by steve higgs
I knew where the golf club was. I had never been there but had driven by the entrance gateway many times. I followed the signs to the clubhouse and parked as close to the entrance as I could. Then I dashed to the door through the puddles before the sky soaked me for the second time today. Big Ben's golf clubs were on my passenger seat I realised when I got inside. I wasn't going back for them though. There was an umbrella in the bag, but the wind was blowing so hard I worried it would just turn inside out and break.
A bell chimed above my head as I went in and I saw that I had unwittingly run into the shop. There was no shop assistance visibly in attendance, so I poked around wondering if there would be a way through from the shop to the main clubhouse. There was, of course, hidden in a corner. Had I looked up at any point I might have noticed the large sign pointing the way through to toilets, changing rooms and clubhouse.
I walked along a corridor lined with oak panelling to arrive in the front entrance that I had somehow missed in my dash from the car. It was double height with a vaulted ceiling and a marble staircase leading up to the level I was on.
I could hear faint chatter coming from around the corner. Following it led me into a bar and restaurant area that reminded me of the Ritz: It was palatial. Huge chandeliers hung from the ceilings, the expensive room was decorated like the inside of a palace might be if an important guest were coming. A pianist was tinkling away in the far corner and the room had a large terrace that gave a lofty view down onto the eighteenth fairway and green.
Naturally, there was no one outside on the terrace today and the glass doors to access it were shut against the harsh weather. The room was busy though. Small groups of men or women or men and women, families and all manner of ages, although I estimated the demographic to be middle-aged and upwards in general. One had to be successful in life to be able to afford to be a member here, so it did not surprise me that there were fewer young people around.
I knew what the four ladies looked like from their social media profiles. Another example of technology intruding into our lives uninvited. I spotted them as I made my way to the bar. Fortuitously, they were eating lunch at a table close to the bar so I sat as near to them as I could and ordered a diet coke.
It was hard to overhear their conversation amid the babble of background noise and the tinkling of the piano. I picked out the odd word though and I was able to watch their body language using the mirror behind the bar.
Mabel was sitting nearest me and thus had her back to me. Hers was the one face I could not see. She was clearly enjoying herself though. An upended bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket by her left elbow. It seemed like she had either had the whole thing herself, or it was not the first bottle. The other ladies had glasses in front of them in various stages of emptiness, but Barbara looked like she had not touched hers. She looked nervous or worried or maybe she was just sick, but if so why come out to lunch at all.
I sipped at my coke and wished the other patrons would choose to be quiet so that I could hear what the ladies were saying.
I continued to watch, trying hard to disguise my attention. If they or anyone else was aware of me observing them, I couldn't tell, but I was left alone by everyone including the barman. Time ticked by in an uninteresting way and the ladies finished their meals. Well, I should qualify that. The plates were cleared but Barbara had barely touched her food and the glass of champagne that she had not drunk was swept up by Mabel. Mabel was telling her off for something, wagging her finger and making a big point about it.
‘Are you a member here, sir?' A voice asked from behind me. I turned my head to find a giant bushy moustache attached to a face etched with thin red lines. The moustache was grey turning to white and the gentleman sporting it looked to be seventy or more. He was wearing a tweed suit that was mostly green but had intersecting lines through it in hues of dull yellow, brown and red. The trousers ended at the knee where they tucked into long socks that were tan in colour and finally they disappeared into a pair of wellington boots.
‘I think you know that I am not.' I replied to his rhetorical question. ‘I was curious about the place. I recently moved here and wanted to see it for myself.' I lied smoothly. ‘I had planned to play a round today, but the weather...' I indicated to the windows.
‘I'm afraid we have very strict protocols about non-members always being accompanied in the clubhouse by full members, sir.' He was being very polite. ‘I really am sorry, but must ask you to leave, sir. The club will be only too pleased to receive your application for membership whenever you are ready, sir.'
I was about to reply when I noticed a change at the table of ladies. Barbara had received a phone call. There is nothing unusual in that, but the other ladies had all stopped talking. Even the inebriated Mabel, and they were listening intently to what Barbara was saying into her phone.
Barbara had her eyes closed and her head down. She ended the call and did nothing for several seconds. Then she lifted her head, opened her eyes and said, ‘It’s done.’ It was loud enough for me to hear.
‘Sir.’ The gentleman at my shoulder reminded me of his presence and desire that I should leave.
I nodded my head and moved to follow him. He was leading the way out of the bar. At the table, the ladies, including Barbara, all looked jubilant. Her expression was that of a woman that had just received a great bit of news, that she had been expecting or hoping for, but had not dared to believe would ever come. To her left and right, were Mabel and Edna, both of whom were patting her on the arm or shoulder in congratulations. As I followed the tweed dressed gent out of the bar, I saw them all get up.
I went through a brief charade of obtaining the club captain’s personal email so I could contact him about membership and arranging a trial round for free, but soon made my excuses and went outside to see if the ladies were indeed leaving.
Sat in my car with the heater on and the wipers going, my patience was rewarded a few minutes later as all four of them emerged from the main clubhouse entrance. They tottered across to a large blue Range Rover, an older model with a private plate to hide its age. Dorothy climbed behind the steering wheel.
Death by Misadventure. Sunday, November 6th 1522hrs
I followed the Range Rover two miles back through East Malling. Quite where East Malling ended and West Malling began I did not know, but we must have been getting close to the next village when the car indicated and turned up a driveway and towards a large detached house that had two police cars outside it.
Now I wasn’t sure what to do. I had a bad feeling about what was going on. Sat in my car on the opposite side of the road weighing up my options, the arrival of a vehicle marked as County Coroner confirmed my assumption to be most likely true.
The house, I was certain I would later prove, belonged to Barbara and inside it was her dead husband, his heart exploded from his chest by a bolt of lightning from the storm today. What I wanted to do was go into the house and confirm it. I had no authority to do so though. No jurisdiction.
Calling Amanda might have worked a week ago, but she was out of the police now. She still knew people and might be able to call in the odd favour. Right now though, I needed to get used to working without the benefit of having someone on the inside.
Would it hurt to try? Probably not. With that thought echoing in my head, I drove my car off the grass verge I had stopped on. Only I didn't. I put the car into gear and listened as the back wheels spun on the wet grass. I opened my door and looked back at the wheel behind me. If I continued I would just dig a muddy hole and make it even harder to get out.
I swore but then saw the opportunity this presented: I had a legitimate reason to knock on a door. The only house I could see was the one with the coroner’s van and the police cars outside of it.
I jogged down the gravel drive to knock on the door, hoping that I could convince them to let me in out of the wet whereupon I might overhear something.
The front door wasn’t even shut! It was open a crack,
so I gently, quietly pushed it open and stepped inside. This was as good as I could have hoped for. Voices were coming from deeper in the house along with the sound of camera shutters going as photographs were taken.
I edged forward. There was no one in this part of the house. I concocted a fast lie about knocking for help but finding the front door open and coming to look for help when no one answered. I doubted it would fool anyone, but I didn't really need it to. They wouldn't arrest me, I was fairly sure.
I crossed a hallway and came to a hub of sorts from which lots of rooms came off like spokes. To my right was where all the conversation and noise was coming. I moved quietly in that direction. As I got nearer, I started to make out what people were saying.
Before I got there though, a young female police officer came out of a different door bearing a tray full of steaming mugs.
I froze.
‘Oh.’ She said. ‘Aren’t you Tempest Michaels? I saw you on the news this weekend.’
I nodded. ‘Guilty as charged. Can I help you with your beverages?’
‘What? Oh, no. Ah, just follow me.' She said and went straight into the room where all the noise was coming from with me hot on her heels. ‘I need to go back to take care of the widow and deal with all of that.' She put the tray down on a table and was gone. I guess she thought I was supposed to be here.
I had stuck my neck out this far, I might as well keep going so I selected a mug from the tray and gave it a sip. Not bad. I was worried it might have sugar in it, but it was unsweetened. No one paid me any attention, so I sipped my tea and watched.
A photographer was snapping pictures as the coroner gave instructions. Two police officers, one of whom I recognised as Brad Hardacre, were standing around doing nothing much at all but were probably also waiting for instruction. All the work was being done by the person bent over examining the body.
I had not met a coroner before. At least, if I had I did not remember the occasion, but in my head, they did not look like the lady I could now see. She was bent over with her back to me, which is to say her peachy and perfectly rounded bottom was pointing in my direction. Mr. Wriggly was filling my head with thoughts on the subject.
She was dictating into a recording device, probably for writing up her report later, her words mostly mumbo-jumbo to me as it was all complex medical terms. I listened though, staying out of the way.
‘… wound to thorax consistent with lightning strike. No evidence of other injuries.’
She stood up at that point and gave me my first look at the victim as she moved around. I sputtered my tea as I had been taking a sip. The man's chest had been opened out like the lid on a can of beans. Several ribs were poking out, his clothing was soaked with blood and had been cut away to reveal the wound for examination. He was very, very dead.
Of course, having made a noise as I spat tea down my chin, all faces turned to me.
‘Who are you?’ asked the coroner lady. I was getting my first proper look at her too. She was my age or maybe a little older, perhaps even forty, but she was stunning. She could have been a swimwear model if she wanted with the figure I could see even with the layers of clothing.
‘He is Tempest Michaels. A ghost hunter.’ Said Brad.
‘That’s not even nearly true, Brad, thank you. Apart from the name bit. You got that right.’ I put the tea mug down and crossed the room to offer my hand. The coroner lady had on green plastic gloves though and they were covered in blood. She just looked blankly at me. I took my hand away. ‘So, this all looks quite grisly. How do you think the murder is being perpetrated?’
‘Murder?' The coroner lady tilted her head as if trying to work out what I was saying. ‘How can it be murder? The victim was hit by lightning. PC Hardacre does this man have any right to be here?' she asked, turning her attention away from me just when it was getting interesting.
‘I doubt it.’ Brad answered. He had been leaning against a window frame until this point, now meaningfully he levered himself off it.
Undeterred, I asked another question. ‘If not murder, then what will your verdict be?
Death by misadventure?'
‘Accidental death, Mr. Michaels.'
‘You genuinely think a lightning strike caused that wound?' I was pushing her. I wasn't sure why other than I didn't believe it myself and wanted to hear her defend her assessment.
‘Get him out of here, please.’ She instructed the two police officers. They moved toward me, but I offered no resistance. I had already seen more than I hoped to and learned a lot in the process.
I turned and left the room with the two officers following me. They were going to escort me from the property and make sure that I went away.
At the door, Brad had something to say, ‘We are never going to be friends, man. But I heard about what you did for Amanda and Patience. I like those girls, so thank you.' He offered me his hand to shake.
I took it. He had a good grip. ‘Now get out.’ His partner said trying to look and sound tough. I grinned at him, nodded at Brad and went back out into the rain to find that it had largely stopped. I could still hear the constant drip of water filtering down through the trees, but the rain had all but completely left off now.
I heard the door shut behind me. They were content that I was leaving. I wasn't though. I doubled back and started looking around the outside of the house, making sure I kept away from the windows so no one inside would see me. I was looking for the runes Mick Cotton had described to me. I found the first one on the wall on the left side of the house. It was easy to see because it was three feet high – a witch's knot. I went back to the front of the building and had to scout around a bit to find the symbol there. The front façade looked to be free of any marking. In the end, I found it behind a plant pot close to the front door. It was the horned god. I would love to boast that studying all of this nonsense as part of my on the job training had given me the ability to identify these symbols by sight. Alas, I was doing it using an app on my phone. On the next wall on the other side of the building, I found a triple moon. I was willing to bet that there would be another symbol on the back of the house but I was certain I would be spotted if I tried to find it, so after a quick peek around the corner to see if it was obvious and easy to spot, I accepted that I would need to return another time if I really wanted to find out what it was.
The house was marked with wiccan symbols. There might be more inside, and I expected that I would find other artifacts if I were to have free reign to inspect the house.
My car was still stuck but that wasn't going to hold me up for very long. On the way back down the long driveway, I stopped under a few pine trees to collect pine cones and fallen bits of branch. These I shoved under the leading edge of each back tyre so that they bit in when I eased the car forward, allowing me to get moving. Once the wheels were turning I was free.
The car dropped back down onto the road and I took it home.
Groomsman Duties. Sunday, November 6th 1812hrs
Jagjit had texted me earlier to ask when I wanted to talk through the Best Man stuff. He wanted a stag party but had very specific ideas about what that should be like. He trusted that I would not ignore his wishes and organise an event with prostitutes or strippers and leave him tied naked to a lamppost.
He was due at 1800hrs but was late as usual. At 1812hrs he knocked on my door then called out as he let himself in. The dogs, who were barking before they made it off the sofa, saw who it was and fussed about his feet as he joined me in the kitchen.
‘I brought beer with me.’ He announced, holding a four pack of Cobra lager aloft in each hand.
‘Thanks, man, but I am off the sauce for the next few weeks.’
‘Really? You were knocking them back on Friday night.’
I nodded. ‘I was, but that was my last hurrah if you like. I am on the fitness trail again.’ I patted my love handles. ‘I’m getting a bit tubby.’
‘Yeah, you’re really not. So, diet and exercise then?’
‘I think of it more as training and nutrition. I just have to get my head in the right place. A few days in and the cravings will go. Then the benefits will start to show, and I will get addicted to fitness again.’
‘If you say so.’ Jagjit didn’t run unless something was chasing him. He was content to work up a sweat on his X Box but the thought of going to the gym never entered his mind. He set the beers down, pulled one from the pack nearest him and took a long draft from it. ‘All the more for me then.’
I looked longingly at the drinks but knew no good could come from it. I needed to avoid it for a while in order to lose the excess bodyfat I had gained.
‘Down to business?’ I asked.
He took a seat at my breakfast bar and we started discussing the plan for the wedding, what he wanted for a stag do and who I should invite.
‘Have you planned a honeymoon?’ I asked when the question occurred to me.
He took another slug of beer and crushed the can before selecting another. ‘We are going to Tignes. It’s all booked.’
‘As a surprise?’
‘No, I didn’t think I could organise something so important without involving her. Anyway, it was her idea.’
‘Have you ever skied before? I don’t remember you ever talking about it.’
‘Yeah, man! I’m like Triple X only browner!’
I doubted that. I just hoped there wasn’t a gulf of ability between them that meant she left him on the baby slopes every day.
‘When do you go?’
‘Right after the ceremony. There is a Eurostar service that goes from St Pancras directly there overnight, so we leave on the Sunday evening.’
