by steve higgs
‘What did you find?’ I asked. Frank had swivelled around in his chair now to listen.
‘The owner believes he has a ghost. Utterly convinced might be a more accurate term. Several of his staff have quit and a number of customers have apparently run out screaming midway through their meals when the ghost has put in an appearance.’
‘How is it manifesting?’ Frank interrupted.
‘Hmm?’ Amanda replied with a raised eyebrow.
‘I mean, what form is it taking? Is it a formed visible apparition? In which case, is the apparition taking the form of a person or an animal or something else? Or is it just manifesting as noises or as a mist? Or it is able to produce ethereal energy so that it can move objects?’ Frank was ready to believe a paranormal explanation over anything else.
Humouring him, Amanda replied, ‘It is just making noises, Frank. They are reporting footsteps and music in the upstairs dining room. The owner said that…' She opened her handbag and pulled out a notepad to read from, ‘the footsteps appear to walk across the room. He gave me the impression that most evenings the sound of someone walking across the upstairs dining room happens. He claimed to have stood in the room himself and witnessed the footsteps go from behind him then right through him as the ghost crossed the room. Sometimes it comes back or goes in a different direction. The music is faint but intermittent.' She snapped the notebook shut. ‘I heard nothing, but he is convinced he has a ghost and wants us to do something about it.'
‘Groovy,’ said Frank.
‘You know what? I think I will have a little something. It is an hour before my shift starts.'
‘I am buying,’ I said, only too happy to buy the love of my life a drink.
I was such a loser.
I made eye contact with the bartender. He was at the far end of the bar doing his best to chat up one of the waitresses. He sauntered over.
‘Another round?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please and something for the lady.’ Amanda was staring at the bottles behind the bar as if hoping they would tell her what to have. She settled on a white wine spritzer and plonked herself down on the bar stool next to mine while the barman made it.
‘How long until you finish in uniform now?’ Frank asked her, making conversation.
Her eyes went upwards, doing mental calculation. ‘I have four shifts left I think. It will be weird to hand all the gear back in and never put it on again. But… also liberating I think.’
‘How so?’
‘Shift patterns mess with my head. I don't like the routine, the uniform is hardly comfortable and I am ready for something new. Besides, working with Tempest as an investigator is far more interesting.'
I shifted in my seat and groaned a little at the reminders of just how interesting my career could be as pain flared in different parts of my body.
‘Are you hurt?’ Amanda asked, concern on her face.
‘Just a few bruises and scrapes. Fighting zombies is an extreme sport.' I was playing it down, as was my natural style, but the injuries I had sustained were hardly life-threatening.
‘Given that you are an investigator and don’t have to actually catch any criminals, you seem to get into a lot of fights. Should I expect the same?’
‘Goodness no, Amanda. I don’t know how I do it, to be honest. The likelihood of your life being endangered or there being any confrontation at all is probably quite small.’ As the words left my mouth I wondered if they would prove to be true.
‘So, how is the Klown investigation going?’ Amanda asked, taking a sip of her drink.
Beside me, Frank drained the last of his drink and set the glass back down on the bar with a satisfied thunk. ‘I think that is enough for now,’ he announced as he stood up and stretched his lean frame. ‘Thanks for the drink, Tempest. I need to get back to the shop. It ought to be open and Saturday afternoon is one of my busy times.’
I got out of my chair to shake his hand. Behind him, James was getting up too.
‘I am leaving as well. My boyfriend is very concerned about me, so I intend to make good use of that.’
There was a quick round of goodbyes and it was just me and Amanda sat in a bar. I was breathing in her wonderful aroma – expensive perfume and sexy woman, and I was very conscious that with alcohol in my bloodstream the usual filter system that prevented my penis taking over my brain and using my mouth would not be fully operational.
In fact, Mr. Wriggly chose exactly that moment to voice his opinion. He thought that I should spend the rest of the afternoon making Amanda forget all about Brett Barker and his fortune. He thought that Amanda had a very nicely shaped bottom and I that I should try wearing it as a hat. I did not disagree but thankfully managed to avoid telling Amanda about his ideas.
Instead, I told Amanda about the Klown case I was trying to investigate. Basically, it wasn't going anywhere at all. I had been hired by a lady to find her brother. He had left her a note explaining that he had run away to join a cult of Klowns. His note, which she showed me, told her not to worry about him as he was with friends and had a purpose and was going to get rich. The bit about him getting rich was confusing, or it felt erroneous. I could not decide, but over the last few weeks, there had been growing reports of men dressed as clowns but with disturbing face paint. Instead of the traditional jolly smile, they had make-up that made their eyes look hollow or perhaps gouged out and their mouths were made to look like they had been sewn shut or cleaved open. Small articles in local papers had escalated to local television news reports and finally to National news as the tactics the Klowns were using also escalated from physical intimidation to Actual Bodily Harm, then theft with violence and onto Grievous Bodily Harm. Then the assaults had involved weapons and speculation was that they would not stop until someone was murdered.
The Klowns had been leaving graffiti all over the County – huge daubed signs:
the Klowns are Coming
Their appearances were mostly after dark, but not always and they were popping up all over the place. The attacks seemed so random and the selection of victims so disconnected that thus far no one had been able to find a pattern.
My task to find the lady’s brother had proved easy though – sort of. I called his mobile phone number. He answered, and he spoke to me and was very clear that he had no intention of coming home. So, I was faced with an adult male who of his own free will was doing what he wanted to do. He had not been kidnapped, I had no evidence that he had personally perpetrated a crime and I could not come up with what I was supposed to do next. I could hardly go and get him and deliver him back to his sister - I had no right to do so.
‘So, what will you do with the case?’ Amanda asked.
‘I think I have to call Mrs. Plumber and give her back her money.'
‘Really? You have spent a number of hours genuinely pursuing this case on her behalf. Surely you deserve to be paid for that?’
‘It could be argued. However, I am not comfortable taking her money and delivering her nothing. I will call her and explain the current situation later.’
‘What about his location? The police would be very keen to learn where the Klowns are hiding. If they are all together. What they are planning. Whether they would like to all turn themselves in perhaps.’ She was being flippant, but also serious about wanting a lead that would get the police closer to catching them.
‘Yes, I should try harder to do something about that. This chap is probably the only Klown whose identity is known.’
‘What is his name again?’ Amanda was rooting around in her bag for a notepad.
‘Adrian Plumber.’
She noted it down along with his phone number and a few details that I had been able to get from him. I suspected it was a dead end, but I also knew that sometimes it was necessary to pursue every lead because you could not tell which one would play out.
‘What did he do for a living, before he became a Klown?’
‘He was a lawyer. Can you believe that? He practised t
ax law at a firm in London making what I would assume was a pretty good wage.' The information had surprised me.
‘A lawyer?’ I nodded. ‘And he ran away to join a gang of criminals that like to dress as evil Klowns?’
‘Yup.’
‘I have said it before, Tempest. There is a lot of weird stuff around you.’
Amanda yawned and stretched in place on her bar stool, lifting her arms high above her chest as she did. The action pushed her ample chest out, something that happened all too often for my pathetic libido to handle. I snatched my gaze away from her, lest I be caught staring, only to find that I was now looking into the mirror behind the bar and staring at her anyway. I dropped my eyes and focused on my glass.
Done with the yawning and stretching routine, Amanda slid delicately from her bar stool, gathered her bits into her handbag and wished me a good evening. She was off to get ready for work. One of her last few shifts.
I refused to allow myself to watch her leave. I had to stop torturing myself with fantasies that I would ever have a relationship with her. Yes, she was utterly lovely to look at, spend time with, be around, but she was also my employee and almost certainly out of my league. I swirled the last of the liquid around in the bottom of my glass and made a decision.
I needed a distraction. A different lady on whom my interest could be diverted. There had been a number of recent options when I thought about it, chief among which was a woman I had gone to school with. I had not seen her in years until last weekend when she had turned up at a baby shower for my heavily pregnant twin sister. She was one of the girls I had secretly lusted after in my teenage years and would have, back then, cut off bits of myself to have seen naked.
Her name was Sophie Sheard. I had her phone number, I knew she was single, I also knew she wanted me to call her, she had made that part clear in a subtle yet very transparent way.
The two pints of beer were now fully in my bloodstream which had dulled the edge of the afternoon's drama and probably imbued me with a false sense of confidence. Whatever the case was, I felt like it was a good time to make a move, so sat relaxing by myself, I chose to call her. She had given me her number and an invitation to call last week. If I left it any longer my call might be less welcome. She might not welcome it anyway I mused, but I wanted to find out. I did not remember much about Sophie, other than she had been one of the really cool and pretty girls at school and that she had been friends with my sister. The phone rang for a while and I was about to hang up when she answered.
‘Hello?’ she said hesitantly, probably because she did not recognise the number on her phone.
‘Sophie, good afternoon. It’s Tempest.’
‘Oh. Hi, Tempest,' she replied brightly, clearly excited that it was I calling her. It boosted my ego immediately.
‘I was wondering if you might be available for a coffee or a glass of wine, or maybe even dinner sometime soon? It would be nice to have a proper catch-up.' I was inviting her out for a date but playing the romantic element down. It felt normal and natural to do so. I could have suggested we meet up and get to know each other better, but that had all manner of further connotations.
‘That sounds wonderful. When were you thinking?’
Suddenly on the spot, I had no idea what to suggest. I was free every night in theory until a case demanded I be elsewhere. Fumbling for words I was just about to speak when she did.
‘I have no plans for tonight if you are free.’
Suddenly I wished that I had no plans, but unfortunately, I did. ‘Ah. Sorry, Sophie. I am out with some chaps tonight. How about something tomorrow?’ Big Ben probably would have told me to cancel my plans with him and the other guys and focus my efforts on getting laid. However, I was not the type that changed my arrangements because a better deal had arisen.
‘Yes. That sounds great. I'll leave the details up to you. I am free all day, so let me know what you want to do and count me in.' It was an adventurous approach. I could come up with anything from cave diving to bungee jumping. However, I would, of course, arrange to take her for a nice lunch somewhere so that we could chat.
‘Thank you for being so trusting. I will book us a table for lunch at a nice restaurant and will confirm the time later. Does 1400hrs sound okay?’
‘Huh?’
‘I mean two o’clock. Does two o’clock sound about right for lunch tomorrow?’
‘Oh. Yes. Two o'clock sounds fine. I am looking forward to it already.'
We said our goodbyes and disconnected. I stared at myself in the mirror behind the bar, telling myself that this was a good thing, that I had made a good decision. Sophie was attractive, she was single, and she was clearly interested in me. I gave myself a mental slap. It did little to remove the residual echo telling me that she was not Amanda.
I hopped off my bar stool, grabbed my phone and headed for the door. With two beers in me, I was not going to drive for at least an hour. I also needed to eat something, and I had to call Mrs. Plumber, so I tottered along the street, telling myself that the alcohol was not affecting my stride and arrived at my office ten minutes later with a footlong sandwich and a bottle of water in a bag.
My office sits above a run-down travel agent shop in Rochester High Street. The entrance to it is around the back where there is a convenient car park. I rented the office from the chap that owns the travel agent shop, an equally run-down man called Tony Jarvis. He looked to be close to retirement and to have largely lost interest in the business. I also worried that he made very little money from his endeavours, yet he charged me a paltry rent that I was very happy to pay. I opened the door at street level and jogged up the stairs to my office. The office itself was quite small but had enough room for an office desk and chair plus a small table and two more chairs by the window that overlooked the High Street and I kept another couple of stacking chairs in a corner in case I had more than two visitors. A door led through to a short corridor and a toilet that I shared with the travel agent shop.
On my walls were Post-it notes from various cases, a map of Kent, which is where all my cases thus far had been, and a couple of whiteboards that came in handy when I was trying to visualise my ideas about what odd event may have led a client to believe they had suffered a paranormal visitation.
I sat at the table by the window and watched people going about their lives while I ate the delicious sandwich. It was more food than I really needed but I hoped it would absorb some of the beer I had just imbibed. Lunchtime drinking was not something I did more than a couple of times a year, not because I didn't want to, but because I have little tolerance for alcohol and the practice tended to put me into a torpor for the afternoon. Today felt like one of those days when it could be justified though.
My sandwich eaten and lips delicately dabbed clean with a napkin, I downed the last of the water and pulled my phone from the pocket it was hiding in. A couple of quick swipes and Mrs. Plumber's name and number appeared.
She answered on the third ring just as I was stifling a belch. It caught me off guard.
‘Mrs. Plumber, this is Tempest Michaels of the Blue Moon Investigation Agency.' I managed after she had said, "Hello." twice.
‘Oh. Mr. Michaels. Have you news?'
‘Not exactly, Mrs. Plumber. In my last report, I explained that Adrian had spoken with me on the phone and that he intends to stay where he is.’
‘Yes,’ she said, expectation in her voice.
‘The essence of the matter, Mrs. Plumber, is that he is entitled to do so. He is an adult. He has not been kidnapped and is not being held against his will. Were that the case, it would be a job for the police instead of me.'
‘But can you not find out where he is so that I can get him?’
‘It may be possible for me to track him down, Mrs. Plumber, but I have to point out that I am racking up a lot of hours with your case. If you wish me to continue I can do so, but I believe that Adrian does not wish to be found. He refused to divulge his location.'
‘Can you not track his phone?’
‘I can, but it is not quite as simple as they suggest on television. I have already tried to do this in fact, but it only works if the person’s phone is switched on when you perform the search. Thus far I have not been able to locate him. He switched his phone off immediately after my conversation with him.’
‘So, what are you saying?’
‘Mrs. Plumber, I am not confident that I will be able to help you to track down your brother and were I able to do so I could not hold him until you arrived. He is free to come and go as he pleases. The Klowns appear to be committing minor crimes but there is nothing to indicate that your brother is involved. I feel I should halt my investigation at this time and refund your initial payment.' It would leave me a little out of pocket for the work I had done this week but my conscience would be content.
Mrs. Plumber was silent for a moment before she spoke. ‘Tempest,' she started, using my first name for the first time, ‘I am worried about my baby brother. I think he is going to come to harm and I mean to rescue him. From himself if necessary. Please keep the deposit and please find my brother. When you do I will work out how to bring him home.' Her voice was full of emotion that sounded quite genuine. I knew I could not refuse her, I was such a sucker for a lady in need of help.
‘Very good, Mrs. Plumber. I will take whatever steps are necessary.'
We disconnected and I stared at the whiteboard on the wall by the desk – it was as blank as my mind. This wasn’t even a paranormal case, not that it mattered because I had no idea where to start.
Maidstone Bowling Alley. Saturday, 22nd October 1942hrs
I arrived home at 1612hrs. My office and home were only three miles apart, a fact I found thoroughly pleasing as I had no desire to commute into London every day like so many others in the area did. Behind my door, waiting for me, were my two faithful canine companions, Bull and Dozer. Were it not for them I would live alone and most likely be lonely. I had notions of living with a woman in the blissful, warm blanket of mutual love but thus far was finding such a partner elusive. My housemates instead were two miniature black and tan Dachshunds, brothers that had come from different litters but looked identical to most people. Of course, I could tell them apart just from the feel of their fur or from their sound of their bark, but then I lived with them and had them sat on my lap every day.