When Evil Wins Read online

  “I'm sorry, Janus, nothing at all. But I assure you your father had the very best of care.”

  “I know he did, and thanks again.” Janus took the card from the consultant.

  Chapter Twelve

  Janus was in a rush as usual. He didn't know why but every time he arranged to meet his publisher his timing was all over the place. He thought it was probably due to the fact that it wasn't him who controlled his schedule in these instances, although it ought to be. His ex-wife had made him feel much the same way while they were married.

  Janus knew that if he left within the next five minutes he would just about get to the station in time to catch the train to London and from Fenchurch Street he could take a short tube journey arriving at the Royal Dragon, in China Town, ready for the discussions, with his publisher about his most recent investigation.

  ***

  It was three months since Janus had buried his father. The will hadn't thrown up any surprises; everything his father had built up over the preceding twenty years had passed straight to him as he was the business partner and more importantly, his father’s son.

  During the month following his Dad's death he had just moped around his flat feeling lost, and feeling loss. Most mornings he’d woken up at seven thirty on the dot, believing he’d heard his phone ringing.

  As the weeks passed he stopped waking up so early and gradually came to terms with the fact his father had died. But the memory of finding his father in that state, as he had realised then, was going to take a lot longer to reconcile with himself, as it had surely been his fault, somehow, some way. No matter how he tried to address the issue the end result was always the same, he blamed himself; if only he hadn’t been so determined to discover the nature of the abilities he believed he had.

  ***

  One morning during the second month he awoke with a sense of pure clarity and knew then what he had to do, he had to sell his father’s business and take the steps which would eventually lead, he hoped, to a career as a professional paranormal investigator.

  He didn't know if this path would pan out but the money from selling the business would give him enough leeway to discover if this was going to be his true calling.

  The business was quickly snapped up and Janus re-started his research into the paranormal and began devising a regime which he hoped, if he followed it, would lead to a better control over his abilities, a way which would allow him to tap into his psychic faculty on demand.

  Janus started to place adverts in the small ads column of his local paper knowing that, at this stage, it would really be hit or miss as to whether his ability would kick in on cue, but was certain that the impetus in doing this would assist him in his development.

  As part of his studies into the paranormal and his own abilities, he decided from the outset he would keep a journal of every case he was commissioned to solve, using the diary as reference material for tuning his skills, psychical or otherwise. And this was if he was ever going to be commissioned to solve a case in the first place. To his surprise requests for his help started to trickle in and he began his new job in earnest.

  Since that time he’d learnt a lot, purchased extra equipment, the trickle remained just that, a trickle; but barring the financial implications of his chosen profession, he was a lot happier than he had been in a long while.

  In the main, the jobs he was commissioned to undertake necessitated differing levels of background research into the histories of the people employing him, or the places where they lived. However, the slowly diminishing pot of money played on his mind and finally he had to admit to himself he needed to get a job of some sort, part-time hopefully, so he could at least guarantee a level of income when the work wasn't coming in.

  Janus had decided to redouble his efforts in seeking out odd stories the local newspapers sometimes featured, ones that would warrant his involvement after an introductory phone call or letter, and in this way he hoped he could increase his current commissions’ rate.

  It was during one of these intense news analysis sessions, when he was beginning to believe the only course for him was to become a labourer once more, he noticed an advertisement for a clerk's position at Essex County Council's Sites and Monuments office in Chelmsford. They were only asking for twenty to twenty five hours a week and the pay was an absolute pittance, but it was guaranteed income and with his new background in historical research, he felt he would have a fairly good chance in securing the position. His application was in the first post the following day.

  Within a few weeks he had been invited to the offices for an interview and two weeks after that, he started his new part-time filing job at Essex County Council’s Sites and Monuments office.

  Still the sums did not add up. The financial arrangement with his ex-wife the courts had foisted upon him through the incompetence of his legal representation meant he still had a huge hole in his finances to fill.

  It wasn’t as if he’d had any children he should be supporting but the ruling had been made and that was that; there were a further three long months more to go, before he would be totally free of that financial burden once and for all.

  Janus was adamant he was not going to go back into the plumbing trade if he could at all avoid it, so what else was there? He didn’t want to give up his part-time job, the access to the historical information he now had was a boon to the research requirements for his preferred career.

  Getting lawyers and solicitors involved to resolve his current financial situation would only leech his finances further, with no guarantee he would end up better off, though the lawyers and solicitors certainly would be.

  There was one last option and although he thought it was an unlikely one, after all the time that had past, there was nothing else he could do.

  He pulled Richard Jameson's business card from his wallet and almost put it straight back considering the idea as foolish, but he was out of choices and this was an option, something he had to try. Janus made the phone call.

  During his time on the phone, Richard told Janus that he’d been wondering when he would call and Janus was surprised that the guy still remembered him after all this time.

  Richard suggested that they should have a meeting to discuss what was possible and that Janus ought to pop up to his offices in Museum Street in London.

  During the meeting, Janus told Richard about his work as a paranormal investigator and the cases he had worked on, highlighting how he had successfully resolved the outstanding issues for those that had restless spirits and had demonstrated in other investigations that the physical surroundings had more to do with the apparent hauntings rather than the afterlife.

  Richard suggested that Janus ought to refer to his field notes and try to put pen to paper and write up his casework in a form that would lend itself better to being read by the general public.

  ***

  Now, since the initial meeting, he was going to be late once again. He supposed and hoped that Richard was getting used to this.

  Janus ran down Gerrard Street, skirting quickly passed the railings which fronted the restaurant and burst through the post box red door of the Royal Dragon into the restaurant proper. He spied his publisher sitting at, what had become over the last half a year, their usual table near the entrance.

  “Sorry I'm late, Mr Jameson.”

  “Janus, don't worry, and please stop calling me Mr Jameson. We've been working together for, what is it now? Coming up to a year, I think. So Richard will do and I hope I won't have to remind you again. Isn't this what I say every time we talk?”

  ***

  Janus had met Richard Jameson on two occasions during the time he had been working with his father, once at a spiritualist meeting near to where he lived in Leigh-on-Sea and once at a book signing in Treadwell's, a bookshop well known for its collections of occult and paranormal literature.

  Jameson was normally aloof and distant from his authors but there was something special about Janus Malik, something h
e couldn't really put his finger on, something which allowed him to relax and enjoy Janus's company more than any other authors he had signed up.

  It may have had something to do with Janus's usually candid nature; his honesty. Richard wasn't sure but he did know one thing, he didn't have to try and peel the layers of presentation back before discovering the ‘true’ person beneath. Janus was as he was and Jameson liked this aspect of his character in particular.

  Their relationship had developed quickly and soon after taking him on Janus had become a regular fixture around the Jameson's household's dinner table.

  Even Richard Jameson's wife, Liz, the woman Janus had seen Richard talking to at the book launch, and daughter, Stephanie, thoroughly enjoyed Janus's company and from day one it hadn't been any other way.

  ***

  “I know, Richard,” Janus answered, “it's difficult though. You being my boss.”

  “Janus, I know I represent you but I still like to think we're good friends. Think of it this way, we're partners. You write up your cases and I make them available to the public, less of a boss-employee relationship really,” Richard said, trying to make the situation absolutely clear.

  “Okay,” said Janus, “and I know you've told me this before, but I still can't thank you enough for persuading me to put my investigations to paper. If it wasn't for your belief that the public at large would be interested in what I did, then I'm sure I would've blown my father's inheritance and still been a plumber. Offering to take me on for writing up my casework has made all the difference to me. I owe you a lot, Richard.”

  “Forget it; I'm making a fair penny out of your work just as much as you do. Now what would you like to order?” Jameson dismissed the conversation. He was a man who neither wanted, nor liked, having his ego stroked. He believed that what he did, he did for the other person just as much as for himself.

  “I'll have a pint of Tiger please,” Janus said, as he picked up the menu from the table to study it.

  “Okay. Tiger it is.” Jameson looked towards the waiter to attract his attention. The waiter wandered over to the table and Jameson ordered their drinks.

  The two men discussed Malik's recent case.

  “There's not a lot to it this time, Janus, the first draft you sent me is quite light-weight to say the least. Don't you have any more?”

  “Not at the moment, as I said my spirit guide told me that this guy, Royce, would phone me at my office…”

  Jameson interrupted; “You mean where you work part time?” Jameson wanted to get the details clear in his head. “Where was it again? The Sites and Monuments office in Chafford Hundred, or somewhere near there?”

  “No, it's in Chelmsford. Anyway, my spirit guide told me that this guy would need some advice, some information on how to rid himself of what could be called 'a haunting'. He was having visitations from malevolent spirits and from what my guide told me it was something to do with his ancestors, and the way they’d treated a Roman general's body after death.

  “I informed Mr Royce that he needed to dispose of the remains in the way that would have been appropriate for a Roman general of that time.”

  “Did he take this advice?”

  “No. Not initially, I had to phone him a second time. I got the feeling my guide was very anxious to have this situation resolved as soon as possible. That's why I said there was not much more at the moment.”

  “Is there any more to it?” Jameson asked. He was concerned that Janus may have a dud this time around.

  “I'm not sure. I’ve not been able to contact my guide since then. Which is strange,” Janus replied, knowing the manuscript he’d sent in had not been up to his usual standard, but it was all he had had.

  “Enough of work. Have you decided what you want to eat?” Jameson said, diverting the conversation on to more social topics, something he didn’t mind doing with Janus; Janus was someone he knew he could trust to act on his suggestions.

  “Yep, I think I'll go for the Dim Sum,” Janus said, replacing the menu back in its stand.

  “That's a good choice Janus, so will I.” Jameson called the waiter over once more and ordered their food.

  During the course of their meal more people entered the restaurant and passed by their table; it was getting towards 1.00 p.m. and the city folk had decided it was time for their lunch.

  Half way through the meal Jameson excused himself for the toilet and Janus took the opportunity to go to the bar and order another pint. When he got back to the table he saw that a small silver platter had been left, with a single, folded, white piece of paper resting upon it.

  Jameson came back and as he sat down he also noticed the small silver plate.

  “That's strange,” Jameson said.

  “What?” Janus asked.

  “They've brought us the bill and we haven't even finished our meal yet.” Jameson reached for the piece of paper and unfolded it and as he read, his faced flushed angrily.

  “What's wrong, Richard? It can't be that expensive.”

  “It isn't about expense, Janus.” Jameson twisted around in his chair to see if he could spot the person who had dumped the note on their table, slinking around somewhere in the depths of the restaurant. “Who brought this ridiculous piece of paper over?” Jameson demanded loudly, not just for Janus’s benefit.

  “I don't know, Richard, I went to the bar,” Janus said, becoming aware that Richard’s comments were not really directed at him.

  Janus had never seen his boss get this angry before and had never heard him raise his voice like this.

  “Look at this,” Jameson said, thrusting the piece of paper towards Janus.

  Taking it, Janus read the note. “I don't know what to say Richard.”

  “Here, now,” Jameson demanded to the nearest waiter. “What's the meaning of this? Is this some kind of silly joke, because if it is I don't find it funny at all? What is your restaurant playing at?”

  Other people in the Royal Dragon stopped what they were doing to turn from their own private conversations to see what the commotion was about.

  “Sir,” the waiter started, “what seems to be the problem?”

  “Janus, please show the man the piece of paper.” Richard was now speaking in his usual and considered manner; he had grabbed the waiter's attention as much as he’d needed to. Janus unfolded the paper and held it out for the waiter to read.

  “Sir, I can assure you that no employee of this restaurant would ever leave such a note.”

  “Well,” Richard said to the waiter, “I can assure you that my friend here,” Richard indicated Janus with a flick of his hand, “did not leave this note and I can tell you this; I will not be paying for this meal and I will certainly make sure my friends never even entertain the idea of coming here. Janus we're going.”

  With that said Richard stood up and indicated to Janus they were leaving.

  Once outside the restaurant Richard looked at his watch. “Janus I don't know what that note was about, probably some stupid joke. Suffice it to say I don't think we'll be gracing this place with our presence ever again. I've got a meeting in an hour. You'll need to find out a little more information about your Mr Royce before there will be enough to put into print.

  “I'll speak to my wife and find out an appropriate date for you to come to the house for dinner. We can talk further then.”

  Although abrupt on occasions, Janus knew how Richard was and didn't take it personally. The two men shook hands and went their separate ways.

  ***

  After the short tube journey to Fenchurch Street, Janus dropped himself down on a seat in an almost empty carriage, ready for the trip home.

  Janus didn't know what to make of the situation. He took the note from his pocket and read it again.

  “If you carry on publishing work of this kind expect an accident within your family.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In preparing the update to his latest manuscript Janus didn't contact Mr Royce again, there
were no thanks there, and he felt another call would not be appropriate anyway, so he decided to research the area Mr Royce lived in and use that information to expand his manuscript with historical content.

  It was another two weeks before he was happy with his final draft and felt ready to call Richard Jameson.

  Although he’d made the decision to call his publisher he still felt apprehensive, it wasn't because of his work this time though, it was to do with the peculiar note which had been left on their table at the restaurant all those weeks ago. It had not been mentioned or referred to in subsequent conversations he'd had with Richard since, but its ominous tone still played upon his mind.

  Janus dialled Richard's number, “Jameson,” Richard answered in his usual gruff voice.

  “Mr Jameson… Richard, I mean, it's Janus.”

  “Ah, Janus. How are you?” Jameson said.

  “Good, Richard. I've finished my manuscript, taking on board the comments you made. What would you like me to do next?”

  “Bring it to the office,” Jameson said.

  “Okay. When?” replied Janus.

  “Bring it the day after tomorrow. The appointments I have then can be adjusted, should the need arise.”

  “Okay, Mr Jameson,” Janus said, putting the phone down. Even though they had been in partnership for nearly a whole year he still hadn’t found a way to address his boss; he never felt comfortable with just calling him Richard.

  Over the next two days Janus re-read his manuscript over and over, changing the parts he felt needed adjustment to make sure it was the best he could provide, not just to please Mr Jameson, but to ensure Jameson's reader didn't come up with some obscure analysis of it.

  Janus knew that Richard relied solely upon his readers, the people who commented upon the first drafts which were submitted to the publisher and was aware that their verdict was the only verdict that would be listened to. In essence, it was the readers who decided whether a manuscript would be used or not.

  Janus had no idea who these people were, but was sure that, if Richard was without them then Richard's whole publishing business would be of a totally different nature.