The Haunted House.
There's absolutely no place for any silly superstition amongst the pragmatic members of the CCU. Therefore it can't have anything to do with it being Friday and 13th that the morning meeting with the fuckwits of the upper echelons was exceptionally long and nerve-racking and managed to piss Boyd royally off for the rest of the day. And it's merely a coincidence that on this particular morning Spence was involved in a multiple vehicle chain crash on his way to work, fortunately hurting nothing but his ego. His work car didn't have that much luck though and as the replacement car isn't available before Monday morning, the unit is one vehicle short.
The shrill ringing of the phone on Friday afternoon never predicts anything good. This time there's something as 'pleasant' as a mummified corpse in the basement of country cottage in store for them. 'Country' means long journey, as usual. In an over-crowded car, current circumstances considered.
That's why Boyd isn't pleased at all to meet Eve in the corridor on their way out. ''You're still here!? You were supposed to leave an hour ago!''
''Don't worry, my young and eager colleague is there already,'' Eve reassures him, referring to the trainee forensic pathologist they've seen hanging around with her for the whole week. ''I had some urgent things to finish myself, so I let him go first.''
Boyd frowns disgruntedly. ''Could that... what's-his-name ...that boy of your's really be trusted to process the scene all by himself?''
''This 'boy' has one degree in medicine and another in forensic science. And he happens to be your namesake by chance. I'm calling him Little Peter though,'' the corners of Eve's mouth raise into a wry smile, ''just to keep things clear. I hope he doesn't mind.''
''Perhaps we should call you Timothy to avoid any misunderstandings,'' Grace offers sweetly. ''That's your middle name, isn't it?''
The reply is quick and tetchy. ''You can all carry on calling me Boyd. I'd really appreciate that, thank you!''
''So, who will give a lift to a poor hitch-hiker?'' Eve turns her expectant look alternately to Boyd and Spence.
''We've only got my car, Spence wrecked his one in the morning,'' Boyd remarks accusingly.
Spence's defensive reaction is instant. ''How many times do I have to explain you that it wasn't my fault!? You know damned well what rush-hour traffic is like. It was a chain-reaction crash, there was nothing I could do about it!''
Boyd remains relentless. ''If you say so.''
''What really counts is that nobody was seriously hurt, right!? '' Grace intervenes. ''And besides - it's environmental-friendly to go in one car. You two can have the front seats, there's plenty of room for us three girls in the back.''
''OK!'' Boyd agrees. ''But you have to behave yourselves there!'', he adds with a sly grin.
It might very well be the last really warm and sunny day of Indian summer before the rainy and gloomy autumn inevitably sets in. The further they get from the city the brighter the sun feels and it seems to improve everybody's mood. Even Boyd stops his constant grumbling about the inadequate driving skills of fellow road users.
Spence has kept his eyes focused on the screen of his laptop for a while and is now ready to brief the others on the preliminary report provided by the local police.
''The house belongs to Harold James Peabody, born in 1941, retired businessman. It has stayed empty past couple of years, the owner residing somewhere in Southern Europe according to the neighbours. He did inform the electric and gas companies about his long-term leave and the services were shut off as a safety precaution. No incidents, vandalism nor burglary reported. A patrol car was on it's routine round in the neighbourhood this morning, when two boys were seen running away from the house for dear life. It looked suspicious, so they stopped to question them. Local schoolboys, brothers Eric and Josh Miller had broken the porch door glass, intruded the house and roaming around there, stumbled on the mummified corpse in the basement. The locals considered it better to hand the case over to us. Oh, and one more interesting issue is mentioned here – rumours are that the house is haunted.''
''Oh, give me a break,'' Boyd cuts in contemptuously. ''Every bloody village has some uninhabited house everyone instantly claims to be haunted. That's part of local folklore.''
''Friday the 13th, a mummy in a haunted house...'' Grace starts ominously.
''It's full moon tonight as well,'' Eve adds helpfully.
''...plus the full moon – oh dear, oh dear, what we're getting ourselves into!'' Grace sighs deeply in well-feigned concern.
''I'm feeling pretty confident,'' Boyd declares with a nonchalant grin. ''Former Catholic school girls like you and Stella ought to know all the right prayers to keep the forces of evil in control and if that's not enough - we've got Eve with her sharp instruments. All the dead and moreover the undead should feel due fear and respect for her.''
Nobody seems to take the ghost stories too seriously. The journey in the afternoon sunlight evokes some altogether different thoughts.
''It's actually very nice to travel on the back-seat,'' Eve mentions dreamily, looking out of the window. ''Reminds me the good old times father used to take us to Brighton every summer in that rattletrap old Ford we had those days. He insisted on stopping every half an hour - to avoid the engine getting overheated, he told us. I think he rather just wanted to get out of the car and have his cigarette in peace. It had to be quite an ordeal to endure the constant squabble of me and my younger brother.''
''We used to go to St. Tropez with my aunt's family,'' Stella continues on the same wavelength. ''I remember one occasion when me and my cousin Amelie ate too much cotton candy and ice-cream and it was very hot and the road was bumpy, so we ended up being sick in the car on our way back. Poor uncle Alain nearly hit the ceiling – he had only just bought the new beige velvet seat covers,''she chuckles.
Even Grace joins the trip down the memory lane. ''We didn't have a car when I was little, Mom put all the three of us – me, my older brother and younger sister - on the bus and grand-auntie Polly came to meet us at the bus stop when we arrived. But the journey was real fun, us singing all the way and the other passengers applauding and treating us with biscuits and candy.''
''Oh, singing together on a trip is just terrific,'' Stella gets incited, ''we really should do that...''
''Just give a try and you'll get the pleasant opportunity to continue the journey on foot, ''Boyd warns her seriously.
''Exactly like driving to Brighton back in the day, '' Eve makes a smirking comment, ''so much fun on the back-seat and a grumpy mood-killer behind the wheel...''
The house looks truly romantic, quite contrary to it's grim reputation. A lovely country cottage with whitewashed walls, almost hidden in the huge garden full of fruit-loaded apple-trees.
They are warmly welcomed by an over-eager young sergeant.
''DS Eddie Patterson at your service,'' he introduces himself. ''DCI Brenner had to leave unfortunately, domestic reasons... But everything is under control,'' he reports to Boyd proudly. ''We've managed to keep all the bystanders away,'' he indicates towards the barricade tapes and two PC-s who seem to be quite in trouble with restraining the constantly increasing crowd of curious neighbours and passers-by. ''The young mischief-makers who broke in the house were pretty shaken, circumstances considered, so we let their mother take them home. They live close, just a couple of minutes' walk, let me know when you want to question them and I'll take you there.''
''I want to see that body in the basement first,'' Boyd decides.
''One of your forensics experts has been here for some time already, I don't know if he's had time to have a look at that heap of bones we found under the porch – we might be dealing with more than one victims here!'' DS Patterson sounds happily exited over such prospect.
Eve stops them on the front door. ''Nobody's going anywhere without a Tyvek suit!'', she declares uncompromisingly.
The weather is rather hot and the idea of pulling on a plastic suit doesn't seem to appeal Boyd very much, so he changes his mind.
''Actually... I think it's best if we give you and,'' he grimaces, ''...Little Peter some time and space to do your work and start with gathering some more information instead. Stella and Spence, you try to squeeze something out of that large audience we've got. Ask them who's taking care of the garden.'' He runs his glance over the recently mowed lawn and expertly pruned apple-trees. ''I expected to find a jungle here, considering the owner's been away for that long. Grace and I will go and find out what the the boys have to say.''
The red-haired and freckle-faced twins, still clearly shocked by the sight they encountered in the basement and having undoubtedly received a good wigging from their mother, look quite meek and humble.
''OK, boys, let's hear you out. What business did you have in a strange house?'', Boyd addresses them rather sternly.
The boys exchange glances, digging each other's ribs, neither one looking too eager to answer.
Mrs. Miller, their vigorous and bosomy mother, stands right behind them, hands on her hip. ''Come on you two, a question was asked from you!'', she demands. ''Have you swallowed your tongues now? This important police officer has come all the way from London, don't keep him waiting!''
''It all was for a school project!'', braver one of the twins blurts out finally.
''Just listen to this rubbish!'' Mrs. Miller turns her eyes skyward and gives an exasperated sigh, ''A school project! You two are paving yourselves a way to some altogether different school with such 'projects'!''
''Please, Mrs. Miller,'' Grace gives her a calming smile, ''let the boys talk themselves, we need to know why they went there and what they saw.''
''It really was for a project, honest,'' the other brother insists. ''We wanted to prove that house really is haunted, so we took Dad's camera, hoping to record any possible paranormal activity,'' he explains so expertly, Boyd and Grace have trouble hiding their smirks. ''It was intended to be our this month's science project.''
Mrs. Miller is not happy with such explanation at all. ''And breaking the window was also part of your 'science' project, mh?'' She shakes her head angrily. ''Got real physical proof that glass is weaker than stone?''
''Josh did it!'', one of the boys quickly says, pointing an accusing finger at the culprit.
''Snitch!'' his brother exclaims, indignant at such treachery. ''It was Eric's idea! He peeked in and saw the key in the lock and said we should try to get in like that!''
''Easy now, boys,'' Grace tries to pacify the twins who seem to be close to jumping at each other. ''It wasn't nice of you to break into someone else's property, but right now we're more interested in what exactly did you do when you got inside.''
''We didn't touch or steel anything, just filmed a bit in the hall and kitchen and then we went straight to the basement, because old Jeb said that's where all the ghosts and revenants live...''
''Who is 'old Jeb'?'' Boyd interrupts them.
Mrs. Miller hurries to answer him. ''Jebediah Johnson, he lives right across the road from that house. He was Mr. Peabody's gardener for many years and has taken care of the place after he left as well. Whether they've got some long term arrangement or is he doing it just out of habit, I don't know. He's a very nice old man actually, quiet and hard-working most of the time, but after a glass or two too much becomes a real chatterbox, claims having seen angels and devils and ghosts and whatnot. And these two knuckle-heads,'' she glowers at her sons, ''take every word as gospel truth.''
''We won't believe him any more,'' the brothers promise almost in chorus.
''He was talking bullshit, he couldn't have seen anything happening in the house, there were thick curtains in front of all the windows. And all the doors were locked from inside,'' Eric declares.
''We can prove it, we filmed everything,'' Josh adds proudly.
''Where is the camera, boys? We need to watch that recorded material right away!'', Boyd demands.
''The camera is in that basement, Josh was so chickened out seeing the mummy, he dropped it and took off!'' Eric snickers wickedly.
''Says the one who wet his pants with fear!'', his brother announces triumphantly.
The body in the basement really isn't a pleasant sight - freezed for eternity in an half-sitting position against the wall, with sunken eye-sockets and mouth wide open, exposing two rows of enviably strong white teeth.
''Wow, that one really looks as if he'd seen a ghost,'' Spence remarks.
''Why is he gaping like that?'' Boyd wants to know.
Eve's apprentice is squatting next to the corpse. ''A cry of pain, a cry for help, who knows,'' he offers with a shrug. ''You can scream your lungs out here and no-one would hear. These stone walls are so thick even the mobiles don't have much signal here. By the way, Eve, is it OK if I take a short break? I really need to make a call.''
''Sure, take as long as you need, go get some fresh air,'' Eve encourages him.
'Little' Peter gets to his feet, proving to be a proper dream boy of every basketball scout - a head taller than Boyd.
''Any clues who this poor bastard could be?'', Boyd asks.
''Considering that he is wearing slippers, pyjamas and a dressing gown with an embroidered monogram HP – which I'm sure stands for Harold Peabody - we have every reason to believe that this is the owner of the house.''
'Shouldn't he be somewhere in Southern Europe?'
''He had every intention to go there, but the Grim Reaper interfered his plans, I'm afraid. All preparations were made - covers on the furniture, power and gas switched out, four large suitcases packed upstairs, a one-way plane ticket London-Rome and passport ready on the hall table. Looks like he was about to leave the next morning. The contribution of our amateur camera men was very informative. Their recording clearly proves that no living soul has been in this house for years. Two used wine glasses and empty bottle on the kitchen table must have stayed there unmoved since the last visitor. And if that guest didn't have the ability to fly away through the chimney, the host had to be very much alive to see him or her out and lock and bolt the doors after that. And there's absolutely no evidence of any possible fight or struggle neither here nor upstairs.''
''Maybe that guest put something in his drink?'' Stella offers.
''Can't be ruled out of course. I'll definitely test the glasses and bottle, though I'm afraid there isn't much hope to find anything years later. DNA and fingerprint check naturally. But... having seen quite a few cases like that, I'm willing to put my money on a version that the old man just died of some natural cause. There were numerous prescription medicines packed in his suitcase, indicating he must have had several health problems. If we take into account the possibility that he had been drinking recently - a large bottle of wine, even if shared with a visitor is still a considerable amount of alcohol – and travel fever in addition, a heart-failure or stroke is very believable, his age considered. I doubt if we can get to know the exact cause of death, all the internal organs are too decomposed.''
''I tend to agree with you, Eve,'' Grace nods. ''The fact that his body wasn't discovered for years is just a consequence of circumstances – he had no close relatives, kept to himself mostly and it was common knowledge in the neighbourhood that he was about to move abroad. I don't think there's anything criminal either.''
''The question remains what the hell he was doing down here on the eve of his departure.'' Spence looks around searchingly. ''There's nothing but junk in here, that huge cupboard over there is completely empty as well.''
''There is still one very suspicious character involved,'' Boyd remarks. ''Spence, you didn't accidentally meet someone called Jebediah Johnson in the crowd - the gardener and main source of all the ghost stories?''
''I know who you mean,'' Spence nods, ''I got similar information. Unfortunately he's gone away for a couple of days. I talked to a neighbour who's feeding his dogs.''
''The fact that this man takes care of the garden doesn't make him a suspect,'' Grace argues. ''Maybe he really had some arrangement with the owner as Mrs. Miller offered, or perhaps he's just being good-neighbourly. People in small places are like that. As regards the ghost stories - you said yourself these tales are usually part of local folklore, the old man just had some harmless fun at the expense of gullible schoolboys.''
''Whatever, I still want to meet and talk to him,'' Boyd declares resolutely. ''What about the bones under the porch?,'' he suddenly remembers. ''What's the issue with them?''
''Oh that's another matter - definitely a job of a serial killer.'' Eve states deadpan, clearly enjoying the perplexed faces of her colleagues. ''But there are some extenuating circumstances,'' she adds, unable to keep from smirking any longer, ''our bushy-tailed and red-coated mass murderer has three mouths to feed. Little Peter saw three fox cubs running away when he first got here.''
''So we just have to wait for the lab results and for that gardener to return before we can close things. The locals could have easily dealt with it all themselves. This is no bloody cold case!'' Boyd snorts crankily and starts to climb up the stairs.
''Wait a minute! '' Eve stops him. ''We're almost done here and since Little Peter was here long before us and really did most of the job, I'd like to let him back to London a bit earlier – it's his girlfriend's birthday today. Could I book a seat in your car for the journey back as well?''
''Fine by me, as long as you won't attempt to smuggle your gaping friend Mr. Peabody into my trunk!''
''Oh, don't worry about him, he'll travel with Little Peter,'' Eve promises.
While everybody else is clearly happy that the case proved to be much simpler and easier than expected, their boss' expression is thunderous. Seriously peeved about being inveigled out to the boondocks for no good cause, Boyd desperately needs some target to shout his annoyance out loud at. The poor unsuspecting PC who conscientiously stands at his post near the garden gate serves well for such purpose.
''Get DCI Brennan on the phone for me right now!'', Boyd barks at the young man. ''I want to know what gave him such a bright idea to call us to clean that bloody basement and pick up after a fox!''
''Sorry, sir, I'm afraid we can't attain him right now...'' Either DCI Brennan forgot to instruct all his subordinates to use the appropriate euphemism or is this young PC a bit simple-minded, in any case he makes no secret of the true reason for his superior's absence. ''He went to London to see a ballet with his wife - it's their wedding anniversary this weekend... I can try calling him of course, but as far as I know they ask to switch the mobiles off at the theatre...''
''Oh, don't bother then,'' Boyd snaps spitefully, ''you've already pretty much answered my question – DCI Brennan didn't arse to deal with this shit himself because he had other plans!''
The young PC starts to realise his mistake. ''DCI Brennan came here right away when he got the news, despite having a day off,'' he hurries to defend his boss bravely, ''but the corpse just looked ancient old and then there were those other bones under the porch... That's why he considered it better to hand this case over to somebody who has more experiences with things like that... ''
Boyd glowers at him balefully. ''Nice to know that someone's superficial visual assessment is sufficient criterion for summoning a highly specialised unit from London! The corpse looked ancient old....'' he snorts derisively, ''If tomorrow someone accidentally happens to dig up some medieval graveyard, call us straight away! Why bother the archaeologists!'' Turning his back to the affrighted PC, Boyd marches away, his hand making an involuntary movement in the air as if wanting to slam the non-existent door shut to conclude the conversation.
He heads to Grace and Stella, who have taken place on a bench, using their brief moment of leisure to enjoy what the evening sun and overloaded apple-trees have to offer.
''Feeling better now?'' Grace inquires mockingly. ''You were so unfair to that poor boy, it's not him making the decisions.''
''We have to waste our time and resources here because that bloody Brennan wouldn't change his fancy evening plans... ''
''Come on Boyd, ain't you just a little bit pleased to get out of town for a moment?! Getting some fresh country air does us all good.''
Boyd is still seething with anger. ''That damned man went to see a ballet!''
Grace rolls her eyes. ''Really!?'' She turns to her younger colleague, ''Can you believe that anybody would actually prefer watching ''Swan Lake'' to a wonderful opportunity of spending the sunny Friday afternoon in the basement with a mummified corpse!?''
Stella shakes her head in straight-faced disbelief.
Boyd ignores their irony.
''I will definitely raise the issue of inefficient and unjustified use of special units due to the incompetence of local forces on the next meeting at New Scotland Yard,'' he promises grumpily.
''Don't take it so hard, all your cases can't be headlines getting serial murders! I'm sure our contribution finds honourable mention in the local weekly,'' Grace comforts him.
Stella tries her best not to laugh, almost choking on the apple she's eating. Grace has to pat her back to help her catch breath.
Boyd casts them a disdainful glance.
''How can you devour these apples so incessantly? Are they really that good?''
''Absolutely delicious,'' Stella praises with her mouth full. She picks out an extra appetizing red one and throws it to Boyd. ''Try yourself!''
''If you dare,'' Grace smirks slyly, ''as a former Catholic school girl I consider it my duty to remind you that accepting an apple from a girl was the start of all the woes and misery of mankind.''
''I'll take my chances!'' Boyd grins and sinks his teeth into the juicy fruit.
They haven't been on their way back to London for long when the orange-tinted and enormous full moon starts to climb up already - a truly admirable sight.
''Damned!'', Spence nervously rummages his jacket pockets. ''Where the bloody hell is my smart-phone!? I want to take a picture of that moon... Can't find my badge either! I took them out of the pocket for a moment when we put the protective suits on and went down to the basement. I must have left them somewhere in that house...''
'Boyd's reaction is loud and disparaging. ''For God's sake, like a bloody kindergarten...!''.
''We have to go back, I can't leave my phone there like that, it's brand new...'', Spence sounds really anxious.
''The hell with your electronic toy, it's your bloody badge that can't be left laying around!'' Boyd snarls angrily.
''He didn't do it on purpose, it could happen to anybody, '' Grace defends her younger colleague. ''Last week you stormed to a meeting yourself, leaving all the necessary documents behind, it was Spence who had to drop everything and run to bring them for you,'' she reminds him.
''And I can drive myself if you want to rest a bit,'' Spence offers helpfully.
''No, thanks a lot! I want us to have at least one roadworthy vehicle for next week,'' Boyd retorts haughtily.
His ensuing audacious u-turn manoeuvre makes the trio on the back-seat yelp in protest.
The house doesn't look very inviting in the eldritch moonlight.
Spence equips himself with a torch and proceeds to look for his lost belongings.
In 5 minutes Boyd's patience runs out, he collects another torch from the trunk and disappears in the house as well.
Twenty minutes pass.
''I'll call Spence, they can locate the phone when it rings!'', Stella comes to a bright idea.
''The phone is out of area or turned off...,'' she repeats in confusion and dials another number. ''Boyd's one as well... That's weird.'' She sounds anxious.
''They must be in the basement,'' Eve solves the mystery. ''Little Peter couldn't get a signal down there either, kept running outside to call his sweetheart,'' she smirks.
''We should go and help them, otherwise we won't get back to London before morning.'' Grace suggests.
The house is quiet and empty, but somehow none of them feels very comfortable being there in the dark.
''If this is supposed to be their idea of a joke and Spence jumps out with a sheet over his head,'' Eve grumbles, ''I've really got some pretty sharp instruments in my bag!''
''And what exactly would you do to him?'' Stella giggles amusedly.
''Use your imagination.''
The door to the basement is half-open. They climb cautiously down the stairs.
The enormous empty cupboard is pulled away from the wall, exposing a secret door to another room where they can see the flashing light of two torches.
Boyd appears in the doorway, grinning. ''You certainly took your time! The ghosts and revenants could have easily finished up with us by now.''
''If we'd known you were planning to stay here overnight, we could have easily been been half way to London already.'' Eve retorts.
''You were supposed to look for Spence's phone and badge not start relocating junk furniture.''
''Oh, he got everything back,'' Boyd smirks, ''The revenants obviously weren't interested.''
''Better come over here and look what else we found,'' Spence calls them enthusiastically.
The room behind the secret door turns out to be a wine cellar, the racks loaded with innumerable bottles. Spence keeps exploring the labels on the bottles with keen interest.
''There are some pretty expensive one's there. That's what the old man was doing down here - moved the cupboard in front of the door so no intruder would discover his secret storehouse. How was he able to do it alone really beats me, we dragged the damned thing away together and nearly busted our backs... I wouldn't be very surprised if wrestling with that bulky piece of junk actually killed the poor sod. ''
Eve slaps her forehead. ''Of course! Extreme physical exertion in a dusty airless basement... There was an inhaler in one suitcase, packed away for the journey - the man had to be an asthmatic. His mouth was ajar like that because he was desperately gasping for breath, having a very severe asthmatic attack. He could have knocked over the candle and lost orientation in the dark, unable to make it up the stairs any more, panics only increasing the hypoxia... That probably lead to a fatal heart failure.''
''… and he ended up guarding his little treasure chamber,'' Boyd concludes grimly.
A bellow behind them makes everybody jump. Some ghastly, gaunt and bearded figure is standing in the doorway. The apparition is dressed in old-fashioned dark suit and holds a burning candle in one and a raised axe in the other hand.
Boyd and Spence react simultaneously, their cooperative tactics to eliminate imminent danger clearly well rehearsed and put to practice several times before. Spence hurls the enemy flush against door-frame with his whole bodyweight while Boyd grabs hold of the right hand, deftly wrenching the axe out of his grip.
The 'ghost' curses and groans with pain and fury. ''You bloody bastards, you wretched thieves... you won't get away with it, the police will find you in no time,'' he shrieks at them.
''We are the police!'' Boyd holds up his badge in the torchlight for the man to see. ''Who the fuck are you!?''
''My name is Jebediah Johnson!'' The old man squints his eyes against the torch light pointed directly at him.
''Ah... the mysteriously vanished gardener!'' Boyd recalls and signs Spence to loosen his grip on the man.
''I didn't vanish anywhere, I was at my sister-in-law's funeral, may her good soul rest in peace! Got back only just, saw a strange car in Mr. Peabody's yard, thought I'd better come and check... And what I see - the garden looks as if a parade of elephants has ridden over it, the front door ajar... ''
''Didn't you see the police tape?''
''You mean that plastic ribbon tied around trees? I ripped it down, thought those damned village boys are doing their japes again... Does Mr. Peabody know what you're up to on his premises? Him being abroad doesn't mean that you can just walk in here and do whatever you please, police or whatever you claim yourself to be...''
''When exactly did you last see Mr. Peabody?''
''The night before he left. Poor fellow's lungs really were in a bad state - always wheezy and coughing, be it summer or winter. The doctors suggested him to spend some time in better climate. He had lived in Italy years ago and liked the idea of going back there for a while. He was a bit concerned about garden though, but I told him not to worry - I'd willingly take care of everything. I helped him to prepare for the journey, cover up the books and furniture, pack things together. And after that we sat in his kitchen together, drank some wine... I'm telling you, Mr. Peabody really knows how to pick out a bottle of good wine! But I would have never thought he had so many of them down here!'' The old man looks around him in astonishment and continues. ''So we had a couple of glasses and he told me all about the vineyards and sandy beaches and hot-blooded lasses waiting for him in Italy. I guess he must have had some luck with those dark-eyed beauties there, why else he hasn't come back yet,'' he chuckles. ''And then I left and a taxi took Mr. Peabody to the airport next morning. ''
''You saw him get on the taxi?''
''Of course I didn't see him, I live on the other side of the road the road, and there are trees and fences,'' the old man explains grumpily. ''But I heard the taxi come and drive away some time later. Naturally he got on it, the taxi wouldn't have left without him, would it? Why do you ask me all that? What's happened?''
Boys breaks the news in his usual brusque style, making Grace shake her head in disapproval.
Learning about the sad fate of his neighbour lefts Jebediah Johnson dumbfounded. ''How... how did you know to come here to look for him?'' he finally asks.
''Two boys broke in, came to look for the ghosts you so vividly told about.''
The old man gives a weary sigh. ''Bloody little monkeys, always climbing on the apple trees, breaking branches and ripping down the fruits while they're still green and sour... I only wanted to scare them a bit, so they would keep away from here. Should have known better that these little rascals ain't afraid of anything. It were those damned Miller twins, right!?'' he nods knowingly, ''If any mischief happens in the village, it's always them.''
''It is partly thanks to them that Mr. Peabody finally gets a chance to be laid to rest decently,'' Grace admits to appease him.
Jebediah Johnson gives a deep sigh and nods in acquiescence. ''He really deserves that, he was a good and honest man, his kinds are rare these days.''
The journey back to London is uneventful. The moon is too high up already for taking any pictures. It's almost midnight when they finally arrive at their headquarters, but the night shift desk sergeant barely lifts an eyebrow, clearly accustomed that this bunch of misfits can come and go at any unorthodox hour.
All the necessary formalities are taken care of as fast as possible. Boyd loudly declares he doesn't want to see any of them before 9 o'clock Monday morning and overcome by sudden sense of responsibility, insists on driving everybody safely home.
It takes some time, but finally there's just him and Grace left in the car.
When they reach her house, an awkward silence settles in for a moment. That constant frustrating need to keep a low profile is the main reason why staying overnight at one another's places doesn't come for granted.
Grace could make things easier, but it's just so much fun to tease Boyd a bit, to wait and see how he solves the situation this time.
As usual, he manages to find completely innocent and undeniable excuse to invite himself in.
''I really have to give you a hand with that big bag of yours,'' he offers, seemingly without any deep design. ''What's so bumpy and heavy in there, not some hiding ghost, I hope?''
''No room for them,'' Grace laughs, ''it's full of those delicious apples. I just couldn't resist.''
''Naughty girl...'' Boyd clicks his tongue in mock disapproval.
''And what about that bottle of wine you hid in the trunk of your car while putting the torch away?'' Grace retorts.
''You noticed...?'' he looks confused, embarrassed even.
''The full moon really isn't your best friend if you're up to something like that,'' Grace chuckles. ''A long service policeman like you should know such things. Don't worry, your dirty little secret is safe with me and in case that bottle happens to be an 87' Merlot, as I secretly hope... I might even ask you in if you promise to take it with you!''
''The Merlot definitely comes in with me,'' Boyd agrees eagerly. ''Let's raise a glass to the memory of good old Mr. Peabody. And after that I'd like you to tell me the favourite story of all Catholic school girls – you know, the one about that particular apple,'' he blinks slyly.