Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

Patience and I locked eyes for a second, then jumped out of our seats to run back to the car.

  ‘Dammit! My hat!’ Patience yelled as we got outside. She had left it in the booth. I left her to fetch it while I went to get the car.

  In My Flat. Wednesday, October 20th 1917hrs

  The RTA had taken up the rest of the shift. It had been a proper pile-up. Five cars had been mashed into one enormous mess with a further six cars suffering damage as they tried to avoid the carnage in front of them. At the top of the Bluebell Hill, the road leading from the motorway merged onto the dual carriageway leading from Chatham to Maidstone. Traffic on the dual carriageway was always fast moving and to compensate, the cars trying to merge did so at speed. Sometimes someone gets it wrong and auto-violence ensues.

  Despite that, our shift had ended more or less on time and I had taken myself home looking forward to three days off. I stopped on the way back to my flat to buy wine and a pizza, dropped the pizza by the oven as I walked through the house and had the top off the wine and the bottle to my lips before I got to the bathroom to turn on the bath.

  Soaking in the bath with a book and a goblet of wine, I remembered the cameras. I had forgotten about them with the trauma and drama of the afternoon.

  The laptop and the box the cameras came in was still in the boot of my car. It would have to wait, but I was curious to see if I had captured anything. As it turned out I had.

  Half an hour later I was finishing off my glass of wine, which was now getting warm and I was sitting on my small sofa, in my small flat with the laptop perched on my lap. On the sofa next to me were the remains of the pizza which consisted of four crusts and a few crumbs. I called up the camera feed and set the time back to when I had put them in earlier today. I had the feed from all eight cameras going at once and the speed set to ten times normal. Mostly I was looking at empty lifts, but with the clock whizzing along, a blur would occur periodically as someone, or several someones, got on and then got off again. I could not tell, of course, if the lifts were going up or down, only that people were getting on and off. The two infrared cameras showed a glassy white image in which I could detect vague movement but nothing else.

  I stared at the screen for fifteen minutes. It was getting boring. I did some mental calculation. I had roughly six hours of footage, but the shops had shut at six o’clock so probably only four hours were worth looking at. Therefore, I should only have about twenty-four minutes of footage to scan at high speed.

  Was that right?

  I did the maths again and decided I was correct. Then one of the screens went black, it was just a blip that had lasted perhaps one second but watching it in fast forward meant at least ten seconds had passed. I clicked pause and ran the footage back. Then played it at normal speed. In the lift was a middle-aged lady. She was standing still in the middle of the lift, both hands by her sides with heavy shopping in them. Then she put the bags in her left hand down and began fishing in her handbag. Probably looking for her car keys.

  The lights went out and it was pitch black. I could see nothing on the screen at all. It was not one of the lifts I had fitted an infrared camera in, so I continued to watch until the lights came back on. The lady was now flat against the wall to her right, her mouth open like she had been screaming. As I watched, her head turned to the right and she darted out of picture clearly exiting the lift. I rewound it and played it again. Then again and then again.

  I mapped out the event on an A4 pad.

  Victim puts down her bag

  One second later the lights go out

  Twenty-two seconds later the lights come back on

  Four seconds after that she runs out of the screen when presumably the lift doors open

  The bag she put on the floor is not in either of her hands and is not visibly in the lift either

  I watched it one more time but decided I could learn very little from it. I elected to email Martin Miller though and ask if the lady had reported the incident. I would interview her if she had.

  I went back to watching the footage at ten times speed. The number of people getting in and out of the lifts increased for a period. I reasoned that it was probably close to closing time, so I was witnessing the rush to leave. As the numbers tailed off and I was about to give up, another lift went black. I pressed pause and my heart skipped – it was one of the lifts with an infrared camera fitted. What had been a glassy white blur was now a weird other-worldly image, but it was sharp and clear. With the screen paused I could see the two people in the lift, a young couple in their thirties were caught midway through their shocked reaction.

  I took the footage back again as I had before and watched it at normal speed. The couple got in as a mother and her two small children got out. They were talking, their faces relaxed, so not arguing but having a conversation as a couple might. The chap had bags in each hand, his petite girlfriend was carrying nothing although I could see when he turned, that the bags were all from ladies’ fashion shops. He put the bags in his right hand down and shot his cuff to check his watch. Then the lights went out.

  I moved my gaze down to stare at the infrared screen. The girlfriend was clearly screaming and had clung to the man who was also looking panicked. Then, as I watched, a panel in the wall of the lift opened and a figure climbed out. All the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It was wearing dark clothing and had on a balaclava and gloves. It leaned out, took a short pace, snagged the shopping bags from the floor and retreated inside the panel. Two seconds later the lights came back on. The figure was distinctly male.

  I rewound it and watched again, this time at half speed. The cameras were not sophisticated enough to allow me to zoom in – they were designed to be small and unobtrusive over other features plus I was watching it recorded not live. The man in the mask could be anyone at this point, but I had a good idea who it was already. I smiled a smile like the Grinch at Christmas, plotting my cunning plan and looking forward to solving the case. It had been easier than I had expected, but I had not caught anyone yet.

  I closed the laptop, drained my wine glass and wondered if I could have another and not have a buzzing head in the morning. The clock on my wall was saying that it was only half past eight, so I picked up the remote and found some trashy TV to watch.

  I would catch my first ghost tomorrow.

  Ghostbusting. Thursday, October 21st 0745hrs

  I awoke with a dryness to my mouth that I put down to the wine I had guiltily finished last night. While I was slouched on the sofa with my feet curled under me, I had found a favourite movie from years ago that had just started and had stayed up later than I had intended. The lateness led to another glass of wine, the wine led to a bag of M&Ms, so now I was lying in bed wondering if the calories last night need to be worked off this morning. I knew that they did, of course. I was just trying to find the effort to do something about it. The clock by my bed told me it was quarter to eight. What I really wanted to do was roll over, go back to sleep and wake up to find that I had only dreamt of drinking a whole bottle of wine and eating chocolate.

  Ten minutes later I had on skin tight stretchy pants and running shoes, my best sports bra, a light top, plus a pair of thin gloves. I put the key under the doormat, stretched in place for a moment and reluctantly set off. My usual running route was almost five miles and took me around forty minutes. I did not embrace running. However, I accepted that it was a necessary part of my life even though I was not a fan.

  It was cold out, not as bad as yesterday and it was dry – I would not have gone if it was raining. I got into a pace I was happy with as I headed down towards the river. My hair, which I had pulled into a ponytail, swished from side to side behind my head, keeping time with my feet. I crossed the road by Maidstone football ground, passed the rowing club and emerged onto the riverside path where yesterday's rain was still visible.

  Dodging puddles, mud, and piles of mess left by irresponsible dog-owners, I began to push myself. I passed the spot where I had met
Tempest, just past the place where Victoria Turnbull had been murdered by The Vampire a few weeks ago. In my head, I could still see the crime scene tape. Then I passed the River Angel public house and the path alongside the river terminated as it reached a weir. I crossed over the river using the path over the top of the weir and began the hard climb up the hill on the other side.

  I clicked my stopwatch off at thirty-eight minutes and twelve seconds just as I reached my building. Not bad. I had been thinking about the day ahead as I had run. I really wanted to catch the ghost today and close the case. It would be nice to feel that I was earning the money Tempest had already started paying me. He had insisted he pay me a full wage in typical Tempest style. To me, it had seemed that he ought to pay me for the hours I was working but he expressed that since I was committed enough to work both jobs simultaneously, the least he could do was make it worth my effort. Although the focus of my thoughts was on the case, I also had a date tonight to consider. Brett was taking me out for food. This was date two if one was content to consider the weekend in Paris as one date, which meant that the next time I saw him after this would be date three and that had potential implications.

  I had not had a relationship that was worth labelling as such for over a year now. The last properly serious one was more than two years ago. The problem always seemed to be that boys were such utter twats. I had always been cheated on or messed about. Childhood dreams of whirlwind romances, fancy weddings and happy family picnics in the park had given inevitable way to a focus on my career because it was something I could rely upon. Now though, there was a tiny spark of hope inside me that Brett might be the real thing. I reminded my hopeful inner self continually that he and I had only been on one date and had not slept together yet.

  With towels wrapped around my hair and my body to keep in the warmth of the shower, I studied my wardrobe and ignored the voice inside screaming that I had nothing to wear. I had no money to buy a new outfit either, so I was going to have to make do. My favourite jeans were in the laundry basket. Could I wash then dry them and have them ready to wear tonight? They went so well with my blue satin halter-neck top and the pairing worked with my good coat and bag. I was going out for dinner with a millionaire – I needed to look good. Oh, but what about the knitted dress I bought with my birthday money? It was by Hobbs and looked brand new still as I had only worn it once so far. The deliberation went on for a while.

  Finally dressed for the day and my outfit (probably) picked out for tonight I settled back in front of the laptop and watched the elevator footage yet again. My excitement last night had been a little premature. I could see how the crime was being perpetrated but I had no useable evidence regarding the criminal's identity. I had a plan. My only question was whether it would work or not. I was likely to have more success if I had help, but I was being stubborn and intended to produce the answer to the mystery and the person behind it all by myself.

  Yeah. Strike one up for woman!

  It was time to get on with it. I grabbed a few items I believed I would need, went out to my car and drove to Chatham. On the way I phoned Patience.

  ‘Hey, girl,’ she answered, ‘What’cha doing?’

  ‘I am back at the Pentagon. I am catching the ghost today,’ I went on to outline what I had seen on the laptop last night and what I planned to do today. I then asked her to look something up for me. My theory had an unknown element to it, which was all to do with what happened to the goods in the shopping bags after they had been stolen.

  Patience was back on the dispatch desk today and might struggle to get away, but she was going to find time to get me the information I needed and if necessary, coordinate the response that might follow.

  I checked my watch. It was almost quarter past ten.

  Time to go to work.

  I needed to check the charge on the cameras. The battery life was about twenty-four hours, so they would all be about to run out if they had not already. They had all been working when I checked them this morning on the laptop, but they had been recording all night since there was no way to remotely switch them off. I couldn’t do much about them running out, but I had brought the charging units with me. I planned to retrieve them all and get Martin to charge them up again in his office.

  I arrived at the Pentagon shopping mall and paid for a full day’s parking. I could charge it to expenses, Tempest assured me this was necessary as such things were tax deductible. I pushed open the doors that led from the carpark to the shops and emerged by Superdrug on the ground floor.

  The shopping centre was quiet again this morning. I could not tell whether it was more quiet than usual or not but there were very few people around.

  Collecting all the cameras took almost an hour. I had to ride the same lift up and down on more than one occasion as there were people in the lift with me. The task done though, I called Martin Miller. It took him a while to answer and when he finally came on the phone, he sounded sleepy and distant.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mr. Miller? This is Amanda Harper from the Blue Moon Investigation Agency.'

  ‘Oh. Good morning. How may I help you?’ he asked, audibly stifling a yawn.

  ‘I have a lead on your ghost. I believe I may solve the case soon,’ the term soon quite deliberately not being a measurable unit of time, ‘I need to charge some equipment in your office.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. I am not at work today. It was my birthday yesterday; I was out late and took today off. I have a bit of a hangover.' It was more information than I needed. The pertinent fact was that he was not at work and I would have to manage without the cameras for now.

  I thanked him and said that I had to go.

  ‘Hold on,’ he pleaded, ‘You said you think you know what is going on. What is it?’

  I stayed quiet for a second deciding what I wanted to tell him, ‘I will be able to give you a full report later, Martin. For now, it would be wrong of me to speculate. I can tell you that you do not have a ghost, just a clever criminal.’ I disconnected and put my phone away.

  Back at my car, I swapped the box of cameras for the bags I had in the boot. I was going to pose as a shopper. What I had seen on the footage last night made me believe that the ghost was hiding in a false panel that had been built into the lifts during the recent refit. I had looked for and immediately found a small spy hole in the panel. From it, the ghost was able to watch the people inside the lift. If they had shopping and put it down, the ghost would flip a switch to kill the power, step out, snag the bags and get back inside the panel. That was my theory anyway.

  What I had not been able to establish, was how the panel was accessed. I had inspected every lift that I had gone into this morning. All six of them were the same design and same dimensions and since ghost attacks had been reported from each it seemed logical that each of them contained the same hidden compartment.

  I had six shopping bags, three for each hand. I had dug them out of the little bag receptacle in my kitchen where I stuffed bags in case they came in handy for something. These had been in there for months and they were badly crumpled which had necessitated some clever use of a pillowcase and my iron to make them look flat and new again. They didn't really look new and would not fool anyone if they took a close look, but I gauged that a man peering through a tiny spy-hole would not be able to tell the difference. From my closet, I had filled them with some folded clothes and an old shoe box I had kept.

  I picked the lift that I had seen the ghost in yesterday, got in and rode it up from the ground floor to the sixth floor at the top of the car park. Then I rode it down again. Nothing happened. I realised my mistake and got out. I got into the lift next to it, its pair in the bank of lifts and pressed the button to go up again. This time I put my bags down, encouraging the ghost to flip the switch and grab them.

  The lift pinged to announce my arrival at the top floor again. I pursed my lips. No ghost. I rode the lift back down again, arrived on the ground floor, picked up my bags and picked a diff
erent bank of lifts to try. I got the same result there and at the next bank of lifts and at all the others. Somewhat deflated, I went for coffee.

  Stupid, unreliable ghost.

  With a tall flat white in my hand, I slumped into a chair in the open-air coffee shop and wondered what to try next. Do I just keep going with the same tactic? If I want to try something different, what would that be? My phone pinged with a text. I took a sip of coffee and swiped my phone screen to open it.

  I had two text messages. The first from Tempest wishing me good luck today, the second from Patience telling me that I was right, and she that had found it. Her message went on to ask what I wanted her to do next. I had been playing a hunch when I had asked her to perform a quick task this morning. It had probably only taken her a few minutes once she had a break from work but was key to unravelling the mystery. I sent her a reply asking her to wait and promising to get back to her later.

  I gave myself a mental shake. I was going to catch the ghost today. I just needed to be patient and keep going. I would target all the lifts, moving between the banks until I got lucky. The attacks did not happen every day, but I could not let the possibility that the ghost had taken the day off deter me.

  My watch told me it was just a few minutes after twelve o’clock. I finished my coffee and went back to riding the lifts. I can report that riding lifts is boring. By two o’clock my feet were sore, making me wish I had worn my running shoes, my back was aching, and I had had quite enough of staring at the inside of a lift. My stomach growled its insistence that I put something in it, so I trudged back to the coffee shop where I ordered another coffee and a roasted vegetable panini.

  I allowed myself a thirty-minute lunch break but ten minutes in I got the latest update from Steve Brooms. There had been an incident in the right-hand lift of the orange lift bank.

  Dammit! I had just been in that lift.

  I left the last few bites of my panini, as it wasn't all that nice and headed for the lifts. A small circle was visible close to where I wanted to go. Sure enough, in the centre of it was a young woman in tears along with security guard Karl, who waved a hello as he spotted me and a chap in a suit who I was fairly sure would prove to be Steve Brooms. I had yet to meet him, but he fit my mental picture having listened to his voice and he appeared to be taking charge of the situation. He had a radio in his left hand and had his name on a badge pinned to the right lapel of his cheap suit. Beneath the name, it said Head of Security. I quickly introduced myself and quietly insisted that we take the lady to one of the backroom offices so that we could take her statement.