by steve higgs
Right. Witchcraft. Why not? I hadn't tackled witchcraft yet.
‘I need to ask you some questions, take some notes if I may. Can you tell me your name please?’
‘Of course, sorry. It’s Michael Cotton.’
‘Thank you, Michael. What can you tell me about the circumstances of your father's death please?'
He hesitated. I heard him breathe in as if he were about to start speaking but then stop.
I realised my potential error. ‘Sorry, Michael, was it recent?’
‘It was three weeks ago. It still feels recent. Sorry, I am having a little trouble talking about it. It was very violent you see. The coroner's verdict was accidental death. She claimed my father was hit by lightning and there was a lightning storm on the day that he died. But the lightning hit him in the chest. I have been researching lightning strike victims and have learned that it never hits you in the chest. To be more accurate, it tends to hit you everywhere at once. My father was hit by a lightning bolt that exploded his rib cage and burnt his heart to a crisp. That just doesn't happen.' There's another extraordinary element though.'
'Go on.'
'He was inside his house.'
‘Understood.’ I replied taking notes feverishly. ‘Where does the witchcraft connection come in please?’
‘I live in the same village as my father and his wife. Mum divorced him years ago. Not that I blame her, he was a cheating arse that deserved all he got, but I loved him nonetheless and I saw him every week. I got on okay with his new wife but the two of them seemed to be growing apart and then I noticed odd little things in the house. Dreamcatchers, that sort of thing. Odd symbols are written in chalk on the walls outside. I asked dad about it, but he hadn't noticed them, and he didn't know what they were or where they had come from.'
‘Then he died suddenly, and she didn’t seem surprised or bothered and then two weeks after his death an enormous cheque came through the post from a life insurance policy she had taken out. I don’t think he even knew about it. ‘
‘I went to the police, but they were content with the verdict and had no interest in reopening the case. I believe my father was murdered and I want you to help me prove it.’
It certainly sounded like a case to me. ‘We need to meet Mr. Cotton. Should I just call you Mick or Michael?'
‘Mick would be better. I can meet as soon as you are available, Tempest.’
‘Next question then. Where are you?’
‘East Malling, not far from the research centre if you know where that is.' Indeed, I did. It would take me twenty minutes to get there and I needed to walk the dogs and feed them and feed myself. Ironing would have to wait.
‘I can be with you for 1030hrs if that is convenient. I just need your address.' Mick was only too happy with the speed of my response. I took his address and promised to see him shortly.
‘Okay, dogs.' I called out. ‘Time for a walk.' I got the usual response from them which was to be utterly ignored. They had been in the garden when we got downstairs, so their morning toilet needs had been taken care of. They had no need to go anywhere so far as they were concerned. They accepted defeat though and got up as I slid collars over their heads and clipped on their leads. It was a pleasant morning and the exercise would do all three of us good.
There was dappled shade coming from the blue sky today as I walked through the vineyard. It was cool out, maybe no warmer than six or seven centigrade, which I believed to be cold for early November. There had been frost on the cars this morning. No doubt there had been frost on the hedgerows and fields also, sending the little creatures that lived there to hide in their warm burrows. The dogs were inspecting one such burrow now, each trying to nudge the other out of the way, their tails swishing back and forth with the exciting smell they had found. I ushered them onwards, enjoying the tranquillity of the countryside. In the distance, about half way up the hill in front of me, I watched as the high roof of a truck could be seen between the trees. Any noise from it failed to reach my ears.
Back at the house, I took the dogs’ collars from their heads and watched them scamper into the house. They were back to their routine of sleeping as many hours as they could. I had set some oats out to soak in yoghurt and milk while I was walking. I had meant to do it last night but had forgotten so overnight oats were now thirty-minute oats, but they were soft enough and once paired with nuts, fruit and seeds made a gloriously healthy breakfast. This was a good thing because I had weighed myself this morning and I had gained fourteen pounds. I had been slightly horrified but knew why it had happened. The answer was that I had been lazy for the last few weeks. I had been making excuses.
You might think several broken ribs are a perfectly good reason to avoid the gym and I would agree. What I should have done to balance the equation though was cut back on my calorie intake. If anything, I had increased it and the scales were showing me the result. Now it was time to beat myself back into shape and that would include a hard session at the gym this afternoon.
Right now, though, I wanted to meet Mick Cotton and get my teeth into a new case. With my spoon delivering breakfast to my hungry mouth, I swiped my phone, brought up Amanda's number and dialled it.
She answered on the third ring. Typically, I had just put a spoonful of oats into my mouth. ‘Hi, Tempest, what’s up?’
‘I have a case. We have a case. Probably.' I managed after a second of clearing my mouth with a swig of tea. ‘I am heading over to see the client now. I don't need you to do anything. Take as long as you need before coming back. I just wanted to let you know so you are involved.' I doubted Amanda would take any time off, she did not strike me as the sort, but she had been through the mill on the voodoo case and I wanted her to feel she could have time if she needed it.
‘Thank you, Tempest. I have a day of spa treatments and pampering planned. I need to get the icky feeling to go away. I expect I will see you first thing Monday though.’
‘Very good. Well, that was all I called for.’
'Tempest?'
‘Yes.' My heart beat in my chest. Having learned last night that Amanda and Brett were no longer an item, or were at least enduring a pause in their relationship, I was questioning whether there was any point in hoping I might have a shot. I still felt that she sat behind an invisible employee barrier where I could not send Mr. Wriggly, but maybe it would be okay if it were she that removed the barrier. Was she about to ask if I was still interested in her?
‘What sort of case is it?' She asked, sending a pin to burst my bubble and onwards into my heart.
‘Err, witchcraft apparently. I shall know more once I meet the client. I doubt I will get much more than preliminary research done this weekend, but I can give you a clearer report on Monday.’
Amanda wished me good luck and disconnected. I went upstairs to change out of my walking boots and cargo trousers and into an outfit more appropriate for a client meeting. The dogs were gently snoring on the sofa when I checked on them. They would most likely not move until I returned in a few hours. I bid them goodbye, went out to my car, slid behind the wheel and headed for East Malling.
Dead Dad. Saturday, November 5th 1030hrs
I got stuck behind a tractor for about two miles on the winding road that leads out to East Malling and had to gun the engine a bit to make sure I arrived precisely on time and not late. My satnav took me directly to his door which he opened as I was getting out of my car.
Michael Cotton was relatively plain in every aspect of his appearance. Not that he was ugly, but he wore drab clothes and he stood with his shoulders drooping which made him look smaller than he was. His hair was cut in an unfashionable style that ended just below his ears and made his head look like a spiky mushroom. His eyes didn't sparkle, which might have been from sadness, but I suspected it was more from a lack of life in his life. He was about my age but looked older.
‘Tempest.' He said my name as he stepped forward to take my offered hand. I didn't attempt to give his hand a manl
y squeeze like I normally would. It was the right move as he simply grasped my hand lightly then let his fingers fall away again having barely touched them. ‘Thank you for being punctual. I looked you up. You are ex-Army. My dad was too, and he was always a stickler for being on time.'
I had no response to his statement. I could hardly argue as I was very time conscious, but it made me feel odd that people were not only able to find out details about me but then did so and were content to reveal that they had.
I followed him into the house where he led me through to a lounge area that overlooked his garden through large patio doors – the type that fold to one side to open the entire room on days when it is warm enough to do so. The garden contoured downwards to a river at the bottom but not steeply and it was nicely maintained with clipped hedges and borders.
‘Would you like a tea?’ he asked, indicating for me to sit while he was still standing.
‘Yes, thank you. White please, no sugar.' Mick left the room. Presently, I heard a kettle getting agitated and cups rattling on saucers. He returned a few minutes later with a tray that held a teapot and all the accompanying crockery.
He began talking while he poured, ‘My father and his wife, Mabel, were married for twelve years at the time of his death. She was the woman he was having an affair with when mum left him. She was nice enough to me, but I was a teenager when the divorce occurred, and I always believe that she was only nice to me because she had to be. I think she would have displayed her ugly side if she thought she could get away with it.'
‘I have no evidence that their relationship was breaking down. Certainly, dad never said that it was, but I felt a certain tension between them this year that hadn't been there before. Then the odd little trinkets started turning up and the symbols on the house. Now that you are here, I feel like I might have jumped to a conclusion. It's the lightning thing, you see. That is the bit that really doesn't fit. I made a copy of all the research I have done. I wanted to talk to some experts about it but have not been able to so far. Maybe you will have more luck.'
‘Okay, Mick, tell me what it is that you want to get out of this.’ It was an important question that I needed him to be able to frame for himself.
‘I think… I think I just want to hear definitively if my dad did die of a lightning strike or not. I believe that he didn't. If you are able to speak with experts on the matter, Fulminologists I think they are called, and they conclude that lightning killed him, then I will stop. However, I think they will scoff at the idea, in which case something else killed him and I think my stepmother has been up to something. I have seen her meeting with four other women. I followed her a few times. Three of them are ordinary middle-aged housewives, but the last one is an ugly old crone.' I wondered if he had used those particular words because he was accusing her of being a witch.
‘And if I am able to show that a lightning strike was unlikely to be the cause of death?'
‘Then I want you to find out how he was killed and if my stepmother was involved I want her boiled in vinegar!' his voice rose to an angry crescendo with the last few words. Mick had been stewing over this for some time. ‘Sorry.' he said, taking a sip of tea. ‘What I mean is, I would like her to be brought to justice.'
I nodded my understanding then launched into my speech about the limitations of my powers. I could investigate and create a case, but I could not arrest or prosecute. I then opened the topic of fees at which point Mick laughed.
I tilted my head at him to encourage an explanation.
‘Mabel got so much money from the insurance payout that she gave me ten thousand and said that dad would have wanted me to have it. I think it was intended to keep me sweet and shut me up, so the irony that made me laugh is that I intend to use it to pay you to prove she is guilty.'
I wondered if proving murder would then make the claim void and all the money would need to go back but did not think that now was the time to voice it.
Mick got up and crossed the room where he opened a cabinet and retrieved a cardboard box folder. ‘This is everything I have gathered so far.' he said as he handed it over. ‘I have most of it electronically as well, so I will email it all to you as well.'
It would keep Jane busy when she returned to work next week. I thanked him for his time and for his business and made my way back to the door. We shook hands again and I promised him regular updates.
My watch told me it was 1153hrs, so I would get home for lunch, do some housework and get to the gym. I felt invigorated. I had a new case. I had a purpose for the days ahead. And I was going to get my body back into shape starting this afternoon.
CrossFit. Saturday, November 5th 1500hrs
I had given myself enough time for my lunch of tuna and courgette cakes to settle before setting off to the gym. I was dressed and ready for a hard workout when I got there. Much like martial arts, I never stuck to one discipline. I would switch from training karate, to judo, to aikido and then maybe krav maga as I enjoyed them all and each gave a different perspective on how to defend and to turn an attacker’s moves against them. I had the same thing with fitness training in that I believe there was no singular right answer and that the only wrong answer was to do none at all. Some days I would pound away lifting heavy weights, other time I would pound away at the pavement running. I still swam occasionally although I found it to be one of the most boring forms of fitness training and sometimes I did CrossFit where one combined lifting weights and body-weight movements with explosive cardio exercises such as burpees and more endurance-based cardio such as running or swimming or biking.
I had a workout in my head that was going to kick my backside and it started with me dropping my bag and going back outside to run a mile. I kept the pace up, pushing myself as I completed the first element, then, already sweating despite the cool air, I went back inside and started throwing out rounds of overhead squats, pull ups, burpees, hanging sit-ups and squat cleans. I did three rounds of twenty of each and just as I thought I might die, I went for another one-mile run. By the time I got back to the gym for the second time I was soaked to the bone with sweat, but I had a second round of exercises planned. This time I performed three rounds of twenty deadlifts, twenty shoulder presses, forty press ups and twenty dips. Then guess what? I went for that run again. Convincing myself to push hard on the third mile loop was hard. My legs felt like jelly but after sixty-three minutes I touched the wall of the gym and stopped.
Then I promptly threw up.
I did make it to a handy rubbish bin though and avoided leaving an unsightly mess for the staff to tackle.
With legs that threatened to cramp, I performed ten minutes of warm-down stretches before collecting my bag, replacing my wet shorts and vest with a dry, cotton tracksuit and wobbling my way back to my car. I was going home for a soak in the bath.
Big Ben and I were out tonight, and I was driving. I volunteered to drive only because it meant I couldn’t drink and would thus avoid unnecessary calories. I conceded that I might have one gin and slimline tonic though.
Remember, Remember. Saturday, November 5th 1900hrs
Big Ben didn’t put up much of a fight when I said I wanted to get there early. Leeds Castle has enormous grounds. So big in fact, that I had once lost my car here for more than an hour and had to wait for most other people to leave before I could find it. That had been many years ago and I had not made the same mistake again. Also, the later you arrived the further away from the central area you would be parked. The further you would then have to walk to get to the festivities and the greater the search area for your car became when, in the dark, you could not find it.
I pulled up outside his house just as the clock was ticking over to 1900hrs. What can I say? Punctuality is a skill.
‘How’s the body?’ I asked as Big Ben slid into my car. Big Ben had suffered some rough treatment at the hands of a family engaged in voodoo practices just a little more than twenty-four hours ago. I thought he was lucky to have no broken bones an
d only three stitches.
Rather than talk about the extent of his injuries, he replied flippantly with, ‘Lean, tanned, muscular and handsome. Damned handsome.’
‘Of course.’ I responded. Big Ben and I had met in Iraq in 2003. There was war-fighting to do, so although the conflict itself was quite brief, we got into a few scrapes and had gotten into a few since. I knew that he wouldn’t open up about how he was feeling, but I wanted to give him the chance anyway.
‘Is anyone else going tonight?’ he asked, meaning other people from my circle that he might know.
None of the chaps at the pub were coming and I hadn’t thought to discuss it with anyone else.
‘No. I don’t think so. I didn’t discuss it with anyone.’ I said.
‘Why are we going again?’ he asked.
‘Because you said it was a great place to pick up girls and, as you all too frequently point out, I am hopelessly single.’
‘Well, it is a great place to pick up girls, if you are me. Anywhere that I am is instantly a great place to pick up girls.’
I swivelled my head to look at him in the darkened space of the car’s interior. ‘You are such a dick.’ I assured him. This was typical Big Ben. He wanted to go somewhere and was certain to pick up a girl there. I was just his chauffer and would most likely come home alone as he got a lift to a random lady’s house.
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, mate. There are bound to be some cast offs for you to pick from.’
‘Utter, utter dick.’ I concluded.
Most of the journey thereafter was conducted in silence. Big Ben appeared to be fretting, possibly about the two ladies that claimed to be having his babies. I thought about asking him about it, but before I could he hit me with a snippet of information I had not expected to hear.
‘Amanda broke up with her boyfriend, did you know?’
‘No. I thought she was really into him. What happened?’