by steve higgs
‘There he is.' I looked up to find the source of the voice. A fat bloke was advancing toward me from in front of my office as I approached it. He was flanked by two other equally overweight men. They were all forged from the same biological soup and had to be brothers.
I had labelled him as fat because he clearly had a beef with me and I was instantly feeling a lack of generosity. My hands were full of bags. He looked like he wanted to get frisky and there were three of them.
‘You want to tell me why I paid you money to have my wife throw me out of my house?' He had closed the distance to me and was yelling, spittle flying from his lips in his excitement. Adrenalin was coursing through his body, making him twitchy and potentially dangerous.
I forced myself to relax as his brothers joined him. They were stood three abreast, each of them looking at me, each of them taller and heavier than me. I keep the bags in my hands and looked slowly and calmly at each in turn.
I was going to have one go at diffusing the situation, after which I was going to get some exercise if necessary. ‘Sir, you have me at a loss. You appear to believe I have been involved in some misfortune you have suffered.’
‘He doesn’t even know who I am!’ The man said, throwing his arms in the air. ‘I paid you to prove the woman in the back of my car was a ghost and you went and found a prostitute.’
Ah. Now I could join the dots. I had only seen his face in the dim light of the photograph Amanda showed me and I had been looking more closely at the woman in the picture. This was Amanda's client, Martin Boynes, the one that wanted us to prove ghosts existed.
‘It is my understanding, sir, that the lady in the photograph is indeed a prostitute.’
‘It’s a ghost!’ He screamed in my face.
He reached for my jacket, grabbing the front of it with both hands. I remained calm, but it was almost time to act.
‘You have ruined me. I paid you to get me out of this.’
‘Hit ‘im, Martin. Go on.’ Goaded the brother to the right.
‘I would advise against that.’
‘Why. There's one of you and three of us.' The same bother observed. His arithmetic was not as accurate as he thought though.
‘Wrong.' His face wrinkled up in confusion. 'There's only three of you.' I had reached the end of my patience and Martin was still screwing up my nice jacket. In one motion, I dropped the bags, their contents spilling at my feet as I reached up with both hands. My right hand went over his arms to grasp his left wrist. I turned it against itself by forcing my thumb into the join between his thumb and forefinger to break his grip then rolling the arm down and toward me. My left arm arced up with a high elbow that struck against his temple.
Controlling his left arm, I swung him to his right and into his brother there to form a barrier. The brother to his right could now not get to me. The brother to his left was now behind me and starting to react. I kicked my leg out behind me into the inside of his left knee. I needed space more than anything, I could not afford to let them get hold of me.
I changed direction to push hard against Martin. He was trying to pull away from me, so the sudden shift in momentum propelled him into his brother and sent them both sprawling. They were on the wet pavement and I had space between me and the third brother. He had recovered his balance after the kick to his knee though and was coming for me.
I let him come. His weight would become my weapon. As he closed the gap I let him grab for me, but I was falling back as he came, making his centre of balance move beyond his leading foot. Had he swung a punch I would have needed to parry it, but he didn’t, he tried to grab hold of me, wanting to slow me up so his brothers could join him. It was a sensible tactic, the three of them moving together would quickly overpower me. He hadn’t planned well though, just as he started to tip forward I stepped tight into his body, spun as I grabbed his lapels and threw him over my hip.
Three men down. I was so magnificent.
They were getting up, still looking angry, but also now looking wet and a little confused about what had just happened.
‘Chaps I see no particular benefit to any of us in trying a second round. Shall we move to the office instead?' I had no desire to sit down with them, but even less interest in finding myself engaged in a full-blown street brawl that would most likely lead to someone's arrest. People, most probably tourists, were already staring at us as they hurried by. Were it not raining they might have formed a small crowd by now.
Martin did not feel inclined to agree to my proposal though. Thankfully, he didn't want to fight anymore either. His preferred option was to call me some names and threaten to set his lawyer on me. I was impressed by how many swear words he was able to string into a single sentence. He was done though, his adrenalin expended without the victory he had expected.
I held my ground, patiently, calmly waiting for them to walk away. Only when they turned to go did I allow my hands to shake. My pulse was through the roof. I was also soaked right through to my skin and my shopping was all over the ground. The coffee jar had cracked open when it hit the street, the tissue products were damp and expanding from the water that had penetrated the packaging. I probably needed to buy it all again.
I trudged back to the office.
Amanda started speaking as I came through the door, ‘Be careful if you go outside again. Mr. Boynes is out there somewhere.' Amanda was bent over at the computer desk reading something with James. When I came in she glanced up but had not taken in my bedraggled appearance. I waited for her to finish what she was reading and look up again. Finally, she did. ‘Oh.'
I was standing in an expanding pool of water and my clothes were skewwhiff. ‘Mr. Boynes and I met. He seems displeased with our service.'
‘Yes. He was here a few minutes ago threatening legal action against us. When he left I thought he had gone home or to work. Are you okay?’
‘I’m a little damp. The groceries are mostly ruined also.’
‘So they are.' Said James who had come over to take the bags from me. Amanda had also crossed the room to help me. She was wearing a dress again. It was elegant office wear and paired with brown leather knee-high boots. She looked incredible yet again, forcing me to remind myself how good Natasha looked. I pictured Natasha wearing the same outfit. Then I caught a whiff of Amanda's perfume and almost sunk to my knees. She had the ability to completely distract me. I needed to be somewhere else.
‘I need to go home and change my clothes.’
‘What do you want to do about Mr. Boynes?' Amanda asked.
It was a good question. ‘I wasn’t able to get any sense out of him. He said his wife had kicked him out.’
‘She read the report in the email I sent him. I got the impression that he has given her cause to check his emails. I wrote the report and emailed it to him yesterday afternoon. It outlined our findings – mostly that the girl in the back of his car was a prostitute by the name of Tiffany Roberts and not a ghost. His wife intercepted the report, I guess she has access to his email somehow, and he arrived home to find his clothes on the front lawn.’
I considered what Amanda had just said. ‘I don't think we need to do anything about Mr. Boynes. He is guilty of trying to use us to cover his tracks. His attempt failed. We investigated and reported our findings. We even emailed them to his personal email address that he supplied us. That his wife doesn't trust him is not our problem. I doubt he will be back.'
‘I hope not.’
‘Okay. I’ll bring fresh groceries back with me. I should be less than an hour.’ I patted my pockets to make sure I had my keys and phone and went through the office and out the back to my car where I squelched a little as I settled into my seat.
It was turning into an odd day.
Black eyes and Top Chat-up Lines. Wednesday, November 9th 1027hrs
The dogs rushed to the door as I opened it. The sound of the rain meant they could not hear me approaching the house so for once I was inside with the door shut before they got to me. I w
as dripping slightly, the Dachshunds electing to keep their distance as a mark of how much they disliked getting wet.
The TV was on in the lounge, I could hear voices and music drifting through.
‘Are you in, Hilary?’ I called out, certain that he must be.
‘Coming.’ His reply came back a second before he appeared in the kitchen doorway in front of me. He had a black eye. A real corker of one and a fat lip to go with it.
‘You okay?’ I asked.
‘You mean this?’ he asked, wafting a hand in the direction of his face. ‘I tried some of Big Ben’s top chat up lines. Apparently, ladies do not like to be told that their breasts look heavy and asked if they would like me to hold them for a while.’
I felt my jaw drop a little.
‘They also don't like to be told they remind me of my pinky toe because they are small and cute and am probably going to bang them on my coffee table later. But the one that tipped the balance was Big Ben’s sure-fire icebreaker.’
‘Oh, this I have got to hear.’
‘So, you walk up to a lady and you ask her if she wants to play the rape game.’
‘The rape game!’ Oh, my lord.
‘Then, when she inevitably says no, you reply with “That’s the spirit” and the ice is broken because you both laugh.’
Okay. Now my jaw was hanging slack. I had to wonder if even Big Ben could get away with such lines. On seeing the black eye, I had assumed that Hilary had simply got into a fight. Even the fights you win usually result in some injury, but now I judged the facial marks to have most likely have been the result of his amorous advances.
I asked him, ‘That was a girl?’ I pointed at his face.
‘Three of them actually.’ He looked quite despondent.
‘I need to get out of these wet clothes and get back to work, mate. You should tell Big Ben that you got action last night with three girls at the same time and leave it at that.’
‘That’s funny.’ He smiled at least. Then he left me alone as I started to pull off my clothes.
I stripped in the small entrance lobby of my house, the coolness of the air on my damp skin causing goosebumps to appear. The clothes went straight into the washing machine, but I left the door open as I would add more clothes to it from the basket upstairs and put on a full load.
I could have dried myself with a towel, restyled my hair and dressed in fresh clothing but I was already naked and cold, so I got in the shower and turned it up to hot.
Ten minutes after getting home, I was coming back downstairs with an armful of laundry to go in the washer, dressed in dry clothing and ready for whatever came next.
Following on from my research last night I had decided while lathering shampoo into my hair, that I would visit the coroner at her office and see if I could sweet-talk her into showing me the case files for the first victim. I would play the role of the amorous man and hopefully get what I needed before she got what she wanted.
Her office was in Pembury hospital, a large modern facility on the way to Tonbridge. I had done the research on her myself last night between other tasks, but I wanted to tie up with Amanda and James before I set off. I had planned to get together with them this morning, my plans spoiled by Mr Boynes and his brothers.
When I came downstairs I found Hilary hanging around dressed to go out.
‘Going out?’ I asked.
‘I thought I would come with you, if that’s alright? I am bored here, and I cannot go back to work looking like this.’ He explained, wafting his hand at his eye again. ‘Would you have something for me to do?’
I thought about it for a moment. I couldn't come up with a good reason to say no. If he didn't want to go to work maybe I could use him to help me find the witch or watch the ladies. They knew me now, so I couldn't easily stake them out and my car was too conspicuous. Not for the first time, I considered that I might need another car, one that blended in.
I grabbed my keys and phone. ‘Sure. Let’s go.’
Crop Circles. Wednesday, November 9th 1113hrs
I had planned to stop for groceries on my way but a text from James to say he had dealt with the task from petty cash negated my need to do so. Hilary was largely silent on our ride to the office, so I filled in the void by telling him about the witchcraft case. He was horrified at the thought of a man's heart exploding from his chest. However, he was not convinced that there couldn't be a witch behind it all.
‘You haven't met my mother-in-law.' Was what he said when I asked why. ‘That's where Anthea gets her fire. That woman always loathed me. Still does, I expect. Probably congratulated Anthea on throwing me out.'
I wanted to retort with more advice about getting her back, but I had gone over the same ground enough times already.
Amanda and James were in the office when we arrived. There was fresh coffee percolating into a pot which made the office smell divine and a bowl of fruit on the side next to it – handy for when I wanted a snack.
James looked up as we came in. ‘You have a couple of calls. One from… Wow!’ James had seen Hilary’s black eye.
Amanda poked her head out of her office. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Hilary got into an altercation last night. A three on one situation.' I failed to mention that it was ladies and that they slapped him around.
‘Goodness.’ She said as she came closer to inspect the damage.
Hilary also elected to keep quiet about the gender of his opponents, instead tilting his head toward the light to give Amanda a better look.
‘That is a good one.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed.
‘Well, I think it makes you look dangerous.’ She concluded. She was being generous. Hilary didn’t look dangerous at all and he weighed less than I could bicep curl. Nevertheless, the comment had the intended result as Hilary puffed out his chest and looked proud for a moment.
‘Have you found a new case?’ I asked to move us on from Hilary’s face.
‘I think so. There are crop circles and other odd events happening out near Cliffe Woods.'
‘Don’t forget the missed calls.’ Interrupted James while waving a post-it note at me. He had written on it with a pink pen that had a fluffy unicorn mounted on the end. ‘The first name is the same lady coroner you wanted me to track down the other day.’
‘Is that the one that…’
I cut her off quickly before she could finish the question, ‘Yes, Amanda. That one.’ The one last seen by Amanda kneeling at my feet with her boobs hanging out.
I thanked James for the note then looked at it properly. The second name was my client, Mick Cotton.
‘Did Mr. Cotton say what he was calling for?' We had only spoken last night.
‘Err, no.’ James stuttered. ‘No, he did say it was fairly urgent that you called though. It was only a few minutes ago that the call came in. He said he couldn’t get you on your mobile number.’
That's odd. I took out my phone. It was off. I pressed the button to give it life, but no life was forthcoming. Had I damaged it tussling with Mr. Boynes and not noticed? Had it somehow run out of battery power? I poked it brainlessly with my IT ignorant fingers for a few moments before accepting defeat and handing it to James who had seen my plight and was patiently waiting for me to hand it over.
I turned to Amanda, ‘You were telling me about crop circles?’
‘I will forward you the enquiry to read, but I already phoned the client. Clients I should say since there are three of them. Crop circles have been appearing randomly for a while in the cornfields.' Cliffe Woods was a remote village the other side of the river from our office in Rochester. It was probably less than ten miles away but the journey there took in a plethora of tiny, winding back roads so it felt twice as long and would take most of an hour to drive. ‘The crop circles are little more than a nuisance I think. We first heard about them a couple of weeks ago, but they are now reporting that their dairy herds are all producing luminous milk and that strange craft have bee
n spotted in the air.'
‘Craft plural or singular?' I wanted to clarify. We had wandered over to her office, so she could show me the email, but something on the desk in my office had caught my eye.
‘I should check that.' She replied. ‘It was Kieran Fallon I spoke with. His number is the one on the email, but he has two other farmers he works with that have reported the same problem. They work as a cooperative, so they are all in trouble if they have to keep throwing their milk away. Mr. Fallon said they were only a few weeks away from going bust if they cannot sell their produce.' Amanda had been explaining the case and not looking at me. Now that she finished speaking she saw that she only had my partial attention and followed my gaze.
‘Oh, yes. Frank dropped it off. He said, “Tempest forgot to take this with him and he is going to need it to survive his latest case.” Then he left it on your desk and went back to his shop.’
On my desk was the damned toad in its tank.
‘Did he explain what it is?’ I asked her.
‘Nope. I wasn’t willing to ask either, he seems safe enough, but he sure has some odd ideas.’
‘It is a Salem Toad. Apparently, it is quite rare, and it has a unique adaptation that manifests in the form of flatulence when it is brought into the vicinity of a witchcraft practitioner.’
Amanda laughed out loud, then stopped, ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘Frank is. I think it’s a frog.’
I hung my head. I had a toad to look after. How much care did a toad require to survive? What did I feed it? ‘Did he leave any care instructions?’ I asked her.
‘I don't think so.' She called through the office to James to check that Frank had left nothing with him. The answer came back negative.
‘What are you going to name him?’
‘What?' Now I was looking at Amanda. Her latest question had carried the girlish glee that I had heard before from other ladies when faced with a kitten or a puppy. She was bending down to inspect the amphibian, the move pushing her perfectly rounded bottom out towards me.