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.

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?

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?

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.