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By Felix Bogarte, An Interactive eBook Adventure!

The storm roamed through the skies looking for trouble. It hurled itself across the Atlantic Ocean; howling, swishing, cackling and roaring, like a wild beast searching for its prey. And boy, was some city gonna get it tonight.

It was four o’clock in the morning and Hank Kane, the Dead Detective, was looking out his window onto Gordon Street in Glasgow. He sensed that a change in the weather was approaching. The drizzle, the advance scouting party for the rain, was already toying with the city. It was pitter-pattering across the streets, preparing the way for the downpour that could only be minutes away.

Hank noticed that the sky had suddenly got even blacker. He’d come to know all the different shades of black the Scottish sky could muster. It was a master of darkness and it was about to lash rain on the assortment of people that had spilled out of the nightclubs and were now frantically looking for taxis, buses, or any form of escape.

The storm appeared in the sky from behind the office blocks, like some menacing monster, intent on destruction. All the late night revellers looked up in awe as a clap of thunder signalled that the storm was about to unleash its fury on Glasgow.

Suddenly, hundreds of giant raindrops began attacking Hank’s window, clattering against it furiously, as if searching for a way in. Hank jumped back from the window, startled. He realised that he’d never quite get used to the rain in this city.

Outside, people screamed and ran for cover as the sky exploded. In an instant, everyone not in a taxi or a bus was drenched. The lucky ones who had managed to find transport peered out of the rain-soaked, steamy windows, bemused as their taxi or bus slowly waded through the streets. Even the wipers going at full speed were incapable of clearing the amount of rain that clung to the windscreens.

People cowered together in doorways and bus shelters as the street gutters rapidly become fast moving torrents. The storm shone its lightning on the streets, like flashing searchlights. It was as if it was searching for survivors of the first bombardment of water. And this rain-led assault was just beginning.

Hank sat back down at his desk. He took his mobile phone from his drawer, though being a creature of the 1950s, he still wasn’t really comfortable with the concept of mobile phones. He stared at three envelopes lying beside his desk lamp and then sent a text to Charlie Christian, his apprentice. At least he thought he sent a text to him – he couldn’t be sure because he had not yet mastered how to work the darn thing.

******

Charlie had woken up his sister, Annie, or ‘Ace’ as he insisted on calling her.

“Look Ace! Look out the window! What a storm! C’mon, c’mon! Get up and look!

Annie pulled the covers back over her head. Hadn’t Charlie seen a storm a before? It wasn’t even 6.30 in the morning! What is he on, she thought! The absurdity of Charlie being up before the alarm had gone off spurred Annie into action. She sat up in her bed, looking scathingly at Charlie, who stared out of her window, his elbows on her window ledge and nose up against the glass. Just then she realised it was Saturday! It wasn’t even a school day! Had Charlie lost his mind? She shook her head.

“Charlie, what is so special about this storm? We don’t exactly live on the sun-drenched Spanish Riviera, do we?”

Charlie turned his head around and looked with slight unease at his sister. He knew she was initiating what would turn into a long complicated insult. Knowing this didn’t necessarily mean he would see it coming. He just sensed danger. He just knew she was about to unleash some sarcastic remark. Oh, put me out my misery now, he thought.

Annie continued,

“I said…”

“I know what you said. I’m just not sure what you mean!”

Annie looked at her brother. My, he just kept offering her opportunities to take advantage of him, didn’t he? He’d be better off just keeping his mouth shut – like, she’d let him.

“What I mean, Einstein, is that we get storms here all the time! You don’t need to wake me up, on a Saturday, and tell me about some storm. Let me guess. You can’t sleep because…”

She explored the possibilities silently. Obviously, this had to do with Charlie’s hobby (he’d call it his ‘profession’), of detecting, sleuthing, crime fighting, or whatever he wanted to call it today. She looked at him through her bleary eyes.

‘’You can’t sleep because Hank Kane has just sent you a text about another case!”

“Yeah, okay. I was going to tell you later anyway - ”

“‘Cause he told you to. ‘Cause he knows I’m the better detective. ‘Cause he knows you’ll screw it up.”

Charlie turned around and looked back at the raging storm. Compared to the wrath of his kid sister, it was positively soothing. At least she didn’t get to finish that stuff she’d started on earlier, about the Spanish Riviera. Or did she? He couldn’t be sure and he wasn’t going to ask her. No, what really rankled was her saying Hank Kane thought Annie made a better detective then he did. Charlie had often wondered who Hank had thought was the best. What a cheek Annie had. She wouldn’t even be involved with the Dead Detective’s cases if it wasn’t for him!

“Well, Ace?”

“Well what?” came the mumble from Annie, who’d slunk under the covers again, satisfied that she’d shut her brother up. Or so she’d thought.

“Well, do you want to know what this case is about?”

“What case? The head-case I’m listening to?”

“The case I’m working on with Hank.”

“Oh, you mean the case he texted you about. That’s hardly ‘working’ on it.”

Charlie looked at her. And then just walked off.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I got the impression you weren’t interested.”

Annie realised she might have gone too far. “Well, of course I’m interested now! You don’t wake me up and then just slink off. It’s not like I’ll get back to sleep now!”

“Meet me downstairs in ten minutes. I’ll brief you there,” he whispered, in order not to wake up their mother.

What a clown, thought Annie to herself. Brief me, indeed. She couldn’t believe that she was actually getting out of bed this early on a Saturday! She hadn’t believed that anything could have induced her to crawl out of bed at all, never mind something her idiotic brother had said. Maybe he was a little smarter than she gave him credit for.

Annie looked out the window as the rain flung itself against her window. The sky lit up as lightning sparked everywhere. The whole house shook with thunder.

“Wow!” said Annie very quietly to herself, “some storm.”

She got dressed and went down stairs.

“Coffee?” asked Charlie.

“Since when did you drink coffee? Let me guess. You’re drinking it black, right? Just like Hank. It’ll take more than coffee to make you a detective.’’

Charlie smiled. “Suit yourself,’’ he replied as he sipped his first ever cup of coffee. He did his best to disguise his horror at the bitter taste.

“OK, Ace,” started Charlie, “this is where we’re at.”

Oh dear, thought Annie. Charlie’s been watching detective films again. She braced herself for more of his movie patter.

“Hank says we’ve not one case, but three.”

“Three!”

“Yep. In fact TG has given him three cases to choose from. Each one is in an envelope, and we have to go over there today and choose one.”

“So, Brainbox, you mean that we have one case, not three. It would be three if we had lots of cases to choose three from.”

“You’d have none if I had my way. Now, are you interested or not?”

“Do you want me to come along? Is that what you’re asking?”

Charlie knew that Hank preferred both Charlie and Annie to be involved on cases. “Three heads are better than two,” he often said.

“Why, Mr Christian, I’d be glad to save your sorry backside again!”

Oh no, thought Charlie. Annie’s been watching Mutiny On The Bounty again.

Just then, their mother appeared, shaking her head. She was totally cheesed off that her two children were starting today just like any other, except earlier!

“You know?” she said. “When I was young, my mother used to say that thunder was just two angels bumping heads. Now I know that it’s two kids who don’t know they’re born, bumping heads. What are you doing up so early?’’

“Can’t sleep,’’ ventured Annie. “Look at the storm, Mum. It’s awesome!”

Charlie smirked to himself, until he made the mistake of taking another sip of that vile substance called coffee.

*****
The Dead Detective, Hank Kane, opened his door to find Charlie and Annie soaked to the skin.

“Come in fellas. Glad you could make it. Next time, don’t bring the rain with you, huh.”

“The rain won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, Mr Kane,” answered Annie.

Charlie took off his coat and shook it vigorously and water splattered off it.

Hank groaned, saying, “I see what you mean!”

“Sorry, Hank,” said a sheepish Charlie. He sat down and was on the verge of putting his feet up but, when he noticed Hank’s facing begin to fume, he sensibly changed his mind. “So, Hank, what have you got for us,” he said, trying to sound like an old hand.

“Yeah, Mr Kane, what’s the script?” said Annie, as she hung her coat up next to Hank’s hat.

“All right,” said Hank. “We have a choice of cases. The Grim Reaper has given us three to choose from. Its his way of proving that he doesn’t just give us cases that he wants us to take. The Court Of Ghouls has insisted on this ‘choice’ thing. Now, I’ve looked at all three. None look particularly difficult. All involve finding sums of money or valuables. So, we know whichever case we solve, our Grim friend ‘coincidently’ becomes a little richer.”

“C’mon, Hank, what are the cases?” implored Charlie.

“Patience, Kid. Ok, case number one. The Haunting Hoods Hold-Up. Three ghosts held up the Ghost Bank on George Square. Security in Ghost Banks is not good. After all, Ghosts can, with a little practice, float throw walls! So it don’t matter what kind of locks you use, ghosts can drift in and help themselves any time.”

“So, Hank, how do Ghost Banks operate at all?” asked Annie. “Do they rely on the honesty of ghosts?”

“You kidding?” exclaimed Hank. “Just look at The Grim Reaper! TG is not the most honest of critters, is he? And he’s the first person dead folk meet! TG is a bad example, for sure. No, the ghosts who end up in this twilight zone are not saintly creatures. So Ghost Banks relay on the Ghost Police patrolling every bank. You’ve met some of them. They are pretty fierce, I think you’d agree. And they always find the bad guys, always. Most ghosts wouldn’t want to get up to no good with these guys around.”

Charlie wandered round Hank’s desk to try and peak at the other envelopes.

“Patience, Kid”, said Hank as he pulled the envelopes closer to himself. “All in good time. Now, the second case that TG has left for us; the case of ‘The Golden Ghost’.”

Annie smiled to herself. She admired TG’s choice of cases. Gold, banks, money… TG sure wasn’t going to waste Hank’s time with some “missing dog” type case – unless the reward was in the millions!

“The Golden Ghost”, Hank continued. “Also known as Ritchie Gold, whose friends called him ‘Rich’. Bit of a legend. Was a first class jeweller when he was alive. I’m sure you’ve heard some of the myths, like how he was so addicted to wealth in general and gold in particular, that he roams the ghost world yearning for gold. The thing is, he tends to find it, such is the strength of his desire. You’ve heard the expression, ‘you can’t take it with you when you’re gone’? Well, our Ritchie can”.

“But isn’t the Golden Ghost in jail? I though he was send down by the Court Of Ghouls for selling fake jewellery,” said Charlie.

“Well, guess what, Kid, he’s busted out.”

“So,” ventured Annie, “he’s on the run – and we’ve to find him.”

“Something like that,” said Charlie, trying to imitate Hank. “And I guess that we’ll have to find whatever gold Ritchie picks up on his travels.”

“And whatever maniacs are on his trail,” said Hank, adding, “Don’t forget, this isn’t a popular man we are talking about. A lot of gold on a lot of dame’s fingers turned out to be less valuable than their gloves. Imagine the shame of showing off what they thought were gold rings! Ritchie ain’t the only one addicted to gold. He’s just a little smarter than your average gold-digger. Smart that is, until he sold that fake stuff to gangsters molls. Gangsters don’t like being made fools of.”

Annie was intrigued by the sound of “gold”. However her interest lessened somewhat at the mention of “maniacs”. She and Charlie had met their fair share on their previous cases with Hank – and she couldn’t say that she had grown fond of them! Besides, if she was ever short of a maniac, she always had her brother.

“Next case, please,” she said.

Hank reached for the last of the three envelops.

“Well, fellas, the first two cases are “ghost cases”, you know, like, they take place in this twilight zone that people like us are stuck in.”

“’Like us’?” asked Annie.

“Oh, I mean ‘me’. I keep forgetting that you two are actually, Alive Guys, as we dead folks call you. Anyway, this third case involves humans. So, you guys will have to do a lot more of the detecting. I’m sure humans can see through me! I will guide you – but you have to do most of it yourselves, ok?”

“Are there maniacs involved? asked Annie.

“Of course.”

“What’s the case?” asked Charlie.

“The Phantoms Of The Glasgow Concert Hall.”

“Never heard of it,” snapped Charlie, thinking it sounded boring.

“Never heard of it! I thought all you kids did all day was watch TV! And this has been splashed all over the news!”

“Not ‘the news’, Hank. We’re not that sad”, said Annie, looking quizzically at Hank, like she was amazed he didn’t know the difference between “sad” and “cool”.

“Well, you won’t have a clue what’s going on even in your own city then, will you. The last three concerts at the Concert Hall in Buchanan St have been cancelled mid-performance, due to all the instruments playing music that their players have never heard of and that wasn’t on any music sheets. And of course, there are the voices. Voices singing like banshees, wailing, terrifying. Customers have simply fled. Now, it may be ghosts, it may not be – “

“Don’t you believe in ghosts, then, Hank?” asked Charlie, trying to be funny.

“I believe in ghosts alright,” replied Hank, looking at Charlie sternly and, after a slight pause, added, “Save your jokes for the Concert Hall. If you pick this case, you’ll need a sense of humour.”

Charlie gulped. Just when he thought he was getting used to this ghost lark, he suddenly got scared again.

“I’ll leave the choice to you guys. Now, I have to prepare for a very important visitor. Just choose one of the envelopes and leave it on my chair before you leave. I’m going to wash up,” said Hank as he left the room.

Charlie looked at Annie aghast.
“He’s ‘all washed up’?” he asked.

Annie slapped her head with the palm of her hand in despair, saying, “You know, Charlie, I’m not sure if it’s your brains or your ears that need examining. He’s ‘getting washed up’!”

Charlie laughed, then said, “Ha, got ya! Some detective you are! You can’t even tell when you’re being wound up! Don’t worry, Ace. I’ll teach you all I know.”

Annie groaned, picked up the envelopes and said, “OK, wise-guy, which case is it to be;

The Haunted Hold Up,

The Golden Ghost, or

The Phantoms Of The Concert Hall?”

"Well, guys, which case should we take on. Let me know which case interests you the mosts - and we'll solve it together. email your choice to - hank@deaddetective.com

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