5 The Witches of East Malling

by steve higgs

  The route to his house from Rochester took just over half an hour and meant I skipped lunch. I was hoping to come back via my house when I was finished at Mick's, so I could walk the dogs and get something to eat. I would find out soon enough if that plan would come to fruition.

  It was just after one o'clock when I pulled up at his house. He had clearly been watching for me as the front door of his house opened before I could exit my car. I threw him a wave as I stood up.

  He looked relieved to see me. He also didn’t look entirely well. His skin was pale, his eyes bore bags beneath them as if he had not slept at all, but mostly he just looked like he was fighting off a particularly harsh cold.

  I didn't comment, but gave him an opening to do so, ‘Mick, how are you?' I asked as I approached him and shook his outstretched hand.

  ‘Thank you for coming so quickly. Why do you have a frog?’

  I sighed deeply. I couldn't possibly explain, even to myself, why I was carrying the toad around. I had tried to leave the office without it, but Amanda had grabbed it and chased me down. With her fantastic eyes locked onto mine, she could have told me to do anything and I would have complied. Kevin the toad was going to be my co-pilot. Mr. Cotton was still looking at me, waiting for me to answer though. All I could do was shrug.

  I guess he wasn’t really all that interested because he accepted my answer and moved on. ‘Let me show you the symbol.’ He wanted to get straight down to business. I followed him to the front of his house where he picked up a large flower pot to reveal the rune hidden behind it. The symbol was eight inches high and made using a basic white stick of chalk but whoever had made it had clearly had to move the flower pot to do so and had intended for it to remain unnoticed.

  ‘How did you find it?’ I asked.

  ‘Accident.' He replied, then filled in the blanks before I prompted him for more information. ‘I lost my keys and I kept a spare one underneath the pot. Only thing was, it wasn't there. So, I have a Wiccan rune on my house just like the ones I found on my father's house before his death and someone has my front door key.'

  ‘So, how did you get in?’ it felt like a valid question.

  ‘I also keep a spare key for the back door hidden under a rock in the garden as an extra extra just in case. Thankfully, that was still there, and I could get into the house. Now though I am thinking I need to change the locks.'

  ‘Did you check for other runes?’

  ‘I did. I didn’t find any. You want to check again?’

  I nodded then performed a left turn, put Kevin the toad on the doorstep and went to inspect the outside of the house. The symbol hidden behind the plant pot by the front door was a triple moon. I found the same symbol on Barbara's house when her husband was murdered.

  We moved to the left side of the house as one looks at it from the road. Mick claimed to have already looked, but he had done so with tired eyes as I saw the witches knot symbol almost immediately. It was marked in chalk and no more than an inch in height, tucked into the eaves. The person making the mark would have needed to use a ladder.

  I continued to the rear of the house, passing through a gate to get there. His household waste and recycling bins were located near to the back door that led out from his kitchen. There I found the third symbol, a horned god behind the recycling bin. I took my phone from my pocket and dialled Frank's number. I had a question.

  His voice came on the phone, ‘Tempest. Did you get the toad?’

  ‘Oh, you mean Kevin?’

  ‘Kevin?’

  ‘Yes, Amanda named him for me.’

  ‘Jolly good. Just keep him close by and keep an ear for his gas. He will produce a high-pitched shrill sound from his anal sphincter when your witch is nearby.’

  ‘Frank, I have a question. The houses of the victims all have Wiccan runes marked on them…’

  ‘Are they on all four sides?’ he interrupted, his voice was suddenly intense.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is the horned god one of the symbols?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They were marked for death. They are not Wiccan symbols either. They are ancient Pagan symbols, some of which have been adopted by the Wiccans. This is old world witchcraft, Tempest. Dangerous, deadly stuff.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’m at the client’s house now and he has symbols on his walls just like the victims did.’

  ‘Tempest I’m not feeling all that well.’ Mick said from behind me.

  Frank was still on the phone, his voice a desperate plea in my ear, ‘Tempest you have to get out of there right now. Get your client and get him to safety. Bring him to me, I know people that can cast shielding spells until the witch can be trapped.’

  I was looking at Mick. He looked ill. His skin had a glassy sheen to it and he looked to be shallow breathing. Before I could say anything, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. I dropped my phone in my bid to catch him. It clattered behind me as I dove forward to stop his head hitting the stone floor.

  Then the storm hit.

  Death’s Door. Wednesday, November 9th 1327hrs

  Once again, I was wet, sat on the path that encircled my client's house. It was just starting to rain, but the ground was already thoroughly damp from the rain this morning. A huge peal of thunder had boomed overheard as Mick collapsed.

  I may have saved him from striking his head on the hard ground, but he was unconscious now and unresponsive. I positioned his head on my legs and reached back for my phone hoping it was still functioning.

  It was.

  I dialled three nines. An ambulance was coming.

  As the rain picked up its pace, I checked his pulse to find it weak and thready. He was significantly unwell. The ambulance would come from Pembury and could not get to me soon enough.

  In the end, it took twelve minutes, my directions on where to find us thankfully sufficient to lead the paramedics directly around to the back of the house. I was instantly superfluous, but they didn't hang around trying to wake him or determine what was wrong with him. In less than a minute he was on a stretcher and heading to the ambulance parked in the street outside. Rain was pouring down on us.

  I squelched around to the front of the house, snagged Kevin from the doorstep where I had left him and ran to my car. I spun it around and followed the Ambulance at speed back to Pembury where I then spent the next three hours doing nothing much at all. I was sitting in a waiting room in the accident and emergency department. Periodically, I would wander over to the desk and ask if there was any news. The answer was always the same: I would be updated in due course. I had elected to leave Kevin in the car believing that he may draw too many questions.

  Questions like: Who’s the idiot with the frog?

  I had tried to dry out some of my clothes using the hot air blower in the gent’s toilet, but apart from making my damp clothing warmer, I achieved very little. One of the ladies on reception was kind enough to have someone bring me a towel but mostly I was just wet and cold and used the towel to reduce the amount of dampness I transferred to the chair I was sitting on.

  Having time to pass with nothing much to do allowed my mind to drift. It kept circling back to the minutes I spent hugging Mick to keep him warm and protect him from the rain. All the while I had been doing that, I had been waiting for a lightning bolt to strike us.

  The storm was overhead, lightning flashing across the sky. Sat on the cold, wet floor I felt exposed and had been glancing behind me continuously while my paranoia imagined the hook-nosed crone creeping up to send the lightning coursing through my chest.

  This case was weirding me out more than others had.

  Eventually, just when I was considering that I should just leave and return later, a doctor appeared. He was a tall man with a dark beard shot through with grey. The grey extended into his hair to give a salt and pepper effect at the sides.

  ‘Mr. Michaels?' he asked as he approached me.

  ‘Yes.' He extended his right hand, so we shook while I waited for him
to tell me something.

  ‘You are a friend of the patient?' he asked. I replied that I was, even though I knew it was stretching the truth. Explaining that he was my client and I was hunting a witch for him would take too long, get confusing and potentially stop the man from telling me whatever it was he had to tell. ‘I'm afraid Mr. Cotton has been poisoned. Do you know where he might have come into contact with Anthrax?'

  The startling question led to a police interview a few minutes later. I had no time for it and no option but to answer their questions either. Their concern, it seemed, was to do with terrorism and whether my client was, in fact, brewing Anthrax at home as a biological weapon and had accidentally poisoned himself. At that point, I came clean about who I was and the nature of my involvement with him. I had no doubt whatsoever that the Witches of East Malling were behind his ill-health, but I left that part out, secure in the knowledge that the police would not listen to me and were most likely duty-bound to conduct a full investigation into Mick's life now anyway.

  They took my details and I was finally allowed to leave. My client was seriously ill, but according to the consultant doctor I had spoken with, he would most likely pull through. They had placed him into a coma as part of his treatment.

  Walking away from the hospital, I found myself convinced that he was the third victim in this case. I didn’t know why yet, but I was getting angry. The ladies were killing their husbands and had turned their attention to another man. Where or when would they stop? Better yet, who would stop them if I didn’t?

  It was a good question. I was going to visit the police station in Maidstone where I was at least known. I doubted I would be able to get them to see reason, to consider that there might be a sinister coven of middle-aged women being led by a wicked old crone into murdering their husbands and lesser relatives. It sounded improbable, even to my ears. However, I had to try. If I could get them to start digging, then maybe I could prevent another death.

  Mick Cotton would wake up and when he did I intended to be able to report that his case was closed.

  Maidstone Police Station. Wednesday, November 9th 1616hrs

  Though I was wet and cold, I went directly from Pembury hospital to the police station not far from my house. I had fire in my belly.

  I regretted my decision soon enough.

  I had a relationship of sorts with Chief Inspector Quinn. He was not the top man at the Maidstone station, but he acted as if he was and he was senior enough that he could make things happen if he wanted to. Our relationship was based on the fact that he really didn't like me, and I kept doing my best to give him reasons not to.

  At the front desk was a young woman that knew who I was. I suspected we had met at some point, or she had been present on one of the many occasions when I had been arrested for being in the wrong place. Whatever the case, she addressed me by name before I had the chance to speak.

  ‘Tempest Michaels, everything okay?’

  ‘I am here to report a murder.’ I knew the statement would get their attention, the desk sergeant working behind her looked up immediately, then pushed back his chair and joined me at the front desk.

  I didn’t know his name, but he was another cop that I recognised so he probably knew who I was too. ‘That’s a very serious accusation.’ He said. Was it derision I heard in his tone.

  ‘Actually, it’s two murders and one attempted murder.’ I corrected myself.

  ‘Goodness, well we had better give you our full attention then. Is it Casper being less than friendly this time?’ Okay, so it was derision. The lady cop looked like she was ready to pay attention to me, she was probably friends with Amanda and Patience and thus had an alternate opinion about me from them. Her Sergeant clearly thought my paranormal investigation business was a sham, or that I was a con man or something. There were plenty that did still.

  ‘Perhaps I might have a quick word with Chief Inspector Quinn?’ He didn’t move. ‘Fetching him is your swiftest way to get rid of me.’ I assured him.

  He continued mocking me, ‘I’ll get right on it then.’

  ‘Sergeant, I intend to make a statement regarding a double murder. If you don't get off your fat arse and pay attention to me, I will personally name you in the press when I solve the case and make it very clear that the police once again refused to act when a heinous crime was reported to them.' I had kept my tone calm and even but had allowed the volume to rise sufficiently that it carried back through to the rooms behind reception where a stack of officers would be working. The general din of noise coming from there stopped.

  The desk sergeant’s eyes widened at my threat. Less than a week ago I had made CI Quinn look ridiculous on TV when Amanda had solved the Voodoo case that he had been happily ignoring. The TV people had loved it and I was quite confident that I could call the number on any one of the business cards I now held and have a news crew outside the station within the hour.

  The desk sergeant knew it too, everyone had seen the clip of CI Quinn and I. Being fair to myself, it hadn't been my intention to make Quinny look so bad. He had done all the work for me by being pompous and refusing to see the warning signs.

  The desk sergeant opened his mouth to retort. I had no idea what he was going to say, and I never found out because a fresh voice joined our little conversation.

  ‘I'll take it from here, thank you.' CI Quinn had appeared in the aperture that led to the front desk from the room behind. He was in uniform as always. I was beginning to wonder if he slept in it. ‘I will take your statement, Mr. Michaels.'

  Jolly good.

  Wordlessly, he opened a door to allow me access to the station and led me through to an interview room. I walked by the open plan main office where dozens of cops were sat at desks or performing tasks of some kind. I got a couple of nods, one from Brad Hardacre, the cop that had kicked me out of Barbara’s house on Sunday, but most faces just stared.

  Quinn started talking as we sat down, ‘What seems to be the problem, Mr. Michaels.'

  ‘Ian,' I started. I had learned his first name from watching the TV playback of the interview last week. On the screen beneath his face, it had displayed Chief Inspector Ian Quinn. I was using it now because he refused to use mine. He stiffened visibly when I did as if it was a verbal assault. ‘there is a man in Pembury hospital suffering from Anthrax poisoning.' That got his attention. ‘That man is my client. He hired me to investigate the death of his father, a man that was recorded as killed by lightning while standing inside his house. The accidental death that you will find on his autopsy is wrong. He was murdered. A second man was killed by the same method just three days ago at a house in East Malling. The two dead men were known to each other. Both wives had taken out large insurance policies. I believe the two wives are colluding with two other women and a fifth person that is performing the murders while the wives ensure they have airtight alibis.'

  ‘Two men killed by lightning?'

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Inside their homes.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And their bodies were examined by an appointed coroner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And accidental death was recorded as the verdict?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘And your client has Anthrax poisoning?’

  I couldn’t be bothered to keep saying yes, so I simply stared at him, waiting for a question that was worth answering.

  ‘Tell me about the fifth person.’

  I launched into a description, doing my best to not call her a witch. I was bored now though, I could see that it didn't matter what I said to him. He was too focused on trying to belittle me and probably had some grand plan for looking superior as he had me escorted from the station shortly. When I finished speaking, I noted that during the fifteen minutes we had been in the room he had not written down a single word.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive me when I ask what it is you would like me to do about any of this.’

  I sighed. It had become a week of sigh
ing. ‘Ian,‘ He stiffened again but didn't attempt to correct me. ‘I am going to record a statement. I want you to open a case and investigate it because I believe there are at least two more men in serious danger. If a further murder occurs and you have not acted, I will make it clear to the press that you were privy to pertinent information that could have prevented it.' It saddened me that I had to keep threatening people to get them to do their job.

  ‘Then I encourage you to do so, Tempest.’ his tone had changed to one of finality. ‘You take the credit for cases I have solved, you wreck press interviews and belittle the efforts of my team.’ This wasn’t about his team, this was all about him and his power trip up the promotion ladder, but he wasn’t done yet. ‘The very existence of your investigation agency is an insult to the criminal prosecution system and I intend to put you out of business.’

  I stood up. I was wasting my time. ‘My statement?’ I asked.

  He spat his answer at me, ‘Get out.’

  If I could record no statement I could never claim that the police knew about the murders and ignored them. It would be clever if it wasn’t so damned irresponsible.

  The sea of faces in the station watched me as I went by once more heading back toward the door that led out into the reception area.

  ‘Be careful out there.’ Advised the desk sergeant with a chortle.

  A Date with Natasha. Wednesday, November 9th 1707hrs

  I got home from the station right on time for the dogs’ dinner. They met me at the door, sniffed me suspiciously as I was wet again and backed away. It was standard practice for them to go outside whenever I got home but they hated the rain and it was still drizzling.

  They both ran to the back door, saw the rain and changed their minds about wanting to go out. I shooed them out anyway and since I was already soaked and cold I went outside with them and stood on the patio to make sure they got on with their business and didn’t just hide under a bush.