Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

  My pulse skipped again. Goodness, was I that into him? ‘I, um…’ what was wrong with me? ‘I believe I am free Thursday night if that works for you.’

  ‘Thursday? Yes, I can make that work. Are you okay with Vietnamese food?’

  ‘Err, we are not going to Vietnam for it, are we?’ I was joking but also slightly worried that he might have something dramatic planned.

  ‘No,’ he laughed, ‘But there will be a little car ride to get there. Can I pick you up at eight?’

  ‘Sure thing. Do I need to dress up?’ I was mildly concerned that we might be eating at Buckingham Palace with the Royal family and we were eating Vietnamese food because they were hosting the Vietnamese Ambassador.

  ‘No Babe. Ordinary going to a restaurant clothes will suffice. No trips to the opera, no private museum tours.’

  ‘Okay. It sounds nice. I will see you then.’

  ‘I need your address. I don’t know where you live.’

  ‘Of course. I will text it to you. I am driving at the moment.’

  Dammit, did I really want him seeing where I live?

  ‘Okay. Well, I will see you Thursday then,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Thursday.' There was an awkward silence then as neither of us hung up. ‘Okay, bye then,' I said, trying to make it sound natural and cool, like I wasn't secretly mega-excited about seeing him again. I clicked off just as he was saying goodbye to me.

  At the Pentagon with Patience. Tuesday, 19th October 1611hrs

  My shift today had been like many others: It had started too early and was mostly boring. I took calls about nothing exciting at any point and was happy when it was over. I had let slip to Patience that I was going to the Pentagon to look into the ghostly elevator case and she insisted in tagging along with me.

  We both finished at 3 o’clock, changed out of our uniforms and took my car rather than pay twice for parking. On the way there, Patience had asked me more about the case.

  ‘The Pentagon Centre manager believes he has a ghost. Or at least he believes he has something odd happening with his lifts. People get in, the lights go out, the lift stops and when the power comes back on several of them have claimed that they felt a presence in the lift with them. Two girls managed to snap a selfie. Here,’ I said offering her my phone, ‘The first picture you come to should be the one.’

  ‘Whoa! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,' Patience blurted from the passenger seat, ‘That's a ghost, girl.'

  ‘I highly doubt it.’

  She fixed me with a stare, ‘Girl I know a ghost when I see one. My great aunt Rita was a medium.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I believe there will be a more ordinary explanation for the image and for the reports people have made.’ Quite what that explanation might be I had not the faintest idea yet.

  ‘What else have they said?’ she asked.

  ‘There have been reports of shopping going missing. That is something that feels incongruous.’

  ‘What kind of shopping?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You know, was it bags of groceries or was it fashion wear? If it was fine shoes, then the ghost is bound to be a woman.'

  ‘I haven’t been able to read that bit of detail yet.’

  ‘I bet it was. I bet the ghost is a young woman struck down in her prime wearing fine clothes. Ooh! I bet she was killed by her jealous boyfriend because she was flirting with another man and now she haunts the Pentagon because he pushed her down the elevator shaft.’ Patience was creating a whole story arc for her ghost. I had no idea she had this much imagination.

  ‘Anyway, I am going to visit the two maintenance engineers and ask them to show me the lift shafts and grill them about the lifts themselves. I also want to ride in the lifts and see if anything happens.’

  ‘Are you crazy? There is a ghost in a lift and you want to get in the lift and close the doors?’

  ‘It will be fine, Patience. There is not going to be a ghost haunting the lifts in Chatham.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘If you were a ghost would you not pick somewhere a little nicer than the Pentagon to spend the rest of your undead existence?’

  She appeared to be mulling that over, ‘It is a little skanky, I suppose.’

  Chatham was all of that.

  The traffic from Maidstone to Chatham was moving slow. I had shot up Bluebell Hill swiftly enough but the ride down the Maidstone road into Chatham was clogged with traffic backed up behind temporary traffic lights where someone had seen the need to dig a hole in the road. It had not been there yesterday. After much stopping and starting, we eventually got through the lights and our pace picked up again. The final mile into Chatham town centre is always sticky with so much traffic funnelling into a tight space and a poorly organised one-way system, but it continued to move, and we finally pulled in to park the car at five minutes to four.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Patience asked as I fed coins into the ticket machine. ‘I’m hungry. I might get me some chicken. You want some chicken?’

  ‘I need to catch the maintenance guys before they finish for the day. I need to do that first, but no, I don't think I want to get food here. I have a meal waiting at home.'

  ‘This is why you are lean, girl. You can resist the chicken,’ Patience observed, ‘Let’s go see your maintenance men. Then maybe I’ll get me some chicken after.’

  I had called Martin Miller from the car, so he was expecting us. I probably could have parked back where I had met him last night, but I planned to check out the lifts myself once we were finished behind the scenes, so it made more sense to park in the main car park. We were on the ground floor, so I had not needed to use the lift to access the main shopping area. There was a staff entrance to the Pentagon management and service area next to Sainsbury’s supermarket in the far corner of the centre from where I had entered. Martin advised that there was an intercom on the wall and that the security guard at the other end of it would be expecting us.

  Getting to it proved harder than expected though: Patience was easily distracted.

  ‘Hey, Amanda girl. Look at these fine shoes,’ Patience had come to a halt in front of a store window, ‘That new man of yours would love to see you in these.’

  They were six-inch-high slut heels with a one-inch clear platform on the bottom. I was not convinced I could walk in them but then I was also not sure that walking was their purpose. ‘I cannot wear those, Patience. They scream "Hooker" at a loud volume. I do not own an outfit that they would go with.'

  ‘Well, that’s fine, girl. Ann Summers is right next door.’

  ‘Thanks, Patience. I am not really an Ann Summers girl.’

  ‘You’ve got a new dick to impress now girl, so maybe you ought to rethink your attitude. I am an expert in Ann Summers. Let’s go get some new panties, or do you think your new dick is into things that are a little naughtier?

  I would tell myself that I am not a prude but the idea of something a little naughtier terrified me.

  ‘Thank you, Patience, but I don’t think Brett and I are there yet. Maybe another time when we have been on more than one date.’ I needed to get Patience off this subject.

  ‘The element of surprise, girl. He thinks you’re a sweet little lady – then Bam! You whip off your dress and show him your crotchless panties and nipple tassels. Always works for me. Men love that stuff.’

  Now I really had to stop the conversation. The mental image projecting itself uninvited in my brain was not something I could handle. ‘I really need to get to the maintenance guys,' I replied, ignoring her demands to go into the store. I was trying to get her moving in the hope she would give up on the idea of dressing me like I was auditioning for an adult movie.

  ‘You’re all Miss Business today. Let’s go see your men. Then we can shop.’

  ‘Would you rather stay here? I shouldn’t be too long. You can get chicken and do some shopping.’ I was beginning to regret bringing Patience along. I wanted to solve the case, not buy underwear. Patience looked
like she was weighing up her decision, but she elected to tag along with me despite the pull of hot fried chicken.

  I found the intercom, got buzzed through and was met inside by a security guy who explained that he would escort us to the maintenance guys. The security chap was called Karl. He introduced himself over his shoulder as he walked ahead of us through the same maze of narrow corridors I had been in yesterday. He was fifty pounds overweight, huffing and puffing from the effort of walking. Quite what his role might be I did not want to ask but since all a thief would have to do to evade him was walk quickly, he was probably the man they had watching the cameras. Watching them with one hand in a bag of crisps probably.

  A minute later and perhaps a dozen or more turns through the maze, Patience and I were both thoroughly lost again but we arrived at a door which had maintenance room written on the outside. It was not locked, and inside were two men in their early fifties, both sitting on polyethylene chairs, one blue, one orange arranged either side of a small, dirty, round, Formica-topped table. They had half-finished mugs of tea on the table and were playing cards. The mugs were dirty, the cards were dirty and the men themselves did not look exactly clean. The walls were adorned with posters and pictures of naked girls. Calendars, pages from girly magazines and the odd faded page three pin-up covered most of the available wall space. I had been in places like this before and it no longer bothered me, their leering stares were not winning them any points though.

  I knew their names to be Charles Spencer and Jack Benson as Martin had provided me a brief background on the two men by email yesterday. Security guard Karl left us with them and closed the door on his way out.

  ‘Damn, it smells like arse in here?’ Patience said. She was right, but I had elected to ignore the fact that someone had recently farted rather than lead with it.

  Reassuring myself that I had tissues in my pocket to clean my skin, I crossed the room with my hand extended, ‘Amanda Harper,' I said as I shook their hands in turn. ‘This is my colleague Patience Woods. So, which of you is Jack?'

  ‘I’m Jack,’ said Jack helpfully.

  ‘Then that makes you, Charles,’ I said to the other chap by way of confirmation. He nodded but did not speak.

  Jack was the spokesperson for the pair, ‘Mr. Miller told us to expect you. You’re here to catch the ghost then?'

  ‘Damn right,’ said Patience from behind me.

  ‘I am here to investigate the unusual activity, yes,' I replied, ‘Mr. Miller said that you have inspected the lifts. What can you tell me about them please?'

  Jack picked up his dirty mug and drained the last of the liquid inside it. Setting it aside, he pushed his chair back slightly and turned to face me. There was nowhere for Patience and me to sit, but I was glad of that as everywhere was filthy. He scratched his stubble, working out what to say. Then he launched into a long rambling statement about how the lifts had been fitted as part of the original installation back in the mid-seventies. He and Charlie had both landed jobs at that time, having both recently finished apprenticeships. They had been taken on cheap because they were young, and he had a good moan about how their wages had barely gone up since. The lifts had been refitted twice, once in the very early nineties and again earlier this year. They had done most of the refitting work themselves, shutting down one lift bank at a time. I asked what the refit involved, and he explained that the most recent refit had been a complete overhaul that involved replacing the cables, gearing, and controls – they had not done that work, instead it had been contracted out, and the lift interiors, doors, and lighting had all been replaced with new items – this is what they had done. The work had taken six months so far and had earned them some overtime hours as much of it was conducted when the shopping centre was closed. They had six lifts banks completed and two still to go. He explained which ones were yet to be tackled. I matched that to the map in my head – they were two of the lifts that had not reported any ghost attacks yet. Two of the six they had refitted also had no reports of attack though, so the correlation was unreliable.

  ‘Can you show me the difference please?’ I asked. I wanted to see everything as I could not yet tell what would be significant and what would not.

  Just then Charles shifted in his seat and farted. Loudly. He looked utterly unashamed at his flatulence, but with Patience and I staring at him he did have the common sense to apologise.

  ‘Sorry. I have a bit of gas.’

  ‘You always have a bit of gas,’ grumped Jack.

  ‘Man, what you have is a lack of manners,’ Patience said heading for the door, ‘I will be outside,’ I had to agree and found myself backing away also. It stank like garlic sausage.

  ‘The lifts please, Jack,' I said on my way to the door, ‘I need to see the insides and I need to see the lift shafts and the machinery that works them.' I was using my cop voice now. The one that insisted on compliance.

  Jack was getting up as I was going out the door, thankful to be able to breathe slightly cleaner air. As the door started to swing shut, I heard another, even louder fart coming from inside the room and a chuckle from Charles.

  Why is it men never seem to grow out of finding farts funny?

  We did not have to go very far to get a look at the gubbins that made the lifts work. Just around the corner was a lift bank which, of course, we had approached from the rear.

  ‘Which lift back is this?’ I asked.

  ‘Green. The ones near the toilets at the south exit. I knew which ones he meant. They only went between the first and second floor and had not yet recorded an incident. There was not a whole load to look at. The shaft itself was completely bricked in. A locked door, for which Charles produced a key, then led inside the base of the shaft. I peered inside. The two lifts were both moving above us, but I was in no danger as the area in which it would descend was inaccessible behind a steel barrier.

  I asked a few questions about the machinery, what sort of problems they had to fix, but I did not really have a line of enquiry to follow. I decided that I did not need to see the hidden workings of the other lifts at this time, if ever, so my next move was going to be to see the lifts as the customers did. Something odd was happening but I still had no idea what was causing it or how it was that shopping had gone missing.

  I had one last question for Jack and Charles though, ‘Mr. Miller told me that you inspected the lifts after the incidents. What did you find?'

  ‘Nothing,’ said Charles immediately, ‘The lifts were operating perfectly within tolerance.’

  ‘No electrical faults. Nothing to explain why they would have stopped working or have the lights go out,’ chipped in Jack.

  ‘I reckon they have been making it up,’ said Charles, ‘The first person lost their shopping and made up a story. Then it caught on.’

  I thanked them for their time and asked Jack to escort us back to the shops. The two men were convincing in their belief that there was nothing wrong with the lifts. It had been one theory, actually my only theory so far, that the lifts were just suffering from breakdowns and the rest of the ghost story was just embellishment followed by others repeating the tale and pretending they had been involved. It seemed less likely now that there were so many cases involving so many different and unrelated people.

  Back out in the shops, the air was sweeter, but I felt a need to visit the ladies just so that I could clean my hands properly and freshen up. Patience agreed.

  A few minutes later and feeling far cleaner, Patience was on the hunt for chicken again. ‘Girl, my tummy is empty. I need chicken now.' she had claimed as we exited the facilities.

  There were no food places inside the Pentagon. It seemed odd now that I thought about it, especially compared with modern malls that all have a food court crammed with eating options, but Southern Fried Chicken was just outside the Pentagon on the upper north side.

  ‘I'm gonna get me a whole bucket.' Patience said more to herself than to me. It was like she was doing a little chicken song on her way
to overcome her impatience. I sat in a booth when we arrived and had her get me a diet coke. While she was queuing at the counter, I took out my phone and sent a text to Brett. I had forgotten to give him my address. Okay, that is not strictly true. I had tussled with whether to give him the address for my crappy flat near the station or to pretend I lived on the other side of the river in the nice apartments. In the end, I accepted that I would not get away with it for very long and would struggle to explain later why I had felt the need for my subterfuge. I doubted he cared at all about where I lived. He had enough money for both of us, or in fact, for most of the population of Maidstone, plus he knew what I did for a living, so he knew roughly what I earned.

  Once I sent the text, I gave Tempest a quick call.

  ‘Hi, Amanda,’ he answered, ‘How are you today?’ He was always so polite and engaging.

  ‘Fine, thank you, Tempest. I am in Chatham looking into the ghost at the Pentagon.’

  ‘Oh. How is that going?’

  ‘Nothing to report yet. I am just eliminating leads and getting a feel for what might be going on.’ I really wanted to solve this for myself. Not for the sake of my own ego, or so that I could prove to Tempest that he was right to hire me, but for myself. I needed to prove to myself that I could do this.

  ‘Well, if you need to use any equipment just come and get it from the office. Or if you need an extra pair of hands at any point just let me know.’

  ‘How is the Klown case going?’ I asked. Tempest had been hired to investigate the disappearance of a man, but it was an odd case because the man was not actually missing. He had joined a weird Klown cult that had sprung up recently. They were responsible for a lot of graffiti across the county that claimed the Klowns are coming. They also appeared to be behind some odd stalker type behaviour where several girls had been followed home at night by scary looking men in clown outfits. Nothing more sinister than that had occurred though until a few days ago when a girl was attacked with a knife. She had lived but was badly cut on her abdomen. It was scary stuff, but the man Tempest was engaged to find was answering his phone and refusing to come home. The client was the man's sister, who assured Tempest that he was in danger and needed to be rescued.