Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

  ‘Chase women? Not a bit.’ Replied Big Ben causing Anthea’s face to crinkle in confusion. His answer did not gel with the picture she had of him. ‘They never feel the need to run away.’ He finished with a cheeky grin.

  Now her face was caught between disbelief and anger. ‘Sooo, Big Ben was in the Army with Tempest.’ injected Hilary, trying to deflect the slaughter. ‘Did you know that?’

  Simon saw an opportunity to get involved again, but he had picked up on James’s mood and directed his question at me rather than Big Ben. ‘How long were you in for?’

  ‘Just shy of eighteen years.’

  Simon almost spat out his drink. ‘Eighteen years? Surely you are not old enough. You both look so young.’ I got this a lot, although I didn’t really understand why.

  ‘I joined when I was seventeen and now I am in my late thirties and I think I look about right for my age.’

  ‘I stay looking this young and vibrant because I moisturise my face with perspiration collected from the breasts of women in their twenties.’ Big Ben claimed with a smile.

  Jagjit snorted his drink. It was a good line and very typical of the sort of thing Big Ben would say. I often wondered how such ideas got into his head but never asked because I was worried that most of them were actually true.

  Anthea looked like she wanted to say something, but Alice was laughing and all the guys were laughing, and it was clear Big Ben didn’t care if he offended anyone.

  ‘Let's get shots.' said an excited Alice, which received an approving chorus from all but Anthea and me. I avoided shots whenever I could but suspected I would end up with one now.

  Shots appeared, a toast was given, and the tiny glasses were upended with a cheer. It was horrible.

  ‘Oh, my word.’ said Big Ben with surprising reserve. ‘Was that neat vodka?’

  Alice nodded. ‘I love it. They have the really good stuff here.’

  ‘Good stuff? That was like having a robot ejaculate in my mouth,' he replied, trying to scrape any remaining liquid from his tongue with a fingernail.

  The evening was a success. James clearly had a great night and was quite merry when Simon decided it was time to get him home. The clock believed it was close to midnight, I needed to get home as well. Mrs. Comerforth had texted at 2200hrs to say that she was off to bed and had put the dogs back in my house and tucked them up. She was a love.

  Big Ben had disappeared more than an hour ago when a pair of ginger-haired, buxom twins had approached him looking interested. Of the group, I was the only one leaving alone. Maybe I should have invited Sophie along after all.

  I got a lift home with Hilary and Anthea, their insistence winning over my protestations. Anthea had warmed to me a little as the evening progressed, which I was glad for more for Hilary's sake than my own. He might be allowed to come back to the pub now.

  Back in my house, I sent a text to Amanda to ask if I was being followed by the Police. Her reply came back almost immediately assuring me that I was not to her knowledge. It was an ambiguous answer and thus out of character for her. I was unsure what to make of it. I fell asleep with a little more alcohol in me than was usual and a purpose for the day ahead.

  A Trip to Scunthorpe. Friday, October 28th 0600hrs

  For the first time in days, I was up early, or perhaps up on time if I was being less generous. It had not happened by accident, it had taken an alarm, which I had set for the first time in so many years that I could not remember the last time I had felt a need to use one. I was driving to Scunthorpe which was a solid two hundred miles directly north and required that I bypassed London to the East via the Dartford crossing. There was no alternative route and I knew from experience and anecdote that leaving after 0600hrs meant adding at least an hour to my journey as the traffic level rose and clogged the route as it funnelled over the Thames.

  In something of a sleepy haze and with a rather dry mouth from the drinking last night, I made myself a cup of tea in a thermos mug and packed the dogs into the car. They looked quite confused, not only with the fact that they were out of bed but also that they were awake, and that I was refusing to give them their breakfast. I knew that if I fed them now, they would become more alert and would want their dinner all the earlier. Instead they rather grumpily went back to sleep in the car after only being awake for a couple of minutes.

  Hours of research yesterday had not quashed my belief that the Klowns were deliberately and carefully selecting their victims. If that was the case then they had gone to Scunthorpe, not on a whim, but because they really wanted to hurt Marion Lloyd. I intended to find out why and since she would not speak to me on the phone I was going to drive there and ring her doorbell. I had no good reason to believe that my trip would result in the opportunity to speak with Marion Lloyd. However, I was in a mood that suggested I was going to be hard to deflect, so if she didn't wish to speak with me she was going to have a hard time of it.

  An hour north of Dartford, I was on the A1(M), the early traffic had been light, so the miles had ticked past and we were almost halfway there. The dogs were becoming restless, probably wanting their breakfast now that it was time for it. I concurred with their opinion.

  On a grassy bank at the edge of the carpark in a large motorway service station, I gave them a breakfast to share from a single bowl. They shared by eating at exactly the same extraordinarily fast speed rather than by agreeing to split the food evenly. When they were fed and had thoroughly explored the undergrowth, I locked them back in the car and went into the service station to find myself something to eat.

  I had checked my rear-view mirror a few times on the way up, paranoia demanding it. There had been no crazed Klown faces filling it, trying to run me off the road. I had not expected them. More to the point all my theories were based on them never leaving Kent again but the niggling doubt in my mind reminded me that I probably had no idea what I was doing.

  A further twenty miles up the road I was already regretting the full English I had allowed myself to be tempted by. I felt heavy and fat and sluggish and worse than that I felt tired and I still had a long way to go.

  The dogs slept most of the way, however, Bull took it upon himself to check my navigation periodically by climbing on to my lap, placing his front paws on the steering wheel and looking out the window. I found it entertaining, wondering just what was actually going through his doggy brain but also checked my mirrors for the Police as I suspected they would frown on such canine activities. I also considered that it would be fun to scooch down into my seat as I passed other cars so that they might look across and see a Dachshund at the wheel.

  For safety's sake, I abstained from such self-indulgent behaviour.

  At 1037hrs I drove slowly past the address I had for Mrs. Lloyd. There was a car on the driveway suggesting someone was in. I parked a street away, got the dogs and went for a walk. As we walked by her house, I glanced at it and the street around me several times, then mimed stopping to pick up poop so I could check around a bit more and not look like I was doing so. The dogs continued to snuffle, ignorant of the subterfuge. I completed a circuit, arriving back at the car where I then left the dogs peering out the passenger window at me once again. It was cool, but just in case I cracked the windows before I left them. Mostly I had been scanning the street to make sure the house was not being watched by anyone. I did not want to deal with reporters or Police, but I was fairly confident that the house was not under surveillance.

  The big question that remained unanswered, was whether Marion Lloyd was even in the house, which was really just the first hurdle of many in finding out any worthwhile information. As it turned out she wasn't.

  Her husband was.

  I introduced myself but that only warranted a stony glare. I elected to wait until he got bored enough to speak.

  ‘What is it that you want, Mr, Michaels?'

  ‘Like I said, I am not a reporter. I am not the Police. I am a person threatened by the Klowns and wanting to know what is going on.
My survival and that of my family (I didn’t elaborate) might depend on getting some answers.’

  He slumped slightly at that. My embellished answer was not what he had expected, and he had no prepared defence for it. He retreated into the house with a defeated nod of his head indicating that I should follow.

  ‘Sorry, Mr. Michaels. There have been so many people here already dredging up Marion's past.'

  ‘What past? Sorry. I have to ask.’

  Mr. Lloyd ignored me for a minute, tapping at a laptop that he had collected from a countertop as we went through the house. I indulged him and watched his face. He was looking me up. At least that was my guess. I would have done the same.

  He nodded to himself. Satisfied.

  ‘Blue Moon Investigations? Google has quite a bit on you. Sorry, I needed to check that you were who you say you are.’

  ‘No offence taken. It makes me sad that your experience since the attack has made you feel the need.' He was looking directly at me now. ‘How is Mrs. Lloyd?'

  ‘You see? That right there. That is how I know you are what you say you are. Everyone else has called her Marion, as if they were trying to be knowledgeable or as if they knew her or we were all old friends. It made me hate them.’

  Apparently, my simple, honest approach worked. For today at least.

  Mr. Lloyd told me everything he could think of to tell me. He gave me so much detail and kept me so long that I started to worry about the dogs. My concern was unwarranted though. When I got back to the car they were still fast asleep on the passenger's seat. I insisted they get up and come for a walk anyway as we had another three-hour ride home, which I would do in one hit if they gave no indication that they needed to get out. Key to that was making sure their bladders were empty.

  No Friggin' Clue. Friday, October 28th 1201hrs

  What I had learned from Mr. Lloyd was that his wife Marion had taken a hard beating that had landed her in hospital. It had happened right outside their house. Mr. Lloyd heard the commotion, ran outside to intervene and got a beating of his own. He said that it would have been far more severe, but as luck would have it a random Police patrol car had shown up and the Klowns had fled. The Klowns that had perpetrated it may or may not have been the same ones that were causing all the trouble in Kent. I might never know, or never be able to prove it but they had delivered a message just as I had hoped they might.

  One of them, while kneeling on her back and grabbing her hair had shouted, "You shouldn't have given him up for adoption." Or words to that effect. I felt it likely Mr. Lloyd had deleted some expletives in his retelling.

  She had returned to work just this morning, she was a barrister, an intelligent lady and the breadwinner of the house, leaving her husband at home to raise and care for their children. They had talked about the incident though, while she was still in the hospital. He hadn't asked her about it, he assured me, she had volunteered the information as if glad to finally be able to tell him.

  She had been fourteen when she got pregnant, fifteen when she had the baby and had given it up at the insistence of her parents. She had not resisted. Doing so had allowed her to continue on the path she had planned. Marion Lloyd had lived in Scunthorpe all her life. The baby had been born there but the adoption service had removed the child just days after the birth and she had no idea, or way of finding out, where it went.

  Her maiden name was Hargreaves. The child’s name was Sebastian.

  Sebastian Hargreaves. It meant nothing. It was not a name I had ever heard. I spent the entire trip home running through variables and derivatives in my head, wondering if it was a guy I had known in the Army or someone I had dealt with since at some point. Was it just a dead end? A red herring? Was Marion Lloyd not connected at all? Was it just a copycat attack? I wanted to state that it could not be.

  The taste of blood made its way into my consciousness. I was biting my lip. I had no idea what was going on and it was really pissing me off.

  Over and over I ran the few connections I had, trying to tie them to me, to Edna Wilkins and her school children, to Marion Lloyd, to anyone. Nothing made sense. There was no connection between the crimes or between the victims.

  It made me angry as if it made a difference if the Klowns had a reason for their reign of terror rather than no reason at all.

  My anger had dissipated only slightly by the time I arrived home at 1521hrs. I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel, unaware that my knuckles had been white with tension until I let go. My hands hurt. I shot a sorrowful but loving look at the two dogs now awake and excited to leave the car. They were both stood on their back legs looking out the passenger’s window. They knew where they were, either by smell or sight and they wanted to get out and run around. I could not blame them; it had been a long period for two dogs to be in a car.

  My phone rang. We were still in the car, but the engine was off, so it did not transfer to the car hands-free system. I checked the screen on my phone to see that the caller was Sophie.

  I had to deal with the dog’s needs ahead of my own, so rejected the call, leaned across and opened their door. They vanished from view, reappearing a few seconds later beyond the bonnet of the car as they shot under a bush at the front of the house. I followed them, then convinced them to leave whatever they had found of interest under the bush and come through the house to the back garden where they could explore in safety.

  With the danger of them wandering off averted, I turned my attention back to my phone and called Sophie. Little more than a minute had passed, filling me with a hope that she would still be on a work break or something into which she had shoehorned her call to me.

  She picked up straight away. ‘Tempest?’

  ‘Yes. Hello, Sophie.’

  ‘Hi. Err. I just wanted to check that we are still on for tonight. You know… after that last couple of times.’

  Fair point.

  ‘Yes, Sophie. I fully intend to meet my commitment to dine you in an appropriate style, as promised.’

  ‘McDonald's will do, Tempest. Just so long as you actually turn up.' I had nothing I could say to defend myself. ‘Look, I will meet you there at eight o'clock as planned. If you are not there it's okay, just please do not ever call me again. Okay?'

  ‘I understand.’ I was going to be there, and I was going to be the most charming dinner companion she had ever heard about.

  ‘Okay, well… I hope you are. I am looking forward to it. Bye for now.’

  We disconnected. I checked my watch: 1457hrs. I had five hours before my date with Sophie. I wanted to use them wisely to pursue the Klown case, but still had no idea what I was doing.

  The large breakfast was hours ago, the bloating I had felt after eating it forgotten and all I had eaten since was an apple I had taken in the car with me. I headed into the kitchen to find some lunch. Being healthy for the first time in what felt like days, I grilled a piece of fish and paired it with some brown rice and green veg. I ate it in front of my computer trying to find information on Sebastian Hargreaves.

  As usual, I found lots of men called by that name, both social media and Google are great for that, so I spent an hour sifting through them to filter out those that were too old, too young, too geographically displaced, too dead in one case. In the end, I had two possible candidates, but neither of them looked likely to be the guy.

  I made a fresh tea in my thermos mug and took the dogs for a walk through the vineyards to clear my mind. It was breezy out, with a little moisture being carried on the air. There was a distinct smell of autumn to it. The dogs scampered ahead of me, sniffing where other dogs had marked, adding their own scent, then moving on to the next smell. It was a pleasant way to erode thirty minutes of my life. It did not get me any closer to the Klowns though. Giving myself time to think was not helping. My thoughts strayed to my date with Sophie. I had booked a table online since such things were easy to do now, but I wanted to demonstrate to her that I had put a little more thought into it than that, so when we arriv
ed back at the house I popped the dogs into the car and drove to the restaurant.

  A crisp twenty pounds note pressed into the hands of the Maître d', ensured we would be sat near to the open fire and well away from the cool breeze coming through the door as it opened and closed. It also meant we had a more intimate two-seater table which had a great view. Furthermore, the table was close to a wall so that it was a little more separate from other tables than most locations in the restaurant – correct table selection is essential. Not that I planned or expected to be talking about subjects that others should not overhear but providing a romantic setting for an evening with a charming female companion simply felt like it was the right thing to do.

  All the better to charm her knickers off.

  I ignored the voice coming from below my belt, his counsel could be pertinent at times but was mostly predictable. I had not given any thought to the concept that Sophie and I might get beyond a first date or that at some point Mr. Wriggly might get to enact some of the plans he was making.

  Satisfied that I had made all the appropriate arrangements I could without going over the top, I left the restaurant. The dogs were where I left them tied to a post outside, but they were not alone. Another Dachshund had joined them, a little girly one if the pink harness and lead were any indication.

  ‘Hello.' I said to the lady holding the lead. She was crouching down to fuss my dogs, who were, in turn, taking great interest in the new dog and her back end.

  ‘Hello.’ she said looking up. ‘Are they yours? They are lovely. I am so jealous that you have two.’

  I nodded that they were indeed mine while marvelling at how wholesomely pretty she was. She had on muddy wellies and tan jodhpurs and a wax jacket to keep her warm. Her hair was yanked into a rough ponytail that was already mostly unwound so that wisps were escaping. She had on no make-up but was nice to look at, nevertheless. Staring at her, I wondered if she really was as pretty as I thought or if I just needed to get laid.