by steve higgs
‘I’m certain you can find something, sweetie.’ She replied. ‘Eight o’clock at Bar Nineteen. Okay?’
I conceded. I would wear the jeans and satin top anyway. It would be too late for Patience to do anything about it by the time I got there.
She bid me a good day and disconnected.
I had arrived at a tee junction and was no longer sure which way I wanted to go. I had the postcode for the farm but out here in the countryside, postcodes were a lot less reliable than they were in the towns. I didn’t want to take a wrong path and have to perform a three-point turn in a tight space or have to reverse back half a mile because it was too tight to turn around.
Looking left and right, neither direction looked promising. The village of Cliffe Woods was behind me, I had gone through it while talking to Patience. Calling it a village though was a stretch. It might be better described as a hamlet. It was barely more than a collection of houses and a pub. I was unlikely to find anyone there to give me directions, so I flipped a mental coin, chose right and turned left because I was bound to have guessed wrong.
The theory of always getting a fifty-fifty guess wrong held true as turning left was the right way. A wooden sign announcing Larson Farm hove into view and barely thirty seconds later a turning led me to the farm itself. Behind me, in the field opposite the entrance to the farm were several tents. It didn't look to be a camping site though and there was nothing here that could possibly attract people unless their hobby was to get as far from civilisation as possible and sit in a damp field.
Were the people there more of the alien fanatics Kieron had described?
The road leading up to the farm was muddy. There were large chunks of dirt in the shape of tractor tyre treads flung all over it and the whole surface bore a slick coating of wet, brown gunk. The smell didn't hit me until I opened my car door though.
I imagined that country folk would laugh at city people being bothered by the natural scent of the countryside, but I swear if it had been any stronger, I could have cut it into chunks. It took my breath away and made me gag.
I slammed the car door shut again and shoved my face next to the car freshener thing hanging from my rear-view mirror.
Ahead of me was a small gathering of people in rain macs and anoraks. They were outside the fence that bordered the farm and I would have guessed that they were the alien spotters even without one holding a sign bearing the legend, “come to earth, we’re friendly”.
The noise from my car door shutting caused the crowd to turn around and look in my direction. I was not considered interesting though, their attention drifting back to the farm almost immediately.
I got out of my car after stealing myself against the olfactory onslaught and walked up to the gate. It was closed to keep the crazies out. In the distance beyond the buildings, I could see the familiar white tent of the forensics team. The coroner's van along with three police cars was parked at the edge of the farmyard ahead of me. If they were still here, then the body had not yet been moved. I crossed my fingers and said a silent prayer that CI Quinn wasn't on the scene and someone I knew would be.
The nearest farm building was little more than thirty feet away, where I could see two men working. I called out to get their attention.
The man shook his head no, telling me in short that I was to stay out. I opened the gate and let myself in anyway. I would get nothing done by being timid. He stopped what he was doing with visible frustration, stood up and started making his way towards me.
‘I’m Amanda Harper.’ I said before he closed the distance to me. ‘I have been hired by the three owners to investigate the strange events here.’ I handed him my card.
Without speaking, he stared down at the card, reading it. It was shiny and embossed and had my name written on it with the words Paranormal Investigator in bold type beneath. He had been wearing gloves to do whatever it was he had been doing so his hands were clean. He didn’t offer one to shake though. Instead, he came to a decision, inclined his head in the direction of the police cars and the tent and started walking. I was expected to follow.
‘I'll take it from here, thank you for your help.' The man went back to his task. Ahead of me, the uniforms were milling around. I took a straight line toward them, hoping to make out a familiar face before I got there.
‘Amanda.' Called out Brad Hardacre about a second before I called his name. We had spent hours in squad cars together over the years. He was one of the good guys, although he was a bit of a joker and didn't take himself seriously enough to ever make a decent career from the job. He had a big cheesy grin on his face. ‘Amanda, are you here to catch an alien?'
The uniforms around him had heard him speak and turned around to see who he was addressing. There were five in view including a Sergeant that I didn't recognise, but the other four were familiar. Kent police were thousands strong but mostly regional, so you saw the same faces plenty of times.
‘Hey, Brad. Hi, everyone.’ I approached as if I was supposed to be there, offering Brad my hand to shake but he wrapped me into a hug instead.
‘I heard about the voodoo thing. Hey, guys.’ He said as he turned to his colleagues, one arm still around my shoulders to present me. ‘This is Amanda Harper, the one that caught the Magdalene King.’
‘Yes, Brad.' Replied a brunette woman. My memory was telling me her name might be Megan. ‘She was all over the TV making that dick Quinn look stupid.'
‘That’s enough of that, Jones.’ Admonished her sergeant. He turned his attention to me. ‘How can we help you, Miss Harper?’
‘She’s here to catch the alien.’ Brad said while making spooky noises with his mouth.
I offered my hand for the unnamed sergeant to shake. He looked at it, before somewhat reluctantly bringing his own hand up to meet mine.
‘I have been hired by the farmers to look into the events here.’
‘You don’t think we can manage? You believe you are better suited to investigate this woman’s death?’ He was being confrontational.
‘The death is a new development. They hired me to find out why their milk glows. There have been odd occurrences here for months now and the police have visited many times already. I only took the uniform off recently, so I know why it is not possible to commit resources to look into milk tampering.’
This placated him somewhat, his demeanour softening. ‘You are saying you are here by chance, not because a woman has been killed?'
‘Not exactly. I was coming anyway. My client believes he had been visited by aliens, that they have created crop circles near here and are tampering with his milk. When he called me an hour ago it was to tell me that there had been a death at the hands of the aliens. Was the victim frozen?'
‘Yes, she was.’ Answered Brad, drawing a hostile glare from his sergeant.
‘I’m not here to interfere. There is something happening here though which is outside of your remit and which I have been employed to investigate. Something dubious is occurring at the farms in this cooperative and it seems likely to me that it is all linked with death. I know the victim was frozen.’ I winced as he glared at Brad again. ‘But assume I can rule out the possibility of a freeze ray toting alien as the murderer.’
‘No one said murder and nothing is being ruled out.’ He snapped back instantly. It was a standard policeman’s answer to deny and confuse. I could follow up by asking if this meant he considered the alien freeze ray a possibility but I didn’t. I wanted his help.
‘Will you allow me to see the body?’
He opened his mouth to say no but at that moment the coroner stepped out of the tent. He was a man I had bonded with a couple of years back at a policeman’s ball when we ended up at the same table and both stood up by our dates.
‘Neville.’ I called, which stopped the sergeant from speaking as he turned to see who I was now looking at.
The coroner had been looking at his phone, about to make a call perhaps but looked up, caught sight of me and broke into a b
road grin.
‘Amanda Harper. I heard you quit.’
I dismissed the sergeant by walking straight by him to shake hands with the coroner. Neville Hinkley was nearing retirement but was a handsome man that looked after himself and looked far younger than his advancing years might suggest he should. He had on white wellington boots and a forensic suit but was peeling his way out of it as he came towards me. The latex gloves came off with a puff of powder, a trace of which lingered on my hand after he shook it.
‘I did quit. I’m here as a private investigator.’
‘For this case? Want to see the body?’ He asked.
‘That’s not appropriate.’ Pointed out the sergeant, further eroding his authority as Neville didn’t even bother to look his way.
I crouched down to peer inside the tent. I wasn’t going in as I might contaminate the scene, but I could see enough to know that this was an unusual death. Some bodies curl into odd shapes in rigor but this one appeared to have been posed. Her feet were together, and her arms were out in front with her palms out and her fingers splayed as if she were pushing against something.
‘Is she frozen?’ I asked, wanting to clarify that point.
‘Starting to defrost, but yes she has been frozen.’
‘Do you think she was shoved inside a freezer?’
‘Impossible to say but that would be my first guess. The officers scoured the premises looking for a freezer she might fit in but didn't find anything. If she was frozen, it was done off-site.'
I nodded. My case had changed drastically in the space of a few hours. What would this mean? Was I still investigating glowing milk? Was the death connected? I was happy to rule out an alien invasion but I felt certain the death, the milk, the alien and the crop circles would all prove to be linked somehow.
I stood up again. ‘Thank you, Neville. I need to speak to the husband.’
‘Anytime, Amanda. Just call if you need my help.’ Neville had followed me back to where Brad and the others were milling about still. The sergeant had wandered off, I spotted him sitting in his car using the radio.
Pulling out my notepad, I sidled up to Brad. ‘Brad has anyone interviewed the husband yet?’
‘Of course. I think the two detectives are still in with him now.’
‘Anyone I know?’
‘It’s Ben Hamilton and Maurice Beorby from Chatham. They’ve been in there a while actually.’ He said, turning to look at the door of the farmhouse.
It opened as we were looking at it. A hand appeared around the door frame but then nothing else for a few seconds until a man in a cheap suit, followed by another dressed like the first’s twin. They were the two detectives. I had seen them before but didn’t know them and doubted they would recognise me. They were talking to an unseen person inside the house.
‘Catch you later.’ I called over my shoulder as I left Brad where he was and went to meet Glen Adongo, the owner of the farm and recently bereaved husband of the deceased.
The two detectives had left the farmhouse and were walking toward me. Mr. Adongo was closing his door.
‘Mr. Adongo.' I called as I brushed by the men in their cheap suits. The closing door stopped and my client’s head reappeared to see who had called him. ‘Mr. Adongo, I'm Amanda Harper. I was hired by Kieron Fallon to investigate the strange events here and the impact it is having on your business. May I start by saying how sorry I am for your loss.'
‘You had better come in.’ He replied, resignation heavy in his voice. I had not intended to take up any of his time right now. I wanted to talk to him, but this felt like the wrong moment. He had invited me in though…
Glen was short at around five feet four inches tall and was what people would call lean. He looked like a long-distance runner but had a receding hairline that made his head look like a bullet. He was somewhere in his early forties and my best guess was that he was either Kenyan or Nigerian. My police training had included learning to spot different races from characteristics particular to them and to recognise different accents. I wasn't very good at it but I was certain he was of African descent. His movements were a little effeminate and it seemed out of keeping with the burly farmer image I had in my head.
He said, ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess. Today has not been the most organised.’ As he led me through the house. I couldn’t see any mess, but I kept my mouth shut anyway.
‘So, you are here to find out why our cows are producing luminous milk, are you?’ He asked as he flopped into an armchair set at a table. I was left standing and feeling awkward until Glen spoke again. ‘I’m so sorry. Forgive my manners. Please have a seat.’
He jumped up to pull my seat out for me, but I waved him away as I set my bag down and slid into one of the ornate wooden chairs. As I opened my notebook I asked, ‘What do you think happened to your wife?’
He closed his eyes and opened them again. ‘The two detectives wanted to know the same thing. I can shed no light on what happened to Tamara. We went to bed together last night. When I woke up this morning she was missing. I didn't think too much of it at the time. She sometimes gets up to watch the sunrise, this is all still quite new to us as we only moved here in February. Usually though, if she did leave the house, she would return before breakfast. When I heard the first scream, I knew in my heart that it was her. That she was dead somehow and they had found her body.’ I kept quiet while he talked as it is a golden rule to never interrupt a witness or suspect while they are telling you everything. ‘I can’t explain it. I just knew. So, when I went outside, there she was, frozen stiff and laying on the mud and grass where she had toppled.’
A single tear rolled down his left cheek, but he made no attempt to wipe it away. He looked sad or lost maybe. I had seen people look like him many times when delivering notice of death as a police officer. It was the least pleasant thing I had ever had to do and the task always left me feeling empty for hours afterward. I could only imagine what the bereaved felt at their sudden loss.
I had more questions that I wasn’t going to seek answers for right now. I excused myself, thanked him for his time, repeated my sorrow for his loss and headed back to my car.
Outside, the sun was high in the sky but hidden behind a shield of thin grey cloud. To my right, the coroner's van was gone and a large white van from the forensics department was parked in the space it had vacated. Only one police car remained, the two officers with it electing to stay inside where it was warm. Their only purpose would be to keep people away from the body and the work the forensics chaps would be doing, so they were most likely right to hang out in their car.
I looked about. In front of me, opposite the farmhouse itself was a large shed that was open on two sides. I believed it to be the milking shed because I could see machinery inside that looked right for the job. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but they had to get milked somewhere, right? It was devoid of life. Not a cow or a person within its confines.
To my left, was another building that could be anything. I was telling myself it might be important to learn more about the farms, how they are set up, how they operate, but I needed a guide to achieve that and not only was there no one around, but all the staff here had suffered a shock today. My questions could wait.
The impact of Tamara’s death was probably felt less keenly at the other farms. I set off to my car.
Brompton Farm. Wednesday, November 9th 1312hrs
‘I have an appointment with Mr. Fallon.' I called. ‘I'm here about the milk.' I had arrived at Brompton Farm, the home of Kieron Fallon but could not get beyond the gate, as just like Glen Adongo's farm, there was a small crowd of nutters gathered outside. Fortunately, there were a couple of farm hands within earshot just like there had been at Larson Farm.
When I called out to them, one spoke to the other, who then trotted off towards a steel-sided barn. The first came to let me through the gate, eyeing the alien spotters suspiciously in case any of them tried to get inside.
I got back i
nto my car and drove through the gate to park near other cars as the man indicated. To my left, his colleague emerged from the building he had entered now accompanied by another man. This one was older and looked in charge. He was tall with broad shoulders. His outfit of dark blue jeans and body warmer over a check shirt was spattered with mud in places. On his feet, he had green wellies that had seen better days and a sheepdog trailed along at his feet, full of nervous energy as sheepdogs always are.
I was willing to bet my wages the man I was looking at was Kieron Fallon. He was exactly as I imagined him.
Just then my phone rang. I moved my hand to reject the call but saw that it was my mother. Kieron was approaching. I stabbed the button to quickly answer the call. ‘Hi, mum.’
‘Hello, Mandy. Have you got time to talk?’ Mum often started conversations like that, have I got time to talk, but she never waited for an answer, so, true to form, she was already telling me about where she was and what her day ahead looked like.
I had to interrupt her. It took a few attempts.
‘Mandy, what is it, dear? I was just telling you about Miami.’ The disappointment at not being able to tell me her news was evident.
‘I have to go, mum.’ I told her for the sixth or seventh time. ‘I have a client.’ I explained.
‘A client?’
‘Yes, mum. A client. He is standing outside my car now. I have to go. I will call you back later.’
‘But you're a police officer. You don't have clients.' There was a pause. ‘Oh. God! Oh no. You're a prostitute now, aren't you?'
‘WHAT?’
‘I knew that silly police job wouldn't pay the bills.' She was muttering now and not listening to me at all. In the background, I could hear her shouting for her boyfriend.