by steve higgs
Big Ben picked up a mug of coffee as he folded himself into one of his sumptuous white leather chairs. ‘Coffee?’ He asked.
‘Sure.’
He turned his head slightly to one side to call across the room. ‘Brunilda. Be a love and make some coffee.’
‘Ja, sweetie.' A brunette with long flowing locks and nothing on but sports underwear from Pink said as she stood up. ‘Darf Ich fur sie etwas anderes tun?' She asked as she went by. My knowledge of German was sufficient to know that all she had asked was if she could do anything else for him, but the voice she used to ask it would have given an erection to a corpse.
‘Nein, danke.' He replied and kissed her arm where she had draped it around him. She skipped off into the kitchen to make me a beverage.
‘What’s it like being Hugh Hefner’s better-looking prodigy?’ I asked enviously.
He grinned at me and stretched in place. ‘Friggin' brilliant.'
Stupid question really.
‘So, what do you need me for? Are we storming a castle?’
I considered the question; he wasn’t far off the mark. ‘We need to infiltrate a military base posing as staff and perform a clandestine operation under the noses of the criminal gang that operate there to expose the truth and save a princess.’
Not used to me exaggerating ever, he took a second to realise that I had been. He blew out his breath as he laughed. ‘You had me for a moment there. What are we actually doing?’
‘All of it except for the princess bit.’ He stared at me, wanting more information than I had given him. ‘My father got attacked yesterday at the Royal Historic Dockyard where he works sometimes. He spoke to me last week about strange events, but I didn’t react and now he is in a coma. They whacked him on the head and dumped him in a wheelie bin.’
Big Ben’s eyes flared. ‘So, we are off to find out who did it and teach them some manners?’ Big Ben was good at teaching people manners.
Brunilda reappeared with my coffee. It was strong and dark and unctuous, just the way I like it. She winked at me as she leaned in to hand it over, an act that sent a zip of electricity straight to my groin.
I was already starting to get hot in my clothes as Big Ben's heating was set to a temperature designed to sustain girls in their underwear. I peeled off a layer, paused and peeled off another which left me in just a shirt and jeans.
I answered Big Ben's question. ‘Basically, yes. I just visited the chap that runs the place, but he was disinclined to give me free rein to investigate. They have rumours of ghosts spotted by the night cleaning crew and security guards. That is where I plan to start.'
‘You know I am in, man. Whatever you need.’ Big Ben had a serious expression for once. We didn’t need to exchange words, we had been through enough together to be confident each of us would be there to support the other when the occasion called for it. This was such an occasion.
I nodded. Nothing further needed to be said. ‘I want to infiltrate the night crew. Ideally, we would join the security detail, but I already know the cleaning crew is short staffed. They lost numbers when the ghost rumour took hold. Are you up for that?’
‘Join the cleaning crew? Doesn’t sound too taxing. I guess we do a bit then sneak off to explore, right?'
‘Pretty much.’
‘Any idea what is going on there?’ He asked.
‘Not yet. But I’m going to find out. When I leave here, I am going to the office to have Jane manufacture some fake CVs for us. I will call the lady that runs the facilities management side of the operation as the manager of a bogus outsourcing cleaning firm and offer the two of us as cheap labour. I’ll let you know how it goes but I expect to start there tonight. Can you make that work?’
He held up his index finger, imploring me to give him a moment. ‘Girls! Playtime is over. Time to go. Big Ben needs his space.'
From the sofa, a chorus of disapproving sighs and complaints came in response, but they collected their things and left, still in their underwear for the most part.
When they were gone, he asked, ‘How is your dad? Better yet, how’s your Mum?’
‘Dad’s still unconscious. The doctors have said he is fine and will come around in time. Mum seems to be holding up well enough. I’ll be taking her to the hospital to see him later rather than letting her take herself.’
He nodded. ‘Since we are probably going to be there tonight, I’m going to need some sleep. I didn’t get much last night.’ He didn’t elaborate.
‘I’ll send you a message later, once I have arranged something.’
As I went to the door, he called after me, ‘Tempest.’
‘Yeah?’
‘We’ll get them.’ I nodded grimly. It was very much my intention to get them. You don’t get to mess with my dad and laugh about it afterward. Not for long anyway.
The Office. Monday, November 21st 1157hrs
My belly was starting to grumble as I parked my car behind the office. I would find Jane inside, working away at something for Amanda most likely. I hadn’t given her anything to do recently as my cases had been too simple to require much research.
I had tasks for her now though and it all needed to be done quickly. Not because I was hungry and needed to get home to feed myself and walk the dogs, but because I had to infiltrate the Dockyard and I could feel the clock ticking inside my head.
‘Hi, Jane.’ I called as I pushed the door open. The smell of coffee hit me instantly.
‘Hi, boss.’ She called back in her normal deep voice. To compliment her female persona, she had been practising speaking with a voice that sounded less manly. She could hide the adam’s apple with a scarf but losing the baritone was a tougher challenge. Today, she wasn’t trying.
I went straight to the coffee machine. Earlier I had left the office jittery from all the caffeine, but it was long gone from my system now and I wanted a fresh shot.
‘Want some?’ I held a cup up to show Jane. She lifted a cup from her desk to show she had just made one for herself. ‘Are you able to switch tasks?’ I asked as I busied myself filling the machine.
‘Sure. I’m looking into 17th century French demons for Amanda but I think it can wait.’ It was something to note that her research topic, which sound ridiculous anywhere else, was just par for the course in our office.
Coffee in hand, I went to her desk and outlined the task I needed her to perform. It involved creating a website, falsifying a staff list, creating CVs and then emailing Julia Jones with a speculative email offering her contract cleaners at a reduced rate. Alex Jordan had admitted they needed them. I was going to present a solution.
To be fair, it was quite a list of things to achieve in a short space of time. Jane acknowledged the challenge presented, cleared her desktop and got started.
I went to my office to craft the email we would send to Julia Jones. It was all a complete blag and would come apart fast if she looked for the fake firm on Companies House because we didn’t exist and there was no way to create and register a firm that quickly. After twenty minutes of drafts I was happy with the letter and the official-looking letterhead I had created. It was convincing enough so I forwarded it to Jane.
‘Don’t forget to take a lunch break.’ I called as I got up to take my own.
‘No time if you want this done.’ She called back. ‘Bring me a sandwich. I’ll take the hours later.’ She probably wouldn’t, she seemed to love her work enough to be in early and stay late every day. I took her on for part-time hours originally but shifted her to full time because she kept working the hours anyway. She was invaluable. Having that thought, I made a mental note to ensure her value was reflected in her Christmas bonus.
I reminded Jane that I was taking my mother to the hospital after lunch, but I went to the sandwich shop a couple of doors along from the office and paid them to make and deliver lunch to her. With that done, I slid into my sleek, red Porsche and gunned it for home.
Lunch. Monday, November 21st 1237hrs
&nbs
p; My house sits in the corner of a street at the north end of a small village called Finchampstead which in turn is located on a hill overlooking the much larger town of Maidstone in the South East corner of England. The village was a pretty little place surrounded by vineyards and orchards and countryside with one road in and one road out. My four-bedroom detached house was larger than I needed but I liked having the space and had bought it at a time when the housing market was depressed following a global mortgage scandal.
I pulled onto my driveway at 1237hrs according to the clock on my dashboard. I was hungry now, already fighting the voices that wanted a dirty, fat sandwich with the sensible part of me which knew I had just lost nine pounds through hard effort and monitored eating and really didn’t want to put it back on.
As I opened my front door, the two furry beasts inside tumbled out to greet me. I live with two Dachshunds, both black and tan with short hair, and brothers even though they were not litter mates. Bull and Dozer were excellent companions, but they could be relied upon to be deliberately problematic if I made them go too many days without something tasty from the treat cupboard.
Once I had ruffled their fur and petted them, they ran to the backdoor. This was usual routine: I came home, they greeted me, they went out and barked at wood pigeons on the lawn.
Through my kitchen window, I watched them tear across the lawn after a blackbird that had dared to touch down on the grass. They barked the whole way, stealth not a tactic they had ever learned. I filled the kettle and flicked it on. As it began to get agitated, I pulled prawns from the freezer and couscous from the cupboard. The hot water went on the couscous, the prawns into my wok along with cashew nuts, scallions, peppers and spinach leaves.
Five minutes later the dogs were in the living room crunching on cold pieces of carrot I kept in the fridge for them and I was tucking into my lunch. I had added some hot sauce for flavour and served it with cold milk to drink.
After lunch, with dogs clipped to leads, I set off for a stroll around the village. They probably didn’t need it, it was hard to gauge what they did need, but prudence dictated I give them exercise when I could, plus it was dry today and despite the cool air, it was nice out.
Mrs Comerforth, my next-door neighbour was just coming through her garden gate as I went out of mine.
‘Hello, Margaret. Been shopping?’ I asked rhetorically as I observed her bags.
‘Yes, dear. Just stocking up on provisions.’ Her provisions appeared to be gin and some chocolate biscuits. I was a little envious. ‘Will you be needing me to have your doggies any time soon? I do like their company.’
Mrs Comerforth and I had an almost symbiotic relationship. We both had what the other one needed in that I had dogs and she felt she was too old to have one of her own and I had to go on stakeouts or night time investigations or sometimes (gasp!) a date. The latter was the least common, but whatever the occasion, if I was going to be out for any length of time, I could rely on my neighbour to keep the dogs safe and warm and with company at her house. Better yet, if I was going to get home late, she would put them back in my house before she went to bed.
‘Actually, Margaret, I will be out tonight.’ I gave her a basic run down on my planned nocturnal activities without explaining the boring detail about my father. She was excited to have them for company and would pick them up herself if I didn’t drop them off. I wasn’t sure what time a shift at the dockyard might start, since I hadn’t even applied for the job there yet, so I could offer no advice on what time I might go out or be back.
It didn’t matter to her. The dogs were pulling at their leads to get going. She saw them and said I should get going. It was too cool for her to stay out anyway.
She was right about the temperature, but it was concern for my little dogs rather than my own needs that curtailed our walk. Ten minutes after setting off, we returned home, the two dogs pulling excitedly to get in the house and the warm.
I settled them back on the sofa with a blanket, gave them a pat and left them behind again as I set off to fetch my mother.
Medway Hospital. Monday, November 21st 1401hrs
‘Hello, Mother.’ I took her hand as she stepped out of her house and down to the street.
‘Hello, Tempest.’ She was dressed nicely, as one might for church, because she felt there was a need to look respectable when speaking to doctors. I opened the passenger door of my car for her to get in then closed it gently behind her. ‘Goodness, Tempest. Why can’t you get a sensible car?’ She asked as she made a big show of getting down to the seat.
Mum was sixty-four and had no trouble whatsoever with her mobility but liked to have something to moan about. Right now, it was the proximity of my German Sports car to the ground. I did not engage with her comment.
‘Have you heard anything from the hospital today?’ I asked to change the subject.
She shook her head. ‘Not a word.’
‘Then his condition will be unchanged.’ This was neither good nor bad. The doctors had told us he might take several days to come around. He was in no danger, but the blow has caused a minor brain bleed and some swelling. He had simply powered down until it could fix itself.
Mum jabbered about having to make dinner for herself and how she kept turning around to ask Dad something only to find herself remembering that he wasn’t there. I made sure I listened and said yes and no at appropriate points. Letting her talk would most likely help her deal with whatever emotions she was feeling.
It was the middle of the day, so traffic was light which allowed me to zip through the towns to the hospital where for once I found a parking space easily.
Dad was in the special care ward where most of the patients were not able to care for themselves. ‘Hello, dear.’ Mum called out as she went into his room. She leaned in to kiss his cheek. ‘He looks so peaceful.’ She commented. Then she took his hand and started talking to him, one of the things the doctors said we needed to do. ‘You missed the snooker last night. Mark Bingham was putting up such a fight against Ronnie O’Sullivan. The final is this weekend so you need to get home in time for that.’
I moved in to check his colour. He did indeed look peaceful, though I refrained from saying it because it sounded too much like what one said about a dead relative. Looking at him in the hospital bed made me angry, my rage rising despite the company. He had a dressing on his head still and a tube going into his nose to feed him. He was breathing by himself but the nurses were having to wash and clean him and deal with waste.
Mum had more to say, ‘I miss you in the house. It’s quite lonely without you there. Especially at night. The bed is awfully big for just me.’ Just then the sound of gas escaping from beneath the covers stopped whatever she was about to say next. ‘Well I don’t miss that.’ She stated grumpily as she sat down grabbed her knitting bag.
A noxious scent of bum-filtered methane began seeping from the sheets. I backed away wondering what they were feeding him.
From the knitting bag came a part-finished jumper, a ball of wool and two knitting needles. Seconds later the familiar click, click, clickety sound started up as she added another line of wool to the garment. Her blurring fingers seemingly working by themselves as she never once looked down.
I had no intention of staying. Other than bringing mum so she didn’t have to come alone, my visit was to see how he was doing for myself. His colour looked good, his breathing was even. He just looked like he was asleep.
I fetched mum a vending machine coffee from around the corner and was about to leave when three of dad’s retired Navy buddies from the dockyard arrived. Leading them was Alan Page, the chap I had met here last night.
‘Hello, chaps.’ I shook their hands as I introduced myself. The men accompanying Alan were Stuart Cobb and Fred Radford. They both looked to be in their late sixties but were sprightly still.
‘We can’t stay long. We snuck out on our lunch break.’ Alan told me. ‘How’s he doing?’
I shrugged. ‘The sam
e.’
Alan inclined with his head. He wanted to talk outside in the corridor. Once outside he said, ‘The boys and me want to help. I told them what you do for a living and that you were planning to look into what happened. Well, we want to lend a hand.’
‘Okay.’ I said as I nodded my head. ‘I haven’t got very far yet. But I’ll let you know if I come up with something I think you can help with.’
Stuart had something to say. ‘We have certain skills that might be of use.’ His voice all but a whisper. ‘Skills honed over decades.’ He was piercing me with his gaze. He was pretty intense.
They all were for that matter. It made me wonder what branch of the Navy they had served in. The comment about taking decades to hone their skills hadn’t been missed though. To me it meant they were getting on a bit. I would never call them old, but if I was asked if I wanted to have my dad getting into trouble with me, the answer would be a hard no. These chaps were the same age or older.
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ I replied. ‘I met with the CEO, Alex Jordan this morning. He was disinclined to help me. He thinks the ghost rumours are helping business. However, I plan to join the night cleaning crew today so will be able to get into the Dockyard at night to look around.’
‘Join the cleaning crew?’ Remarked Alan. ‘Good luck with that. They only employ Eastern Europeans there now.’
‘Not just the cleaning crew.’ Added Fred. ‘They are replacing everyone with Eastern Europeans now.’
I thought about the Ukrainian personal assistant the CEO had and the dictionary on his desk.
‘You know there’s only two English guys left on the security detail?’ Alan asked the other two. ‘All the others have been replaced already.’ He turned back to me. ‘You should speak with them about the ghosts.’
I pulled out my notepad. ‘Their names?’
‘Dave Saunders and Dave McKinnon.’ He supplied. ‘They have both seen them. The ghosts that is. They work the night shift, but I don’t know for how much longer. I do know they are both worried about their jobs and how long it is until they are pushed out as well. I think management would get rid of us if they could.’
