Fourteen Days(41)

Still with a look of perplexity, and now also a look of suspicion, the officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, unless you’re a family member I’m afraid we can’t give out that kind of information.”

“But I only need a yes or a no on the matter. I don’t need any details.”

Not budging, he shook his head again. “I’m sorry. That type of information can only be given out to family.”

“What if she doesn’t have any family?”

“Doesn’t she?”

“No, my wife’s the closest thing she has to a family.”

The officer sighed loudly, as if growing impatient. “Look, ask your wife to come down to the station and make an official request. Tell her to bring some proof that she’s a close friend. A few photos, that kind of thing. And then we might look into it.”

Unable to think of something to add, he stared blindly at the officer.

“The problem is, my wife is ill,” he blurted out, regretting it immediately. “She can’t come down to the station.”

Richard could see the distrust in the officer’s eyes. It worried him. Yet he couldn’t find the will to back out.

“I’m sorry to hear that but that’s the best I can do.”

Dejected, he musically tapped the desk with his fingers, trying to think of a way to convince him. “There must be something you can do?” He sounded desperate. “Anything at all.”

The officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. If your wife is unable to make it down to the station, then I could arrange for a police officer to call round. But that’s the best I can do.”

Nodding in defeat, knowing that there was no way Nicky would ever play along, he said, “No, it’s all right—I’ll leave it.” He moved away from the desk. “Thanks for your time.”

“Don’t mention it,” the officer replied, with a slight tone of sarcasm in his voice. “Have a good day, sir.” He then disappeared through a door behind him.

Richard stood in the reception, powerless to come up with a plan B. He knew he had made an error of judgement coming here. Surely there was no reason a police officer would fall for such a poorly thought-out story. But what annoyed him the most was that he didn’t even get the chance to mention her name. Stupid, he thought, as he sauntered over to the exit doors.

As he watched the rain hammer down on the road and against the glass, all he could think about was his ghost: her face of sadness, those eyes reddened from tears, her helpless tapping on the spare bedroom door. What the hell did she want? Why couldn’t she just blurt it out and say what was on her mind? And why was she so interested in him? Why not the last owner? And then it occurred to him: maybe that’s why he sold it to them in the first place. What if he had the exact same problem, a problem he just couldn’t solve? Was Richard going to end up the same—having to sell his house to the first person that showed any sign of interest? No, he would never let her beat him. Not for him, but for Nicky’s sake. It was their first home, their dream home. No one, especially not some troubled ghost, was going to drive them away. Not now. Not ever. And with that, he burst through the double doors and stepped out into the pouring rain, heading for Marble View to find the Registrar’s Office.

This time he would have to have the perfect cover story.



Richard finally had his first bit of luck. The rain had stopped and the Registrar’s Office was located exactly where the librarian had told him. It was a large, old-fashioned building, with red bricks and large windows. Its doorway was a giant stone archway with Latin words engraved across it.

Stepping up to the entrance, he waited a moment to prepare for any cross-questioning that might be thrown at him. How on earth was he going to convince them to give out details without rousing suspicion? Would he try his luck with the same web of lies he had spun to the police officer, and hope to God that the Registrar would perhaps be a little more gullible? No, he had to try a different angle; he knew good and well that his story earlier was terribly unconvincing. Could he simply tell them the truth and pray that the paranormal interested them enough to believe him? No, he was certain without a doubt that they would laugh in his face, just as Nicky did. How would he ever get what he needed if they couldn’t take him seriously—or even worse, thought that he was mentally unstable?

He couldn’t have that.

Shaking his head in frustration as nothing of any value popped into his mind, he leaned against the wall. Come on, Rich, think! What’s wrong with you? You used to be great at problem solving. You can sell ice to Eskimos. Focus!