Blue Moon Investigations series Boxed Set 1

by steve higgs

  ‘Well, bollocks to that. I shall assume that since you have not placed dibs on her that I am free to give her a jolly good ploughing myself.' It was a statement of intent, not a question.

  ‘I think I hear her returning with coffee now, so feel free to work your undeniable charm.' I was failing to keep the mirth from my face, but if he had noticed it there he was not reacting to it.

  ‘Watch and learn, Padawan.' Big Ben stood up as we listened to Jane coming up the stairs. He took off his jacket, revealing his muscular frame sheathed in a short-sleeved polo beneath. Standing in place, he pumped his muscles a few times and felt his teeth to ensure there was nothing stuck in them.

  Jane reached the top of the stairs where I met her to take my coffee and make the introduction. ‘Jane this is Ben. He is an old friend of mine and often contracts for the firm when I have dangerous work or need the extra muscle.’ I indicated his impressive arms.

  Big Ben took a step forward and extended his hand towards Jane who took it gently. Big Ben had an engaging smile set firmly in place. ‘Good morning, Jane. This is an unexpected surprise. Tempest always surrounds himself with the most beautiful women.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’ Jane replied in her best bass-baritone.

  My face was beginning to hurt from holding in my smirk. I watched as Big Ben's confident smile froze in place. He looked down at the hand he was holding and saw that it was not the delicate feminine one he ought to see but was instead quite meaty and manly with some hair on the knuckles. He looked back up at Jane's face, taking in the Adam's apple on the way. The frozen smile fell away as if it were held there by marionette strings that had just been severed.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ I asked him.

  His mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times and he withdrew his hand. ‘Err, yes.' He managed. ‘Yes, of course. Are you pre, or post-op?' he asked Jane. He recovered well; I'll give him that.

  ‘Neither, actually.' Jane replied. ‘I just have two versions of myself. One female, one male, but all male genitalia.' Jane looked down at the coffee cup she now held with both hands then looked back up at Big Ben in a shy way, sort of peering through her blonde hair and idly dragging one long fingernail around the top of the plastic cup lid. ‘I am available, actually. If you would like to take me out sometime.' Somehow, he had managed to make his deep voice sound quite demure.

  Big Ben’s face was fighting with itself to decide which expression should be displayed. Horror and revulsion were being beaten down by suave coolness, but they were there in the background nonetheless. ‘I’ll pass, I think. I’m strictly no sausage.’ He checked his watch. ‘Better go in fact. I don’t want to keep the chaps waiting and miss our tee time.’ He reached behind him to snag his jacket from the chair, slipped into it and squeezed past me to get to the door. ‘You are a dick.’ He whispered on his way past.

  I chuckled to myself. That had been fun, but I suspected he would get his own back at some point.

  ‘Will there be much of that?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Much of what?’

  ‘You using my female side to surprise your friends?’ I hadn’t thought about this from Jane’s point of view. ‘I just want to know so that I can be prepared.’

  ‘Jane, please accept my apologies. That was entirely unplanned, and I failed to consider your emotions. I have no plan to spring anything like that on you again. Thank you for playing along though.’

  ‘I thought he might recognise me. I don’t think I look all that different as a girl.’

  ‘Well, you do.’

  Raid on Brett Barker. Wednesday, 13th October 1100hrs

  As promised, Amanda arrived at 1000hrs almost exactly. She had called from the car with the intention that I would come down to meet her outside. Instead, I invited her up to the office explaining that I had hired an assistant for the firm.

  At 1003hrs Amanda could be heard climbing the stairs. She entered the office with a breezy ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Hey there. How are you this morning?’ I replied with genuine interest. I was in a good mood and looking forward to ruining Brett Barker’s day. Amanda and I had been on edge for a few days now. it had started with her running into Hayley at mine on Sunday and had not improved with me getting arrested on Monday and the discussion about my feelings regarding her.

  ‘I’m fine, Tempest.’ she replied. She was taking off her jacket and had her back to me when she said it.

  ‘Uh-oh.’ I said.

  ‘Uh-oh?’

  ‘I know I seem generally confused around women, but I have enough ex-girlfriends to know where the term fine sits on the scale.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her expression turning stony.

  I suddenly felt like a pit was opening beneath me. Pressing on presented itself as the safest option. ‘Women, in general, have a scale of contentment. It goes in descending order like this: Great, good, okay, not okay, I hate you, fine. When a girl says I’m fine a chap should look for a shield or leave the area.’

  ‘That is absolutely dead on correct.’ said Jane speaking for the first time in front of Amanda.

  ‘Woah.’ said Amanda. She was now staring at Jane.

  ‘Hi.’ said Jane. ‘I’m Jane.’ She got up from behind the desk and came around to shake Amanda’s hand.

  ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Amanda, the other detective here.’

  ‘We should go.’ I said butting in. ‘You ladies can get to know each other later.’

  I sort of pushed Amanda back out the office door forcing her to release Jane’s hand which she was still gripping in wonder.

  In the car park, Amanda managed to throw off her initial shock. ‘You know that Jane is a guy, right?'

  ‘Of course. He was a guy when I hired him. Then when he turned up for work today, he was no longer James but was Jane instead. I was a little thrown by it, but I don't think it makes much difference if he comes to work in boxer shorts or balancing his junk in a silk thong. If he can manage the office paperwork, emails and calls then he can stay.'

  ‘He smells good.’

  ‘It’s Princess by Vera Wang.’ I said with knowing authority.

  Amanda stared at me, clearly wondering how I could possibly know what perfume he/she was wearing.

  ‘Know your enemy?’ I tried. She raised one eyebrow inviting me to try again. ‘Big Ben came by right before you and instantly knew what it was.’

  ‘Right. It makes sense that he would be able to tell perfumes apart. Did he hit on her?’

  ‘Yup. Funniest five minutes of my life.’

  We got into her car during the exchange and pulled out of the car park. We were once again on our way to Dartford where I hoped to find the vital piece of evidence I needed to nail Brett Barker for his grandfather’s death.

  ‘You seem rather chipper this morning.' Observed Amanda cutting her eyes to me. She had not bothered to respond to my thoughts on what the term fine meant but was clearly still not entirely happy with me.

  I decided to smile back anyway. ‘I am still irked that I walked into Brett’s trap on Monday and I am pleased that he appears to be guilty after all. I am allowing myself to revel in the sweet joy of righteous revenge. I realise that it was I that walked into the trap, it is all on me, but I also think he is guilty and it looks like I can prove it. The money paid to Martin Wilkins ought to be sufficient to get the police involved once more and to have them investigate further.

  ‘We should speak with Mr. Wilkins first.'

  ‘I tried. He no longer works at Palmer Pharmaceuticals and I have not been able to track him down yet. The police will find him if we give them sufficient cause to look for him.’

  ‘So, why not hand what you have over to them now?’ she asked.

  ‘Because the bank transaction is not enough by itself. If I find something to corroborate my theory, I can hand over a solved case. If I find nothing, then I will have to hand them what I have but given his arrogance and confidence I believe he will still have something w
e can use to nail him, and my bet is we will find it in his house.'

  ‘You don’t like him. Why is that?’

  ‘Apart from because he got my mum thrown into a cell for the night?' My smile had gone now. Why did I take such issue with Brett Barker? He had not actually done anything to me. He was desperately over privileged and offensively arrogant, but I met plenty of people like that. He was a criminal, but I came across plenty of those as well. He had hit on Amanda and that was where my loathing has started.

  ‘Nearly there.' Amanda announced to break my train of thought. Sure enough, we were pulling off the motorway and closing in on the Barker Mansion.

  Amanda had remained quiet for the last couple of miles while I was deep in thought about Brett Barker and my dislike for him. I had a question for her now though. ‘What are your thoughts on Brett Barker? You seemed to hit it off. If he were not guilty of murder would you entertain seeing him socially?’

  ‘Would I go on a date with the handsome, athletic, single multi-millionaire?’

  ‘Fair point.’ I conceded.

  Amanda swung her car into the drive, through the vast gates, and down the long driveway to the house. We passed under the canopy of trees that stood like sentries lining the route on either side.

  ‘Is that a zebra?' Amanda asked, staring out of the window.

  ‘They have a small herd.’

  ‘I like him more all the time.’

  As we pulled in front of the house, Mrs. Barker stepped out to greet us in person.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs. Barker.' I said getting out of the car and shaking her hand. ‘This is my colleague Amanda Harper.' Amanda was coming around the car and extended her own hand.

  ‘Good morning.’ she said.

  ‘Good morning. Are you the police officer?' Mrs. Barker asked.

  ‘I am. For a few more days at least.’

  ‘Very good. I have a key to the North Wing. That's Brett's area of the house.' She added in explanation. ‘Do you need to do anything first, or can we begin?' Mrs. Barker seemed heady with excitement and eager for us to get on with it.

  I looked across at Amanda. 'Is there anything?'

  ‘We have the homeowner’s permission to search. That pretty much ticks every box from a legal standpoint. There are no formalities to observe so we can just start.’ she replied.

  I turned back to Mrs. Barker. ‘Please show us the way.' She spun back towards the house leaving us to catch up.

  As we crossed the vast gravel drive, she had questions. ‘What exactly are you looking for?'

  ‘Evidence, to put it simply. Any correspondence, either by email or otherwise between him and persons at Palmer Pharmaceuticals. Any physical evidence.'

  ‘Like what?’ she asked.

  ‘Like boxes of pills with the fake drug inside would be good.’ I said as a joke but refrained from laughing. ‘Anything that will give rise to have the police reopen the case and conduct a proper criminal investigation.’ I was checking Amanda’s expression to see if she disagreed or felt I was being overly optimistic. If she had any thoughts on the matter her face was not showing them.

  Mrs. Barker led us into the house through the main doors and across the marble of the atrium to the left-hand side of the grand staircase. As we climbed the stairs, I began to worry that I might not find anything today. It felt like a very real possibility. Brett may have never brought anything incriminating into the house. Or his office for that matter. Would the testimony of Martin Wilkins be sufficient? Not that I had his testimony or had even been able to talk to him. If he no longer worked at Palmer Pharmaceutical would I be able to track him down? Would the police reopen the case with just a credit card payment that looked a bit fishy?

  As I was pondering whether I had been over exuberant in my desire to search his rooms we arrived at them. Mrs. Barker inserted a mortice key into a relatively unassuming, but still large, solid oak door and pushed it open in front of her. Amanda followed her in with me trailing behind.

  The room on the other side of the door was another atrium or lobby - it was not a room to be lived in but one to be passed through. The cool, sleek marble floor had a pair of matching leather sofas arranged to face each other. They were set in the middle of the room with a chrome and glass coffee table between them. On the coffee table was a copy of the Financial Times, which had clearly been read or at least opened, a copy of the Economist and a vase containing an arrangement of white lilies. The walls were panelled to a height of about six feet with ornate oak. Above the oak was a burgundy wallpaper that probably cost more per square metre than my car. Everything in the room was perfect: Perfectly arranged, perfectly considered to match or contrast with the other items and perfect in its condition. It was a room that trumpeted opulence. I have never stayed at a penthouse suite in a top-flight hotel, but I imagined this would be what I ought to expect if I did. Mrs. Barker seemed not to notice; her perception of such things clearly different from mine after years of seeing it every day.

  Amanda let out a quiet whistle of impressed appreciation. ‘Where do we start?’ she asked.

  I asked Mrs. Barker, ‘How many rooms are there?'

  ‘In this wing of the house? I do not know. There are seven bedrooms, and each has a private bathroom and dressing room adjoining so that is twenty-one. Then there is a library, billiard room, kitchen and two dining rooms.’

  ‘Two dining rooms?’ Amanda asked.

  ‘Formal and informal.' Mrs. Barker replied in a tone that suggested it was perfectly obvious why there would be two dining rooms. ‘There will also be a cinema room, several lounging rooms plus offices and rooms such as this one. It has been years since I came in here, so I cannot be certain, but I would hazard a guess at perhaps thirty-five rooms.'

  Inside my head, I said wow. ‘I propose we start with the most likely places to yield a result. Does he have a personal computer here?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Amanda do you want to tackle his computer or get started on the physical search?’

  ‘I’ll take the physical search, thank you. I looked at man’s browser history once and it scarred me for life.’

  ‘Can you show us the computer please?’

  Mrs. Barker advised me that she didn't know where his computer was, reminding me again that she not been in his wing of the house in years. She nevertheless found it on her first attempt in a room set up as an office. A few seconds later I was at the keyboard.

  I expected to find his computer was password protected and it was, but like many people, his built-in security demanded he change the password every few weeks. After a while, he had run out of easy to remember words or number/letter combinations and had been forced to concoct less memorable ones. His password was not on a post-it note in the first drawer I opened, or the second drawer or the third but was under the keyboard itself.

  While I sat at the desk, Amanda busied herself opening drawers and cupboards in a methodical manner. This was my first ever house search. I discounted those I had conducted as a soldier in places like Northern Ireland and Iraq but had elected to not tell Amanda and had read up on the subject last night: Good old Google. I was watching how she performed the task so that I could copy her movements and look like I knew what I was doing.

  By 1330hrs, some two and a half hours later, my stomach was beginning to grumble, and we had found nothing of any worth. Brett was either meticulous about erasing his browser history or had erased it recently by chance. His emails, the few of them I found, showed correspondence with a small group of old university buddies with whom he was planning a skiing trip. There were some personal banking transaction emails and a few Amazon purchase and dispatch notifications. Nothing pertaining to the case though.

  Amanda had searched a stack of rooms and I had joined her after accepting the computer was going to give me nothing. There were still toilets and a few rooms left that looked like no one had ever lived in them, but we were running out of places to look.

  Mrs. Barker had l
eft us to complete our task but had sent a servant up with refreshments. A cold lunch was waiting for us back in the marble-floored entrance room.

  In lieu of anything more productive to do, I announced to Amanda that I was going to get something to eat and left Amanda looking through a cabinet in the bathroom adjoining his bedroom.

  On the coffee table was a spread of cold cuts and sliced cheeses, pastries, cakes and biscuits and a selection of what appeared to be freshly baked bread rolls. I selected a seeded wholemeal bap, split it in half with my fingers and made a sandwich.

  I assembled a plate of food and relaxed on a couch expecting Amanda to join me shortly. As I munched, I posed to myself the question of where would I be if I was an incriminating piece of evidence?

  ‘Tempest.’ Amanda’s voice echoed through from somewhere in the house. Rather than shout a response I put my plate down and got up to find her.

  Amanda was still sitting on the bathroom tile where I had left her. ‘I leaned on the bottom of the cabinet to lever myself up and it moved under my hand. It has a false bottom.' She lifted what I had assumed to be the base of the cupboard under the sink and there, in the gap underneath were packets and packets of Captopril. ‘I cannot tell if they are the real pills or the fake ones or a mix of both but here is your smoking gun.' She looked unhappy. I told myself it was probably just fatigue and elected to ignore it.

  ‘That’s it then.’ I said.

  ‘I guess it is.’

  Mrs. Barker chose that moment to check on our progress. ‘Hello?' she called. ‘Mr. Michaels?'

  ‘In here.’ I called back then exited the room to stand in the corridor and make myself visible.

  She followed me into the bathroom. ‘Goodness.’ she exclaimed as Amanda showed her the pills. ‘Is that George’s heart medication?’ she asked.

  ‘It would appear to be.’ I answered her.

  ‘Is that sufficient for a conviction?’ she asked us, eager to hear the answer.

  I looked at Amanda for her to answer. ‘For a conviction? That I cannot say, but it is enough for me to call in a forensics team. I need to make a phone call.' she said levering herself off the tile and pulling out her phone. ‘I must insist you both vacate the room. No one can touch this now until it has all been formally catalogued. Mrs. Barker, I'm afraid you are likely to have police swarming all over the house for much of the rest of the day.'