking droplets of water all over the carpet and walls. He walked up to the front desk. It was unmanned, so he rang the buzzer positioned at the side of a large glass separator. Waiting, he glanced around the room and wondered what the hell he was doing in a police station. He had only ever been in one once when his cell phone was stolen seven years earlier. He hated being there. But at least this time the reception area was empty. The last time he had to sit and wait, with what he would describe as scumbags, down-and-outs, and pissheads. Despite his only being there as a victim of crime, the place made him feel like a criminal. He got the same feeling passing through the metal detectors at the airport, even though he had nothing to hide.

An overweight police officer walked up to the desk and stood behind the glass. “Can I help you, sir?” the man asked, speaking through a small grid speaker at the center.

Butterflies formed in Richard’s stomach. He had completely forgotten to prepare what he was going to say. He couldn’t exactly be vague with the details like he was with the librarian. This was a police officer after all, a man of the law. He wouldn’t be able to give him the run-around. And what if Christina Long had been murdered, or just reported missing? How would he explain how he came across her name, without sounding completely insane? What if they suspected him of her murder? How would he be able to talk his way out of it?

Have I made a horrible mistake coming here?

“Yes sir, can I help you?” the officer repeated.

Richard snapped out of his train of worry. “
Urrr
, yes. I just need some information… for my wife.”

“All right. What’s the problem?”

“My wife’s friend from school hasn’t called her in a while and she’s getting very worried.”

The officer looked puzzled. “Okay. Has she gone over to her house to see if she’s all right?”

He hesitated for a moment, struggling to think of a quick answer. “She’s been travelling, so she won’t be at home. I just want… she just wants to know if she’s been reported missing. Or even dead. Just to put her mind at rest.” He leaned in close to the glass as if to talk more privately. “My wife suffers from a little paranoia. She can get worked up about trivial things. I’m sure her friend’s fine, but…”

Still with a look of perplexity, and now also a look of suspicion, the officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, unless you’re a family member I’m afraid we can’t give out that kind of information.”

“But I only need a yes or a no on the matter. I don’t need any details.”

Not budging, he shook his head again. “I’m sorry. That type of information can only be given out to family.”

“What if she doesn’t have any family?”

“Doesn’t she?”

“No, my wife’s the closest thing she has to a family.”

The officer sighed loudly, as if growing impatient. “Look, ask your wife to come down to the station and make an official request. Tell her to bring some proof that she’s a close friend. A few photos, that kind of thing. And then we might look into it.”

Unable to think of something to add, he stared blindly at the officer.

“The problem is, my wife is ill,” he blurted out, regretting it immediately. “She can’t come down to the station.”

Richard could see the distrust in the officer’s eyes. It worried him. Yet he couldn’t find the will to back out.

“I’m sorry to hear that but that’s the best I can do.”

Dejected, he musically tapped the desk with his fingers, trying to think of a way to convince him. “There must be something you can do?” He sounded desperate. “Anything at all.”

The officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. If your wife is unable to make it down to the station, then I could arrange for a police officer to call round. But that’s the best I can do.”

Nodding in defeat, knowing that there was no way Nicky would ever play along, he said, “No, it’s all right—I’ll leave it.” He moved away from the desk. “Thanks for your time.”

“Don’t mention it,” the officer replied, with a slight tone of sarcasm in his voice. “Have a good day, sir.” He then disappeared through a door behind him.

Richard stood in the reception, powerless to come up with a plan B. He knew he had made an error of judgement coming here. Surely there was no reason a police officer would fall for such a poorly thought-out story. But what annoyed him the most was that he didn’t even get the chance to mention her name.
Stupid
, he thought, as he sauntered over to the exit doors.

As he watched the rain hammer down on the road and against the glass, all he could think about was his ghost: her face of sadness, those eyes reddened from tears, her helpless tapping on the spare bedroom door. What the hell did she want? Why couldn’t she just blurt it out and say what was on her mind? And why was she so interested in him? Why not the last owner? And then it occurred to him: maybe that’s why he sold it to them in the first place. What if he had the exact same problem, a problem he just couldn’t solve? Was Richard going to end up the same—having to sell his house to the first person that showed any sign of interest? No, he would never let her beat him. Not for him, but for Nicky’s sake. It was their first home, their dream home. No one, especially not some troubled ghost, was going to drive them away. Not now. Not ever. And with that, he burst through the double doors and stepped out into the pouring rain, heading for Marble View to find the Registrar’s Office.

This time he would have to have the perfect cover story.

Richard finally had his first bit of luck. The rain had stopped and the Registrar’s Office was located exactly where the librarian had told him. It was a large, old-fashioned building, with red bricks and large windows. Its doorway was a giant stone archway with Latin words engraved across it.

Stepping up to the entrance, he waited a moment to prepare for any cross-questioning that might be thrown at him. How on earth was he going to convince them to give out details without rousing suspicion? Would he try his luck with the same web of lies he had spun to the police officer, and hope to God that the Registrar would perhaps be a little more gullible? No, he had to try a different angle; he knew good and well that his story earlier was terribly unconvincing. Could he simply tell them the truth and pray that the paranormal interested them enough to believe him? No, he was certain without a doubt that they would laugh in his face, just as Nicky did. How would he ever get what he needed if they couldn’t take him seriously—or even worse, thought that he was mentally unstable?

He couldn’t have that.

Shaking his head in frustration as nothing of any value popped into his mind, he leaned against the wall.
Come on, Rich, think! What’s wrong with you? You used to be great at problem solving. You can sell ice to Eskimos.
Focus!

He stepped away from the wall and stormed into the building, as if a plan had suddenly come to him. Walking up to the reception, he saw a young couple sitting in what appeared to be a waiting area. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to the couple, and asked, “Do I take a seat or…”

“Just ring the bell,” the man replied, pointing at a small window in front. “Someone’ll come out.”

Richard politely nodded, and said, “Cheers, mate,” then walked up to the window and rang the bell fixed to the wall. Waiting, he nervously whistled an unrecognizable tune.

After just a few seconds, a middle-aged woman appeared from behind the glass, smiling. “Hello. How can I help you?”

Richard was about to speak, but then the idea of rejection seemed even more daunting with the couple sitting behind him.

Forced to ignore them, he leaned in close to speak. “Oh, hi. I need a death certificate replacement for someone, please.”

“Okay. What’s the name?”

“Christina Long,” he replied, sounding confident.

“All right. Are you a relative?”

Butterflies started to build up in his stomach again. “Yes. I’m her brother.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I’ll need to see some form of ID before I can look up any details. I hope you understand.”

“ID?” Panic had set in, so he felt the inside his jacket pockets for an imaginary identification card. His body tensed up as he rummaged around, trying to appear convincing, all the time unable to make eye contact with the receptionist. “
Damn!
” he said under his breath. “I had it here this morning. Don’t say I’ve lost it now.” He continued to work his hands around his clothing, checking all his pockets. “Sorry about this. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

The woman politely grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time.”

After rechecking each pocket at least four times, his fantasy search came to an end. “It’s not here. It must have fallen out at the train station. Is there no way we can do this without any?”

She caringly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t give out any information without some type of identification. Maybe you could nip back home and get it. We’re open ’til five.”

Exhaling loudly, he leaned in close to the window. “Look, I really need that certificate. My flight to New Zealand is in a few hours, and I promised my mother that I’d get this sorted before I left.”

She shook her head again. “I’m really sorry, sir, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Sighing loudly, he rubbed his palm over his forehead. “Look, at least can you tell me if I’m in the right place. I haven’t lived here for a few years. Can you just check if you have a record of my sister, and then I can get my brother to come back later to pick up the certificate? I really need to get this sorted before my flight leaves.”

“If your sister passed away in Bristol then we should have her details here.”

He leaned in even closer and gave a pitiful stare. “Please. Can you just check for me?”

For a few seconds the woman was silent, and then she turned and headed for a computer to her left. “What’s the name again?” she asked, defeated.

Richard’s face lit up with victory, and then he pulled back his emotions quickly. “Christina. Christina Long. Thank you
very
much. I really appreciate this.”

The woman didn’t reply as she searched the database.

Clearly unable to find her details, she moved over to a large filing cabinet positioned behind her. Opening a large metal drawer, she filtered through the files. She then closed the heavy drawer and knelt down to open another.

Richard frowned as he anxiously waited for news. The woman got up, pushing the drawer shut as she did, her face a look of puzzlement. “I can’t seem to find your sister’s file.”

“That’s impossible.”

She shrugged. “I don’t understand it. Is her name spelt in any unique way? Maybe Christina with a ‘K’?”

Shaking his head, he almost shrugged, realizing that he didn’t really know the answer. “No, it’s spelled normally—C-H-R-I-S-T-I-N-A. And Long is spelled the usual way.”

Returning to the desk, still puzzled, she asked, “Are you sure she passed away here? I’m sorry to ask that, but I don’t understand it. She’s not on the computer system, and I can’t find her file.”

Unsure of whether or not she had been reported dead, or that the woman in his house was not Christina Long, he decided it was time to leave the Registrar’s Office. “Thanks for your help. I’ll speak with my mother later and maybe she can sort it out. Sorry for wasting your time.”

“No, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. Just tell your mother to give us a call and I’m sure we can get to the bottom of it.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

Avoiding making eye contact with the couple sitting in the waiting area, he quickly but calmly left the building.

Outside, he let out a drawn-out breath of relief; he could feel his tense neck and shoulders start to loosen up.
Back to the drawing board
, he thought, as he headed off toward his parked car.

What if Christina Long was just a name from his head? Perhaps Mrs. Rees was still the prime suspect. Either way he was no closer to finding out what she wanted, and how in God’s name he was going to get rid of her.