As a London copper, I’ve seen some pretty weird shit, but even I was taken aback when I learned that magic was actually a thing. Real, proper magic, with spells and everything!
Also, ghosts are real! And vampires, trolls, fairies, river gods… and there’s this whole subculture of weirdos and half-fae… oh, and don’t get me started on talking bloody foxes…
Shouldn’t come as a surprise that the Metropolitan Police secretly know all about this crap. There’s the Special Assessment Unit, run from this posh house called The Folly by a posh Detective Inspector called Nightingale (and his apprentice Peter Grant), that investigates supernatural crimes and other weird bollocks. And it turns out, they’re recruiting…
Skipper looks remarkably unfazed by the threat of supernatural assault. He seems actually quite cheery. "OK. Can we get the proton packs the ghostbusters had, then?"
"Meantime, let's go talk to Ken. Maybe he knows where the pot is? Actually, if we find it, can we just smash the crap out of it? Would that solve the problem?"
The old man opens his door a little, looks at you each in turn and chuckles.
"You're both bloody daft for police officers," he says. "Come on in - I'll put the kettle on, then you can tell me why you want to talk to me about bloody skittles."
He shuffles back into the bungalow, leaving the door open for you to follow him into the hallway.
"Sitting room's first on the left!" he calls, presumably from the kitchen, judging by the sound of clinking mugs.
The interior of the place is a little less shabby than the exterior. Family photos line the walls: a younger Archie with wife, children and later grandchildren.
"Lucky for you my Rachael came 'round yesterday or the place'd be messier."
"As far as we know this urn is the only one in existence," Postmartin snpas, listening in on the conversation over the phone.
"And there is no guarantee that whoever made the artefact doesn't still linger in it. I need to do some more research and continue in my attempts to contact Thomas. Remember that it is possible that this thing presents a danger to the public, just like the Covent Garden incident. I am not your superior, so I will not command you, but I advise you to proceed with extreme caution."
And with that, he terminates the call.
A couple of cars swish by and on the pavement next to where you are parked, a young woman walks by, pushing a pushchair.
"Trust me on this, guys. We do not want to smash that urn. If it's containing something, then all you'll be doing is smashing the container, not the thing inside. If it was that easy to stop a revenant then we'd have nothing to worry about. Like if you smash a bottle, it doesn't just get rid of all the water inside, right?"
As Dr. Postmartin hangs up, Izzy immediately grabs her phone back to send a quick message to Alice. She's not sure how things will play out, but she is somewhat overcome with a need to get in touch with the person she cares about most. She tries to dress it up as if she's just making sure that Freya's been fed and the litter tray cleared, but it's clear that there's a hidden worry between the lines.
"Alice, she's... um, staying at my place while I'm away. Easier than travelling from Whitechapel twice a day just to feed the cat."
Text sent, Alice puts her phone on silent as they pull up, purely for the sake of professionalism. "Oh, and I'm pretty sure Ken Dansen has never had anything to do with the star of Cheers. Probably."
Skipper holds his hands up in surrender and looks at Izzy with a decidely unapolagetic grin. "You know, you voodoo types are really easy to rev up. Just pretend not to take you seriously, light the fuse, stand back."
"I will, I promise, take due care with the killer ghost, as requested. Now, let's go talk to Ted."
Leo laughed as he stepped through the threshold. "Well, I will admit that isn't the first time someone has called me that. You know, these days, you sort of have to be a little daft to actually want to be a copper."
Leo learned the "get invited in" trick from Peter, so while he doesn't veer from the direct path to the kitchen, he does spend extra time surveying the scene and getting a sense of person. Leo's dad always says you can learn a lot about a person by the contents of their bookshelves, so if there were any shelves, he took his time there, as well.
Shuffling back to the kitchen, he shook his head. "I had to do a wellness visit on a hoarder one time. This place looks great..."
"Rumor says you were pretty keen at skittles when you played for the Nutters..."
A cursory glance of the lounge reveals nothing out of the ordinary - merely another room that's clean, if a little shabby and dated. Lived-in, shall we say.
Archie returns, pushing a small trolley upon which are three mugs, a pot of tea, a jug of milk and a small bowl of sugar.
"Didn't know how you takes your tea, so I bought everything." he says. "Got some biscuits in the cupboard next to you love," he continues, nodding at Des.
Grunting a little, he settles himself into an armchair.
"Why you askin' about skittles then?" he asks. "Ain't played for years - not bothered about that new lot - bunch of townies coming here and buying up the village. What've they done to get the police involved?"
Maybe it's your imagination, but the wind feels somewhat chillier when you exit the car. Dansen's address is a few doors' down - a nondescript 1970's terraced house with a small, well-kept garden at the front. Nothing seems particularly amiss as you approach the modern PVC front door.
"I think so, yeah." Izzy steps forward, readying her warrant card to show the occupant, but she can't help but shiver as she proceeds and knocks on the door. "Does it feel colder to you two...?"
She tries to be more aware of what's around her, trying to sense out anything strange that might be affecting the area. It could just be the wind, of course, but these past months spent at the Folly have taught Izzy that it's always better to be careful even if the explanation is mundane eight out of ten times...
Skipper puts his black fisherman's beanie back on, and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "All yours, Voodoo Plod." He politely stands back, out of Izzy's way.
"If you feel like the interview is going pear-shaped and you want us to tag-team in, just casually drop the safe word into conversation and we'll know. Today's safe word is 'Xanadu'."
Leo liked a lot of sugar in his tea, but he knew that, when being hosted, it was probably best to keep it to two spoonfuls, so after stirring thoughtfully for a moment, he answered. "Well, it's just that, being a big skittles fan, myself, of course, I'd heard of the Nutters. And word is at the pub that you were one of the stars..."
"Des and I would love to hear anything that you could tell us about the team from back in the day."
"Well... not much to say really. We used to play okay I suppose. Our old captain was very keen and got us playing pretty good eventually. The he died and we packed it all in after that. Why's this a police matter though? It was natural causes."
Izzy, your keen eye spots... nothing of interest. Maybe it's the thought of dealing with a very dangerous entity that gives you the chills, as nothing seems untoward.
After a few seconds, the front door opens to reveal a short, stout, middle-aged man.
"No, I don't want to buy anything," he says laconically as he looks you all up and down. "My windows are already double-glazed, I'm not interested in letting Jesus into my heart and/or whatever political party you represent: you're not getting my vote."
Before the door opens, Izzy thinks to herself that she needs to change Skipper's personalised ringtone on her phone, specifically to Rogue Traders' Voodoo Child. Here come the drums...
As the door opens, Izzy is prepared for the statements from the occupant as readily as he gives them - almost as if she's used to knocking on people's doors to speak to them, and knows the usual spiel from sheer experience...
"That's good then, we're not selling anything, and glad to hear you're already saving money on your heating bills. I'm actually an atheist, and I'm pretty sure that given my occupation I'm not technically allowed to canvass for any political party anyway."
She holds out her warrant card, showing it for long enough that the person at the door can verify it as being genuine, but not quite long enough for him to register that she's part of the Met, and thus technically well outside her jurisdiction. Oh well, if he questions anything she can always make up some excuse for being here in the sticks. Joint operations with West Mercia Police or something.
"I'm DC Cooper, these are my colleagues, Mr Skipper, and Dr Schneider. Don't worry, you're not in any trouble, but we're looking into some strange circumstances revolving around a certain urn that we believe might be connected to criminal activity. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions?"
Izzy's tone is that of consummate professionalism, such that it's clear that although she is asking politely, the only agreeable answer would be acceptance of the normally unwelcome intrusion of the Crown's finest...
