by steve higgs
I wrote her a text to tell her I was in her apartment and was worried about her and was wondering where she was. I pressed send, then heard her phone chirp.
It was in the house.
‘Patience?’ I called out, wondering if she was hiding in a cupboard. No sound came back, so I called her phone and when it connected and started ringing a second later I found it abandoned on the kitchen counter, hidden from view behind a box of Weetoes.
This was not good.
‘Are you going to be long?’ her neighbour asked, leaning into the doorway at the front of the apartment so I could see her.
Patience's apartment showed no sign that she had been taken by force. Everything was in place, but like most people she never went anywhere without her phone and if she went anywhere she took her car. I told myself I had no reason to panic. Not yet. But a sense of dread was claiming first prize in the race for the pit of my stomach anyway.
I waved to her neighbour that I was coming, took Patience's phone and went out the door expressing my thanks for her help, while simultaneously holding my breath to avoid the foul smoke.
It was almost noon when I called the station to see if anyone had heard from Patience or knew where she was. It was Sgt Dave Barnet that answered the phone.
‘Hi, Amanda. What can I do for you?’ He asked after I spoke.
‘Have you, or anyone else, seen or heard from Patience? She is missing.'
‘Missing? In what way?’
‘Her car is outside her place, her phone was inside her flat, but she is not there, and her neighbour claims she didn’t hear her last night.’
‘She did seem quite upset when she left here yesterday. Are you sure she is not just avoiding you while she calms down?' he asked.
‘She might have been, but I don't think that is what she is doing now. Why would she leave her phone behind?'
‘Have you been calling her?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Then perhaps she wanted some distance.’
‘What about her car?’
‘Does she have sisters? Other friends? Parents with a car? Anyone of them could have picked her up.’
He was being completely logical, which was really unhelpful because I wanted to jump to conclusions. I would get nowhere with this though, so I thanked him for his help and disconnected.
Sitting in my car, I pulled out Patience’s phone and scrolled to find her sisters and her mum. I dialled each of them, but they did not know where she was either.
Her older sister Charity had some thoughts on the matter though, ‘Girlfriend, that ‘ho is probably in bed with some random man. She always did like the dick. She’s that much of a slut, if she went to buy candy she would end up getting pick n dicks.’
Wow.
No help from her family then. I still doubted she was with a man, but I couldn't think of anything I could do about her absence immediately. Reluctantly, I jabbed my ignition switch and set off for Royal Tonbridge Wells where I proposed to confront Lily Hallett.
Ghost Tours my Backside. Wednesday, November 2nd 1403hrs
It took over an hour to get to Lily Hallett's office because I stopped for some lunch on the way. I found a global coffee chain outlet not far from her office where I bought a giant cup of mochaccino and a sandwich. The range of cakes were calling my name from the display counter. Somehow, I resisted, despite feeling that I deserved a treat to counterbalance the awfulness of the last couple of days.
Refuelled, I left the car where it was in a multi-story car park and walked around the corner to the Ghost Tours office. Through the glass front of her office, I could see Lily talking to a small group of what appeared to be Chinese tourists. I went inside and waited patiently.
There were leaflets to look at and some posters on the wall advertising the tour and what one could expect. It was in several languages. Thankfully, Lily concluded her business with the tourists before I ran out of things to inspect. She saw them to the door then turned to face me, a smile on her face and her hand outstretched for shaking.
‘Hello again, Miss Hallett.’
‘Do you have news about when Tempest will be able to visit?’ she asked.
‘That is what I came to see you about, actually. Shall we sit?’
Lily's face betrayed her excitement at the possibility of having Tempest visit. I had not yet found the time to call him. I could have, of course, but I was still a little angry about his sudden absence and I didn't want to find myself berating him as I unloaded all my problems from this week.
I sat in the same chair I had two days ago when we reached her office in the back corner. ‘So, Amanda, when will I get to meet the great Tempest Michaels.’
‘That will be down to him I'm afraid, Miss Hallett. I haven't talked to him about it yet.'
‘I don’t understand.’ She replied, looking confused. ‘You said you were here to discuss his visit.’
‘No, I said I was here to see you about your desire to have him visit. Tempest does not believe in the paranormal, supernatural world and most certainly does not believe in ghosts. He is a good investigator though. So, how long do you think it would have taken him to discover that all of the people that claimed to have been touched by or to have heard Sir Chelios were your friends?'
Her face coloured and she opened her mouth to answer me. No words came out though as she tried a couple of times to frame the next lie.
‘You gave me their names and phone numbers. It was obvious they were reading from a script or had been coached in what to say.’
‘Well, I… ah.’
‘Look. You hired the Agency for an investigation. The case is now closed and I have a bill for you. There are no hard feelings and you are not the first one to have made it all up. This was just a publicity stunt though, wasn’t it? You wanted pictures of Tempest at your premises so you could legitimise your ghost tour and have something interesting to Tweet about, yes?’
‘Yes.’ She said with some grumpy resignation. She had been staring down at her lap but looked up now to lock eyes with me. ‘Was it really that easy to work out?’
‘It took the office assistant less than thirty minutes to connect all the witnesses.’
‘The office assistant.' She echoed. ‘Do you think Tempest will pose for a photo with me?' she wasn't willing to let the idea go. Maybe she was right, and this would generate business for her.
‘I cannot say.’ I replied. ‘You could just ask him yourself though. Had you done that you could have avoided all the subterfuge and the bill.
‘How much is the bill, please?’ she asked as if she had not thought about it until now.
‘I will have Jane at the office finalise your account and invoice you tomorrow. It will be in line with the fees I described during our first meeting, but more than it would have been if you had just asked him. Oh, and I want all the photographs you took of me, please. I do not give you permission to use my image for your publicity.' It had suddenly occurred to me that she might.
Lily promised me that she would not use the pictures and would send anything that had been printed off to the business address. It would not stop the photographer from making copies, there was nothing I could do about that, but Lily understood the repercussions of using my image without permission, so I doubted she would.
She walked me to the door, apologised for her misguided actions and seemed quite glad that I was going.
Meandering back to the car park I checked my watch to find that our little chat had lasted almost an hour. It was just before three o’clock, so I would have to get a move on or I would get caught in the school run traffic again.
Interesting News. Wednesday, November 2nd 1803hrs
On the way home, I had gone via Patience’s house again. I had her phone so if she had resurfaced she would not be able to call me and I could not call her. Her car was still there and just as before I got no answer from her door. I knocked on her neighbour’s door but got no answer there either.
I hung around
for a while trying to decide what I should do. Patience could be anywhere. She could be shacked up with a man that I didn’t know about, she could have taken a taxi to the station and headed into London for the day for some stress-releasing retail therapy and she simply forgot to pick her phone up. Or she could have been grabbed by Bartholomew and his entourage and be getting tortured to death right now.
I knew I would not be able to convince the guys at the station to do anything official about her. She would not be officially considered a missing person until the third day and even when her absence was acknowledged, it was hard to find a missing person. You had to get lucky and find someone that had seen them being taken, if that was what had happened or had seen them going somewhere and you kept going, following the breadcrumb trail until you found them. Except… all too often what we found was the missing person's body.
I didn’t know what to do. What would Tempest do? I asked myself. He would get hold of everyone he could and rally them to help him.
The answer wasn’t much help as I was struggling to come up with people to call. Big Ben would be ready to help, but I worried that would be just because he wanted another shot at getting into my knickers.
I would need him tonight anyway. Jane had rearranged her date with Bartholomew. Same place and same time as last night. I prayed there would be no surprise waiting for me in my apartment this time to scupper the plan. I was convinced that Bartholomew was dangerous, that he was capable of hurting people. I had no proof though.
Thinking about proof, I remembered Kimberly's toiletries in the lab at the station. I needed to get them back, so I could have them tested. What would that cost? Who would I even approach to do it? Tempest had said something once about a chemistry teacher at a school or a college he knew. If he had told me the fellow's name or which school I could not now remember though.
On my way back to my place from Patience's, I called the lab's number hoping that Simon or Steve would pick up. I owed them an apology as well.
‘Crime lab.’ Simon said as he picked up the phone.
‘Simon it’s Amanda.’
‘Oh, hey, Amanda. Are you calling about all the toiletries we still have?'
‘Yes, can I come and get them? I still want to have them tested.’ Maybe Simon could tell me where I could take them.
‘CI Quinn ordered us to throw it all out.’ Simon told me flatly.
The news felt like a gut punch.
‘We ignored him of course. Hold on I'm putting you on speakerphone.' I listened as the phone clicked a couple of times, then the tone of noise changed to provide the echoing effect one gets from an enclosed room on a speaker.
‘Hi, Amanda.’ It was Steve’s voice.
‘Hi, Steve.’
‘I analysed the shampoo bottle. It was all we had time for so far. The rest of it we hid in case he came back. The first piece of news is that you were right.' I fist bumped the air. ‘Someone tampered with the lady's shampoo and they knew what they were doing. Do you need to write this down, because it is about to get scientific? Nevermind, I’ll send you a report.'
I really didn’t need the long-winded version, but I knew they both liked to show off how clever they were and had learned to indulge them long ago. It meant they would do things for me that they would not for others. Like right now for instance.
I was crawling through traffic anyway, so it might take a while to get home and now I had company in the car, sort of. Steve started his explanation. ‘When making a hair removal product you need a chemical that will attack the keratin faster than the skin can produce a new supply of keratin. This is not easy because in doses high enough to do this most chemicals will be dangerous to the person using them. One also must avoid unpleasant odours which such a chemical might bring and there are side effects like eczema associated with any strong hair removal product. What has been used, is an exquisite blend that is attacking the sulphur bonds in the keratin through a salt of thioglycolic acid. However, for that to work, it has to exist as an active dianion in the product.'
I honestly understood only about twenty-five percent of the words he was saying. It reminded me of taking German classes in school, where I knew some words so would listen to Herr Schneider prattle on and be able to pick out odd words here and there that I knew. The flow of what he was saying would be lost to me though. This was the same.
‘This requires a high concentration of hydroxide ions.' he continued and then launched into a series of chemical formulas. I could feel my eyes getting heavy. If I had been on my sofa at home, I would be asleep already.
He finally wrapped up the lesson by saying, ‘That’s not even the interesting bit.’
‘Wait, what? There is a complex chemical chain present in my client’s shampoo that is causing her hair to fall out, it can only have been introduced deliberately and by someone with a very high level of chemical knowledge and that’s not the interesting bit?’
‘No, Amanda. The interesting bit is that we found anhydrous ammonia and iodine crystals in trace quantities on the outside of the bottle. These would have washed off if they had been exposed to running water in her shower. That is where you said you found the bottle, yes?’
‘It is.’ I had no idea where he was going with this new information.
‘So, it can only have been introduced by the person you saw in her apartment.’ He announced triumphantly. He was waiting for me to respond and I was trying to think of something to say that would not make me sound stupid.
‘Um.’ I tried.
‘They are the base ingredients in making methamphetamine. You make that, then bubble acidic gas through it to make crystal meth. We have a massive crystal meth problem here. We have for years. Whoever it was that tampered with the shampoo, that same person had been making crystal meth.' I could hear the pride in his voice, he knew what this meant.
Bartholomew was the Magdalene King.
A horn blared. I had been lost in thought and was drifting out of my lane. ‘Guys, where is the evidence now?'
‘With us. We are going to stay late to test a few more of the products when the Chief has gone home.’
‘Have you told anyone else about this?’
‘No.’ said Simon, speaking for the first time in several minutes. ‘Who would we even tell? The Chief will not listen.’
He was right. If Bartholomew was cooking crystal meth somewhere I would need to have all the evidence before I acted, before I approached Quinn to coordinate a raid or even an investigation. Even with irrefutable evidence Quinn might still ignore me just to be annoying.
I thanked them both for being so great and promised them a big mention when I solved the case. Despite the slow traffic, I was almost home and my thoughts were of Jane's date with Bartholomew tonight. I was going to be the spider that drew him into my web.
Preparing for Jane’s Date. Wednesday, November 2nd 1920hrs
I had called Big Ben from the car just before I arrived home. He knocked on my door just a few minutes after I got in.
‘Cup of tea?’ I held up the kettle as he settled on my sofa.
‘Yes, please. Hotstuff why is there a blanket on your sofa now?' he asked.
‘Because it no longer feels clean, Benjamin.’ I said pointedly.
‘Because Kimberly and I rolled around naked on it.’ He confirmed. ‘Sorry about that. I’m fairly sure it is clean, but I can pay to have it professionally scrubbed if you wish. Or, you know. We could take a turn on it and maybe you would feel less bothered about it then.’
He hit me with a dangerously suggestive smile and made his pecs dance a bit beneath his shirt.
I rolled my eyes and flicked the kettle switch to on. I set out three cups expecting that Jane would be along soon enough.
‘Thank you for doing this again, Benjamin.'
‘You're welcome. Should we expect Patience shortly?'
‘No, I don’t think so. She has gone missing. Or rather, I don’t know where she is.’
His face crinkled at th
e news. ‘Missing? For how long?’
‘Not long. Missing is the wrong word to use.' I said, wishing I could have said it differently. ‘We had something of a falling out yesterday, at least I think we did. I got her into some trouble at work and we haven't spoken since. I tried calling and sent her several text messages. So, today I went to her house, but she was not there. Her car was though and more worryingly, so was her phone.'
‘Her phone?’ he echoed.
I held it up to show him. I still had it.
There was a knock at my door. Jane had arrived. Big Ben got up to answer it as the kettle clicked off, the hot water inside reaching a rolling boil.
Jane came in looking spectacular. Her blond wig swept over one shoulder and her makeup was salon perfect. She appeared to be wearing a fake bra so that for the first time there were lumps in the front of her white silk top. I couldn't tell that it was a guy under the clothing. She had selected a long skirt that hugged her bum and ended mid-calf where thick tights took her legs the rest of the way to a pair of brand new black heels. It might be a man's legs beneath the hosiery, but you would never know. As it was November, it was all complimented by a thick, long coat that fell to her knees in a superbly contrasting camel colour against the black of her skirt and the white of her top. It looked expensive. All in all, she was a knockout.
‘Hi, Jane. I was just making tea.'
‘Sounds great.’ she replied. ‘I feel like I could do with something stronger though. I am quite nervous.’
‘Do you want something?’ I asked while doing a mental tally of what I might have in the house to offer her.
‘No, that's okay. I had better not.' I noticed then that she was speaking in a passable falsetto version of the usual deep man's voice. I was used to the deep tone coming from the petite woman and no longer really noticed how incongruous it was. I guess she had been working on it.
‘What’s the plan tonight?’ she asked, taking a seat on the sofa.
‘You meet with Bartholomew as planned, have a couple of drinks, engage him in conversation and let’s see what happens. I wouldn’t let it drag out too long though. This is just a first date, if he has some ulterior motive guiding his actions then we want to know what it is, but I doubt you can straight out ask him.’