by steve higgs
Amanda was unfolding a map on her desk as James went out the door. ‘We need more maps. I bought this one yesterday as it shows the area of the farms in some detail.’ It was an Ordnance Survey map of Cliffe Woods and the area around it. Amanda now had it held up in both hands looking for a place to stick it. ‘Have we got any pins? Or some Blue-Tac?’
‘Somewhere, yes.' There was a box of office stationery that had gone into the storage room in the back when we moved in. James had tided and organised since Tuesday though and the contents were now squirreled away wherever he had put them.
I found a roll of Sellotape and ripped off a couple of pieces which then stuck to each other and then my fingers as I tried to separate them. I tried again, this time taking only one piece and advancing toward the map holding it at each end. Amanda pointed to a wall, ‘How about there?’
I nodded, and the map went up. More tape was applied, this time by Amanda's far more dextrous hands.
‘So, the three farms are here, here and here.' Amanda drew three circles on the map. ‘And the crop circles have appeared in these fields.' This time she drew clever concentric circles to represent where the phenomenon had occurred. She stood back. ‘That's about it actually. I don't know any more yet.'
This was what I found all the time. I went into cases without the faintest idea how I was going to solve them, but it always seemed to work out. One just had to chip away at information and keep digging until something made sense. The witch case was proving to be just like that, although for once I felt certain that I already knew who the guilty people were, I just couldn't prove it yet.
‘Oh, I forgot to mention. You might get a call from a TV show chap. I met him yesterday. He seemed to think I should know him and was doing his best to be charming while mostly making me want to vomit.’
‘Sounds like a top bloke. Why will he be contacting me?’
‘Well, he might not, but he is the star, his words not mine, of a cable TV show where they search for proof of extra-terrestrial life. It’s called Alien Quest. He did tell me what channel it is on, but I wasn’t really listening. Anyway, he is investigating the crop circles for his TV show and was at Brompton farm trying to do some filming.’
‘How did you end up speaking to him?’
‘He cornered me on my way back to my car. He thought maybe I worked at the farm and wanted to ask me some questions. Made a big show of telling me I was too beautiful to not be on camera. As I said, he was trying to be charming. I should have lied and told him I did work there but had to go. Instead, I said I was investigating the crop circles myself and suddenly he was asking question after question. One of his crew found me on the Blue Moon website and then he wanted to know about you. He might never call. I just wanted to warn you, in case he did.'
I pulled out my phone and googled the show. ‘Jack Hammer?’ I asked showing her the picture on my phone.
‘That’s him. Fancies himself as a lady’s man. I have to believe that he changed his name too. Jack Hammer. He sounds like an adult film star.’
He certainly did.
‘Coffee.’ James announced coming back through the office front door. He had a tray in one hand and a bag in the other which undoubtedly contained one of the evil doughnuts he favoured.
Amanda and I both abandoned the map to fetch our coffee, then retreated to our respective offices. With Hilary despatched on his task, I was determined that I would find the coroner today and convince her to reopen the cases.
I called the number for the department where she worked. To my surprise, she answered the phone herself.
‘Dr. Mallory.'
‘Victoria, this is Tempest Michaels.’ I made sure my voice had as much honey in it as I could muster. I wanted her to think I was calling to speak to her about personal business.
‘Tempest.' She purred back at me. ‘How good of you to call. I was just thinking about you.'
‘Are you free today? I hoped I might visit you.' I was intentionally keeping my real motive unspoken.
‘I have a cadaver they pulled from the river last night to examine, but I can make myself available. I have a private office with a bed in it for when I need to sleep here. We can pick up where we left off.' Her breathing had changed, she was practically panting with excitement.
I checked my watch and replied without committing to her plan. ‘I can be with you for 1030hrs. Does that suit you?’
‘Indeed, it does.’ She made a growling noise like a tiger and laughed. ‘Hurry up and get there, big boy. I need my medicine.’
We disconnected. She was a little scary. Were my love life not confusing enough already I would still run a mile despite her attractiveness.
I let Amanda and James know where I was going, called the dogs and went out the back door. I would drop the dogs at home and go on from there to the hospital in Pembury.
Before I got to the door, a thought occurred to me. ‘Did the signwriters come back with the new sign?’ I asked James.
‘Yes, yes they did. They were here yesterday afternoon. It only took them ten minutes to put it back up.’
Amanda was coming over. ‘I haven’t seen it.’ She said as she went out the front door to stand in the street.
Soon all three of us were staring up at the bright new sign. It read Blue Moon Investigation Agency in large block capital letters and to the right was the logo blue moon I had found. I had made the selection quickly to get the job done with a plan that I could always change it later. There would be no need though – the sign was perfect.
Inside the office, Bull barked. I had left them on the other side of the door, a situation no dog is ever happy about. It jolted me from admiring the front façade of my office, so for the second time in a minute, I bid James and Amanda good day and went off to see the coroner.
What the Coroner Thinks. Thursday, November 10th 1048hrs
I arrived on time, but Victoria was not available. The lady on reception at the morgue assured me she was busy and asked what I wanted. Her attitude was dismissive as if whatever I wanted had to be insignificant compared to the other tasks she needed to perform, and she could barely find the time to listen to me say that it was a personal matter and to please let her know that I was waiting.
I sat down to wait on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the dingy room that housed the morgue reception. It was a depressingly drab space. I accepted that bright, happy colours would most likely be deemed inappropriate, but the decorator had picked a paint colour most likely labelled "hint of morose" and had then applied it to every wall and the ceiling.
I fiddled with my phone since there wasn’t even a magazine to read.
After almost twenty minutes, the door to the side of reception opened and the Coroner appeared. She was dressed in a fitted white blouse and straight-legged, grey trousers that met an ankle high boot. It looked expensive and well considered. Her hair was slightly mussed, and I could see a mark on her nose where a face mask had been.
‘Sorry. The chap in the river appeared to have been murdered so my examination took far longer than I expected. Have you been here long?’
‘No, no. Just a few minutes.’ I assured her.
‘Please follow me.' The unpleasant receptionist ignored us both as we left her behind. I followed behind as Victoria led me down a short corridor and into her office. On the door was written Dr. Victoria Mallory in a small panel.
She stopped in the doorway and held the door open, then grabbed my arm and stuck her tongue in my mouth as I tried to get through the small gap she had left.
Now I was on tricky ground. I had conned her because nothing was going to happen but if I told her that now, I would be kicked out and have wasted my morning.
‘Whoa, slow down.' I laughed playfully as I ducked away to the other side of the room. I took my coat off aggressively and threw it into a chair to show I meant business.
Her eyes sparkled at me and she started unbuttoning her blouse. She certainly knew what she wanted.
‘I think
we should play a game.’ I announced.
That got her attention. ‘What kind of game, you naughty boy?' her blouse was undone and hanging off her arms to reveal her chest which she was very definitely thrusting at me. I noted again how strong her arms and shoulders looked.
‘Let’s pretend I am pumping you for information.' I made the sentence all about the word pumping on purpose. ‘I want you to answer some questions and my clothes will come off depending on whether you answer or not.'
She closed the distance between us. ‘What about my clothes?’
‘I promise to take those off once you have me naked. No touching though. Let’s make the anticipation build.’
Her pupils dilated right in front of me.
‘Question one.’ I gripped the button on the right cuff of my shirt, ready to undo it when she answered. She was holding her breath, waiting for me to continue. ‘Have you ever had sex in this room before?’
‘Twice.’ She answered.
‘Do you think of yourself as a naughty girl?’
I think she might have actually had a small orgasm when she closed her eyes and breathed out that she was a very naughty girl that needed to be disciplined. One thing I had learned in my limited exploits was that women, even the most ladylike ones, wanted to think of themselves as sexually adventurous and most wanted to be dominated at times in the bedroom. Of course, I was forming my opinions from a small sample of the gender, but I had it right this time.
I untucked my shirt, glad that I had eliminated most of the bloating I had suffered recently and could see my abs again as I exposed my belly.
‘Tell me, Victoria, you naughty girl. If Bernhard Myers wasn't killed by lightning, what else could have caused his death?'
Her eyes snapped open.
Too much too soon.
‘What?’
I tried to steer back on course. ‘Nevermind that. Tell me what you want me to do to you on that bed.’
‘I don’t believe this.’ She snapped. ‘You’re still convinced they were murdered and you didn’t come here for this at all.’ She said indicating her bulbous boobs and toned midriff.
I was trying to see a way of getting this back on track, but it was clear that we were done. I was failing my client though, a man that had been poisoned for his suspicions and was even now fighting for his life somewhere in this very hospital. I had to try something more direct.
‘Victoria. You are right. My sole interest here is the case. My client has been poisoned with Anthrax for hiring me and the murderers are going to get away with it if you do not allow the verdicts to be questioned.' She had turned her back on me and was putting her blouse back on. The second time I had watched her do so without having gotten any further than seeing it taken off. Mr. Wriggly was going to throw a strop, I could tell.
‘Anthrax?’ she asked as she turned back to face me. Her face was a mask of anger.
‘He is upstairs somewhere being treated. I need your help to bring the people responsible to justice.’
‘Because you cannot try a case for murder when the victim is deemed to have died of natural causes.’ She finished my sentence.
‘Exactly. I apologise for the subterfuge. It seemed necessary, and, though I doubt it makes a difference, I am really attracted to you. I just cannot allow myself to be that guy.' That I had only been on one date with the woman I was talking about and was secretly in love with Amanda instead, I kept to myself.
‘You seem like a very decent person, Tempest. But I don’t play games. I made my feelings about the verdicts very clear when we first met. My verdicts stand and no court in the land would issue an order to have bodies exhumed and re-examined. I was also clear about my intentions in approaching you. That you have another woman and wish to be honourable is admirable, but ultimately also childish. Be gone, Tempest Michaels and do not come back.’
I felt defeated. I wanted to plead or threaten or do whatever was needed to get her to listen to reason. I saw the futility of it though. Grabbed my coat and without another word, I left.
At the revolving door that led outside, I stopped, turned around and went to visit Mick Cotton, my client. I wasn't certain that the hospital would contact me if he died. Now that I thought about it, they hadn't even taken my number, so I wanted to see if he was still breathing and if so if his condition had improved.
I went back to the main reception desk to wait patiently for one of the ladies there to become available. The elderly couple in front of me shuffled off, their matter dealt with and the lady behind the desk turned her attention to me.
I enquired about Mick Cotton and where I could find him. She tapped a few keys and gave me a ward and room number.
Entering the ward, I fetched upon another reception where yet again I had to introduce myself and explain why I was there. I was willing to believe the practice was necessary but could not imagine what they were trying to protect against with all the security hoops to jump through.
Mick was wired up to several machines that were monitoring heart rate, blood oxygen, temperature and other functions I couldn’t identify. He had colour in his face though and looked rested. He was in a ward labelled special care which I assumed was one down from intensive care, for those not circling the drain of life.
He was also in a room by himself. I popped my head back out, looked around and caught the attention of a lady in uniform that was either a nurse or an orderly or something. Did they wear different uniforms for different roles? Big Ben would know. He liked a woman in uniform.
Or out of it for that matter.
It turned out that the lady was one of the doctors. I enquired about Mick's health and general condition, whether he had woken up yet and said that I was a friend, the lie once again more sensible than the truth.
He hadn't woken yet, was considered stable and had been taken out of the chemically induced coma early this morning. A full recovery was expected but a timescale could not be put on when he might wake up.
On my way back to my car my phone rang. Retrieving it from my pocket, I could see that the caller was Hilary. ‘What have you got?' I asked.
‘Movement.’
‘Where are you?’ On hearing his reply, I told him to follow at a distance, not be spotted and let me know what happened next.
My Spy. Thursday, November 10th 1342hrs
It was after lunch when I got back to my house. I didn’t need to make lunch as I had been carrying it around since this morning. At this time of year, I could leave food in my car all day without concern that it might perish. Without the heating on, it was like a fridge inside.
The Tupperware box of chickpeas, boiled eggs, salad leaves, avocado, and seeds was tasty and filling if not entirely satisfying. I was craving a cheeseburger and doing what I could to ignore it.
My phone rang again. It was Hilary once more.
‘She is here.' I could hear the nervousness in his voice.
‘Have you got a good view?’
‘Not really?’
‘Can you move position, get to a better spot?’
‘I’ll try.’
I waited for his voice to return. There was a knock at my door. The dogs went nuts as usual.
‘What the hell was that?’ Hilary asked.
‘Someone knocked on the door.’ By the time I had answered Hilary I had crossed to the front door and peeked outside.
Frank’s odd little face was beaming back at me. ‘Wotcha, Tempest. Care to let me in?’ He was burdened with a heavy-looking armful of books. I pushed the door open and stepped out of the way to allow him passage. He came in, moving carefully because the Dachshunds were dancing around in front of him and he couldn’t see them with his armful of books.
‘Hilary hold on a second.’ I put the phone on a handy shelf and scooped the sausages. They wriggled in their excitement. There was someone to see and that meant being made a fuss of.
Frank made his way to the breakfast bar where he relieved himself of his burden with a loud thud that ejected
a cloud of dust. Frank had some old books. He could see I was on the phone so held his left hand up and put the right hand over the top of it to form a tee shape.
I nodded and pointed to the kettle, so he knew to just crack on.
‘What are they doing now?’ I asked Hilary. He had moved as suggested and claimed to now have an uninterrupted view where he could not easily be seen watching.
‘Erm, they are talking. They have a pot of tea between them and some cake.’
‘Okay, buddy. As much detail as possible.’
‘Oh. Yeah, okay. I think the cake is Battenberg. It is turned side on from where I am, but I should be able to tell when they cut it.’
I slapped my face with my spare hand. ‘Not the cake, Hilary. More detail about the target.’
‘Sorry. Sorry. That was obvious. I’m just nervous and not really thinking.’
‘How about the bug. Remember the ruse we talked about. Just act that out and make sure you attach the bug to the underside of the table when you grip it.’
‘Okay.’ He swallowed, the nervous noise quite audible.
‘It’s no big deal. You just need to drop it, apologise and retrieve it. No big deal and you barely need to speak.’
Hilary had been set the task of tailing the four wives, sorry I should correct that, two wives and two not even slightly grieving widows. When he volunteered to help, I saw a simple task that I could not perform myself because they knew what I looked like. Hilary was so ordinary looking, so unremarkable, that he could follow them around without ever being noticed. Even his car was nondescript – a drab brown estate. Even so I sent him to watch their houses but advised him to move around rather than attract suspicion by staying in the same place all day. The end goal was to catch them meeting with the witch again. I wanted to find out who she was, where she lived and what the heck was going on.
Hilary was my spy.
If he got lucky he would see them meet the witch and would be able to tail her home or to somewhere. If he was even luckier he would have a chance to record their conversation and that was what he was about to try to do.