2 In the Doodoo with Voodoo

by steve higgs

  ‘Looks like your boy likes to go-a-stalking. Arrested in January last year but released without charge.' Patience was reading from the screen. I printed the page and put it in my bag. ‘Hold on.' Patience started. ‘This doesn't sound very supernatural. Why are you looking into it?'

  ‘He thinks he is a voodoo priest. He cursed her with ugliness and now her hair is falling out and she has pimples.' I replied starting to get up. Then I noticed Patience's face - it had stopped moving. There was a piece of half-chewed doughnut in there that was visible because her jaw was hanging open. ‘Are you okay?' I asked her.

  Slowly, she cleared her mouth and swallowed. ‘V-v-v-voodoo.' She stammered. ‘You can't go messing with voodoo, Amanda.' She never called me Amanda. ‘It's a shame about your client, but you have to leave this one alone.' She was dead serious.

  ‘Patience, there is no such thing as voodoo. All I need to do is investigate the case, work out what is happening with her hair and face and stop Mr. King from bothering her. I am going to his house right now to have a little chat with him. I am sure that is all it will take.'

  Her eyes were bugging right out of her head. She darted forward, grabbed my handbag and shoved her arm inside it. Thrown off-balance I almost fell over while she was rooting around.

  ‘A-ha!’ she announced, coming away with my keys in her hand. ‘Patience is gonna save you from your own stupidity this time. You ain’t messing with no voodoo on my watch, girl.’

  ‘Give me my keys.’ I demanded, cutting my eyes at her.

  ‘Nu-uh. You need to rethink your plan. Voodoo is real, girl and you cannot go messing with those that know the art.’

  ‘Patience what are you talking about?’

  As she opened her mouth to answer my question I leaped forward, grabbing for my keys. She danced away and got a desk between us.

  Other people in the room had turned away from what they had been doing so they could watch us.

  ‘Patience I don’t have time for this. Give me my keys.’ I made another grab for them, but each time I tried to close the distance she just hopped out of the way. I dumped my bag and climbed on the desk.

  Patience saw me go vertical and ran for the door. I had to run across the room using the desks as stepping stones. My foot caught someone's coffee spill though, I slid, arms cartwheeling and down I went. As I fell, I caught sight of Patience reaching the door. She was looking back at me and failed to notice CI Quinn coming through it. She barrelled into him and knocked him flying just as I was crashing to the floor.

  The entertaining spectator sport ended abruptly as a roar from CI Quinn silenced the laughter that had filled the room a second ago. ‘Woods get off me.’

  ‘Yes, Chief.’ I heard her reply.

  ‘Get up Harper, I saw you. The rest of you get back to work.’ CI Quinn’s voice had returned to its usual unflappable calm tone. I levered myself off the floor.

  ‘What are you doing here, Harper? Back already? New job not what you thought? Or have you failed at that and been fired already?' CI Quinn never overtly picked on me, he was very cold towards me though and, it seemed, always looked for something hurtful to say.

  ‘My keys, Patience.’ I asked again, holding out my hand.

  ‘Don’t mess with no voo…’ She was silenced by CI Quinn holding his hand in front of her face. It was something he did all too often and mostly with the women officers. Patience shot him a glance but handed over my keys with some reluctance while mouthing that I should go home and abandon the case.

  ‘Should I expect to see you in here again, Miss Harper?’ The Chief was making a point that I was no longer part of the team.

  ‘No, Mortimer.’ I answered using his first name. He stiffened visibly as he considered how to reply.

  ‘Make sure that I do not.' He stared at me, he was not going to be the one that turned and walked away. So, I had to.

  It was very easy to dislike him.

  It was starting to rain outside, a light drizzle that was dampening the street. It matched my mood. I forced myself to brighten. I no longer had to put up with CI Quinn and his attitude. I slid behind the wheel of my car and joined the traffic heading out of town.

  The Home of a Voodoo Priest. Monday, October 31st 1051hrs

  The drive to the small village of Bearsted, just outside Maidstone, took twelve minutes. Traffic was light, as I had expected it would be, allowing me to sweep through Penenden Heath without pausing. At rush hour, the journey would take more than an hour. The address for the house was right on the village green. On a summer day, the green would have children playing on it, pre-school age toddlers laughing and running and perhaps people out walking their dogs. In the drizzle that was falling now, the green was utterly deserted. I found the house just a couple of properties along from the restaurant that dominated one corner of the green.

  I had to use the word property even when mentally referring to the houses around the village as they were all large, bespoke, imposing places. Then I remembered Brett’s house. These places would be the groundsman’s cottage at his stately home. Nevertheless, a person needed to part with several million to buy one, so all the local residents were doing okay for themselves.

  I was arriving unannounced and had no way of knowing if anyone would be in to receive me. I was speculating that there would be as it had the potential to bring a swift end to the case – or at least a partial end. If I could stop Bartholomew from stalking Kimberly I was halfway home. I would then need to work out what was going on with her hair and face and teeth, however, I suspected it would prove to be psychosomatic.

  I parked in the street, right in front of their property and dashed through the pedestrian gate to get to the front door. Even the door was double height and double width and surely designed to make people feel small. My question regarding whether I would get lucky and find someone in was soon answered. A tall, elegant black lady answered the door. She wore a business suit with trousers in a striking dark blue and a gorgeous pair of tan leather Christian Louboutin shoes, their red soles teasing me with their perfection. Her blouse top looked to be silk and the whole ensemble was quietly telling the observer that the lady had money and knew where to spend it.

  ‘Good morning. Mrs. King, is it? My name is Amanda Harper, I hoped I could have a few minutes of your time to talk to you about your son, Bartholomew.'

  She raised an eyebrow at my mention of her son. ‘Are you the Police?’ she asked.

  I was on dodgy ground suddenly. If I said that I was not, then I would be lying. ‘I am a serving Police Officer, but I am not here in any official capacity.’ I decided to stick with the truth. ‘I work for a private investigation agency and my presence here today is to represent the concerns of a client.’

  She seemed to consider that for a moment, then opened the door wider. ‘You had better come in, Miss Harper.’

  I thanked her and followed her through the house. The house was immaculate, what mine would be if I could afford to hire a cleaner. There was no dust on any surfaces and every piece of furniture, every soft furnishing looked expensive. I wondered what they did for a living.

  I did not have to wonder for long though as Mrs. King started talking as she walked me through the house. ‘You are lucky to catch us here. Normally my husband and I would be meeting with clients or suppliers or in a meeting at one of our facilities. We are both Chemists. We met at University in Haiti, you are probably thinking that I don't sound like I come from Haiti and you would be right. My husband does though. I was out there on an exchange opportunity between the two universities and he followed me back here. We set up a business together and have been quite successful.'

  Quite successful was an understatement.

  ‘Have you lived here long?’ I asked, making conversation. We were still walking through her house. I had no idea where we were going, but it was taking a while to get there.

  ‘Do you mean, in this house? Or in Bearsted? I grew up not far from here, we bought the house twenty years ago. It
was already a good size then but we have added to it since we moved in. We needed an office wing for my husband and me and for little Barty of course. Not that he is little anymore. Tell me, please. What is it that he is being accused of? I cannot believe he will be guilty, no matter what it is.'

  The lady had failed to give me her name and I had failed to look it up. I made a mental note to do better research in the future. She was pleasant and engaging though, someone that engendered trust. Was that why she had been so successful in her career?

  As I opened my mouth to begin answering her question, we turned right, left the corridor we had been in to arrive in an office. It was a large and well-appointed room with several desks set out with computers on them. At our arrival, a man turned from his workstation, smiled and came across the room. ‘Angelica, I was wondering where you had got to. Who is your friend?' he asked. His voice had a playful, sing-song tone to it that made me want to believe he would be an excellent singer.

  ‘George this is Amanda Harper, she is a private investigator. Her client has made accusations about Barty.’ At least now I knew both of their names.

  ‘Really?’ he replied, turning his gaze from his wife to me. ‘I think we had better sit down and hear all about it.’

  I had been mildly concerned that they would not take my presence, or the suggestion that their son was less than perfect very well. Thankfully, they were treating me as a person that deserved respect. They led me to an arrangement of chairs and indicated for me to sit as they each took a seat.

  It was Angelica that started speaking first, ‘So, Miss Harper…’

  ‘Angelica, let’s be friends here, call her Amanda.’ George interrupted, smiling at his wife.

  She smiled back at him and started again, ‘Amanda, please tell us what it is that has caused you to seek us out.’

  ‘Thank you. I received a call last night from a young lady by the name of Kimberly Kousins.' I watched to see if their faces reacted to the name. If they recognised it at all they hid it well. I told them about her relationship with their son and her belief that he had cursed her. While I was speaking, they looked at me, never at each other and pulled various expressions. It was disbelief when I told them about the online dating and humour when I used the word voodoo. They stayed silent though until I was finished.

  ‘So, I am here to speak with your son in the hope that this can be resolved amicably.’

  Now that I was done, they both moved in their chairs to face one another. ‘I have to say, wife, that this all sounds very unlikely.’

  ‘I agree, George. I doubt that Bartholomew has had anything to do with this lady at all.’

  ‘And the voodoo thing has to be nonsense, surely.’

  I watched their conversation, letting them convince themselves that their child could not be guilty. It was possible they were right, of course, I had no evidence either way, only the word of Kimberly that he was involved at all. He had been accused before though, I could feel that I was going to have to remind them of that. They were still discussing him though, so I kept quiet rather than interrupt.

  ‘He is so loyal to Patrice and he has never been in trouble.’

  ‘Well, there was the one time that the Police saw fit to investigate him.' It was George that had brought it up. ‘He didn't do it, but he was accused of stalking then as well.'

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t do it.’ Angelica stated with a hint of venom. ‘All the charges were dropped two days later.’ She turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, Amanda. We are ignoring you. It was not our intention to be rude. Can I show you something?’ she asked getting up.

  I moved to follow her, but she waved for me to stay where I was. ‘I need just a second.’ She said. She left the room but returned less than five seconds later holding a framed photograph. I could see what it was before she reached the sitting area. It was a graduation photograph of Bartholomew.

  ‘Our son has a borderline genius I.Q. He achieved a double first at Kings College Oxford in Chemistry and Advanced Physical Chemistry. He is engaged to a woman he has been dating since he was a teenager and I can assure you that he has had nothing to do with your client.' George remained quiet. ‘I believe this can all be cleared up quite easily so the simplest thing for me to do is tell you where he is and let you resolve this with him. I don't feel the need for George and me to be involved. The Kimberly girl is clearly deluded or confused. Do you agree George?' she asked, turning to her husband.

  ‘Yes, Dear. Bartholomew is a man, not a boy. He can take care of his own business without needing us to protect him.’

  ‘Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.' Angelica and George were the nicest people I had ever met. They were reacting in direct contrast to what I had expected. My role in the Police had seen me deliver miscreant children of all ages back to their parents and I had never been met by such calmness.

  ‘I just need a moment to call him, dear.' Angelica excused herself as she got up once more. She took a few paces away, a phone to her ear. I could not hear her conversation, but it felt like my time at their house was coming to an end, so I began gathering my items into my bag in readiness to leave. Angelica and George acted as if they were completely certain that Bartholomew had to be innocent. They were so convincing in fact that I was beginning to doubt his guilt myself. I would speak with him, but unless I found some convincing evidence, I was going to have to return to Kimberly and question her again. Had she made it all up? It was Halloween after all – maybe this was an elaborate trick.

  I remained seated throughout the conversation, but when I heard Angelica disconnect I stood up, ready to leave.

  ‘Bartholomew is expecting you. He is, of course, innocent and will be happy to go on record or make a statement, or whatever it is that will clear his name and end your investigation. He is at a friend's house in Maidstone. You can find him there directly. Is that convenient?'

  ‘You mean, can I go there now?’

  ‘Yes, dear.'

  ‘All I need is an address, please.'

  Angelica strode across the room to a desk, her elegant heels clicking lightly on the tiled floor. The door to the room, the one we had come in through, was in the same direction so I began walking after her, watching as she selected a slip of paper from a pad and jotted down an address for me.

  While I waited for her to finish, I spotted another door in the corner of the room to my left. It was partially hidden behind a whiteboard on which a complex chemical compound was written over almost the entire board. I could not tell what it was for but recognised what it was from classes at Uni and back in school. The door led to a set of stairs that disappeared downwards into the darkness beyond. Angelica had said this was an extension to the original house for them to add offices. I wondered what was in the basement level they had added. Probably a wine cellar.

  Angelica stood up and turned to me, brandishing the slip of paper which she had folded neatly. ‘Good luck with your endeavours, Miss Harper.’ She said as she handed it over. ‘I will show you out.’ I slipped the paper into my pocket after quickly checking the address for myself as we left the room.

  It was on the Magdalene Estate.

  ‘Goodbye, my dear.' George called after me.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr. King.' I replied, but I was already out of the room and being led through the vast warren of corridors and rooms that would take me back to the front door.

  As sunlight flooded through the open front door, I saw that it had stopped raining. I turned to thank Angelica for her assistance once more but stopped as I heard a vehicle next to me. Its diesel engine was rumbling along the side of the house to my left. Then it appeared, a small van being driven by a man sporting long dreadlocks. His dark skin was pockmarked by acne that had cleared up but had left his face damaged. The van had no markings on it to indicate it was part of a national chain.

  ‘Deliveries.’ Angelica said, following my gaze. ‘George and I need chemicals here to conduct our research.’

  I nodded, fixing he
r with a smile. It was none of my business and she had been more helpful than I could have hoped for. I thanked her once again and went back out the front gate to my car. In the quiet and very lovely village of Bearsted, my car was exactly as I had left it. I wondered if it would get the same treatment back on the Magdalene Estate where I was heading yet again.

  Not What I Expected. Monday, October 31st 1223hrs

  I was getting hungry when I arrived at the address I had for Bartholomew. According to Angelica, it was the house of a good friend of Bartholomew's. A person he had gone to school with many years ago. I was finding it hard to imagine how he could have ever moved in the same circles as the person living in the house in front of me, but I had no reason to disbelieve what I had been told.

  On the way, I had called Lily Hallett and explained that I was delayed dealing with another case and asked if we could rearrange our meeting. I was expecting her to be snippy with me for breaking our arrangement, however, she seemed satisfied that I had taken the time to call her and advised that I would be tied up. She said that Tempest and I would be able to find her at the ghost tours office in Royal Tonbridge Wells all afternoon. It was impossible to predict how my current case would pan out, but I intended to meet with her today, so that was what I told her. She seemed quite keen that Tempest be involved but I saw no reason to explain that he was out of town.

  I parked my car around the corner from Mason's house. Right in front of the house was a shiny, new-looking Nissan GTR. The number plate read K1NGS. It had to be Bartholomew's. I could have parked next to it but there were no other cars about and the house bordered a park, so my car would be very visible. Around the corner, it was tucked against a rotting fence and behind a van where I hoped it would remain out of sight.