Page 76 of Unalive On Air

“Get in! Old Sergeant Saggy Pants is under arrest!” Stove blurts out.

“How come they haven’t arrested Hels, then?” Pete says. “Or Franny or Angel.”

“Probably because I didn’t name any suspects, and Davies is, I expect, only under investigation for failing to follow protocols. Essentially, he’s responsible for decades of shoddy police work and brushed-under-the-rug evidence. But they won’t arrest him, or anyone else, until they’re fairly sure he’s the one,” I say.

The fellow ghosts look at me as though I’m doing a run‑through of Unalive’s next episode.

“In the UK, the police have a certain number of hours they can hold a suspect before they have to let them go. It’s a maximum of ninety-six for egregious acts. If they charge the person during this time, they can obviously hold them longer, but there are strict laws governing this. If they’re going to arrest Davies, or Helga, or Franny, or anyone else for Jeanie’s murder, they’re going to make sure they’ve got the right perp before moving forward.”

“That’s . . . frustrating,” Pixie says.

“It is, but I’m hoping that by the time we figure out who killed us all, I’ll have a pretty solid case to present to the police, so that justice is served,” I say.

Once all the brambles have been strimmed to the ground, a small marquee‑style tent is erected over the burial site.

“Because there’s inclement weather due tonight,” Jazz, who’s taken up one of the sentinel positions, tells any member of the public who happens to walk by and inquire about the tent. “We need to protect the integrity of the investigation.”

But there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and nobody’s falling for her subterfuge.

“Look, the paps have arrived,” Jeanie says, pointing towards the bushes beside the east wing of the hotel.

A stranger dressed all in black loiters in the shadows, aiming an enormous camera lens at the forensics tent.

“Won’t be long now before it’s all over The News at Ten,” she says, enjoying herself immensely, and clapping her hands together like an excited toddler.

More officers arrive, this time plain‑clothed, and I already know they’re the bosses. They chat in a quiet huddle away from the crowd of Helzephron locals who obligingly stand behind the police line.

Sadly for the police bigwigs, none of the ghosts pay homage to the vinyl tape barrier.

“Do we have any leads on the podcaster yet?” An older Black guy with a thick, handsome moustache asks.

A tall woman with light brown skin and a stylish grey coat answers. “We think it was likely scheduled by Runcorn before he died. Perhaps he knew someone was out to get him, so he recorded the episode as a backup, a plan B, a just in case. Or . . . it’s somebody pretending to be him. Intelligence is looking into the IP address.”

Hmm, so none of them suspect I’m a ghost podcaster. Kinda disappointing, actually.

Moustache nods. “It’s obvious why someone wanted him gone, if he had information like that. He made the journey from Swindon—”

“London,” Grey Coat corrects.

“London? My reports say he lived in Swindon.”

“Intel got back to us. They tracked his movements over the weekend prior to his death. He was at Swindon, took a train to Paddington, used his credit card to buy a family pack of cookies and a Fanta in M&S—”

“Credit card for cookies?” Moustache asks.

Grey Coat nods. “Mastercard. Then he got on the underground to south London. We’re not sure where he went from there, but approximately four hours later, he’s seen in the same Tube station holding two heavy-looking carrier bags. He then takes the train back to Swindon, and on Monday, he’s spotted in the station once again boarding to Penzance.”

I’m entirely enthralled. How often I’d dreamed of getting this close to investigating officers.

“Why are they talking about you?” Jeanie whines, slapping her legs. “This is supposed to be about me. They’re supposed to be figuring out who murdered me, not you.”

“I thought it was the same person,” I say, and Jeanie puffs out an exasperated sigh. “From what I gather, these officers believe whoever killed you may also have killed me to silence me.”

Now that I think about it, that’s a very plausible motive. So plausible, in fact, that I wonder if that’s not the reason a few others have been murdered as well.

And maybe, maybe it was the motivation for killing Jeanie too. Did she know something about Peter’s or Pixie’s death that would warrant being silenced? I need to ask her, but away from the others.

“If the officers think our deaths are connected, it also stands to reason they believe the killer’s still out there,” I say, though I’m not sure why. It’s info we already know, and besides, we can’t die again, but I guess the breathing stakeholders still have something to be concerned about.