by steve higgs
I dismissed the notion that Roberta was colluding with her Mother. I doubted she even knew. The two older ladies had talked about last night and Saturday night, two nights on which violent ghost attacks had occurred. Were they also responsible for the murder? I had witnessed several television detectives state that it was always the wife when a man was murdered. Was there truth to the cliché this time?
Then I remembered the comment about investors.
I needed to do some digging. I jogged to the car, hoping the exercise would get my heart to pump some warm blood into my fingers. Once there I got the engine running and called Mum’s mobile.
‘Tempest, where are you?’ she asked. ‘Your father and I are just leaving.’
‘Change of plans, Mother. I need to check something out so will be taking a drive. Can you have the Dachshunds for a while? I will be back for lunch probably.’
‘Yes, okay. Where are you going?’
‘Bodmin probably. I learned some things in the fifteen minutes since you last saw me. I will tell you all about it when I get back.’
She sounded a little reluctant but acquiesced. I wanted to look at county records so would need a decent sized library within the County. The biggest town within sensible driving distance was Bodmin, so I was going there. Then I wondered if I needed to at all.
I remembered that Jane was sending me an email with a whole stack of property information on. My plan had been to go to the library because there I could access all kinds of records. I wanted to know about Tilda and Gretchen, about the different businesses in Cawsand. I really wanted to find out if the rumour about Julien Hogg building a hotel near the village was true but doubted I would be able to find that out.
Jane, as always, has uncovered a goldmine of detail. Reading it on the tiny screen of my phone was less than ideal and likely to make my eyes go squinty after a while, but it was what I had, and I could make it work.
What I had was property deed records showing the purchase of land and businesses going back for almost two years. What became clear very quickly was that Tilda and Gretchen had bought almost everything that had come onto the market. Where the money for that came from I did not know. Borrowed I assumed, but they had bought houses, fisherman’s huts, two restaurants nearby and a whole stack of land parcels that surrounded the village. What were they up to? The information was not giving me a solution to the many questions I had. It just added more questions. Maybe I would gain something from going to the County Library after all.
Just as I put the car into gear I spotted the drones again. They were coming down off the headland, high up in the sky. They were so high I would be able to see them even if I was moving through the narrow streets.
I made a snap decision, killed the engine and got out of the car. I knew roughly where they were going, assuming their destination was the same as the last time. I set off on foot, trying to track them in the sky, but every time I moved I lost sight of them and had to find them again. Between the roofs they were still visible, their trajectory taking them back to the same landing point I had been unable to follow them to two days ago.
I started running, stopping at each intersecting street to check where they were. I lost sight of them twice and had to move to a wider point to catch sight of them again. There was a distinct danger I was going to run into something or catch my foot in a drain or gutter as I ran with my face looking upwards, yet I managed to stay on my feet. The drones were getting lower, descending towards the houses and I would lose sight of them completely soon if I did not find my way through to the street they were heading for. I had only a rough idea where they were going and inevitably they sank from sight behind a row of roofs before I could get to them. It would help if they were not so damned quiet. There was no noise at all from them to indicate they were there. I wondered how many people they flew over that never noticed.
Defeated, I stopped running and tried to catch my breath. I had passed through one of the narrow alleys that ran between the houses and emerged into a street where two rows of terraces houses sat facing each other. The street between them barely big enough for a small car to traverse and never designed for one to do so. Opposite me was the row of houses that the drones had landed behind.
I crossed the street and went down the next alley. I was trying to keep my breathing under control so that I could hear the drones. Maybe their motors had not yet been shut off.
I could not hear their motors of course because there was no noise to hear. However, I could hear the two pilots, or whatever the correct term for them was, talking behind a garden fence. The fence was taller than me and I had approached quietly enough that they had not heard me. If I had hoped to glean something from them though I was to be disappointed as they were discussing their lunch options.
‘How about fish fingers?' The first voice asked.
‘I fancy a McDonald’s.’ a second voice replied. Both voices were male, late teens or early twenties I estimated. They had an educated, geeky edge to their voices and their accents were distinctly Bristol area. This told me that they were not local at least.
‘Mike it’s a forty-five-minute drive to the nearest McDonald’s. Let’s live in the real world. We are not allowed to leave the village, you know that.’
‘How’s he going to find out?’
‘Have you not noticed that he knows everything. He makes out like he is stupid, but I reckon his IQ is off the chart. Plus, if you piss him off he will crush your head like a disposable coffee cup.’
Just like Gretchen and Tilda, they were talking as if they had major secrets to keep. They were not allowed to leave the village. They were working for some unnamed man that as far as one of the two was concerned might inflict violence as punishment for transgressing his rules. Give me a name, chaps. Please give me a name.'
‘He gives me the creeps, you know that?' the second voice said. ‘What kind of a name is Edington Hungerford anyway? We should never have signed up to this.'
‘Mike, you utter prick. I told you not to take the friggin’ deal. I told you repeatedly that this was a shit idea, but you insisted we were going to get rich.’
‘We will get rich. He said he is nearly done.’
‘Well, he bloody better be. I have been here too long. Stupid Cornish village with its stupid people and their stupid accents.’
‘Damned right.’
‘So, what do you want for lunch?’ the first voice asked again. They were moving away from me and seconds later a door shut, and they were gone.
I had not the faintest idea what was going on still. There were two chaps flying drones, which not a crime, but they appeared to be up to something just like Gretchen and her sister were. I wanted the two sets of odd activities to be connected, though I could not see how they were. I did have a name though. Edington Hungerford. It would be easy to look that up and find out who was controlling whatever salubrious activity the drone pilots were guilty of. I also had the first name of one of the drone pilots and the address of the house they were staying in. Details I might be able to make something of.
I turned to head back to the car and something hit me in the head. I had a very brief moment where I understood that I had been hit with something that was far harder than my skull and the sensation of my eyesight shutting down.
Then nothing.
Roberta's House. Wednesday, November 2nd 1307hrs
I opened my eyes then shut them tightly against the searing pain that opening them had induced.
‘Are you awake?’ a woman’s voice asked. I knew the voice although my brain was struggling to provide me with the name that belonged to it.
I opened my mouth to speak, discovered that doing so hurt prohibitively as well and lifted my arm instead to give the voice a thumbs up.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
My brain caught up finally, telling me it was Roberta I was hearing. I tried to open my eyes again but gave up no sooner than the first crack of light came past my eyelids.
‘Can you close the curtains, please?’ I asked
‘Of course.' She replied, and I heard her cross the room followed by the sound of curtains being pulled. The notion of light coming through the skin of my eyelids diminished, and I was able to open them a little.
‘Where am I?’
‘My place. You were found lying in the street by old Mrs. Colver. You have a head wound. It's not serious but you have a convincing lump. Do you remember what happened?'
I shifted a little on the bed I was lying on and reached up with my left hand to feel my head. I did indeed have a lump on my skull. Just in the hairline above my right temple. The skin was broken, probably from the initial impact, but it was not bleeding or discharging plasma.
‘What is the time please?’ I asked.
‘Just after one.’
I had lost most of three hours somewhere.
‘Do you remember what happened?’ she asked again. I was about to start speaking when I remembered that if I said much at all I was going to mention her Mother. I did not know how she might react to my suspicions, plus I had no idea what it was that I suspected.
‘I got hit in the head.’ I ventured. ‘I did not see who did it.’ The effort of speaking was spiking my headache. ‘Do you have any painkillers?’
‘Somewhere, yes. How many would you like?’
‘All of them please.’
There was a small snort of amusement as she left the room. I opened my eyes a crack and looked around. I was on a single bed, probably in a spare room. Under other circumstances, I would be excited to be at Roberta's house. As it was, there was little to be excited about.
I wiggled a little to get my hand into my pocket to retrieve my phone. I found myself mildly surprised I still had it, but it showed that the attack had not been a robbery and thus might well have been intended solely to slow me down or stop me from poking around. So, someone knew I was doing it.
My phone showed fifteen missed calls because my Mother thought persistence was a virtue. I had a couple of emails and text messages as well, but I could not commit to squinting at the screen right now.
Roberta came back into the room with a glass of water in one hand a packet in the other.
She said, ‘Help yourself.’ As she put them down on the small bedside table.
I rolled gently to my side, popped eight of the four-hundred-milligram tablets out and took them all at once. They were ibuprofen, so would do a decent enough job, but would work much better if taken in conjunction with some paracetamol. I would try to get some when I left her house rather than inconvenience her any further.
‘Thank you.' I said as I rolled onto my back once more. My head was pounding, I wanted to leave but I acknowledged that I was going nowhere yet. ‘Can I ask you to let my parents know where I am, please? You can use my phone if that helps.' I held it out in case she wanted to take it. She didn't, but I sensed her leave the room and could hear her talking with someone in another room.
She returned a minute later and took the phone from my hand.
‘They are listed as Mum and Dad.’ I told her just in case she had any trouble finding them. I continued to lay still with my eyes closed as she made the call. This was probably going to be fun.
‘Hello, this is…’
Pause.
‘Hello.’
Pause.
‘No, I haven’t kidnapped your son. This is…’
Pause. Roberta was being very polite. My Mother was almost impossible to talk to in person let alone on the phone. She would have been expecting my voice so would now be getting quite agitated and refusing to listen to the rational voice at the other end.
‘If you would just let me…’
Pause.
‘Fine. Well, when you call the Police, please ask for me.’
The call ended. I chuckled but did so very carefully because the act of doing so hurt.
A phone rang. It was not my ringtone and was answered instantly by Roberta. ‘Hello dispatch, what do you have for me?'
A pause while she listened.
‘Please put her through.’ I was just guessing but my assumption was that a person dialling 999 here would get put through to a dispatch-unit miles away and they would then connect the caller to the local unit in whichever area that was.
‘Mary Michaels?’ I heard Roberta ask and then pause while she listened. ‘How do I know who is calling? Because we just spoke on the phone. I called using your son’s handset because he is laying injured on my spare bed.’
A pause.
‘Yes.’
A pause.
‘No. He has a bump to his forehead but will be fine when his headache dissipates. Are you at the pub?’
A pause.
‘I will bring him to you.’ There were a few more words and she disconnected. ‘Goodness, your Mother is worse than mine.’ I smiled. My Mother was worse than everyone’s Mother. ‘They are waiting for you at the pub. She wanted me to tell you that the dogs have had a nice walk and that you need to get back and entertain your father for the afternoon because she is going out with my Mother and my Aunt.’
My smile froze at the news, which I quickly tried to hide by pretending to yawn. What do I tell Roberta at this point? There is odd stuff going on and I have a vague suspicion that her Mother and Aunt are involved. I have very little evidence though; an overheard conversation or two but certainly nothing that adds up.
‘Are you sure you are able to move?’ she asked. ‘I have to go, more murder investigation work, I’m afraid. But you can stay here and rest if you want.’ It was a generous offer, but I wanted to get back.
Sitting up almost split my head in two, but I did it anyway. I sat for a second on the edge of her bed, gathering myself, then slowly stood up, keeping my head low in case it started spinning. My vision went a little fuzzy and keeping my eyes open really hurt, yet I was determined to show the lady that I was tough and brave and quite able to deal with a little injury.
‘I will need a statement from you later, Tempest. You got attacked in my town and that makes me responsible. Taking statements from you is starting to feel like a habit.’
I smiled, refraining from speaking unless I absolutely had to, I gave her another thumbs up instead.
Headache. Wednesday, November 2nd 1348hrs
I had borrowed a pair of sunglasses from Roberta when the sun outside in the street proved to be just too much for me to take. However, with the glare toned down a little, I was able to walk back to the pub with Roberta holding my arm. She did so by looping her arm through mine, the effect making us look like a couple out for a holiday stroll.
Roberta saw me into the pub where her Mother, my Mother, and her Aunt were sat at the bar drinking wine. I thanked her and let her get on her way. Her radio had been squawking with demands for her to report to Dan's Fishing Tackle and Bait shop where something suspicious had been found. I ought to have been interested enough to ask what it was, the thumping in my head sufficient to dissuade me from doing so though.
‘Such a fuss, Tempest.’ my Mother had said as I plonked down into a seat and quietly asked for some water. ‘Gretchen, do either of your children ever get found unconscious in the street with head wounds?’
‘No, Mary. No, they do not.’ Gretchen answered.
‘Well, mine does. Tempest is always getting into bother of some kind.’ I felt like throwing something at my Mother, but the effort required was evading me. ‘Just this morning, he went out the window of our room to avoid the press.’
I saw Gretchen stiffen. Tilda had her back to me, but Gretchen’s eyes went directly to her sister’s and widened. ‘What time would that have been?’ she asked.
‘Oh, about quarter past ten I suppose.’
Tilda got off her bar stool. ‘Shall we go, ladies?’
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, politely enquiring about their intended activities and hoping I had managed to keep any hint of suspicion from my voice.
‘The ladies have invited me o
ut for a leisurely lunch at Mount Edgecombe.’
‘The taxi might not wait if we do not get moving.’ Piped up Gretchen as she moved from behind the bar. Mother’s wine glass was still half full, and she looked a little confused that she was suddenly being asked to finish it. It did not exactly present a problem though and three seconds later it had been upended into her cavernous mouth.
‘Don’t let your father get into any trouble.’ She offered as her passing shot. Then she was gone. Out with two ladies that might be embroiled in murder, hate crimes and goodness knows what else. I wanted to speak, to tell her not to go with them and why. However, if I did so it would reveal my hand and I really didn’t know what I knew yet.
Slowly, and with my head still pounding, I made my way up the stairs to the bedroom where I found my Father, sat in an armchair happily reading a book with a Dachshund on his lap. Both dogs came to greet me at the door whereupon I ruffled their fur. Dad looked up from his book to see me sign that I was going for a lie-down. I snagged my little pot of medicinal bits from the sideboard on my way past and chugged half a dozen of the paracetamol with a glass of stale tasting water that was sat on the bedside table.
The sheets of the big bed were cool and soft. I just needed enough time for the painkillers to do their magic.
Adventures with my Dad. Wednesday, November 2nd 1424hrs
It was the sound of the kettle boiling that woke me. The pounding in my head had receded to a dull ache, although it would be several minutes before I would become confident I could operate without it returning immediately.
‘Are you making tea?’ I asked the room assuming there was someone there. I had not yet rolled over to look around so was reassured when my father’s voice replied in the affirmative. ‘One for me as well, please.’