Blue Moon Investigations series Boxed Set 2

by steve higgs

  A quick mental checklist didn’t reveal a discrepancy. At this early stage of my investigation, I doubted I would need anything. I was just going to meet the client and get an initial payment. I said I would see him later as I headed to the back door of the office, snagging my handbag from my desk as I went.

  As I slid into my car, my phone rang. I pulled the door shut against the cold as I answered it and switched the car on to warm up. ‘Amanda Harper, Good morning.'

  ‘Amanda, this is Kieron Fallon.’ Kieron sounded different than he had in the earlier calls. Where he had been frustrated and perhaps a little scared before, now he sounded upset to the point of tearful.

  ‘Kieron I was just setting off to come to you. Is everything okay?’

  He didn't speak for a few seconds and I was about to prompt him when he finally started talking. ‘It's our neighbour, Tamara. She was killed last night.'

  ‘Oh God.’ I hadn’t meant to speak. My response was automatic.

  ‘The alien got her. The police left here suddenly about an hour ago. They just got in their car and sped off. I just got the call from the farm manager to let me know Tamara's body was found not far from the farmhouse there. It was her husband that found her.'

  She was killed by the alien. I hadn’t heard incorrectly, that was what my client had said. Regardless of what had happened, the police would still be there. I had to ask the question though.

  ‘Kieron why do you think it was an alien that killed your neighbour?’

  ‘Because she was frozen. It killed her with a freeze ray.’

  I let the words sink in. We were used to dealing with weird, it was our wheelhouse you might say. However, this was threatening to be a level beyond. My foot twitched with indecision but I needed a case and the firm needed to raise invoices so I had to get going.

  ‘Mr. Fallon, I am heading to the scene now. Can you give me the address please?'

  Freeze Gun. Wednesday, November 9th 1115hrs

  There had been storms about this week and it was still drizzling lightly on the drive to Cliffe Woods. I was familiar with the route to get there but could not recall having ever been to the village itself before. As my wipers did their best to swish the rain away, I followed the signs through Strood and out into the countryside. It wasn’t far to go but it also wasn’t a straight line, the road followed the contours around lakes and rivers and narrowed to a single-track lane many times. Twice I had to stop and back up to a passing point when I came face to face with a tractor.

  The danger of more farm vehicles slowed my pace.

  About halfway there, my phone rang. Caller ID on the screen in my car told me it was Patience calling. ‘Hello, Patience.’ I answered as the call connected.

  ‘What up, skinny biatch?’ she replied. Patience Woods is a former police colleague that is still serving as a uniformed officer. She is black, she is loud, and she is taking a week off following a brief bout of kidnapping last week.

  Her choice of salutations was generally different from mine. Different to everyone's for that matter but despite the colloquialisms, I knew what the question meant. ‘I am fine, thank you, Patience. I am investigating a case in Cliffe Woods.'

  ‘Cliffe Woods? There’s nothing there. It’s all farmland. What kind of case have you got in Cliffe Woods?’

  ‘Aliens.’ I replied unsure how she would react. Patience, unlike me, was ready to believe in everything.

  She surprised me with her response though. ‘Aliens.’ She scoffed. ‘There’s no such thing. Even I know that.

  ‘So, how are you feeling? What are you doing with your time off?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  ‘I'm bored.' She announced. ‘Everyone else is at work, I can't afford to go away anywhere and there is only so much daytime TV I can watch.' I wondered if she was going to volunteer her services to assist me and worried about whether her help was a good thing. Instead of offering to work with me though she said, ‘I need a man.' She paused, then corrected herself. ‘We need men. We need someone nice to take us out and make us feel like ladies.'

  ‘Not planning to see Big Ben again?’ I asked. She had enjoyed a very brief fling with a friend I had met through Tempest. He was a decent enough guy, but he went through women like there was no tomorrow. It made him a perfect match for Patience.

  I could hear her think about her answer. I was nearing my destination and had to pull in once more to let a tractor through. By my window, a cow put its head over the hedge and stared at me. I locked eyes with it as it chewed. I liked cows. They had nice eyes. Brett had nice eyes. My recent failed attempt at a relationship with Brett Barker was behind me, but his face kept drifting uninvited into my thoughts.

  ‘I don’t think Big Ben falls into the category of men one gets to date.’ She admitted reluctantly, breaking my train of thought. I thought it more likely that he had simply refused to entertain the idea. ‘Anyway, that’s not what I called for, white chick. I wanted to make sure you were set for Saturday night.’

  ‘Saturday night?’ I echoed. Saturday night? What was I supposed to be doing on Saturday night?

  ‘Girl’s night out?’ Patience prompted, exasperation dripping from her tone.

  Oh yeah. I had forgotten all about it. I decided to lie anyway. ‘Yes, of course, I am completely ready. I have my outfit picked out and everything.’

  Patience didn't believe me. ‘Mm hmm. What're you wearing then?' She called my bluff.

  ‘Err, jeans and a satin halter neck top.’

  ‘The satin top from Hobbs? The blue one?’

  She had bought the lie. ‘Yes, that one.’

  ‘Not a chance, babe. We are going out to meet men. I don’t want you cramping my style in your going to the library outfit. I want you in something that has spaghetti straps and a skirt that stops above your knees. I’m broke, so I need you to look slutty and available so that boys buy us drinks.’

  I sighed. ‘I'm not sure I have anything like that in my wardrobe.' That was probably a lie too. In truth, I quite fancied going out for a fun girls night. Some dancing and a few drinks sounded good, but I wasn't interested in having men pester me for my number all night and I knew Patience would literally pimp me out for a rum and coke.

  ‘I’m certain you can find something, sweetie.’ She replied. ‘Eight o’clock at Bar Nineteen. Okay?’

  I conceded. I would wear the jeans and satin top anyway. It would be too late for Patience to do anything about it by the time I got there.

  She bid me a good day and disconnected.

  I had arrived at a tee junction and was no longer sure which way I wanted to go. I had the postcode for the farm but out here in the countryside, postcodes were a lot less reliable than they were in the towns. I didn’t want to take a wrong path and have to perform a three-point turn in a tight space or have to reverse back half a mile because it was too tight to turn around.

  Looking left and right, neither direction looked promising. The village of Cliffe Woods was behind me, I had gone through it while talking to Patience. Calling it a village though was a stretch. It might be better described as a hamlet. It was barely more than a collection of houses and a pub. I was unlikely to find anyone there to give me directions, so I flipped a mental coin, chose right and turned left because I was bound to have guessed wrong.

  The theory of always getting a fifty-fifty guess wrong held true as turning left was the right way. A wooden sign announcing Larson Farm hove into view and barely thirty seconds later a turning led me to the farm itself. Behind me, in the field opposite the entrance to the farm were several tents. It didn't look to be a camping site though and there was nothing here that could possibly attract people unless their hobby was to get as far from civilisation as possible and sit in a damp field.

  Were the people there more of the alien fanatics Kieron had described?

  The road leading up to the farm was muddy. There were large chunks of dirt in the shape of tractor tyre treads flung all over it and the whole surface bore a slick co
ating of wet, brown gunk. The smell didn't hit me until I opened my car door though.

  I imagined that country folk would laugh at city people being bothered by the natural scent of the countryside, but I swear if it had been any stronger, I could have cut it into chunks. It took my breath away and made me gag.

  I slammed the car door shut again and shoved my face next to the car freshener thing hanging from my rear-view mirror.

  Ahead of me was a small gathering of people in rain macs and anoraks. They were outside the fence that bordered the farm and I would have guessed that they were the alien spotters even without one holding a sign bearing the legend, “come to earth, we’re friendly”.

  The noise from my car door shutting caused the crowd to turn around and look in my direction. I was not considered interesting though, their attention drifting back to the farm almost immediately.

  I got out of my car after stealing myself against the olfactory onslaught and walked up to the gate. It was closed to keep the crazies out. In the distance beyond the buildings, I could see the familiar white tent of the forensics team. The coroner's van along with three police cars was parked at the edge of the farmyard ahead of me. If they were still here, then the body had not yet been moved. I crossed my fingers and said a silent prayer that CI Quinn wasn't on the scene and someone I knew would be.

  The nearest farm building was little more than thirty feet away, where I could see two men working. I called out to get their attention.

  The man shook his head no, telling me in short that I was to stay out. I opened the gate and let myself in anyway. I would get nothing done by being timid. He stopped what he was doing with visible frustration, stood up and started making his way towards me.

  ‘I’m Amanda Harper.’ I said before he closed the distance to me. ‘I have been hired by the three owners to investigate the strange events here.’ I handed him my card.

  Without speaking, he stared down at the card, reading it. It was shiny and embossed and had my name written on it with the words Paranormal Investigator in bold type beneath. He had been wearing gloves to do whatever it was he had been doing so his hands were clean. He didn’t offer one to shake though. Instead, he came to a decision, inclined his head in the direction of the police cars and the tent and started walking. I was expected to follow.

  ‘I'll take it from here, thank you for your help.' The man went back to his task. Ahead of me, the uniforms were milling around. I took a straight line toward them, hoping to make out a familiar face before I got there.

  ‘Amanda.' Called out Brad Hardacre about a second before I called his name. We had spent hours in squad cars together over the years. He was one of the good guys, although he was a bit of a joker and didn't take himself seriously enough to ever make a decent career from the job. He had a big cheesy grin on his face. ‘Amanda, are you here to catch an alien?'

  The uniforms around him had heard him speak and turned around to see who he was addressing. There were five in view including a Sergeant that I didn't recognise, but the other four were familiar. Kent police were thousands strong but mostly regional, so you saw the same faces plenty of times.

  ‘Hey, Brad. Hi, everyone.’ I approached as if I was supposed to be there, offering Brad my hand to shake but he wrapped me into a hug instead.

  ‘I heard about the voodoo thing. Hey, guys.’ He said as he turned to his colleagues, one arm still around my shoulders to present me. ‘This is Amanda Harper, the one that caught the Magdalene King.’

  ‘Yes, Brad.' Replied a brunette woman. My memory was telling me her name might be Megan. ‘She was all over the TV making that dick Quinn look stupid.'

  ‘That’s enough of that, Jones.’ Admonished her sergeant. He turned his attention to me. ‘How can we help you, Miss Harper?’

  ‘She’s here to catch the alien.’ Brad said while making spooky noises with his mouth.

  I offered my hand for the unnamed sergeant to shake. He looked at it, before somewhat reluctantly bringing his own hand up to meet mine.

  ‘I have been hired by the farmers to look into the events here.’

  ‘You don’t think we can manage? You believe you are better suited to investigate this woman’s death?’ He was being confrontational.

  ‘The death is a new development. They hired me to find out why their milk glows. There have been odd occurrences here for months now and the police have visited many times already. I only took the uniform off recently, so I know why it is not possible to commit resources to look into milk tampering.’

  This placated him somewhat, his demeanour softening. ‘You are saying you are here by chance, not because a woman has been killed?'

  ‘Not exactly. I was coming anyway. My client believes he had been visited by aliens, that they have created crop circles near here and are tampering with his milk. When he called me an hour ago it was to tell me that there had been a death at the hands of the aliens. Was the victim frozen?'

  ‘Yes, she was.’ Answered Brad, drawing a hostile glare from his sergeant.

  ‘I’m not here to interfere. There is something happening here though which is outside of your remit and which I have been employed to investigate. Something dubious is occurring at the farms in this cooperative and it seems likely to me that it is all linked with death. I know the victim was frozen.’ I winced as he glared at Brad again. ‘But assume I can rule out the possibility of a freeze ray toting alien as the murderer.’

  ‘No one said murder and nothing is being ruled out.’ He snapped back instantly. It was a standard policeman’s answer to deny and confuse. I could follow up by asking if this meant he considered the alien freeze ray a possibility but I didn’t. I wanted his help.

  ‘Will you allow me to see the body?’

  He opened his mouth to say no but at that moment the coroner stepped out of the tent. He was a man I had bonded with a couple of years back at a policeman’s ball when we ended up at the same table and both stood up by our dates.

  ‘Neville.’ I called, which stopped the sergeant from speaking as he turned to see who I was now looking at.

  The coroner had been looking at his phone, about to make a call perhaps but looked up, caught sight of me and broke into a broad grin.

  ‘Amanda Harper. I heard you quit.’

  I dismissed the sergeant by walking straight by him to shake hands with the coroner. Neville Hinkley was nearing retirement but was a handsome man that looked after himself and looked far younger than his advancing years might suggest he should. He had on white wellington boots and a forensic suit but was peeling his way out of it as he came towards me. The latex gloves came off with a puff of powder, a trace of which lingered on my hand after he shook it.

  ‘I did quit. I’m here as a private investigator.’

  ‘For this case? Want to see the body?’ He asked.

  ‘That’s not appropriate.’ Pointed out the sergeant, further eroding his authority as Neville didn’t even bother to look his way.

  I crouched down to peer inside the tent. I wasn’t going in as I might contaminate the scene, but I could see enough to know that this was an unusual death. Some bodies curl into odd shapes in rigor but this one appeared to have been posed. Her feet were together, and her arms were out in front with her palms out and her fingers splayed as if she were pushing against something.

  ‘Is she frozen?’ I asked, wanting to clarify that point.

  ‘Starting to defrost, but yes she has been frozen.’

  ‘Do you think she was shoved inside a freezer?’

  ‘Impossible to say but that would be my first guess. The officers scoured the premises looking for a freezer she might fit in but didn't find anything. If she was frozen, it was done off-site.'

  I nodded. My case had changed drastically in the space of a few hours. What would this mean? Was I still investigating glowing milk? Was the death connected? I was happy to rule out an alien invasion but I felt certain the death, the milk, the alien and the crop circles would all prove to be link
ed somehow.

  I stood up again. ‘Thank you, Neville. I need to speak to the husband.’

  ‘Anytime, Amanda. Just call if you need my help.’ Neville had followed me back to where Brad and the others were milling about still. The sergeant had wandered off, I spotted him sitting in his car using the radio.

  Pulling out my notepad, I sidled up to Brad. ‘Brad has anyone interviewed the husband yet?’

  ‘Of course. I think the two detectives are still in with him now.’

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘It’s Ben Hamilton and Maurice Beorby from Chatham. They’ve been in there a while actually.’ He said, turning to look at the door of the farmhouse.

  It opened as we were looking at it. A hand appeared around the door frame but then nothing else for a few seconds until a man in a cheap suit, followed by another dressed like the first’s twin. They were the two detectives. I had seen them before but didn’t know them and doubted they would recognise me. They were talking to an unseen person inside the house.

  ‘Catch you later.’ I called over my shoulder as I left Brad where he was and went to meet Glen Adongo, the owner of the farm and recently bereaved husband of the deceased.

  The two detectives had left the farmhouse and were walking toward me. Mr. Adongo was closing his door.

  ‘Mr. Adongo.' I called as I brushed by the men in their cheap suits. The closing door stopped and my client’s head reappeared to see who had called him. ‘Mr. Adongo, I'm Amanda Harper. I was hired by Kieron Fallon to investigate the strange events here and the impact it is having on your business. May I start by saying how sorry I am for your loss.'

  ‘You had better come in.’ He replied, resignation heavy in his voice. I had not intended to take up any of his time right now. I wanted to talk to him, but this felt like the wrong moment. He had invited me in though…

  Glen was short at around five feet four inches tall and was what people would call lean. He looked like a long-distance runner but had a receding hairline that made his head look like a bullet. He was somewhere in his early forties and my best guess was that he was either Kenyan or Nigerian. My police training had included learning to spot different races from characteristics particular to them and to recognise different accents. I wasn't very good at it but I was certain he was of African descent. His movements were a little effeminate and it seemed out of keeping with the burly farmer image I had in my head.