I in­ves­ti­gate the dead

Angela ‘Ms Crime­buster’ Mcghee in­ves­ti­gates the mys­te­ri­ous cir­cum­stances of a young man’s death

Chat It's Fate - - Contents -

T he woman on the other end of the phone sounded ut­terly dis­traught.

‘Please help me,’ she begged. ‘I think our son was mur­dered. I saw your pro­file in

True Crime mag­a­zine, and you’re the only per­son that can help us.’

I could hear the pain in her voice. How could I say no? So a flight was booked to New­cas­tle.

The night be­fore I was due to fly to New­cas­tle, I had the strangest dream. Over and over, I dreamed about the il­lu­mi­nated right arm of a young man.

Then, on the plane, I saw it again – a vi­sion of a right arm above the clouds.

Strange sight

David Mckenna, the fa­ther of the dead 22-year old man, met me at the air­port. I told him about my vi­sion.

‘That’s amaz­ing,’ he gasped. ‘It’s all about his right arm. You see, what hap­pened was…’

‘Don’t tell me any more!’ I warned him.

I al­ways pre­fer not to be told any­thing, in case it in­flu­ences the spirit mes­sages I re­ceive.

As we drove to their home, I could feel the pres­ence of a young man next to me. He was very keen to tell me his name.

‘David, I can hear the name Baz,’ I told him. ‘He says he lives in a church! Can that re­ally be true?’ ‘That’s my boy!’ David replied. He drove me to his home –which was at­tached to a church!

Baz was still with us, and as his mum, David’s wife Sheila, made me a cup of tea, I sat down with a pen and pa­per, writ­ing down what Baz was say­ing.

Baz told me it was a heroin and al­co­hol over­dose that had caused him to pass.

‘Baz is telling me he didn’t want to go,’ I told David and Sheila. ‘Some­one else had a hand in his pass­ing over.’

‘That’s ex­actly what we think,’ Sheila said. ‘We just need to know more about his last hours.’ That was what I was there for! I was led to one of Baz’s old haunts – his girl­friend’s flat in New­cas­tle, then on to a flat nearby. In my mind’s eye, I could see an im­age of an apart­ment above a row of shops. ‘Take me to Sol­way Road,’ I said to David.

‘It’s just around the cor­ner,’ he said, sur­prised. We drove round – and there it was, ex­actly as I imag­ined it. This was the flat where Baz had died.

I had a vi­sion of an arm

Vi­sion of death

We pulled up out­side, and as David rang one of Baz’s mates to get hold of the keys, Baz him­self ‘showed’ me round. Sit­ting in the car out­side, I could see his body ly­ing on the blue pat­terned set­tee in­side, next to a sin­gle arm­chair. His friend ap­peared, and jumped into the car to hand over the keys. He was di­shev­elled and gaunt - and as he spoke, I knew he was hid­ing some­thing. ‘He’s cov­er­ing up for some­one,’ I said to David once he’d left.

The three of us walked up the stairs into the flat. I could ‘see’ Baz him­self, stag­ger­ing ahead on what was his fi­nal visit to this flat.

The flat was ex­actly as I’d seen it. Baz was ly­ing on the set­tee, with the mate I’d just met sit­ting next to him.

But there was another lad there, sit­ting in the sin­gle arm­chair.

I could see Baz's right arm had been raised. The lad was lean­ing down, in­ject­ing him with a fa­tal dose of heroin…

I de­scribed the boy to David. ‘Mousy-coloured hair, slim, wear­ing a beige-and-brown che­quered baseball cap, a blue bomber jacket and jeans. He looks younger than the young man we’ve just left.’

‘That sounds like his younger brother,’ David replied thought­fully.

It was this lad who had killed their son, whether he’d meant to or not.

By now, I was com­pletely drained and my spirit guides were leav­ing me.

Be­fore we left, David gen­tly stroked the arm of the set­tee on which his son had died. I could sense his long­ing, his wish that he, too, could feel his beloved son’s spirit.

Back at their home,

we looked through some old pho­tographs. I felt that Baz was very keen to cheer his par­ents up.

Pop­u­lar lad

Baz’s spirit was lively, show­ing me pho­tos of him and his mates on hol­i­day in Ibiza and telling me their names. ‘Bonna. Camp­bell. Sully.’ I could tell that he’d been a bub­bly, pop­u­lar young man. This was his true per­son­al­ity. He spoke of his funeral, how touched he’d been by the huge turnout. ‘Bonna in a suit!’ he told me, as if he couldn't quite be­lieve what he was say­ing. I re­layed this to David, who laughed. ‘It was the first fi­first time Bonna had ever worn a suit,’ he said. ‘Baz would have been very amused.’ ‘He says, “Tell my dad I love him,”’ I said softly to David. His eyes filled with tears. ‘Come on, I’d best be drop­ping you back at the air­port,’ he said. As we drove to the air­port, David said, ‘What would you pre­fer, Angela – a Jaguar, Bent­ley or Rolls-royce?’ ‘Er – Rolls-royce,’ I replied, con­fused. ‘What colour?’ David asked me. ‘Gold,' I an­swered. 'Why?’ ‘You’re com­ing back to New­cas­tle,’ he told me, ‘And when you do, I’ll chauf­feur you around in a gold Rolls-royce. It’s the least I can do!’ And a few months later, he did just that!


It’s in­cred­i­bly painful to lose a child, but at least I was able to give Sheila and David some clo­sure. Sheila told me that the young man I met in the car had con­firmed that his brother had also been there when Baz died.

As for Baz, his case has a spe­cial place in my heart. I know that, now, he works with the spir­its of young men, help­ing them com­mu­ni­cate with their loved ones. With his bub­bly per­son­al­ity, he’s per­fect for that role. May his good work con­tinue.

Angela Mcghee

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