Blue Moon Investigations Ten Book Bundle

by steve higgs

  Seeing his accomplice get taken down, the driver of the Mercedes hit the gas and belted down Week Street towards the A229 where he could filter into the moving Sunday traffic and escape. He was not having a good day though. Ahead of him, the lights changed, and an Argos truck swept out of Pudding Lane. With nowhere to go, I watched as the brake lights flashed on accompanied by the screeching of tyres before he slammed nose first into the side of the truck, ruining the beautiful new German car, which was probably stolen. Instantly there was a roadblock.

  Patience was standing over the youth I had been chasing. I was out of breath, but there seemed to no longer be much cause to hurry, so I ambled towards her at a fast walk. Downhill from me Duncan and Sylvester, the two chaps in uniform, caught up to the ailing car just as the driver was trying to get out. He was roughly grabbed, cuffed and forced into a sitting position by the car's rear wheel.

  ‘Hey, butt monkey!' Patience was making her arrest. The youth was laying on the pavement groaning a little and slowly writhing around in pain. ‘Hey! I am arresting you for the crime of having a ridiculous haircut, shit clothes and for being a douchy little purse snatcher.’ Patience didn’t worry too much about doing her job properly so long as she enjoyed herself.

  I arrived at her position where a small crowd was beginning to gather. Human nature dictating shoppers or passers-by were always ready for a little street theatre.

  ‘Hey, girl.' she offered me a high five. ‘Did you see the sale on at House of Fraser? I nearly spent next month’s wages. They have too much fine clothing.’

  ‘We should get this one to the station.’ I said.

  ‘The uniforms can pick him up in a minute. Patience needs some lunch.' She was staring at my chest. ‘You know your boobs are lopsided right?'

  I looked down. Dressing this morning for undercover work in town, it had not occurred to me to put on a sports bra. I had not figured on needing to chase anyone. I turned away from her to rearrange myself, then realised I had a three-hundred and sixty-degree crowd. My boobs were going to have to wait.

  A squad car was making its way past the wreckage at the bottom of the road, being waved on by Sylvester. A second car was behind it and behind that a third car which would probably contain Chief Inspector Quinn. The second car peeled off to stay with the crashed Mercedes, so I groaned internally as CI Quinn's car kept on coming up the road to where Patience and I were standing.

  Both cars ground to a halt right next to us, the crowd parting only when Patience yelled at them to do so.

  Three uniformed constables exited the cars, the driver of CI Quinn’s car opening the rear door to let him out. I thought he was pompous and pretentious and that expecting people to open doors for him was a perfect demonstration that I was right. CI Quinn was heading to the top though and acting as if he ought to be there already was working for him. He and I had an unsteady relationship which went back about six years to when he was my Sergeant and I spurned his advances.

  In a few days, it would no longer be of any concern. I did not hand my ID card back officially until November 8th, but due to over time that I had recently put in, coupled with the holiday I had never got around to taking, I was finishing today. My uniform and all the paraphernalia that went with it was in the boot of my car ready to be handed back. I had hoped I could wrap the undercover thing up quickly enough to get back to the station and hand it all in, but alas it was already too late for that, so I would have to return tomorrow or the day after.

  ‘Woods, report.’ Instructed CI Quinn.

  ‘Got us a dick head with a head full of dreadlocks, Chief. Woman’s purse still in his possession. I think he looks like he might try to run again though. You want me to kick him in the bollocks?’

  ‘Woods, you know how I enjoy your reports. Can you please stick to facts and not embarrass yourself perpetually?' CI Quinn replied deadpan. He was not known for his sense of humour.

  ‘Was that a yes or a no on the bollocks?' she enquired, seeming genuinely unsure. ‘A no, then.' She decided, seeing his expression.

  I was getting peckish. I had managed one small swig of my hot chocolate before I had to abandon it to chase Mr dreadlocks, so now I was both hungry and thirsty and it was getting close to lunchtime.

  ‘Do you need anything further from us here, sir?' I asked CI Quinn directly. ‘Perhaps Patience and I should return to observing the crowd in case there are more of his gang operating here?'

  Ben Swanscombe was cuffing the youth and getting him to his feet.

  ‘She hit me.’ The boy protested. ‘She’s not allowed to hit me.’

  ‘I stopped you is what I did. You ran into me. I was stationary, and you were moving. You can't claim I hit you if I didn't move.' Patience was well used to defending her slightly violent streak.

  The youth continued to complain as he was led away and bundled into the back of the squad car.

  CI Quinn was already turning to leave. ‘I want you both back at the station. You have paperwork to fill out.’ He ducked into his car, either to ensure we could not reply or probably just so disinterested in anything we might have to say that he had already forgotten us.

  ‘Well, Patience is going for lunch, Chief Inspector. What do you think about that?' she said to the departing car. ‘Damn that white boy sure has a stick in his arse. What do you want for lunch girl? Patience is buying?'

  ‘You’re buying? You win the lottery or something?’ I wasn’t saying that Patience was tight with her money, I just don’t remember her ever having any.

  ‘Girl, it’s your last day. Or at least it’s your last shift. Patience is going to buy you lunch.’ Patience was displaying one of her rare moments of seriousness. She was a good friend. I suspected I could rely on her if I ever needed to and we had already promised to stay in touch even though we would no longer be working together every week.

  ‘Lunch sounds good.’ I answered. It really did.

  ‘And a large glass of pinot.’ She added.

  ‘We are still on duty. We are not allowed to drink.’

  ‘Girl, it’s your last day. When are you ever going to break the rules if not now? What are they going to do to you if they catch you?’

  She had a point. ‘Okay, Patience. A glass of pinot.’

  ‘Large glass.’

  ‘Large glass.’ I conceded.

  ‘And shots.’

  A New Case. Sunday, October 30th 1643hrs

  Lunch with Patience had not been a good idea. It had seemed like one at the time, especially when the first half glass of cool, crisp, perfect white wine had wound its sensuous tendrils of relaxation into me and removed the stress I was feeling. After that took hold, I remember deciding that another glass was a great idea and my planned lunchtime skinny salad had been abandoned in favour of a pizza. Then a third glass had happened and the two of us had slunk back to the Station three hours later, armed with a quickly concocted lie about having seen some probable pickpockets and feeling the need to tail them.

  No one asked us where we had been though, as if they had not even noticed we were absent. I finished my paperwork, writing up a report about the event in town, the chase, and arrest, while next to me Patience worked her way through several doughnuts she had picked up on the way back to the station because all the wine had made her hungry.

  Whether I was stressed because it was my last day with a steady sensible job and the paycheck for it was about to run out, or if I was worried about my new career as a paranormal investigator, I had not been introspective enough to work out. When I talked to Patience about it, somewhere between glass two and glass three, she had said it was neither thing. In her opinion, I was getting stressed because I knew I was going to have to sleep with my perfect boyfriend soon and now I was worried that she had it right.

  I had met Brett Barker about a day after I took the job at the Blue Moon Investigation Agency. He was a prime suspect in the murder of his grandfather, not least because he had inherited the Barker Steel Mill in Dartford and a sizeable
fortune upon the man’s death. Tempest Michaels, that’s the owner of the Blue Moon business and my boss, thought Brett was guilty, and all the evidence suggested he was. I had arrested him, as I was still a serving Police Officer, but released him the next day when we determined he was innocent and he asked me on a date.

  That was two weeks ago, and we had been on several dates since. I am counting him as my boyfriend already, but we haven’t yet managed to get to the intimate part of our relationship. Honestly, I don’t know why we haven’t. There has not been a conversation where we have decided to take it slow. I am certain he is not gay, and we are both old enough to not be tiptoeing around, yet nothing beyond some passionate kissing has occurred thus far.

  Patience assures me that if I do not take him to bed soon, I will lose him. Actually, that was not what Patience said. She said… never mind. Let’s just say it was a more graphic version of hurry up and take him to bed.

  And it was what I was planning to do. He was gorgeous. He was lean and athletic with a handsome face that smiled easily. He was an absolute gentleman and he was seriously rich. Like, buy me an island for my birthday kind of rich. We were taking it in turns to entertain each other. One date he would call the shots and take me out. Sometimes it had been swanky and expensive, like the first date when he put me on a commercial jet flying first class to Paris for an overnight stay at the Penthouse of the Ritz, but he had also taken me out for dinner in a perfectly ordinary restaurant. That we earned vastly different amounts was of no concern to him it seemed, it would only be a concern in our relationship at all if I decided it was, so I had to get over it. When it had been my turn to entertain him, I had brought him to my house for pizza, or out to the local cinema because there was a film I wanted to see. Five dates had elapsed now though. Was that too many without some intiMacey creeping in?

  I had answered the question for myself days ago but had done nothing about it yet. Now it was time to fix the problem before it became one. I would call him tonight, invite him to my flat tomorrow night and shag his beautiful brains out.

  The clock on the wall assured me it was nearly finishing time for me. I would have to return in a couple of days to hand back my uniform and again on November 8th to hand over my ID card. I felt no pang of separation at the thought of being without that vital piece of equipment. It was just something I had carried around with me for the last few years.

  Just as I was getting out of my chair to leave, my phone rang. The caller ID on the screen told me it was Jane/James calling. Jane/James is Tempest's cross-dressing office assistant. A young man that with a wig, some makeup and a dress, looks more convincing as a woman than I do.

  ‘Amanda Harper.’ I answered the phone. The thing with Jane/James is that he/she wants to be addressed as a boy or a girl depending on which way he/she has decided to dress that day. Over the phone one cannot tell of course, so he/she has learned to say which it is and we have learned to not assume and wait for him/her to tell us.

  ‘Hi, Amanda. It’s James.’ He said. ‘Are you coming to work tomorrow? We have a couple of promising cases.’

  ‘I will be there. Just one question: Where is there now?' Two days ago, the Blue Moon office had been subjected to a firebomb and had burned to the ground. It would be rebuilt, but for now, it was very much unusable.

  ‘Tempest has set me up in the office in his house. It feels a bit odd wandering around his house without him here, but at least we are still in business.’

  ‘Tempest isn’t there? Where is he?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Or Tempest will call you I guess.’ He replied.

  That was cryptic. I dismissed it though. Tempest would come and go in pursuit of cases as he saw fit. He wasn’t there to hold my hand and had hired me because of my ability to work independently. The pair of us might work together on cases at times but would just as often attend to separate clients.

  ‘What are the cases?’ I asked him.

  ‘There are a few actually. The Tonbridge ghost tours are once again claiming to have a ghost that they want us to investigate, there are some farmers out towards Cliffe that have reported mysterious crop circles coupled with odd behaviour from their cattle. However, the most pressing seems to be from a young lady that has become the target of a voodoo priest.'

  ‘Voodoo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In Kent?’

  ‘Apparently so. She met some guy on a dating website and he got a little scary and when she broke it off, he cursed her, and her hair has fallen out.’

  I had picked my phone up, air-kissed Patience and headed out the door. I had to leave my car in the space behind the station as I was not at all certain I was sober enough to drive home. Fortunately, it was only a little more than a mile to my flat by the train station. I was still talking when I got outside and discovered it had started to drizzle.

  Nuts.

  ‘Are you still there, Amanda?’ James asked.

  ‘Yes, still here. Just fighting with my umbrella.’ I needed both hands. ‘James I will see you at Tempest’s house at nine o’clock tomorrow. Okay?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘I expect the cases can wait until then.' I said goodbye and disconnected. The damned umbrella catch was sticking and refusing to open. I was hovering in the doorway at the back of the station grunting and swearing. Finally, it popped, and the handbag-handy brolly flung itself from closed to inside out and then mockingly refused to go back to a useable state. It learned to rue the day as I shoved its useless arse into the first trash bin I came to.

  I trudged home through the increasing downpour, my hair a sodden mess on my shoulders by the time I got there. Mrs. Stone was just wheeling her bin outside when I came hurrying up the path towards our building. I lived in a four-story block of flats not far from Maidstone East train station. The location was favoured by city commuters heading to London as the price of living here was far more affordable than the cost of living inside a London postcode. I was fortunate enough to have secured a flat on the top floor when they were first built five years ago. It was a small place but was still easily big enough for me and had been fitted out with good quality cupboards and appliances in the kitchen and was also well-appointed in the bathroom. The rent was affordable – more so now that I was going to earn more with the switch in jobs and I saw no reason to move. A small, but insistent voice at the back of my head, that sounded suspiciously like my mother, told me I should marry Brett and move into his twenty-five-bedroom palace.

  I ignored it.

  I hadn’t actually been to Brett’s house yet as a girlfriend. The last time I was there I was tossing the place looking for evidence. I would get there soon enough but I was in no hurry to be a wife, or a mother or anything other than what I was. Mostly I struggled to look after myself, all too often discovered that I had no clean knickers to put on and regularly opened the fridge to find there was no food in it. Each time I did so I promised to organise myself better. But I never did.

  ‘Hi, Mrs. Stone.' I called out in passing. She was wearing a pink warm-up suit and pink sparkly fake Ugg boots. Her silver hair was also dyed a shade of pink and to contrast it all, she had on a terry dressing gown in a lemon hue.

  She waved a hand in reply as she manoeuvred her bin into place by the kerb ready for the morning. I made a note that I needed to do the same as they only came every other week and I had missed the last two collections.

  Pushing open my door, I stepped over the mail I found on the floor inside, then scooped it up and quickly sifted it on my way through to the kitchen area. Mostly rubbish I concluded but there was one envelope that looked suspiciously like my credit card bill, I left that one for later, and a postcard from my Mum. I dumped everything but the postcard on the kitchen counter along with my handbag as I continued through to the bathroom where I set the bath taps to run hot water. My hair was already wet, so a bath seemed perfectly timed. I swiped my phone to connect to the speaker and pressed play. A heavy base s
tarted thumping through my apartment as I sashayed into the bedroom to peel off my damp clothes.

  I put the postcard face down on my dressing table, so I could read it as I fumbled with my clothes. My mother and her boyfriend, Max were on a round-the-world cruise. Mum had retired earlier this year when Max had convinced her she should. Dad had died six years ago when his battle with cancer was finally done and I thought mum would never smile again. Then last year, about eighteen months ago now, she met Max at a friend’s sixtieth birthday party. He was a few years younger than her but pointed out that at their age it didn't make all that much difference.

  I was happy for her, but her relationship with Max came with one unfortunate side effect – her renewed sex life. I had learned, not that I wanted to, that my mother had married the first man she slept with. A fact she only came to regret after he had died, and she found out what she had been missing. Now she was, so far as I could tell, only sleeping with the second man ever, but he was more experienced or more adventurous or more something and she wanted to tell me about it every time we sat down to chat.

  Thankfully, there was no mention of sex in the note she had sent me. They were now on the final leg and having passed through the Panama Canal were in Miami. It would be another couple of weeks before they were home although, of course, the postcard took a while to get to me even in the 21st century and mum liked to send them rather than emails that would be instantly delivered. She was having the time of her life and I was happy for her.

  Now naked and getting cool, I hurried to the bathroom and slipped into the tub. I had expected to feel buoyant this evening. I need never put my uniform on again. I ought to be celebrating. Oddly though, I felt a little uncomfortable, as if I had done something wrong and was about to be exposed for it.

  My phone rang. It was not a number I recognised so I Ignored it, let it ring off and I flicked the button to silent as I slipped into the bath. Ordinarily, I would have taken a glass of wine with me, but after the overindulgence this afternoon I was sipping water instead.