The Psychic Spy

Introduction

I have to admit, being a dead cop in the afterlife was a bit confusing to start with. In fact, just discovering a continuing soul existence after being brutally murdered in my bath was a revelation.

Fortunately my unexpected and somewhat surprising arrival in the afterlife was a fairly smooth transition with the aid of my gorgeous hunk of a guardian angel and guide, Joseph, whom I envisioned as a beautiful Greek-god type and who instructed me on the ways of free choice and the opportunities of ongoing soul development. I had the choice to develop in my own way and my own time, which of course didn’t really exist in this dimension. Having been a conscientious cop, I was determined to solve my own murder, which Joseph accepted, and I was seconded to the CIA – that is, the Celestial Investigation Agency, would you believe.

I’ve got to admit it was a bit of a hoot discovering they had a CIA in Heaven. As everything appeared according to one’s individual perception, I viewed my new department as a location similar to my experiences on Earth: that of a regular police station but peopled with other cops that had ‘passed over’.

I soon realised that my investigation was not going to be easy as there were limitations and restrictions imposed on me as a learning opportunity for my soul development. For instance, being in spirit, I was unable to question or interview live suspects or persons of interest because no one could see or hear me. I devised a way to overcome this by enlisting the aid of an earthbound psychic with whom I could communicate. After a few disastrous attempts I suddenly discovered my reluctant accomplice.

Evelyn Marsh was a bright, attractive, early middle-aged, voluptuous (alright, plump) straight-talking, rather eccentric psychic who rode a bright red, restored antique, Vespa Paggio motor scooter. A reincarnated Audrey Hepburn she wasn’t. Unfortunately, she’d had a bad experience with the police in the past when a young boy’s parents asked her to use her psychic powers to discover the whereabouts of their missing son. Against their better judgment, the police were led to the site Evelyn had described but the boy’s body was not located. On visiting the site she realised that the body had been washed downriver by the floods, but her advice was scorned and ignored. She was denigrated and humiliated by the police as an interfering, publicity-seeking fake. Even though she had later been vindicated, she resolved never again to offer assistance in a police investigation.

After much cajoling, Evelyn agreed to help me in my quest to find my murderer and we became inseparable friends. With the success of our mission I was promoted to becoming one of her spirit guides and congratulated for bringing her back into the spiritual fold.

Although Evelyn was still inclined to be a rather reluctant psychic, I now had been assigned another case which I felt would benefit by her assistance. It had been reported that there had been a couple of suspicious deaths in an exclusive aged-care facility. The deaths, which had occurred within a couple of days of each other, were medically diagnosed as being age related: one by choking on his own vomit in his sleep, and the other due to severe diarrhoea and vomiting, which caused severe dehydration and eventually death.

I had been notified by my guide, Joseph, that there was a strong suspicion of foul play and I should investigate. Apparently the deaths were not destined in the correct time frame. I decided that I needed the help of my reluctant psychic assistant but I knew I would have to use a different kind of persuasion and maybe a bit of manipulation to get her willingly involved in yet another possible murder case.

Chapter 1

Evelyn parked her Vespa outside a rather imposing old mansion. At the turn of the twentieth century these homes were common around Brighton but now were fast disappearing: torn down and replaced with modern office and apartment blocks.

A name plaque told Evelyn that the old mansion was called Masterman’s Retreat, although it was obvious that this was not the original name but added at a much later date. It was surrounded by a high stone wall with a couple of rows of blade wire security affixed to the top to keep intruders out – or to keep the inmates in? she wondered. Imposing, lace wrought iron gates, firmly locked, fronted the road and she noticed a security video camera and speaker system to one side for identification of visitors. She removed her helmet and goggles, secured them to the Vespa and straightened her lightweight purple wool suit which she wore over an attractive lavender frilled blouse. On her head a pink beret covered her alarmingly sparse and greying hair. (One seldom saw her without a head covering of some sort or a wig, of which she had quite a collection.)

Being of a naturally kind-hearted disposition, a sudden desire to help elderly people had come upon her and she had offered her services as a volunteer through the We Care Volunteer Service to visit aged care facilities, to assist those who were desperately in need of company, someone to chat or play cards with, or read to; any service that would relieve their boredom and bring a little cheer into their lives. This was to be her first assignment and she was looking forward to this new and rewarding endeavour.

Being a psychic, she felt she may also gain an insight into the residents’ backgrounds and current disposition without their knowledge of her gift and maybe pick up on some problem they were having for which she may be able to offer some spiritual-based advice. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of this before. It could be such a worthwhile project.

She walked to the double gate entry, stood before a security camera and pushed a large black button for attention. She fumbled in her large leather handbag and withdrew an identification card complete with her passport-sized photograph.

A male voice from the speaker drew her attention.

‘Yes, can I help you?

‘Evelyn Marsh,’ she replied. ‘I’m from the We Care Volunteer Association. I’m expected.’

‘You have your security clearance card?’

‘Yes, right here.’ She held the card up to the camera lens.

‘Please make your way directly to the reception at the front entrance. Mrs Manders will be waiting for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Evelyn was a little disconcerted at the extreme security that was obviously in place.

The lock clicked loudly and she passed through the gates that immediately began to close behind her. For a moment she stood looking at the substantial white building in front of her. It was certainly from the late nineteenth-century Victorian period but beautifully restored with three storeys fronted by wide, cool verandas decorated with lacy wrought-iron balustrades and the compulsory square tower. High-arched Victorian wrought-iron-lace-screened windows looked over the perfectly groomed lawn and gardens resplendent with beds of abundant spring flowers: roses, bluebells, lilies, daffodils and a row of prunus and ornamental apple trees in full bloom. Evelyn paused to take in the striking setting, so unexpected in this area of growing commercialisation.

With the heavy perfume of blooms assailing her senses she made her way to the entrance. The heavy panelled wooden door stood open and she hesitated before stepping over the threshold. A lovely carved walnut desk stood in a corner of the foyer behind which sat an attractive, perfectly groomed middle-aged woman wearing a cream-coloured tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses. She was speaking on the phone.

‘Yes,’ she said into the mouthpiece as she looked up at Evelyn with a smile, ‘she’s just arrived. Thank you, Tim.’

She hung up and rose to her feet, extending a welcoming hand to Evelyn.

‘Ms Marsh, I believe? How nice to meet you. I’m Mrs Manders, the manager.’

Evelyn returned the smile as she took the proffered hand.

‘Thank you, Mrs Manders. What a beautiful facility you have here. The gardens are superb.’

‘Yes they are, aren’t they? We’re very fortunate to have a wonderful grounds staff and of course, some of the residents love to potter in the garden. It’s so good for their morale and state of mind.’ She walked around the desk to a visitor’s chair placing it opposite her own and gestured to Evelyn to be seated.

‘I’m so pleased you volunteered to visit us as a companion for the residents. They do so enjoy outside company, especially a woman. Our residents are all men, you see.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘Of course they’re perfectly safe, they’re mostly very old, but they still enjoy mental stimulation. In fact their minds are surprisingly sharp for their age and physical condition. You’ll find them very sociable.’

‘And by the look of the facility, used to a high level of care – ex business executives, I should imagine?’

‘Something like that,’ Mrs Manders replied vaguely. ‘Masterman’s Retreat is a fairly exclusive facility originally set up by a wealthy philanthropist for aged and retired gentlemen of means. There is a strict entry qualification by invitation only. They have to go through a quite rigid security check before they are considered as residents.’

‘I see,’ said Evelyn. ‘I suppose that’s why I was subjected to a security check before I was allowed to take up a position as a companion?’

Mrs Manders smiled benignly. ‘Yes, and I must say you passed admirably.’ She paused before continuing. ‘I don’t wish to intrude on your privacy but were you ever a member of the police force?’

Evelyn was shocked and surprised at the inference. ‘Good Lord no, never, why do you ask?’

Mrs Manders shifted a little uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just that one of your excellent references was supplied by a former Detective Sergeant Howell who is now with the Australian Federal Police in Melbourne and it occurred to me …’

‘Detective Sergeant Bruce Howell?’ Evelyn blurted out in surprise. ‘Why would he be asked to supply a reference? I mean …’ she became quite flustered as her mind whirled wondering how and why this could occur. The AFP? Why would she need a security check at that level? And why would he give it? After all, the only dealing she’d had with Bruce Howell was through her involvement in Lucky Lambert’s murder and the subsequent drug investigations. It was true he eventually came around to accepting her ‘special talents’ but he promised he’d keep her name and involvement out of the investigation and protect her anonymity.

‘You say he’s with the AFP now? He was just an acquaintance … I met through a … social gathering …’

‘Yes, he transferred to the Federal Police some time back,’ Mrs Manders replied. ‘Well, you certainly must have impressed him from his reference.’

Evelyn blushed in her confusion but Mrs Manders glanced at her gold wristwatch and stood up.

‘Well, you’re just in time for morning tea with the residents. It will give you a chance to meet them and become acquainted. We’ll just pop in to the dining room. This way, Ms Marsh.’

Mrs Manders led the way to the dining room, a large, bright area at the rear of the building with high, off-white plastered walls and decorated in restful autumn colours with long leaf-patterned curtains framing the tall arched windows which looked out over the extensively landscaped back garden. A graceful fountain surrounded by white gardenias was a central focal point and a few garden sheds were partially hidden behind a trellis of tumbling clematis. The paintings and photographs that adorned the walls were all of a similar theme: scenes of battles and war. Evelyn wondered if the facility was somehow connected with the RSL.

Before she had time to consider this further her appearance was met with applause and the odd wolf whistle and cries of approval. This was such a surprise; Evelyn blushed and smiled almost demurely looking around the room at the assembled residents.

‘Now, gentlemen, that will be enough of that sexist behaviour,’ Mrs Manders laughed and called out over the uproar. ‘This is Ms Evelyn Marsh who has kindly volunteered to act as a companion to you rough lot. She will be available for conversation, reading, card games, computer work and any other respectable assistance she can provide to make your luxurious lives more bearable.’

‘Hello, gentlemen,’ Evelyn smiled, taking in the assembly. ‘Thank you for your warm welcome and may I say I haven’t had such an enthusiastic greeting since I took my vows.’

There was a loud groan from some of the men but Evelyn felt she was on safe ground with this ageing male gathering.

‘Yes, this may surprise you but I was actually a sister of the Order of the Naughty Nuns of Nazareth and our patron saint was Mary Magdalene.’

The men roared their approval and applauded. Mrs Manders retained a stoic appearance with just the hint of a smile at the edge of her painted coral lips. Several men rose from their chairs, with arthritic legs and old-men groans, and walked or shuffled to Evelyn inviting her to sit with them. She was ushered to a table in the corner of the room and introduced to the other five residents sharing the table, which Evelyn noticed was laid with fine china, silverware and plates of delicious savouries and yummy cakes. Well, they certainly do well here, she thought, I may turn this into a regular occasion.

Most of the names of the men at her table slipped over her head except for one younger man who she estimated to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His name was Simon and he had a good-looking, familiar face which she couldn’t place exactly. He was very charming with an accent she put down to being Irish. Next to him sat a much older man by the name of Harry, whom she immediately liked. He was very bright and amusing and beautifully mannered as he led the men into standing for her as she was being seated. That doesn’t happen much nowadays, she thought nostalgically.

From her position on the edge of the group, she was able