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.

Enter … The Ghoul Squad–Part II

Another letter!

Johanna Prashad of Tasmania asks “Where did the name ‘Ghoul Squad’ originate?”

Well Johanna, you’re in luck. Today’s episode of the T.A.Z. Mahal not only continues our narrative, but answers that question. Enjoy!

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

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

Not sure what to do next, we all congregated at the Artful Mug, the coffee house run by Persephone’s father. We sat in silence for a few minutes, followed by rampant speculation. What had each one of us seen? Did Serious shoot Harriet? If not, who did and why?

Before long, we were approached by a meaty looking police detectice with a walrus mustache. He identified himself as Bulldog Drummond and asked if we were the students who had been speaking with Serious during the intermission. We confirmed this.

“I’ll need you to come down to the station to make a statement. Nigel Cuttlefish, eh? You’re Cordelia’s younger brother, aren’t you?”

Nigel gave him a grim steely gaze and said firmly “I have no sister.”

The detective appeared confused and taken aback.

“But … I met you at her house. Just on Tuesday night. Don’t you recall?”

“Oh, yes!” Nigel brightened. “What a jolly get together. It was a pleasure. Cordelia always puts out a nice spread. Drummond’s the name, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes,” Pepper said. “He introduced himself about 90 seconds ago. We all know his name.”

Bulldog regained his stride. “I hear you’re a bit of an amateur sleuth yourself, Nigel. How would you and your little friends like to learn how a real police investigation is conducted?”

“But wouldn’t that be a severe breach of ethics?” asked Pepper. “And besides, we were talking to one of your suspects, minutes before the crime occured.”

“Oh, ho, ho!” Bulldog laughed heartily. “Breach of ethics! Oh, hang on to this one, Nigel. She’s a keeper!” Pepper was about to tell him off when Nigel jumped up.

“My friends and I would be honored to accompany you, sir!” cried Nigel and he clicked his heels together.

“None of you are well…, weirdos, are you?” asked Detective Drummond. “There have been rumours about the university theatre. Rumours of … the occult“.

At that moment, Amy did something that I have never seen her do before or since. She squeaked. Luckily the detective did not notice.

Minutes later, we were racing through the city streets in Bulldog Drummond’s modified roadster, Ritchie in the sidecar. At the station, a block and a half from the coffeeshop, we observed Bulldog interrogate Serious from behind the one-way mirror.

BD: Now, we have a statement from one of your classmates. He tape recorded a class you take together and has quoted you asking this question to your professor. “Professor Thornborrow, wouldn’t you agree that the highest form of artistic expression would be the act of murder. Argueably, a purely random and meaningless act of violence has more artistic value than the entire creative output of Christopher Marlowe and Madonna combined. Wouldn’t you agree?” Now that was recorded on Oct. the 13th in your … Introduction to Organic Chemistry class. Do you deny making this statement?

SD: I don’t recall that exact statement, but it sounds like something I would say.

BD: Hurm. Now, what were you doing backstage?

SD: I was delivering a note to Harriet. P., a poet of no small talent* had taken a fancy to her.

BD: And you know her in what capacity?

SD: I am her buddy. I had volunteered to show international students around campus, introduce them to people, make them feel comfortable, etc. I was assigned to Harriet.

BD: And at precisely what time did you shoot Harriet?

SD: I did not shoot her.

BD: Well, can’t blame a fellow for trying. Go on. Who else was back stage?

SD: When I entered the room, Harriet was having a hushed conversation with Jan Betel. Her son Dickie was sitting on the couch on the other end of the room with Iliana Chaikovskaya, an accomplished dancer and confidante of Harriet’s. She was reading a lurid-looking novel with a rather garish cover. I averted my eyes quickly so as not to look at it for too long.

BD: And that’s all?

SD: Oh yes, there were also security guards present. One of them was named H.Q.

BD: And how did you come to know his name?

SD: Well, he kept repeating it. He was speaking quite loudly to the other guard whom he called ‘Radish’, but I’m not sure if this was a nickname or an insult or what? I mean, he couldn’t possibly be named Radish, could he?** He kept saying “Just listen to your pal, H.Q.” or “H.Q. will show you how it’s done” and so on. He also pulled out his gun quite a bit, showing it to ‘Radish’.

BD: Hmm. The theatre says there was only one guard backstage. One … Humberto Quackenbush. We’ll have to track down this ‘Radish’. And then what happened?

SD: I waited until Harriet was finished speaking with Ms. Betel. The Bete;s left the backstage area with Iliana and the guards seemed to have disappeared as well. I was giving her the note when I saw a glowing gloved hand holding a pistol emerge from behind a curtain. Before I could do or say anything, the hidden figure fired. I am rather ashamed to tell you this, but I have to admit that I soiled my trousers.

BD: Well, … er … don’t feel too bad, lad. You were in a life and death situation.

SD: No, I mean just now, as I was telling you my story.

BD: Er, I think we can take a bit of a break right now.

SD: Certainly. Thank you for interrogating me today. Would you like to answer a brief customer satisfaction survey? Please press or say ‘one’ to continue. To complete this interrogation, please press or say ‘two’.

BD: Er, two.

SD: Thank you for participating in our survey. Did Serious answer your questions in a courteous fashion this evening?

BD: No, I said ‘two’.

SD: My apologies. Have a nice day. By the way, can I say hello to my friends in the next room?

Bulldog looked in our direction.

“Drat,” he said. “Forgot to turn on the one-way mirror again.” He ushered us into the interrogation room and left.

Amy was the first to speak. “This glowing hand you saw. Did it leave an ectoplasmic trail? Did you hear any unusual sounds? Was there a lingering scent of pine?”

Nigel jumped in. ” Did you happen to notice any distinctive mud on the ground?”

“Ectoplasm?” Serious laughed. “Distinctive mud? I do believe you and your little Ghoul Squad intend to solve this mystery! Ghoul Squad...” he mused, savoring the sound of the words. “Yes… yes. I do believe you should call yourselves the Ghoul Squad.”

“Well, I was thinking…” Nigel started.

“GHOUL SQUAD!” Serious shouted. “Ghoul Squad! Ghoul Squad! I’ll pay you each $100 dollars to call yourselves the Ghoul Squad!”

We all looked at each other. One hundred dollars for doing nothing. Why not?

“Fifty dollars!” cried Serious. “Will you call yourselves the Ghoul Squad for fifty dollars each?” Nigel haggled him up to $75.

“Marcel!” Serious bellowed. “My changepurse!” Marcel appeared out of nowhere (Weren’t there policemen guarding the room?) and presented us with $75 each and a receipt.

The Ghoul Squad had it’s first case.

Well, that was a rather exhilarating episode, wasn’t it? Hope your questions were answered, Johanna. Join us 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?

* I blushed. I keep this statement in strictly for posterity’s sake.
** This coming from a man named Serious Dogstar.