by steve higgs
He made little, go-away motions with his hand until I got up and went in the direction he was pointing. His bedroom was a sumptuous thing, decorated in stark black and white with splashes of blood red here and there. The bed itself was a huge white cast iron frame with mirrors on three walls around it and, when I looked up, more mirrors on the ceiling. I pushed the door closed behind me. I would attend to my ablutions in a minute. I felt suddenly tired and the bed looked very comfortable. I would just lay down for a little bit.
Sleeping with Friends. Wednesday, November 2nd 0722hrs
An odd sensation pulled me from my slumber. Only my eyes were moving, but all was not as I had left it. Big Ben was in the bed with me and his heavy arm was draped across my midriff. I had fallen asleep on the bed without even so much as cleaning my teeth. I felt scuzzy now and my bladder was full, so I needed to move.
His arm was on top of the covers, pinning them to me. I was still dressed thankfully, though I wondered if he would be also. Carefully, I slid out from beneath his arm and stepped silently into the bathroom. Once I had the door closed I realised that I did not know where the light switch was and had to fumble to find it.
I would clean myself up, let myself out and walk back across town to my own place like I was doing the walk of shame. I would call Big Ben later and thank him for his hospitality and never mention that he had joined me in bed.
When I came out of the bathroom though he was awake. The light in the bedroom was on and he was missing. The clock claimed it to be just after half past seven. I grabbed my phone to see if I had messages from Brett. I did not. Nor did I have anything from Patience, which was highly unusual and could only be attributed to my landing her in hot water yesterday. I would have to go to her apartment later if I was unable to raise a response by any other method.
There was noise coming from the living area. Big Ben had the TV on and in the kitchen the smell of coffee brewing was beginning to filter through.
‘Good morning.' I called out as I went in. Big Ben appeared from the kitchen. He was dressed in sports gear thankfully. I had been mildly concerned he might not bother with clothes in his own environment. In his hands, he had two mugs of coffee on a tray with a pot of sugar and a small milk jug in the shape of a cow. He was far more domesticated than he gave rise to believe.
‘Good morning, Amanda. I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep last night. I found that I am too long to be comfortable on the sofa, so I slid in next to you.’
‘That’s okay.’ I said, not entirely sure that it was. I wanted to go home, but it would be rude to rush out now when he had made me coffee and was being surprisingly sweet and supportive.
‘You look constantly surprised when I do something selfless for you?' he said, picking up my reaction as he sat on one of a pair of leather sofas. ‘I believe you may have the wrong opinion of me.'
‘Benjamin, by your own admission you plan to have sex with every eligible woman you can. Never caring about them, always moving on. Do you not think that a psychologist would say that you are trying to fill a void in your life? Have you ever thought about what that might be?’
‘Babe I filled several voids last weekend.’ He quipped back.
I made a vomiting motion in reply. ‘Do you have to be so crude all the time?’
‘I’m just giving you a fighting chance. You seem determined that you do not wish to sleep with me. I don’t understand it, but I figure if I make you feel uncomfortable it will prolong the inevitable day when you throw yourself at me.’
‘So, you are acting like a cocky git for my sake?’
‘Is it working? Do you feel like parting your legs for me right now?’
'Eww, no.'
‘There you go then.’ He fell silent.
I slugged down my coffee. ‘I really think I ought to be going?' I announced getting up.
‘Wow. I was only not being a cocky git for a few seconds and already the effect is wearing off. You better run before my natural magnetism takes hold.’ He was laughing as I threw a cushion at him and went out of his door.
Investigating a Ghost on a Ghost Tour. Wednesday, November 2nd 0934hrs
With a renewed sense of purpose, I set about my day. My apartment was in need of a severe tidying. It had not been trashed, but the team that had come in to take the tarantulas out had moved things about. My furniture was out of place, my curtains ruffled in an unsettling way that suggested there might still be a giant spider hiding behind them and I knew of course that there had been a dozen strangers in my house last night, all leaving their fingerprints behind, all touching my belongings, riffling through my drawers. I shuddered at the thought. I was left with a sense of violation.
The apartment would have to wait though. I was going to do something positive with my day. I was going to solve the Tonbridge Wells ghost tour case, I was going to make peace with Patience and I was going to get my boyfriend back. First, I needed a shower, some breakfast and a change of clothes.
Thirty minutes later I was going out of my door. I was clean, dressed and had a belly full of toast and eggs. I was heading to Tempest's house. I had intended to check in on Kimberly but had forgotten to do so and she would be on her way to work by now. I could call her but if she wanted anything she would have called me already. I sent a text to Patience that I hoped she would pick up and answer. A text from Brad last night had confirmed that she had been suspended without pay. I was offering to help with that by giving her paid work with the firm. I wasn't entirely sure I could do that, but Tempest had left me in charge, so I was making my own rules.
Jane’s car was on Tempest’s driveway as it had been before, and she was inside at the computer. The first thing I noticed was that the computer now had three screens.
‘Hi, Jane. Been making some upgrades?’
‘Hi, Amanda.’ She replied, not turning away from what she was doing. ‘Having one screen was slowing me down. I am running too many different applications simultaneously. I brought these from home.’
‘Is that Meet Market?’ I asked seeing the right-hand screen.
‘Yeah. I have been rearranging my date with Bartholomew. I didn’t know if that was still something we wanted to do, but I figured I could easily cancel it if I needed to.’
‘Did he bite?’
‘He did. While we were in the pub and you were a little…’
‘Catatonic.’ I filled in the blank she had left.
‘I sent him a message saying I had to cancel but wanted to rearrange. He was fine with it, better than I expected, but I said I needed to work out when I would next be free. All I need to do now is tell him when.’
‘How about tonight?’
I watched as she typed the same words into the message box and sent it away. Then she turned to face me. ‘If you go after Bartholomew now, will it not open you up to a harassment case?'
‘It could. However, I know he is guilty. Kimberly is sleeping in the boss’s house and he is targeting me with spiders and snakes with no sign of stopping until I stop him. I don’t feel much choice other than to catch him out and prove that I was right from the start.’
‘How about the Tonbridge Wells ghost tour's ghost?' Jane asked. ‘They sent several gigabytes of data yesterday that made the computer go a bit wobbly when I opened it. Thankfully they sent it via a transfer service, so it didn't flood the cache memory.’
Jane was babbling computer nerd speak again. I had no idea what she was telling me, other than we now had footage of the moments when Sir Chelios visited.
‘Did they send a list of names?’ I asked.
‘That was the only other file they sent. I printed it.’ Jane handed me a sheet of A4 paper. There were thirteen names on it, almost all women, only two men and they had the same last name as two of the women.
‘I am going to call them. Can you see if any of them are linked please?’ I left Jane to it and took a seat at the dining table Tempest had shoved up against one wall. I started at the top of the list but got no answer. The
second name, a lady by the name Agatha Milford did answer.
I got a breezy, ‘Good morning.’ With a voice that screamed Royal Tonbridge Wells with extra emphasis on the Royal bit.
‘Good morning, Mrs. Milford. My name is Amanda Harper. I am a detective with the Blue Moon Investigation Agency and have been contracted by Lily Hallett at Tonbridge Ghost Tours to investigate some odd occurrences they have experienced. Do you have a few minutes to talk to me please?'
‘Yes, of course. Lily said you might call.' That struck me as odd. If I was a customer of a tour I would most likely be a tourist. Let's suggest that I have that wrong though and Agatha is a local, she certainly sounded like one. However, what is the likelihood that I would know the tour operator by her first name? It could just be a coincidence and the two ladies did indeed know each other. I continued.
‘Mrs. Milford can you explain to me what you experienced when you took the ghost tour please? Give as much detail as you can.'
As requested she launched into a lengthy account of the night she took the tour. About a minute into her story I started to feel that it was rehearsed. At no point did she um or ah or pause. Perhaps she was just very articulate, but her story was so well polished that it felt like I was being read a script. She finished with, ‘Then a chill of absolute dread fell upon me as I felt his presence drift through my soul. He whispered his name and was gone.’ Agatha lapsed into silence.
‘Is there anything else?’ I enquired.
‘No, no. I think that is about all I remember.’ She had remembered everything. I thanked her for her time, made a couple of notes and called the next number. The lady that answered this time was Susan Haverhill. Once again, I explained who I was and what I wanted. Once again, she agreed to tell me what she knew, but if she was as familiar with Lily Hallett as Agatha was she gave no sign.
I let her tell me about her experience at the ghost tour. She rambled more than Agatha had but she used many of the same words to describe what she had seen, so much so that it began to sound like the same story, just told differently. I was smelling something very fishy about the whole case but knew I had been duped when Susan said, ‘A chill of dread passed through me as I felt his presence touch my soul.’ It was almost verbatim what Agatha had said.
‘Do you know Agatha Milford?’ I asked. Susan spluttered a little when claiming that she did not. I was certain she was lying. Not only at that point, but since she started speaking.
I thanked her for her time and disconnected. Turning to Jane, I found her waiting patiently for me to get off the phone.
‘They all know the client.’ she said, which concluded the case. Less than thirty minutes of actual investigation and we had solved the case.
‘I was just about to ask what you had found out because it is clearly all fake.' Jane indicated to the screens with her head. ‘Show me.'
I crossed the room and leaned to see what Jane had found. Social media provided a link between every name on the list and Lily Hallett. I dismissed the notion that it could be a coincidence. That Lily Hallett had been so keen to have Tempest at her office and wanted to take photographs had tipped her hand. This was all about publicity.
I thought about that for a moment. Lily Hallett had invented a ghost that was visiting her tour, probably one she had researched and for which a legend already existed. Tempest had been involved in a couple of high profile cases recently, so while he was hardly a household name, in the local community, especially those involved in any form of business that had a connection to the paranormal, he was known. Did a visit by him then legitimise her tour? Give it greater credibility and interest?
Probably.
I was ready to believe that this had been her intention, but what did I do about it. She had contracted the agency to investigate her case. Did I string it out and charge her a fat fee for my trouble? Did I reveal the scam to her, but have Tempest agree to a few photographs since she was paying? I didn’t like the second option. It felt cheesy. Tempest was very clear that the paranormal was not real, so I could not see him endorsing a ghost tour.
I decided to give myself some time to consider it. I had still not heard from Patience, so I was going to drive to her flat and knock on her door. I needed to make things right between us.
Jane and I made a plan to meet at my place at seven o'clock again to make ready for the date and I left her practicing speaking with a girl's voice. She was rubbish at it.
Where is Patience? Wednesday, November 2nd 1116hrs
I tried calling on my way over, just in case my persistence paid off. There was no reply though. I also called Brett. I had been putting it off because in my desperation to resolve our hiccup I was worried he would not listen and continue to reject me. I hated the idea that we would break up after our first little fight, especially since it was all a mistake.
His phone rang at the other end though and just when I thought it was going to switch to an answering service, a woman answered instead.
It was his assistant, Janice. ‘Hi, Amanda.' She chirped happily. Janice seemed to know everything about him, so if he changed his status to available or single it had not made it to her ears yet. ‘Are you after Brett? Duh, of course, you are. Why would I ask that when you were calling his phone?' I had not met Janice yet, she had answered his phone a couple of times and had called me to arrange his social diary once when he was in a meeting and needed to delay a date. My mental image of her was a nineteen-year-old ditzy blonde, stereotypically pretty but not all that bright. Her brain seemed to flit from one idea to the next, never stopping in one place for very long.
‘Hi, Janice. Is he there?’
‘No, he flew to Bahrain this morning.’
‘Did he have a meeting?’
‘Not one that was on his calendar.’
‘Do you know how long he is going to be away?’
‘He said two or three days, but he didn't say what he was going there for, other than he needed a break. Are you guys okay? He seemed different this morning like he was upset about something. Ooh did you guys have a fight.'
I distracted her with a question, ‘Janice does he have a different phone with him?’
‘Yes.’ She said very carefully. ‘I am not allowed to give the number out to anyone though.’
‘I’m his girlfriend, Janice. He would want me to have it.’
Janice gave it up after a minute or so cajoling. I thanked her and dialled the new number.
It was answered immediately. ‘Brett Barker.’ My heart skipped.
‘Brett. It’s Amanda.’
‘That bloody Janice. I swear I need to fire her.' I tried to speak but he cut me off. ‘Look, Amanda. I know you are going to protest your innocence, but I saw what I saw. I am going away for a couple of days, kitesurfing with some friends. When I get back, if I want to call you to talk about it, I will. That's the best I can offer right now.'
‘Okay, Brett.’ I conceded with a tear on my cheek.
‘I was really into you, Amanda.’ He paused, and I waited while he framed what he wanted to say next. ‘Now I just don’t know. Don’t call me, okay. I’ll call you.’
He disconnected, leaving me feeling very lonely in my little car. Tempest was away, Patience was upset with me, more than she ever had been in all the years I had known her, Brett and I were on a break at the very best and my mum and her boyfriend were in Miami or wherever their cruise ship was currently. I needed more friends.
I had arrived at Patience's place. I was starting to feel angry about having to chase her. It was not my fault that CI Quinn was such a dick. I had suffered worse than her, she was getting some extra time off and I was offering her better-paying work to fill her spare time. I couldn't keep it up though. However bad I felt for myself, I knew that her current predicament was my fault. I trudged up the stairs to ring her doorbell.
There was no answer though. No sound of movement even from inside the apartment. Had she seen me coming and hidden? Was she so upset with me that she was avoiding m
e now? I knew she was here because her car was outside. I guess the pervy mechanic had finally finished with it and she had retrieved it yesterday after getting suspended.
I hammered on the door. ‘Come on, Patience. Please open the door so we can talk.' I yelled so she would hear me. Still no sound from inside. I thumped hard on the door again.
‘Shhhhh!' Came an insistent voice as a door opened across the other side of the landing. ‘Keep it down, won't you? My husband works nights.'
Embarrassed, I turned to see a small woman in her late thirties in house slippers and flannel pyjamas with a towelling dressing gown hanging open to show her flabby middle. The overhang of her belly was visibly hanging lower than her top could cover.
‘Sorry.’ I apologised. ‘Have you seen Patience?’
‘Here, I have a key.’ She said producing a small keyring with a fluffy cupcake on it from inside her house. She shuffled across the landing, her slippers making a scuffing noise as they hung off the back of her feet to lightly scrape the tile.
She opened the door for me and stood back. ‘I don’t think she is there.’ She told me as she popped a cigarette in her mouth. ‘Haven’t heard a thing all night or this morning so she is probably on a shift, love.’
I went inside as she inhaled deeply on the foul stick of putrid death. I would have to come back out through it soon enough. She was right in that Patience was not at home. I also knew that she was not at work unless I had been misinformed about her suspension, which seemed unlikely, or CI Quinn had found her an even more unpleasant task and called her back in.
I went to her bedroom, opened her wardrobe and counted her uniforms hanging there. Only three, so one was missing. To be sure, I went to her bathroom and opened the laundry basket. The missing uniform was there, discarded for washing after she came home yesterday. So, I knew she had come home yesterday but not where she was now.