This is the first short case from DI Jack Finkel (back when he was still a DS), while I’m working on his first full length novel. There are a few more shorts to come — though fear not, I haven’t abandoned Felix😉

DI Jack first appeared on my mailing list back in October, and there will be another short published there for the end-of-year festivities. Want to get his stories before anyone else? Subscribe here! You’ll also get a free novella as a thank you.

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Ding dong!

The old lady opened her front door. “Yes?”

“Hello, I’m Detective Sergeant Jacob Finkel, Unusual Crimes Squad. Are you Lorna? Did you report a haunting of your house?”

“Yes, thank you for coming, detective. It’s my poor Larry.”

“And Larry is?”

“My late husband.”

“Larry has come back to haunt you?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. It’s been a while. Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll make us a cuppa? It might take a moment to explain, and I’m sure you’ll do your detecting better after having some tea.”

Settled in a tiny kitchen with chintz furniture, under a shelf holding blue-printed china plates and slightly tarnished silver spoons from all over the world, Jack sipped his tea.

“My late husband, Larry, passed away two years ago. We were already married for fifty years, so that didn’t stop him and he’s decided to stay with me until it’s my time too. I know it sounds like the nattering of an old woman, but we’ve shared our lives for so long and he wanted to wait here for me. His spirit and I have been sharing our evenings, watching the telly and complaining about the latest pollies like we always have. But these past few weeks, something else has been haunting us, and it’s really disconcerting! Some young hooligan ghost has taken it to harass my poor Larry. So I complained to the police. I mean, who else you gonna call?”

Jack looked up from his notebook. “You have a new DUEB haunting your late husband?”

“A dweeb?”

“DUEB. D-U-E-B. Discorporated Unprogressed Eidolonic Being. It’s the politically-correct technical term.”

“You mean a ghost?”

“We stopped using that word. Some eidolonic beings resent the inherent type-casting and cultural baggage associated with it. Though it has its benefits — there was that one person who tried to self-identify as a ghost for tax purposes, but explaining that everyone could legally call him a dweeb in public put an end to that.”

“Well, this dweeb of a ghost sounds about right, because he’s messing with my poor husband. Larry keeps complaining about his favourite spot on the couch being covered with someone else’s ectoplasm, and even I caught some of the picture frames being moved about. Can you please make them stop? This kind of mischief and shenanigans is harassing the elderly, and must be illegal.”

After reassuring the old lady, Jack opened his beaten Bond-style briefcase and took out what looked like an old-fashioned magnifying glass, its rim decorated with colourful stones. “Where do you normally feel your husband’s spirit the most?”

“On the couch, in front of the telly.”

Jack walked around the living room, inspecting the couch and the furniture through the looking glass and muttering to himself about aethereal spectra and ectoplasmic residues as he clicked the various gems on its rim. “Did your husband play golf?”

“Why, yes, he did. How did you know?”

“Was there a particular partner he played with?”

“Ed, his business partner. We knew each other since the 60’s, and they started playing some time in the 80’s. There were some years after Ed’s divorce they spent so much time playing I felt like a golf widow, which was good practice, I guess,” she chuckled. “Ed missed my Larry terribly, but I guess they’ll meet soon enough. He passed away a month ago. Wait… You don’t think it’s Ed? He always was a bit of a prankster.”

“I can’t be sure, but that fits. I saw indications of an outdoorsy connection between your late husband and the other eidolon, and I guessed golf from the picture over there on the mantelpiece.”

“Oh, that’s clever of you. So would you be able to make Ed’s spirit stop?”

“I can certainly banish him,” Jack said.

“Oh, maybe not banish. Could you just tell him to stop the pranks? He’s welcome to stay and watch the telly with us, if he behaves himself.”

“Are you sure, ma’am? The discorporation process can leave a spirit somewhat… different to how that person was in life. I could get rid of it for you, force it to complete the transition.”

“No, no, just ask him to play nice. It will be just like old times. Besides, my time would come soon, and it would be lovely to have the two of them waiting for me. We did grow up in the 60’s and 70’s, you know. Free love and all that.” The old lady winked at Jack.

In the end, all it took were some specially spiced candles, some chanting, and a stern word in his best what’s-all-this-then policeman’s voice with all involved. He left a business card and made Lorna promise to call should the situation not improve, but in the background smoke he could see both Larry and Ed sitting on the couch and yelling at the footy players on TV.

Out on the street he made an impromptu decision to take the afternoon off and head to the pub early; he needed some whisky, because ghostly threesomes was not something he wanted to visualise now or ever.

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