by steve higgs
‘Not yet. I was going to pull up employment records for the firm, which might not be the easiest thing to get hold of, but maybe there is a link between them and someone they worked with.’
‘Exactly what I was thinking.’ My very loose theory had been that I was somehow linked to all the victims so that their injuries, murders, attacks were designed to affect me on some increasing level. Was I being egocentric like CI Quinn had claimed? Was this not about me at all? If so, what was all the nonsense about a reward? And why had the Klowns come after me twice now, attacked my friends and tried to run my assistant off the road? ‘Dig up whatever you can, Jane and see if you can get a list of the kids that went to school with the two girls.’
I went back to the board and drew in a link between Mark Tanner and Erica Carpenter. Then on the map, I linked the two pins that represented their crimes with a piece of coloured string. This could all just be coincidence and I was wasting my time exploring a theory that would prove to be a dead end. So far, I had nothing else to work with.
At the table by the window, Basic was colouring in a book he had brought with him in his backpack. I guess his mum packed it for him every day as it contained tissues, a can of coke, a wagon wheel in case he needed a snack and a pencil case of felt-tipped pens to go with the colouring book. He was not inclined, nor possibly able to add much to our deliberations but he had made tea and was quite content to just hang out with us at the office. He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up when he felt me looking across at him. Then he showed me the picture he was colouring, it was the Little Mermaid who he had elected to give bright blue hair. She was having a punk phase it seemed.
A couple of hours ticked by as Jane and I worked separately on the research, she on the PC and I on the laptop, but we uncovered nothing else of use. There was a lot of information to process, so many victims already and for each one, we needed to examine their work history, relationships, family tree and on and on as far as we could go.
I felt Jane moving behind me and glanced up to see her stretching in place. I checked my watch: 1603hrs. I opened my mouth to speak and the phone rang.
I answered the call in my usual professional manner. ‘Blue Moon Investigations. Tempest Michaels speaking. How may I help?’
‘Hello.’ The voice at the other end had said.
‘Hello.’ I replied. ‘This is Tempest Michaels. Do you have a paranormal enquiry I can assist you with?’ I heard audible relief at the other end of the phone.
‘Oh, thank goodness. Mr. Michaels, I really need your help. My son has been possessed by a demon called Fonteneseque. He is speaking in tongues and saying the most awful things. Can you help me?' the voice wailed.
The voice was that of a middle-aged woman if I was any good at guessing ages. I knew of course that she was a mother, which put her age almost certainly above twenty, but I was guessing at closer to forty. Other than that, I didn’t know anything at all so it was time to press for information.
‘Can you tell me your name please?’
‘Oh. Oh, yes. Sorry. It’s Cheryl Carter.’
‘Mrs. Carter, thank you. I need to ask you a few more questions, but if I believe that I can help I will do so. Can you tell me where you are, please? Your address?' I had snagged my notebook and pen and plonked myself back down at my desk. Basic paused to listen. She gave me the address and I repeated it aloud as I wrote it down.
‘Mrs. Carter, can you please describe your son's behaviour with as much detail as you can give?' I listened again while she answered and made notes beneath the address. ‘Thank you. Now please tell me about your son. His age, his hobbies, what he watches on TV, which football team he supports, all of that information please.'
Once again, Mrs. Carter launched into a lengthy description from which I picked little nuggets of information.
‘Finally, Mrs. Carter can you please tell me when this new behaviour manifested and what it is that you would like me to do.' Mrs. Carter answered this question as concisely as she had the others but ended with a surprising piece of detail that I had to ask her to repeat.
‘I said the parish priest suggest we look for other solutions when the exorcism he performed did not work.’
‘You are telling me that you have an actual priest there and that he has attempted an exorcism?’ I was struggling to believe her. Priests do not perform exorcisms, except on television. I was fairly certain of that.
‘Yes, Mr. Michaels. He came right over when I called him.' I was really curious about this now.
‘Mrs. Carter, I am prepared to visit you and can be with you within the hour.'
‘Thank the Lord.’ she interrupted.
‘I must stress though,' I continued unabated, ‘that I do not believe your son is possessed. Demonic possession was largely the diagnosis given for mental health problems in a less enlightened age. I believe I can rid you of this issue, but I do not expect to find a demon at the end of my investigation. Is the priest still there?' Mrs. Carter said that Father McMeadow was still at the house and still chanting incantations. I outlined what I would have to charge her, that I was bringing a colleague with me and gave her a rough time by which I expected to arrive.
That done, I put the phone down and looked at my notes again. Like every case, I had ever had. I was instantly dismissing the option that there could be a paranormal explanation, but the presence of a priest was bothering me. I was not a church going man, but I respected the belief system and while I considered religious teachers to be deluded I could not deny that they were also intelligent people.
‘Are we going out?’ asked Basic.
‘Yes, we are.’
‘To Margate? I like Margate.’ I waited to see if Basic had anything more to say on the subject of the seaside town, but he appeared to have exhausted his repository of comments.
‘Well, we need to leave quite soon so if you need the bathroom now is your chance.' I did a quick mental calculation and decided that I did not need to go myself. Wallet, phone, and keys went in my bag or trouser pocket and I stood up to put on my coat.
‘What time will your boyfriend get home, Jane?’
She checked the time on her phone. ‘Soon actually. I should go.’
‘Drive carefully, Jane and watch for the Klowns when you get home. Circle your house and see if you can spot any cars with people in them or cars that you do not recognise. Don't stop your car until you believe it is safe.'
Jane promised that she would do exactly as I suggested and report back when she was home and safe. Basic and I followed her out to the car just in case there were any Klowns out there but no one leaped out on us and we were all able to leave the car park unmolested.
With the dogs balanced on Basic's lap, both of them eyeing him suspiciously as they were not used to sharing their seat, we shot off to my house. It was already after the dog's dinner time and I did not want to leave the dogs in my house while I was out. I was still quite paranoid about Klowns attacking it. Instead, I knocked on my neighbour's door and waited for her to answer with the two dogs sat obediently at my feet. The light went on inside the porch and the dog's tails started to wag. I called out so that Mrs. Comerforth would know it was me. Mrs. Comerforth was a widow in her seventies with an abundance of grey hair turning to white, which she held in place with a mass of pins and clips. Her bosom threatened to eclipse her belly button. She was very pleasant and asked little of the strong, young man next door which simply encouraged me to offer her my help whenever she had a use for it. I took out her bins, mowed her lawn, performed minor repairs around the house and in return she very willingly looked after my two stupid dogs whenever I needed her to.
As the door opened, the dogs began to leap about trying to get her to fuss them – so much for obedience. We exchanged pleasantries and I explained that I had to go out for a few hours. She was only too happy to have them for the evening though, so I left them there and received a text on my way to Margate telling me that she had let herself into my house to feed the dogs and h
ad then taken them for a walk. Oddly she was thanking me for the opportunity while I was thanking her for helping me.
A Possessed Child. Wednesday, October 26th 1705hrs
In the silence of the car, punctuated only by the noise coming from the Gameboy Basic was playing Tetris on, I considered what little I knew about the Klown case and wondered just what I could do to advance my investigation. The client that was coming to see me this morning claimed to have information pertaining to the case but she had never arrived, so I assumed that she was either lying to get some attention, quite why I could not fathom or had perhaps changed her mind. Either way, I had got nothing from her and the excitement of Jane's car chase had caused me to forget about her until now. I could not even remember if Jane had told me her name. If she had, then I had forgotten that also. I would check with her later, or in the morning.
Basic had decided that he did not need to go to the toilet before we left and then had changed his mind fifteen minutes down the road, forcing me to pull off for the services at Farthing Corner. While I waited for him, I received a text from Jane to let me know she was safe inside her house. I blew out a small sigh of relief.
With Basic back in the car, the journey took just under the hour I predicted it would, and the Satnav took me right to her door where, in the window next to it, I saw the curtain twitch as I pulled up. Before I was out of the car, the door to the house was opening and a lady in her early forties was coming down the driveway. ‘Mrs. Carter?' I enquired.
‘Yes. Mr. Michaels, is it?'
‘And my associate, James Burnham.' I motioned towards Basic as he rounded the front of the car to join me on the pavement. Mrs. Carter had naturally blonde hair that was going grey but had been dyed to maintain its original colour. It was a few weeks past needing a refresh on the dying process though and it made her look unkempt. She was wearing dark blue jeans and chestnut, calf-height Ugg boots, a white satin camisole top plus an oversized, brown cardigan and she was bereft of make-up. The overall impression was that she had given up on her appearance a bit, but I could see that she had been attractive once and could be again if she decided it was something she wanted.
‘I am so glad you are here.’ she said, ushering us into the house. ‘He has been like this for hours now.’
‘Please show me.’
Mrs. Carter led Basic and I up a narrow staircase that bisected the house. It was a design one found all over England in semi-detached houses of a similar era. At the top, there would be a short landing leading to two rooms. One on the left, at the back of the house, and one on the right, at the front of the house. The reverse would be true of the house next door which formed the other half of the building. As we went up the stairs I began to hear voices. A low murmur from one and an intermittent screeching from another. I could not make out what either was saying but then the smell hit me like an uppercut to my nose.
Human Faeces.
We turned left to go to the back of the house as I had expected we would. The room at the back was always smaller and thus usually housed the child or children with the parents in the larger room at the front. Mrs. Carter pushed open the door to reveal candlelight inside. The flickering wicks of maybe one hundred candles of varying sizes adorned every surface of the room including the floor. The carpet had been pulled back so that someone could draw on the floorboards with a black marker. The marker itself was abandoned next to one foot of the cast iron bed frame.
‘Mrs. Carter, who are these men?' demanded a man in a priest's cassock. In his hands, he held a heavy looking bible. He had been murmuring something when we entered the room but had stopped when he saw us and was now staring incredulously in our direction, his gaze swinging from Mrs. Carter to Basic and me and back again.
‘You said we needed to look at alternative solutions, Father.' said Mrs. Carter. ‘Mr. Michaels is a paranormal investigator.'
‘He’s a what?’ asked Father McMeadow looking quite flustered.
I Ignored him for a moment. On the bed was a man in his early twenties. He was tied to the headboard with what appeared to be the heavily embroidered stole from the priest's uniform. It was the fancy bit that went over the shoulders to fall either side in front. His feet were free but currently tucked underneath his body. He was naked, all bar a cloth of some kind that he had wrapped around his junk to form a primitive type of underwear. The smell was coming from him – he was covered in shit. His own I assumed. It was utterly disgusting, and I regretted taking the case.
‘Mrs. Carter.' came the priest's voice from behind me as I approached the bed. ‘What are these men doing here? When I said alternative solutions, I meant I would bring in help from within the church. I have summoned the priests that train for this…' I silenced him by lifting my hand.
Kieran Carter was putting on a fantastic act. Mrs. Carter was still standing by the door next to Basic. Distance seemed like a wise choice given the stench assaulting my olfactory system, but if Kieran could take it, I could too. Something was going on. Kieran continued to mutter obscenities under his breath, most of which I could not make out but odd words such as arsehole and lick I could discern. As I leaned towards him, he suddenly locked eyes with me and screamed. The scream was a deep noise rather than a high-pitched screech.
‘You will die tonight. Begone and never return. Kieran is mine and I will not give him up.’ The voice came out sing-song with a sense of amusement to it. It was quite creepy until one considered that it was all an elaborate ruse.
To what purpose?
‘Mrs. Carter, I must protest!' said Father McMeadow in an authoritative and angry tone. ‘I had calmed the demon. Now once again he is agitated and may bring harm to your son. It is imperative we wait for the arbitrators to arrive. This charlatan has to leave.'
‘Charlatan?’ I repeated standing up and turning around to face him.
‘Do you not plan to extort money from Mrs. Carter for rendering some ridiculous service in a feeble attempt to rid her son of this demon?' asked Father McMeadow. He looked beyond me now. ‘Mrs. Carter, please ask this man and his friend to leave.'
‘Well, I um… I'm sorry, Mr. Michaels. It seems I misunderstood Father McMeadow's instructions.'
I didn’t take my eyes off of the priest. I was waiting for something. ‘What do the arbitrators cost, Father?’
He looked at me. ‘Exorcizing a demon is not something one can put a price on.' I was waiting for him to glance at Kieran for support. It would be an unconscious gesture with his eyes only. I was playing a hunch that they were in it together and the whole sham was to get money from Mrs. Carter. That the son had to then be in on it was disturbing, but Kieran would not be the first person ever to swindle his parents. The glance never came though.
‘Mrs. Carter if you wish us to leave then we will do so.' I turned to face her with the intention of telling her that I thought the whole thing a scam but as I looked at her I noticed that Basic was absent.
He had moved behind me and despite the smell, he was about to sit on the bed next to Kieran. Saying nothing, I heard him start to sing a nursery rhyme: Half a pound of Tuppeny Rice.
Kieran was staying in character and was trying to bite Basic as he got closer. Restrained by his wrists, he could not quite get within biting range though, so was just snapping his teeth in the air.
Basic’s childish singing voice was soothing, and I wondered if he was trying to coax the demon into submission – to calm him somehow. I had not considered how Basic would perceive such a case. He often seemed confused by the concept of the paranormal and had trouble working out whether what he saw on his television was real or not. Cop show: Real. Vampire cop show: not real? I understood how it might get confusing.
Basic sat on the bed about halfway down its length, leaning toward Kieran. He lifted his left hand as if to stroke Kieran's hair, a move I would advocate against as it too looked to have crap in it, but as Basic reached the end of his verse he punched Kieran in the side of his head with his right fist.
&nb
sp; ‘Pop goes the weasel. Hur hur.’ Basic said, chuckling. Kieran was bleeding from the mouth, but the demon act was gone.
‘What the hell, man?' he yelled. ‘What the hell?
Father McMeadow started up his incantations again. I turned to face him. ‘Really?’ I asked.
‘What's happening?' Mrs. Carter wanted to know.
‘Hit him again.’ I instructed Basic.
‘No. No. No, dammit.’ Protested Kieran as Basic lifted his enormous fist once more. ‘Dave, stop dicking about and untie me.’
Dave?
Father McMeadow was looking a little panicked. His eyes were darting about. From the doorway, we heard a noise downstairs.
The Arbitrators had arrived.
Mrs. Carter looked quite confused, but I believed that I knew what was going on. Basic was looking at me with his fist raised towards Kieran, checking whether he should actually hit him again, or not. I shook my head just enough that Basic got the message.
Father McMeadow was beginning to gather up his things. He was bright enough to know the game was over. I darted forward though and snatched his phone from the dresser behind him before he could get to it. ‘I’ll have that, thank you.’
‘Hey!’ he protested but I ignored him as I quickly scrolled into his messages. Getting more agitated and trying to take the phone back from me his next utterance was, ‘Oi, dickhead!’ as he flailed against my outstretched arm.
Not very clergy-like language.
Basic got up and took a step forward in warning. It was sufficient to convince Dave "the fake clergyman" to give up on his phone. There were footsteps on the stairs and Mrs. Carter was moving to meet with them.
‘Dave.’ yelled Kieran from the bed, reminding him of his predicament. It was time to finish this off.
Using Father McMeadow's phone I dialled 999 and was connected just as two men in black cassocks came into the room preceded by Mrs. Carter. ‘What service? The Police please.' I said smiling at the two new men. They took one look at me, glanced at Kieran on the bed and bolted. As they ran loudly back down the stairs I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, ‘Let them go.' I saw no point in Basic giving chase. The Police would pick them up soon enough.
