IF you lie still and listen very carefully, in that place between awake and asleep, it is possible to hear seemingly infinite voices that travel the airwaves.

IF you practice long and hard enough, it is possible to tune-in and isolate the voices, to listen-in – at least it is, for Benjamin Grey.

 Grey and Briggs Investigators is open for business. They are soon hired to investigate lights at the vacated Cricklewood Mansion. A neighbour, Olivia Havishem, is concerned squatters may have settled or worse.

The Cricklewood Mansion proves to be at the centre of something worse, much worse.

 Benjamin Grey and his partner, Sophie Briggs, get drawn into the dark events surrounding the property, while trying to keep their new business running.

Ben discovers the highs and the lows of using his gift – from saving a life to the proximity to the minds of the dark and deviant. His ability provides an advantage, but at what cost?

 The Cricklewood Mansion is the first in the Benjamin Grey series of crime fiction mysteries. Emotional suspense tinged with humour. Buckle up!

CHAPTER ONE

       The phone at the front desk rang. Briggs jumped up to answer it.

      "Good morning, this is Grey and Briggs Investigators. How may we help you today?" she said, brightly.

      Ben looked up from his cell phone. He couldn’t hear the phone ring, he had permanently lost his hearing at the age of eight, but he couldn’t help noticing the speed at which Briggs moved. She turned her back to him. After a moment, she turned again, picked up a pen and began writing onto a notepad. Ben’s lip-reading skills were excellent. She was agreeing to something, he thought. A smile broke across Briggs’ face as she placed the phone on its cradle. Okay, what has she agreed to?

      Ben looked at Briggs, waiting for her to speak. She continued to stand there, fiddling with the pen and grinning like the bird that had slept in but still managed to catch the worm. Ben gestured, opening his hands...well?

      "That was Lady Havishem," Briggs declared.

      "The Lady Havisham? Wouldn't she be a bit old by now?" Ben replied. His speech suggested an impediment but remained intelligible.

      "Actually, it's Havishem with an 'e' and she didn't refer to herself as Lady. Her name is Olivia Havishem, elderly I guess, and she did speak as if I should know who she is, so my assumption is she must be quite well-to-do."

      "Lost her poodle?" Ben asked, not attempting to hide his sarcasm.

      Briggs' smile returned, broader this time. "No. She would like to employ us, to investigate a house next to where she lives."

Ben’s expression softened.

      "She's asked to meet with us so she can explain more fully. She did say the place in question has not been inhabited for a few years now since the owners died, and the property passed into Trust. She has observed ‘goings-on’ at the property," Briggs continued.

      "Has she told the Police?"

      "That's what I asked. Yes, she has advised the Police, but they dismissed her saying it's likely kids, homeless or travellers passing-through. They said they'd send someone to take a look."

      "So why has she called us?" Ben asked.

      "Because she doesn't believe them. And besides, it seems our Lady Havishem with an 'e', is not averse to doing some investigation of her own. She did say that she had seen lights on at the place at night, but when she went to look the following day, nothing." She said, with a magician's wave of the hand.

      "A mystery worthy of Columbo himself to be sure. So, you agreed to go and see her?"

      "Actually, we are going to see her this afternoon. So, get yourself showered and dressed to meet a Lady."

      "You're kidding, right?" Ben replied, trying hard not to look down at his phone.

      "Why? What else are you doing? We've only been open three days and you’re already complaining? If you're going to be spending money on that game, you're going to need to investigate more than lost pets. She has agreed to cover any expenses and pay fifteen thousand up front, even if it does turn out to be nothing. It’s a steal. Oh yeah, and she asked for you by name."

      "She phoned us, she just asked to speak to Mr. Grey," Ben responded.

      "No. She asked for you by name. She's heard of you. Asked if you were the one who caught those terrorists last year, to which of course I said 'yes', even though it was mostly me. So, get yourself ready as I don't want to disappoint the old lady."

      Ben recalled his experience with the terrorists. His gift had led him to stumble across what he believed to be plans for a massive terrorist attack on the outskirts of London. Knowing he couldn't ignore what he had heard, but at the same time also knowing he had no way to explain how he came by such knowledge, he contacted the Police anonymously. A few days later, the intelligence services turned up, with the Police, at his mother’s house. Sophie Briggs being the lead investigator at the time. It turned out, Ben's information corroborated the intelligence they already had. To avoid arrest, Ben had to disclose how he had obtained his information. His gift became known only to a few, Briggs included, and he was subsequently roped into the investigation itself. Using additional information that Ben was able to acquire, the terrorists were apprehended, billions of pounds and hundreds of lives saved, and everyone got to go home – except for members of a terrorist cell. Thanks to social media the sting operation had played out in front of the world, though Ben thought he had been very careful to avoid any publicity of his own.

      How did Lady Havishem with an 'e', know that he had had anything to do with that terrorist operation? Ben mused.

Conceding, Ben pulled himself from the chair, checked his watch and saw that Briggs was no longer in the area.

“Where did she go?” he mumbled to himself. “Some investigator I am when someone can disappear in front of me. Lady Havisham, I will gladly take your money, thank you.” He opened the door labelled 'Employees Only' and made his way up the stairs to the apartment where they now lived.

“We need to get that shower fixed,” Ben stated, as he opened the car door.

      “You know you can arrange appointments online?” Briggs replied as she slid into the passenger’s side, though Ben couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question.

      “Where does Lady Havishem with an ‘e’ live?” Ben asked.

      “Cricklewood. Not really a village but more a collection of five substantial properties. Located near Church Stowe up the A5.” Briggs replied.

      “Sounds like the middle of nowhere.”

      “It is, if you were keen on walking. But by car, it’s close to the A5. While you were getting yourself ready, jeans?” interrupting herself, wincing.

Ben looked down at himself, “What?”

      In the car, Briggs continued, “None of the properties have been sold since the original buyers. And that was some two hundred years ago.”

Ben started the car, and a wheel spat gravel as he pulled away.

Briggs shared the information she had gleaned while Ben and been showering. Ben would adjust the rearview mirror so he could see Brigg’s lips while driving. Four of the houses remained occupied, the fifth and largest home is owned by the Henshaw family. The Henshaw’s originated from Scotland and appeared to have had some connection to Prince William, the third son of King George II. Robert Henshaw IV and his wife Emily died when their helicopter crashed after attending the British Grand Prix at Silverstone. They left behind three children who had all grown up and left the family home by then. It turned out the listed property needed significant repairs and none of the siblings were willing to take on the cost. Several unsuccessful attempts had been made to sell the property, and the house has stood empty since.

The four other properties that comprised Cricklewood, had also been passed down the family line. The Havishem home, the smallest, Briggs seemed to want to point out, passed to Arthur Havishem four years before his father died. Arthur was already married to Olivia Travers, who had apparently had a mildly successful career in theatre. They have no children.

“Yet another fortune to be left to the Cats Protection League, no doubt.” Ben mumbled.

Briggs, sat with her laptop open. “Googling the area, it looks like one of the homes might have a better view of the Mansion then the one the Havishem’s have,” she said.

“Who does that belong to?” Ben asked.

“To whom does it belong, to whom.” Briggs replied, in her best Royal English, emphasising the ‘m’ with her lips. “The Stanley’s,” she continued, dropping the accent, “more specifically, Edwina Stanley the only child of Edward and Margaret Stanley. Edwina married James Gist. They have two children, now grown up, Anne who married and moved away, and John who according to his social media accounts, still lives with his parents. Oh, it seems that Edwina passed away, cancer, several years back, and James has since remarried.”

“And the remaining two Cricklewood properties?” Ben asked.

“The Loredan’s, neighbours, if you can call them that, to the Havishem’s, and the Bond’s.” Briggs paused. “What nothing to say about the Bond’s?”

Ben shrugged, “Why would I have anything to say? It’s a common enough name. Plenty of people are called Bond, and no doubt some are very wealthy. Any children?”

“Not any called James if that’s what you’re wondering. You do know James Bond isn’t real?” Briggs added.

“He might not be called James, but the character would have been someone Fleming knew. Some flashy CIA spy.” Ben replied.

Briggs signed ‘Jerk’.

“Hey, it’s dangerous to sign while driving.”

“I’m not driving,” she said.

“You know what I mean.”

They turned off the A5 and onto Main Street, heading toward Church Stowe.

“We’ll need to drive through the village and there should be a turning a bit farther up.”

“How long do we have before our appointment?” Ben asked. Briggs looked across at Ben. “Gotta be a pub in a small English village.” He added.

“On the way back. We are a few minutes early, but I was thinking we could drive up to the Mansion for a quick nosey round before meeting Mrs. Havishem,” Briggs replied.

“With an ‘e’,” they both said in unison.

An aging road sign pointed the way to ‘Cricklewood’. A winding lane, barely wide enough for two cars, disappeared into woodland. As they approached, the treescape opened up to reveal two substantial residences.

“This one on the left belongs to the Bonds,” Brigg stated. “That one straight ahead is the Loredan’s. Follow the lane around to the right and we should see the Havishem’s on the left.”

“These are huge,” Ben remarked.

The road curved to the right and continued past the Loredan home, soon coming to small roundabout, with a statue of cherub at its centre, surrounded by shrubbery that suggested maintenance was only an occasional thought.

“The Havishem’s is down there,” Briggs pointed, off to the left of the roundabout. The Mansion is straight ahead,” she said, though they could see only what they assumed to be the driveway.

“That means, this one to the right must be the Stanleys.” Ben added.

Ben looked back at the Havishem home. The driveway wasn’t gated and continued straight for perhaps two hundred metres before stopping at the property. The home itself was rectangular, from the road at least, with the long side facing them. The walls were limestone and the roof a reddish slate. It was clean and, even from here, clearly being well maintained.

“Keep going straight, let’s take a look at the Mansion,” Briggs urged.

Ben slowed as he navigated the roundabout, still peering at the properties while avoiding doing anything that might anger the cherub.

A large gate marked the entrance to the mansion property. The rusted iron gates were open and pressed up against the substantial conifer trees. More trees lined the first thirty metres or so, before the driveway curved to the left and created a vista of the house and grounds.

“Woah,” said Ben, moving his head closer to the windscreen.

“It was last on the market for ten million, it didn’t sell. The last tax assessment valued the property at eight million.” Briggs said.

“Eight million quid and you still have to spend a fortune before you could likely live in it.” Ben remarked, as they approached a large oval water feature. The statue of a lady stood, perhaps eight feet tall, at the heart of a pond. Sculpted in long, flowing garments, her head tilted toward the jug she held, which pointed down toward the pond. No doubt once very elegant, the statue and the pond had borne the brunt of the English weather. The pond overgrown with weeds and filled with water lilies and the odd beer can. The statue, grubby, covered in mildew and other fungi.

Ben stopped the car and stepped out onto the gravel driveway. His eyes scanned the front of the property. Three levels, he counted ten windows across the top and middle levels. At ground level, large double doors of reinforced wood and some intricate metalwork, marked the entrance. The entrance was in the middle to give the house symmetry. The windows at ground level were larger, and taller than those above. Nature around the house was in full swing, creepers extended up and along the walls like fingers that threatened to strangle the building. The bushes that lined the front, no doubt once uniform, now stood at differing heights and gave shelter to weeds and litter that would have blown across the countryside over the years.

Or perhaps not. Ben looked more closely. While some of the litter looked old, a beer can and a newspaper did not. He walked over to the newspaper. It was damp but not sodden, no visible date. It felt greasy, he smelled his fingers.

“Chips,” he said.

“Any teenagers from the village will know about this being abandoned,” Briggs replied.

Ben nodded. “Well, there are no lights of any kind, and I assume the statue is a fountain, which isn’t working. Power must have been disconnected. By the looks of things, I doubt any of the utilities are working. What’s the council tax on a place like this?”

“The highest band is ‘H’ so that in effect caps what someone would have to pay,” Briggs replied. “Each Council applies its own charges to the Bands. This house would obviously be Band H. A few hundred every month I expect,” said Briggs.

“Any way to avoid paying it?” Ben asked.

“Dunno. Don’t think so, though I think the owners of empty properties get a discount. Why?”

Ben shrugged, “No reason.”

Briggs started to walk towards another building detached from the main property. “This must be the garage and workshop or something.” She reached a single door with a brass handle and small window. She tried to peer through the glass. “Can’t see a thing,” she said, though by now there was no chance Ben would have been able to read her lips. She tried the handle, “locked.”

Ben walked past the garage block and to the end of the main building to take a look around the corner toward the back of the house.

“There’s another wing to the house. You know what’s weird?” Ben asked, turning to look back at Briggs.

“No security?” Briggs replied.

“You noticed.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m the one that’s qualified to be an investigator.”

“You don’t need qualifications to be an investigator,” Ben remarked. Returning to walking down the side of what was the west wing of the main house, “You just need to observe, and listen, use a bit of common sense, and maybe a dash of patience.” He continued.

“Really?” Briggs responded, fully aware she was speaking to herself. “I suppose your criminal law degree and formal training taught you that,” she muttered, as she walked around the garage block looking for another entrance.

As she arrived at the rear of the garage block there was yet another set of garage doors, and another single door, mirroring the configuration at the front. Again, she tried the single door. Locked. This time the rear garage doors, or what she still thought to be the garage, were not only locked but also padlocked. She checked the time on her phone and looked around for Ben.

Ben had reached the end of the west wing. At the rear of the house there was a substantial lawn, with a few mature trees, bordered by once landscaped gardens. Beyond that, it looked like pathways trailed off into woodland. Annexed to the end of the west wing was a conservatory, aluminum construction with what Ben assumed to be a digital control panel, not functioning, but the touch screen clearly visible through the windows. Inside, the place looked deserted. Some empty boxes scattered around the floor, a lone table and chair, a few open cupboards no longer housing anything.

Ben felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go see the old lady,” Briggs said.

A couple of minutes later they pulled up outside the Havishem home. The long straight driveway, swept around to the left to a large, graveled area, ending at a brick triple garage. In contrast to the Mansion, the borders were precise, bushes manicured, and the gardens landscaped with a mix of hydrangea, Japanese spirea, hemlock, lavender, and roses. An older model silver Jaguar XKR and a blue Ford Focus were parked in front of the garage.

Ben and Briggs got out of the car and made their way up the few steps to the porched entrance. The porch was framed in marble, the leaded windows recently stained, and the large arched oak door was able to look both old and new at the same time. Briggs pressed on the doorbell which returned a stately ding-dong. The door was opened by a young woman.

“Hi,” Briggs said, “this is Benjamin Grey and I’m Sophie Briggs, we have an appointment with Mrs. Havishem.”

“Oh yes, please come in, please come through to the sitting room, I’ll let Olivia know you are here. Would you like tea or coffee?” the young woman asked. “My name is Alison by the way, I’m the help.”

“Sure, a tea would be great,” Briggs replied, “Ben?”

“Eh, yes, thank you.” Ben confirmed.

Stepping into the entrance hall, Alison led them into a room off to the right. The walls were lined with books and a few pieces of furniture that provided cupboards and a place for ornaments. A two-seater love seat, and two individual armchairs framed a glass coffee table in the centre of the room.

“Please take a seat, I’m sure she won’t be a moment,” said Alison.

Briggs sat down into one of the chairs. Ben walked over to the back wall and started browsing the books. It wasn’t long before an elderly lady entered the room.

Briggs stood, “Good afternoon, I’m Sophie Briggs we spoke earlier today…” her voice trailing off as she noticed the expression on the lady’s face.

Briggs turned to see what the lady was looking at.

“Sorry,” Briggs said, taking a step toward Ben so that she could give him a prod. “This is Benjamin Grey. Ben lost his hearing as a child.”

Ben turned around to see Briggs glaring at him. He quickly realised they were no longer alone in the room. He turned around the other way to greet the lady.

“Hi, I’m Benjamin Grey,” he said, holding out his hand.

Ben couldn’t hear his own speech and so couldn’t be sure of how he sounded. He had learned how to speak as a child before a virus robbed him of his hearing. He was pretty confident the words he had learned as an eight-year-old sounded okay, but the words he had learned since, he was much less sure about.

Accepting the explanation for Ben’s rudeness, the lady stepped forward and lightly shook Ben’s hand. “Olivia Havishem,” she said, “nice to meet you.”

Ben realised he was now standing on the wrong side of the room. He would now have to squeeze past Mrs. Havishem in order to take the other individual chair, or risk further embarrassing himself by taking the two-seater for himself. He glanced at Briggs. Quickly Briggs stepped forward and ushered Mrs. Havishem toward the two-seater. Ben moved around to sit in the chair just vacated by Briggs.

“You have a beautiful home Mrs. Havishem,” Briggs said, once they were all seated.

“Thank you, and please call me Olivia,” she replied.

“Well,” Briggs continued, “what is it Ben and I might be able to help with?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming to the house. As I mentioned to you on the phone, I’m concerned about what might be going on over at the mansion.” Olivia started. She adjusted her posture to face Ben a little more, though she continued to speak to Briggs. “I’ve been seeing lights. You see the place is supposed to be empty. It’s horrible really. The Henshaw’s own the house, we call it the Mansion because it’s the largest of the Cricklewood properties, but its real name is Henshaw Lodge. None of us like the name ‘Lodge’, makes it sound rather like a bed and breakfast, so it became known as the Mansion. Anyway, Robert and Emily, the Henshaw’s, were tragically killed in an accident, must be five years ago now. They had three children. They’re all grown up and have their own lives. The Mansion has remained empty since. It‘s been in the family since it was built in seventeen-fifty. But there were rumours the Henshaw’s had run up some debts and the house itself was in a state of some disrepair. Anyway, following their death, the council declared the property unsuitable for living in. It seems none of the children were able, or willing, to take on the renovation costs. Arthur, my husband, he believes it’s asbestos.”

“Do you know if the children live close by?” Briggs asked.

“Elizabeth is the eldest. She’s lovely, went to Oxford you know. She ended up marrying a banker. They have made New York their home now, though I’m sure they have a several properties. Junior, Robert the fifth, has found some success in marketing. He lives in the city. The youngest, Rupert, was a bit of a wild child as I remember. He travelled Africa for a time, no idea how he actually earned a living, but yes, he must be back in the country because I know he’s been to visit the Stanley’s on occasion.”

“The Stanleys? They own the house on the other side?” Briggs asked.

“Yes. The latest Mrs. Stanley, seems nice but I find the husband, James, a bit aloof these days.”

“The latest?” encouraged Briggs.

“Number three,” Olivia confirmed. “Her name is Monica. I’ve really only met her a couple of times. Polish or somewhere around there. Speaks with an east European accent.”

“You mentioned Rupert Henshaw had visited them.” Briggs said.

“Yes. Was a bit surprised at the time as I’d never seen Rupert really interact with the Stanley’s, even as a child.”

“Did Rupert visit recently? Were you able to share your concerns about the property with him?” Brigg asked.

“No. I happened to be out doing a bit of gardening when I saw them together, James and Rupert. It’s important to stay active as you get older. It looked like they were just on their way back from a walk. Rupert didn’t even say ‘Hello’, you see as a boy, Rupert and my husband never really hit it off. Rupert was a bit rambunctious, and Arthur believes children should be seen and not heard, if you know what I mean.”

Briggs smiled and looked across at Ben.

“So, what is it you would like us to do Mrs. Havishem?” Ben asked.

“Olivia please. I want you to find out what’s going on at the Mansion of course. It wasn’t just a one off. I’ve seen lights on a few times over the months. That’s partly why I don’t think it’s squatters or whatever they are called these days. I mean if there is someone staying there illegally, the lights would be on a lot more often don’t you think? And if it was adolescents, there’d be noise, parties, garbage, that sort of thing, wouldn’t there?”

“Can you see lights at the mansion from here?” Ben asked.

Olivia shifted in her seat before answering. “Well, no, the first time I saw them I had just arrived back from my bridge club. It was later than I normally get home and I happened to notice lights up on the second floor, as I was driving up you understand. At night, the light creates a halo effect above the spruces. I was curious of course, because the place is supposed to be empty. There’s a break in the trees, so I went to have a better look.” She clasped her hands together before continuing. “I saw a light in two of the rooms on the second floor. Not the regular chandelier lights, but something else. Not a torch, something bigger, I’m not sure, a lamp light I assume.”

“Did you notice anything else Olivia?” Briggs asked.

Olivia shook her head. “I’m not one to pry. It’s not like I stood there all night in the cold. I didn’t see anyone, but a light was definitely on.”

“Liv, have you seen my boots!?” a voice shouted from outside the room.

“Alison was cleaning them for you. Have you tried the laundry room?” Oliva replied

A moment later and the head of an elderly man, ruddy in complexion and bald but for two streaks of grey on each side, appeared at the door.

“Has she told you the old place is haunted?” the man said. “Oh! Err hello,” more directed at Briggs,

“The is my husband, Arthur.”

“Where is Alison?” Arthur asked gruffly.

“How would I know? Have you checked the kitchen?” Olivia replied.

“Humph. I’m going out with Loredan to do a bit of hunting. We’ll get dinner at the club.”

“You can tell Alison, when you ask her about your boots.” Arthur disappeared from view. “Sorry about that,” Olivia said, returning her attention to Briggs, “You’d think he’d never set eyes on a coloured woman before. You are very beautiful you know, you remind me of that British actress.” Olivia added. Briggs blushed. “Arthur thinks I’m being silly and shouldn’t be sticking my nose into someone else’s business.” Olivia continued.

“Alison is your housekeeper?” asked Ben.

“Yes. She has her own quarters here. She helps us around the house, prepares meals and helps with the shopping. She’s lovely. Arthur and I can still get around, but we feel like we’re giving back a little. I mean, houses are so expensive these days, petrol prices, taxes just keep going up, I don’t know how the young generation survive. We thought we could help by employing someone, give them some accommodation, and hopefully enable them to save up something for a place of their own. Of course, the help is still welcome. Alison is our third. She’s very capable, it'll be a shame to lose her, when the time comes.”

Olivia stood. Briggs quickly stood too. “Oh, it’s ok, no need for all that,” Olivia said with a wave of her hand. “I’m just going to fetch my phone,” Olivia said.

Briggs returned to her seat as Olivia left the room. She looked at Ben who just shrugged. “What do you think?” Briggs asked.

“We need access to the house,” he replied, “and permission, if we’re going to look around the property.” Briggs nodded.

Olivia returned to the room, holding her phone in front of her. “I received your email,” she said, looking at Briggs. “You said it’s okay to make the transfer using that email address?”

“Before you make any payment, Olivia, we need to know that we have permission to access the property. I’m not sure there’s much we can achieve without access to the premises.” Brigg said.

“Of course,” Olivia replied, “I had assumed you would want to take a look around. I contacted Elizabeth and she has given you permission. There’s a security lock on one of the doors at the rear of the east wing. I’ve just emailed Elizabeth’s consent together with the code for the lock. You’ll be able to enter the house from there. Now, can I assume you are good to investigate this for me? The Henshaw’s were good friends, and I hate to think what might be going on there.”

Briggs looked over to Ben. Ben nodded as though bidding in an auction. “Yes, we’d be happy to look into it.” Briggs confirmed.

“Very good,” Olivia replied, pressing onto her phone. “There, I’ve made the transfer as requested. I’ve signed the contract and returned that to you. I understand you may also need to make a claim for expenses. I expect an update from you at the end of each week, or sooner if anything of note comes up. And sorry again about my husband, it’s not that he’s racist, he’s just well, you know…”

“Ignorant?” Briggs added, standing.

Olivia looked momentarily taken aback before a rue smile broke on her face, “well, yes, I suppose he is. But he does mean well, and he has a good heart under that gruff façade.”

Briggs smiled. “Thank you, Olivia, we’ll do our best,” holding her hand out.

“Naomi,” Olivia stated. Briggs was quizzical. “I just remembered the name of that actress, the one you remind me of, Naomi Harris I believe her name is. I’m an actress you know, or at least I was. Not many parts now for women my age.”

“I think you’d make a wonderful Miss Marple,” Briggs replied with a twitch of her nose.