Page 55

I clear my throat. “What about… after your rendezvous?”

“Stuck around ’til closing, didn’t I? I’d had a few too many by then and decided to sleep it off downstairs.”

“In the basement?”

“Right. Peter usually let some of us stay after closing. Continue the party in a more intimate location, as it were.” A leer breaks out on Beau’s face and it’s uncanny because it isn’t quite him—I can sort of see Jonathan peeking through.

Uncomfortable and a bit creeped out, I shift on my feet. “So it was a place for gay guys to hook up?”

“Eh, sometimes. That night, not really. Peter’d got his hands on some grass and invited a few of us to join him for a smoke and cards.”

“Did you all know each other?”

“Yeah. Peter tended bar and Big Mike was one of the bouncers. Tom, and Devon were regulars at the club. They weren’t bothered about me, Peter, and Archie being gay. That was a big deal in those days. They’re good mates. Still are.”

I dart a glance over and see the others nodding along.

“So you were smoking and playing cards. What happened then?”

His expression clouds over. “We didn’t notice the smoke until it was too late. A couple other folks who joined us, more sober than we were, managed to get up the stairs and out of the basement.”

My senses go on high alert. “There were others with you?”

“Yeah, but I can’t remember who anymore… They must have made it out alive because their spirits didn’t stick around like us.”

I make a mental note to go over the witness statements in more detail.

“What happened when you tried to escape?”

“By the time we realized we were in real danger, we made a dash for the stairs, but then there was a loud crash above us and the door—” His voice cracks. “—wouldn’t open.”

“Was it locked?”

He frowns. “The knob turned, but it was like the door was stuck or blocked. We screamed and called for help but… I don’t remember anything after that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with as much empathy as I can convey.

Beau’s body goes limp again, then he straightens and blinks a few times.

“Jonathan was becoming upset, so I let him go,” Beau says.

One by one, the other spirits take their turn sharing their recollections, none of which offers much more than Jonathan’s. Until we get to Big Mike.

“A bit before closing, I stepped out back to have a quick fag. Saw Owen skulking about.”

“Owen who?”

“Owen Grant. Reggie’s nephew.”

A jolt of awareness rushes through me. “The owner of the club?”

“That’s right. Young lad, about fourteen or fifteen? Reggie took him in when he was about ten, I think, after his mum died. His dad had buggered off long ago, and no one knew where he was.”

“What was Owen doing?”

Big Mike frowns. “Not sure. I called out to him and he scampered off. I just remember because it was unusual to see him there so late. Reggie had some strict rules about when he needed to be home. The only time I ever saw him round the club was during the daytime, when he was helping Reggie and Peter with liquor deliveries and such.”

“Did you know the building well?” I ask. “Was there only one way in and out of the basement?”