Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part IVb: Anenome

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

Ritchie Sauces
Amy Greathouse (treasurer)

Richie and I took a taxicab (driven by a delightful Yugoslavian man, I
recall) to Dickie’s apartment. I don’t drive and Richie only had a
unicycle for transport. Sitting in the cab with him, I felt uneasy
and attempted to lighten the mood with a little small talk. (Nowadays
I wouldn’t feel comfortable in a football stadium with R.S, but back
then he was much less unsettling)

“Soooo. . . .”, I said, fumbling for the next sentence. “Do you think
Serious is guilty?”

“I don’t know. I mean, those crazy statements he made in chemisty
class were pretty incriminating. “
“You were in that class?”
“Yes. Dickie and I are lab partners in organic chemistry. It’s even
possible that it was Dickie that made that recording that Drummond
had. He tapes all of our classes.”
“You and Dickie are lab partners?” I asked, silently musing about
Drummond’s lack of care regarding conflicts of interest. However, he
was the trained professional, and I only a recently sworn in associate
of the law. . . . I decided to switch to an area I had more expertise
in. “This whole glowing hand thing is interesting. Perhaps I could
examine the crime scene for traces of ectoplasm.”

“Hmm.” This seemed to interest Ritchie.

I was more than surprised when we reached our destination―Dickie’s
apartment was in a building well known to me! It was once the
residence of the notorious dark magician Luce Hadden. My opinion at
the time was that he was nothing more than a charlatan, but my view
changed drastically afterwards.
We entered the elderly elevator and were greeted by an equally elderly
man and a young Japanese woman. They were both in elevator operator
uniforms.
“I hope you don’t mind,” the older man began “but I’m training a new
employee today. Would it be all right if Yuka served as your elevator
operator today? I can assure you she’s been through all of the
required classes. She has an internship at the 株式会社そごう department
store coming up this summer. And I will be present at all times. But
if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement, I would be happy to
transport you myself.”
“No, that’s fine.” I said. I thought it quite unusual to see an
elevator operator in the first place, but I do so enjoy the idea of an
elevator operator, if you understand me.
“And is it all right with you, sir?” he asked Ritchie.
Ritchie stood thinking for 20 seconds or so thinking before replying: “Ok.”
“What floor please?” Yuka asked, looking a little uncertain.
The elevator moved in a laborious and creaky fashion to the 13th floor.
“I hear that some buildings are featuring self-serve elevators.”
Ritchie ventured. The older man barely controlled a shudder.
“Yes, well. Each building needs to do what it feels is best for its
patrons.” he said diplomatically. Ritchie whistled the chorus to
Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush until we reached our destination.
Ritchie tipped both elevator operators, something that would never
have occurred to me to do. It goes to show that he once was the sole
of gracious behavior―which makes his current demeanor that much more
shocking!
While Dickie’s apartment was as lavishly decorated as I would have
expected, it was fairly small. Dickie greeted us saying, “I’m really
sorry, I’m in the middle of something very important. Can you wait in
the living room for a few minutes?”
As we waited, I looked around a little and thought out loud.
“Well, there’s nothing that looks terribly incriminating. But then, I
wouldn’t know what to look for. And he’s had time to dispose of
anything suspicious. I see no signs of paranormal activity, either.”
“I don’t think so, either” said Ritchie. “It looks pretty much the
same as it did last time I was here.”
“You were here before?” I asked incredulously. And more than a
little annoyed. Ritchie seemed to always be revealing some choice
tidbit that turned every one of my assertions upside-down! “You
never mentioned that you were lab partners with Dickie or that you
were in Serious’ chemistry class. You never mentioned that you’d been
to this apartment before. Is there anything else that you haven’t
told me?”
Ritchie thought for a moment and replied. “I’m interested in
milkmaids?” he asked, even though it wasn’t a question.
I ignored his aberrant statement. I have to admit that I was starting
to become a little impatient. “What were you doing here anyway?”
“Dickie is my lab partner in organic chemistry. We were … experimenting.”
I looked around the room. Nothing at all appeared to indicate that
young Dickie knew a beaker from a turnip. There were a lot of wrinkly
prints of young men body builders on the wall. Perhaps the two of
them were working on developing some health tonics?
“I don’t see any chemicals or lab equipment around. What on earth
were you experimenting with?”
Ritchie looked up at me* and looked as if he was about to answer.
After about 25 seconds, when I had assumed that he was going to ignore
my question, he responded in a slow, deliberate tone that he often
used.
“We were experimenting … (a long pause here) …. with …
chemistry.” I briefly considered this to be a euphemism for some
dicey activities—but before I could respond, Dickie entered the
room.
“Sorry”, he said. I’ve been trying to reach level 9 for days now. I
finally cracked it!” He had been making us wait while he was playing
a computer game! I muttered under my breath something about his
ancestry which may or may not have been true but was certainly
impolite.
He offered us kumquat-flavoured sodas** and politely answered our
questions. Ritchie proved to be a rather effective interviewer.
Dickie’s description of the backstage activities agreed with Serious’
and Harriet’s accounts. (I didn’t know that at the time, of course,
but learned it after we returned and assembled all of our facts
together.) He said that he thought that he had seen both security
guards before, but he wasn’t sure where. What was more important was
what he said happened after they left the back stage area.
“After we left, my mom said she left something behind. She returned
backstage to get it. It was 3 or 4 minutes. Then she returned, a
little flushed and we left.”
“So you didn’t see a glowing gloved hand or anything like that?” Ritchie asked.
“Well, yes.” Dickie said, surprised. “I saw a glowing gloved hand
messing around with the stage curtains. I just assumed that it was a
prop.” Note: Bulldog had determined that there was no prop
resembling a glowing gloved hand.
In the cab back, I asked Ritchie, “I feel his story about his mother
to be a bit weak and convenient. Do you think HE shot Harriet and is
setting his mother up?”
“Maybe.” Ritchie considered. “Even if he didn’t shoot Harriet, he
might try to frame her. He was very upset about his mother
embarrassing him in front of the entire school. He said the security
guards looked familiar. Interesting.”
Then we went our separate ways and met up with the rest of the Ghoul
Squad the next day. It was one of my last normal afternoons with
poor, poor Ritchie.

*Although Ritchie is a great deal taller than me, he was sitting in
his usual hunched over manner and I was standing.

**to this day, I wonder about the wisdom and strategy necessary to
launch a kumquat flavoured soda.

re:The Society of Believers in Ectoplasm

We started shutting our eyes to see what colors we could see. We practiced this – and many other rites ordained by occultists – so zealously that Gucki was once discovered walking up and down the room with her eyes shut. When we asked her what she was doing, she replied ‘I’m looking for green.’

–Alma Mahler

Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part VIa: Sol

[This is Sol's report. His writing style is a bit stilted, but it serves its purpose.]

Persephone & I were assigned to interview Humberto Quackenbush, security guard regarding his activities on the night Harriet was shot. Before we left, I used a pay phone at the police station to call my friend Kevin Blake who works in Human Resources at the university for any further information. Kevin knows all the dirt on the faculty and staff. And it appears that Humberto Quackenbush has been both.

It seems that Dr. Quackenbush had been a professor of political science who had been denied tenure for undisclosed reasons. The university gossip was that he had become mentally unstable and had begun drinking heavily. He took a position as a security guard and places ads in magazines advertising himself as a soldier of fortune.

I also asked about the enigmatic ‘Radish’. Kevin told me that none of the university’s current security guards were under the age of 31, so this Chonggak* must have been an imposter.

I then called my friend Mick for advice on interviewing witnesses. I then got directions to Dr. Quackenbush’s apartment. I then called Junie for the hockey scores. Not good. I then found Persephone waiting petulantly in the lobby.

We got on my motorcycle and drove to the subject’s building. Persephone held on to me tighter than strictly necesarry, but perhaps she had never ridden on a motorcycle before. I found a parking space and after a rough estimate of the anticipated duration of our interview, decided to deposit 65 cents. I set my wristwatch alarm to go off if we exceeded our time limit.

We entered the elevator and were greeted by an older man who identified himself as Edmund Bedford and a young Japanese woman who is now a good friend of Pepper’s. I will not include her name in this report as it will be available on the internet. I do not wish for her to receive any unwanted attention from the kind of people who frequent P.’s blog. (No offense). They were both in elevator operator uniforms. I found this unusual.

“I hope you don’t mind,” the Mr. Bedford began “but I’m training a new employee today. Would it be all right if Y. served as your elevator operator today? I can assure you she’s been through all of the required classes. She has an internship at the 株式会社そごう department store coming up this summer. And I will be present at all times. But if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement, I would be happy to transport you myself.”

I said “Yurakucho de Aimasho!” to Y., exhausting my knowledge of Japanese and I agreed to Mr. Bedford’s plan of action. Persephone grunted. Her headphones were blasting ‘The Ghost in You’ by Siouxie and the Banshees. I requested the 12th floor.

Dr. Quackenbush greeted us wearing camoflage briefs and an open kimono. It was clear that he had been drinking. There were hundreds of bottles of Wax Manniquyn beer laying about, some open, some not. While I pride myself on my knowledge of (un-flavored) beers, I had never encountered this brand before. I called my friend Gary who had recently relocated to Canada to be with his girlfriends (now wife) Greta who he had met on a German heavy metal listserv. Gary, whose knowledge of beer surpasses my own, told me that he had just encountered Wax Manniquyn beer for the first time that week. It is brewed in a small town in Quebec by reclusive Vietnamese twins, themselves under the legal drinking age.

Since there was a lady present, I encouraged Dr. Quackebush to put on slacks. Once he returned wearing stained combat fatigues, Persephone finally spoke up an began the interview.

Persephone asked if he had met this ‘Radish’ before.

“No, no,” he replied, clearly drunk. “No, but it’s good to see some fresh blood. He has a lot to learn. He acted nervous when I was showing him my gun.” Dr. Quackenbush shot up and looked around the apartment. After searching under a pile of dirty clothing he found his gun underneath a sofa cushion. He was eager to show his weapon off. While I have a passing familiarity with rifles, I know next to nothing about handguns, but he was rather proud of his gun and Persephone expressed great interest. Whether this interest was genuine or feigned, I don’t know.

Persephone’s interest succeeded in loosening his tongue a little. The first to enter the room was a nervous looking Harriet, accompanied by Iliana. Dr. Quackenbush claims that both young ladies propositioned him, but he could not comply, as he was on duty. Then ‘Radish’ came in and Dr. Quackenbush took great pride in explaining the finer points of security to the young man. Persephone persisted asking if he had previously seen Radish, Harriet or Iliana. He said that he had not.

Then Persephone asked about Jan Betel. Although this was my first experience interviewing a witness, I’ve done so several more times since and I can truthfully say that Dr. Humberto Quackenbush is the worst liar I’ve ever met. He began sweating profusely and fidgeting. He knocked an open beer bottle on the floor, spilling its contents. He denied ever meeting Jan Betel before, but it was obvious to anyone that he was not only lying, but very nervous about it.

Persephone calmed him down by asking about his gun again. After a lengthy lecture from H.Q., as he insisted Persephone call him, she was able to bring the topic around to Serious’ arrival. He seemed suspicious of Serious, but could not, or would not elaborate. He seemed to think that his guilt was an open and shut case.

We bid Dr. Quackenbush farewell. As we were leaving, I had remembered Amy’s (Anenome’s) interest in the glowing glove. I asked H.Q. if he had ever noticed a glowing gloved hand with a revolver.

He again grew agitated and slammed the door in our faces. However, the door didn’t shut, but rather sprang back open so that we could see Quackenbush running toward the bedroom yelling ‘The ghoul!”** As we left the building, Persephone suddenly sidled up to me taking my arm.

“I’m sorry, Sol.” she said. “It must have rained. The pavement’s a little slippery and these shoes are no good. Help me to your motorcycle?” I did so and drove her to the Artful Mug before returning home.

* Korean for ‘young radish’ or an unmarried man.

** Or so I thought.

re:Dickie Betel’s Thoughts

Binnacle

–Oliver Weldon

Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part Va: P.

[We're still waiting on Anenome's post. In the meantime, I'll continue with our story.]

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

P.
Pepper Weckelsby (secretary)

Iliana’s apartment wasn’t too far away, and the weather was so beautiful, we decided to walk. This gave us a chance to clear our heads, get some fresh air and formulate our game plan. The planning didn’t take very long. Both of us shared classes with Iliana. I took Russian lit. with her and she and Pepper had some journalism class together. While neither of us really knew her, our experience told us that getting her to talk would not be a problem. Getting her to stop talking or to keep to the topic at hand would be far more challenging.

Our planning session completed, I got to spend the rest of our walk gazing at Pepper without trying to be too obvious about it. One of life’s greatest pleasures is to watch Pepper Weckelsby walk down the street on a sunny day. My spirits fell as she mentioned Renaldo, her fiancee. Was this just what she had on her mind or did she sense my interest and intend this as a subtle reminder that her heart belonged to another? She said that he was out of the country researching Peruvian accounting practices. He said that he was taking plenty of pictures and she was very excited about this.

We reached an impressive apartment building on Robinson Ave. Pepper’s eyes lit up.

“I thought I had recognized the address! This building was once the home of Luce Hadden, otherwise known as ‘the Gentleman Ghoul’! I’ll tell you more on the way back!”

We entered the elevator and were greeted by an older man and a young Japanese woman who would later become a great friend of Pepper’s. They were both in elevator operator uniforms.

“I hope you don’t mind,” the older man began “but I’m training a new employee today. Would it be all right if Yuka served as your elevator operator today? I can assure you she’s been through all of the required classes. She has an internship at the 株式会社そごう department store coming up this summer. And I will be present at all times. But if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement, I would be happy to transport you myself.”

I grew a little impatient as we slowly ascended to the 14th floor, but Pepper seemed quite excited at the novelty of the operators. She whistled “Come on, ghost” by the Pillows. I wasn’t sure how much to tip. I hope it was an appropriate amount.

Iliana greeted us warmly, offering each of us a tumbler of vodka. She was dressed quite provocatively, in a revealing nightgown and high heels. It was clear that she had already been drinking that evening. Before we could sit down, she told us exactly what she thought of us, as if reading off a checklist.

“P.! Your poetry is juvenile and without passion. Your insights into Russian literature might have some merit if you would read the works in their original language rather than the hideous ‘translations’ of Constance Garnett.”* After pronouncing the name she spat on the floor. “Perhaps someday I could teach you something about the Russian mind and of …. passion.” She moved closer to me. It’s possible she was coming on to me. I’m still not certain.

“Pepper! Your painting is worthless. Stop wasting your time on it. You have great journalistic instincts, however. Pehaps I could help you with your … investigations.” She raised an eyebrow. I’m fairly certain she was coming on to Pepper. She attempted to edge up to Pepper suavely. Her suaveness was derailed by two items. Her spittle on the floor from the Constance Garnett comment and her high-heeled slippers.** Pepper and I managed to catch her in time.

Pepper got out her notebook and began: “Can you..”

“Ah yes, the night of the shooting.” Iliana interrupted. “I was backstage with Harriet. The amateurs onstage were so pathetic. Barbershop quartets? No wonder you Americans cannot produce a decent opera! The skiffle band led my that lecherous British buffoon?! I had to stuff my ears with cotton! And that Amy Greathouse! Her so-called ‘interpretive dance’ is more suited to the monkey-house at the zoo, filled with monkeys, rather than..”

I could not bear any more of this. “Ms. Chaikovskaya!” I broke in. “I have had quite enough. I enjoyed Amy’s performance a great deal and even if I had not, she is a friend of mine and I will not permit you to speak about her in this manner!” I had expected Iliana to react quite antagonictically to this outburst. On the contrary, she smiled and seemed to regard me in a curious way. “Now,” I asked. “Who else was in the backstage area?”

“When we arrived, it was only the two security guards. No,” she corrected herself, “at first, just the one. The bearded one with the gut. He kept staring at me. All men do. Then the younger, thin one arrived soon after we did. He looked a little confused, unsure of himself. All men feel this way in my presence. He looked like he was trying to get Harriet’s attention, but she was absorbed in her preperations. She does not like to be disturbed before she goes onstage.”

“Then that idiot Betel woman and her idiot son came in to talk with Harriet. She spoke with Harriet in hushed tones as the boy sulked next to me on the sofa. Jan Betel thought no one could hear what they were saying, but I could hear. She was attempting to romance Harriet.”

“Harriet said ‘I’m not interested in women.’ I yelled from the couch “I am interested in women!” This surprised the Betel woman. Harriet made more excuses. This was just to get rid of the Betel woman. I can assure you that Harriet is interested in women. “

“Then that idiot Serious arrived to further interrupt her. I was leaving the room when I heard the gunshot. I ran toward the backstage area and ran into Serious. You know the rest.”

“Did you see a glowing hand or anything of the sort?” Pepper asked.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I didn’t see a glowing hand.”

Before we left, Pepper made a sketch of ‘Radish’ based on Iliana’s description. “Hm.” said Pepper. “He looks a little familiar. Maybe he’s a student as well.”

We left more confused than ever. We decided to take a cab home. Pepper regaled me with lurid tales of Luce Hadden and I thought of bread and cheese.***

*While I have yet to learn Russian, I did take Iliana’s advice and get rid of my Garnett translations. Best move I ever made in terms of Russian lit.
** Perhaps the vodka she was drinking contributed as well.
*** I was getting hungry.

Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part IVa: Introduction

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

Nigel Cuttlefish (chairman)
P.
Amy Greathouse (treasurer)
Pepper Weckelsby (secretary)

At this point in our narrative, we enter scenes where I myself was not present. I have asked some of the players involved to present their recollections. We’ll see how many respond. First up is Anenome Greathouse known to me at the time as Amy. I recall that as we were getting ready to leave to interview witnesses, she approached me.

“P.,” she said hesitantly, “would it be alright if we switched partners?” I was a bit surprised. After all, this was the soft-spoken and kind Ritchie Sauces who was to be her interview-buddy.

“That’s fine.” I said. “Is there any reason why?”

“Well,” she began, “it’s probably nothing. It’s just that when we were backstage before the play, Ritchie said something to me. It didn’t make any sense really. But the more I think about it, I think… I think he might have been propositioning me.” She looked embarrased.

“And … is this a bad thing or …” I ventured.

“No, no! I mean yes!” she said. “I mean, Ritchie’s a wonderful guy, of course. I just don’t feel that way about him. And like I said, it’s probably nothing. What he said was so ambiguous … and yet so oddly suggestive … Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I probably misinterpreted what he said. Colin had just come on to me in a manner that was in no way subtle, so that just put my mind in that direction.” she started to relax. “Colin’s great, but … I don’t have a problem dating older men and I don’t have a problem dating burnouts, but both…” she laughed.

“Well,” I said, “I don’t mind switching with you if you like.”

“No switching partners!” I heard Bulldog yell. “I paired you up using the latest criminological techniques! It is a very scientific method. I don’t want you messing things up!”

“What scientific method?” Pepper asked. “You threw our names in a hat and picked them out at random!”

“That ‘hat’ is a replica of a Cheshire constabulary helmet!” Bulldog bellowed.

“Replica?” I heard Nigel ask, disappointed.

“No switching partners!” Bulldog reiterated.

Amy reassured me that she would be fine with Ritchie and we all parted ways.

Coming up, Anenome tells us about their interview with Dickie Betel.

CAN YOU GUESS WHO SHOT HARRIET?

PIT YOUR WITS AGAINST YOUR FELLOW T.A.Z.MAHAL READERS AND VOTE FOR WHO YOU THINK THE CULPRIT MUST BE!

WAS IT ….

THE ECCENTRIC ARTIST?

THE JILTED LOVER?

THE ROGUE SECURITY GUARD?

THE MISCHEVIOUS GHOST?

OR SOMEONE ENTIRELY UNEXPECTED?

Poll: Who do YOU think shot Harriet?

re:Me and my fellow poets

I will attempt just this once

To see if I can compose a poem,

From near the kettle

I distanced myself in great wrath.

–Rachel Morpurgo

Wordie

Just discovered Wordie

Having loads of fun with it.

Enter … The Ghoul Squad–Part III

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

Nigel Cuttlefish (chairman)
P.
Ritchie Sauces
Amy Greathouse (treasurer)
Pepper Weckelsby (secretary)
Sol Weckelsby
Persephone Smallweed

Detective Drummond returned to the interrogation room.

“I’ve just had word that the victim regained consciousness. However, she’s understandably shooken up and is only speaking French. Our only French-speaking officer is on leave in Surinam, so we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“I speak French fluently” Serious volunteered.

“Perfect!” Drummond leapt toward the door. “Everyone, come with me!”

“But wait!” said Pepper. “Serious is a suspect! And you’re having him interview the victim!?”

“You’re right” Drummond groused. “That sort of thing won’t fly these days. Not with this new liberal female police commissioner.”

“Female?” Pepper asked. “Commissioner Abramson retired almost two years ago. I’m pretty sure Commissioner Jackson is a man.”

“At any rate,” Nigel piped in, “I believe that our good friend P. here is the man for the job. He is quite fluent in French.” This was a bit of an exaggeration. While my reading ability is quite good, I have to admit that my conversational skills are somewhat lacking, especially when I’m nervous. And interviewing an actress that I am attracted to while a room full of my friends and a police detective look on is not the most comfortable of circumstances. But what could I do but agree?

We sped off once again in Drummond’s roadster, cutting off an ambulance as we pulled in front of the hospital. When we entered Harriet’s room, I found myself less nervous than I had expected. Weak and disheveled as she was, Harriet had less of an effect on me. Now, before you label me a cad, I have to say that I have seen other love interests of mine not looking their best and it never reduced the level of attraction I had for them in the least. But this was the reaction I had with Harriet and perhaps this should have told me something.

She essentially confirmed Serious’ story, although she could not recall the last few moments properly. She couldn’t remember whether Serious had been there or not when she had been shot. She did, however, recall the glowing hand holding the revolver. She also added that one of the security guards kept trying to catch her attention but she had been too preoccupied with her other visitors to see what he wanted.

Bulldog quickly deputized us. We swore an oath on a stack of The National Police Gazette in a candlelit room while wearing Cheshire constabulary helmets. (Perhaps a Cheshire is a sister city of ours?) He split us into teams to interview the witnesses.

Ritchie & Anenome: Interviewing Dickie Betel
Sol & Persephone: Interviewing Humberto Quackenbush
P. & Pepper: Interviewing Iliana Chaikovskaya
Nigel & Bulldog: Interviewing Jan Betel

See you next time!

CAN YOU GUESS WHO SHOT HARRIET?

PIT YOUR WITS AGAINST YOUR FELLOW T.A.Z.MAHAL READERS AND VOTE FOR WHO YOU THINK THE CULPRIT MUST BE!

WAS IT ….

THE ECCENTRIC ARTIST?

THE JILTED LOVER?

THE ROGUE SECURITY GUARD?

THE MISCHEVIOUS GHOST?

OR SOMEONE ENTIRELY UNEXPECTED?

Poll: Who do YOU think shot Harriet?

re:The Ghost

When Aunt is dead, her terrified hands will lie
Still ringed with ordeals she was mastered by
The tigers in the panel that she made
Will go on prancing, proud and unafraid.

–Adrienne Rich