by steve higgs
I fixed them with an intense stare, ‘I intend to find out.' I dusted the clock hands and then had them point out a few other items that had been moved so I could take more prints and then took their fingerprints to eliminate them. I had bought a basic fingerprinting kit online when I opened the business and it came with software that would take the scanned images and allow me to match fingerprints to them. It did not connect with a criminal database or anything like that, but it had proved useful several times in the past.
I definitely had a third set of fingerprints. Thus, I formed a plan but needed to discuss costs with the couple before we went any further. I sat them down on the sofa to explain how I planned to solve their mystery and what I would need to charge them.
Investigating the Vampire Murders. Thursday, September 23rd 1237hrs
Winston and Barbara were staying at their house for the rest of the day now that they were back there. I was to return in a few hours with equipment and would be staying the night at their house. Barbara still seemed quite convinced that it was her Aunt Margaret despite any evidence I had shown her. I just hoped the poltergeist would make an appearance tonight so that I could wrap this up quickly. I did not wish to charge them for multiple nights of me sat on their sofa waiting for the poltergeist to turn up.
Outside their house, I plipped the car open and got inside. Then it struck me then that I was hungry. I had planned to be healthy today and eat raw vegetables for lunch with fresh hummus and perhaps a piece of fruit and a pint of water, but those supplies were sat in my office and that was not where I wanted to go right now. I headed for home instead, letting my stomach and my vanity wrestle over what to eat.
My home was barely two miles away, so I was still debating what was in my fridge and whether I could justify a cheeseburger as part of a nutritious diet if I put enough salad in it, when I pulled up.
My house is tucked away in the corner of a village just outside Maidstone. The village is quiet and surrounded on all sides by green fields and open pasture. There is a pub and a village shop which sells groceries and all manner of other daily necessities. The village is quite typical of small villages anywhere in England.
My house is a three-bedroom detached with a wrap-around garden. I parked on my drive next to the flower beds and nicely manicured lawn I had added. On the other side of my door, my two dogs Bull and Dozer barked a warning then fussed around my feet as I went into the house.
Bull came to live with me a few years ago while I was still in the Army. He is both my companion and my sounding board. His brother (same parentage, different litter) came along a year later when I decided Bull needed a companion. They are both fierce and protective, make a lot of noise to deter intruders and are solid muscle from the tip of their noses to the end of their tails. They are also miniature black and tan Dachshunds and weigh about as much as a roast chicken. Arguably, they were not the manliest dogs, but I did not care what anyone else thought.
I am not a big man, but I carry a reasonable amount of muscle and have at times been ridiculed for having such small dogs. The chaps weigh less than fifteen pounds each but have character and attitude far beyond their size. I have had to point out to people that I don’t need a big dog and that stereotyping would say that small dogs are ladies’ dogs and thus that ladies like small dogs. If this case proves correct, then ladies will be attracted to the small dogs and since I am attracted to ladies I fail to see where the downside is.
Anyway, I patted their heads and gave each a small treat from a jar in the kitchen. Their bottoms disappeared around the kitchen doorframe as they trotted off to the garden content with their efforts and left me to sort the mail. It contained nothing of interest. No bills, no postcards, just a few pointless pizza flyers and some opportunities to transfer my credit.
I settled on a fresh tuna salad for lunch, which killed my hunger but did little to satisfy my meat cravings. Dirty plate and mixing bowl went into the dishwasher and as the dogs reappeared, I settled in front of my computer to research the recent vampire murders.
I used general search engines to find almost all the information I wanted but found excellent information on the paranormal web pages that would not appear anywhere else. The paranormal press services online were run by various oddballs who reported anything that might have a vaguely supernatural connection. A lot of it was conspiracy theory and crazy ideas, yet I found truth amongst the outlandish as well and I was learning to sift the content.
Forty-five minutes on Google and other sites had revealed all that I felt was going to be available online. The first murder had occurred fourteen days ago on the outskirts of Aylesford. The victim's name was Brian Grazly, a single fifty-seven-year-old groundsman at Chilwell Castle. His body was found at night and still bleeding. The body had been found by Mrs. Stephanie Dunne on her way home after closing the staff kitchen at the castle. The report said that she generally took a shortcut in front of the onsite cottage where Mr. Grazly lived as the groundsman and had found him lying on the path. I wondered if she had screamed and drawn attention or screamed and drawn no attention at all and had then had to calm down and go looking for help. I would need to get a look at the police report to gain any better information. The second victim was Rita Hancock, sixty-eight. A retired school secretary at Aylesford primary school. Found by a Liam Goldhind while walking his dog, Simon, at just before 0600hrs in the morning. Leaves behind two children and seven grandchildren. She lived in Allington and was last seen at a friend's house following a night playing canasta with a small group of other old ladies. Her body had been left in bushes at the side of the road. The cause of death was massive loss of blood from trauma to the throat i.e. jugular punctured. Her murder came two days after the first, so more than a week had elapsed between second and third victims. The third Victim was killed last night making it three linked deaths in a short period. A serial killer in Maidstone.
The vampire case presented a chance to make headline news. If I could get in and solve it first of course. The case was right on my doorstep. The serendipity of its geography too fortuitous to ignore. I was not used to tackling murderers though, the worst my line of work had thrown at me so far were some unsavoury thieves and a few persons happy to commit grievous bodily harm on either random persons or their own supposed loved ones. Each case somehow fell under the banner of mysterious or supernatural goings-on and had either never been reported to the police or had been dismissed by them upon initial investigation because it was, ‘‘Very clear Mr. Harding that the Loch Ness Monster is not living in your pond'’.
I was also curious about the Bluebell Hill Big Foot but not curious enough to do anything about it until someone offered me money or some other reason why I should. However, adding up what I knew about the vampire case didn’t really give me anything. Scratching my ear and pondering what to do next, I decided it was time for a cup of tea. Tea always helps, so I left the computer to put the kettle on. Bull followed me just in case it was treat-time again. I picked him up for a fuss and was rewarded with a lick to the nose. The lick was probably designed to elicit a treat rather than deliver a specific message, so I hugged him and popped him back on the floor since it was no good making him fat with titbits. He could wait until 1700hrs when his evening meal would be due. The problem with Bull was that he was above average intelligence. I don't mean above average for a dog, but above average for a human. Now you may scoff but I have watched this little dog working things out before. Not blessed with opposable thumbs, he still does his best to defeat me when I try to keep him out of a room that he wants to be in or put food where he can’t conceivably reach. Also, I know some pretty thick people and he seems quite a bit brighter than them. Dozer, however, was thicker than a whale omelette and had an appearance to match. Where his brother has defined features and a quizzical brow that seemed to be considering everything and possibly plotting world domination, Dozer had slightly fat chops and oversize front paws that made him look dopey. If I drew a cartoon of him, the thought b
ubble would be empty.
With steam rising from my freshly made tea, I drifted back to the iMac and started again. The key to solving most crimes was finding some kind of link or motivation. For the vampire case, this theory worked unless the killer was a total nut bag and was killing at random, which unfortunately seemed entirely plausible. I researched vampires and Maidstone in the same search bar and got hits for groups that met up for role-playing and such like and a couple of groups that met up specifically to discuss vampire TV shows. I expanded it to vampires+kent but the results here were not much different. I was not even sure what I was looking for. I tilted the computer chair backward and closed my eyes to consider the subject…
…and woke up over an hour later. I checked my watch to find it was 1530 hrs and time to get on with doing something constructive. I let the boys out into the garden and watched them water my lawn before shutting them back inside while promising to return in a couple of hours to take them out for a proper walk. I locked up and left the house with my bag of kit. I was heading for the address I had found for Liam Goldhind - the chap that had found the second victim.
His address was listed as 134 Halsted Drive, Cooper Estate, Chatham. This was miles from where he had found the body, but the body had been found near a park in Aylesford, so my assumption was that he was walking the dog there instead of around the streets at home. I wasn’t happy about visiting his address though because the Cooper Estate is a hole, even by Medway town's standards. Lawn ornaments were white goods and cars on bricks. I wouldn't live there for free. In my army days, they used to send soldiers in there on a Saturday night to toughen them up before operations in Iraq or Afghanistan. Nevertheless, that is where the man lived, so that was where I had to go.
Best brave pants on.
Cooper Estate Chatham. Thursday, September 23rd 1552hrs
I parked right in front of Liam’s address. It was 1552hrs on a Monday and any decent person would be at work. Of course, any decent person would not be living here. It was benefits country, so I expected to find him at home with Simon the dog, drinking Supertennents lager and smoking rollies. Okay, I am stereotyping to an extreme, but I am probably still right. The house was a mid-terrace that had been painted what had probably once been white or cream, but the paint was now mostly on the concrete yard at the front of the house having peeled off. I was familiar with this design of house, there were many thousands of them in the Medway area. Probably two bedrooms with a box room and small toilet upstairs with the stairway right behind the front door when it opened.
Up the short driveway, I passed discarded pizza boxes, a few pieces of motorcycle and a refrigerator. There was also a shiny, heavily-modified Mitsubishi Evo VIII. I guess that is where he put his money because he certainly didn't spend it on the house. The door was shut but looked like it had given up on life a long time ago. The doorbell was smashed, so I knocked.
The door erupted in a cacophony of barking as Simon the dog did his best to eat it. My dogs did the same of course but in a far less convincing manner. They also went away when I instructed them to do so. This was not happening for Mr. Goldhind. From behind the door the dog was still barking and growling, but the effect was now joined by the swearing of Liam as he chastised the dog for its exuberance. With a final expletive, Liam slammed a door somewhere deep in the house and a few seconds later he opened the front door.
I smiled and extended my hand for the obligatory shake saying, ‘Good afternoon. My name is Tempest Michaels. I'm a private investigator looking into the Vampire murders,' I fetched a card from the tin in my bag to give him. He had not spoken directly to me yet and was now looking down at the card which he held with both hands.
Liam Goldhind wasn’t exactly a catch. Less than five feet six inches tall with unkempt hair, maybe fifty pounds overweight and wearing a stained t-shirt and dirty jeans. He wore no shoes and his socks had holes in them.
‘Who is it?’ came a voice from within the house.
‘I don't know yet, do I?' his response.
‘What?’ the voice again.
‘Mind your own business. You old bag,’ he muttered so that she could not hear.
‘I hoped I might be able to ask you just a few questions about the second victim,’ I said pressing on, ‘I believe you were the one that found her.’
‘That’s right. Well, actually Simon found her. Simon is my dog,’ he explained, ‘I caught him lifting his leg on her,’ Liam looked up for the first time since he had opened the door. I decided I preferred looking at the top of his head.
‘Well, I don’t wish to take up too much of your time, I am sure you have better things to do,’ I said while fishing out my notebook and pen, ‘If I can just start by asking what position she was in when you found her?’
‘I have photos if you like,' he said, interrupting me. He produced a phone from a back pocket, pressed a few buttons and there it was, the crime scene shot from several angles, distant and close-ups including shots of the wound. The poor lady was lying on her back but not peacefully, as if asleep, more as if she had been brutally murdered and thrown away like a rag doll. Her left leg was bent underneath her, her coat was still done up, but her tights were ripped in several places. There were bits of twig or leaf in her hair, her skin was deathly pale and her still-open eyes stared unseeing to the right.
The wound itself, I observed, was a bloody hole rather than two puncture marks. So far as I knew, no pictures of any of the victims had been published, although details of the deceased persons had been. My prevailing thought was that this was particularly nasty. I had seen death plenty of times in my life, not that I had ever killed anyone, but this was still pretty grim to look at.
‘You want me to tooth them over to you?’ Liam asked.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Well no chance, mate, but I will sell them to you at twenty quid a shot.’ No great surprise there.
My head snapped up at the sound of someone behind him. His mother was my initial guess, but then I determined that she did not look quite old enough. I placed her age at forty perhaps to his twenty-six or twenty-seven. The older girlfriend then, which would probably make this the house she got in the divorce (assuming there had been one) and he was the new, younger stud muffin. She was about as butt-ugly as he was.
‘I asked you who it was, Liam. You should speak more lovingly to me. You did last night,' she purred at him in a voice that I am sure was supposed to be sexy but had made my nuts shrink and try to hide behind each other. She leaned up against him, putting a basketball sized boob on his arm where it was bent to hold his phone, ‘What's your name?' she asked me.
‘Tempest Michaels,’ I introduced myself.
I was just about to explain what I was doing when her eyes bugged out at me, ‘Tempest! It's me, Sarah Griffiths, of course, I'm not Sarah Griffiths anymore, I'm Sarah Campbell now and before that, I was Sarah Heaton,' she looked at me expectantly as if this was a big reveal that should mean something to me, ‘We went to school together,' she explained further, ‘Edgewear Road Juniors in Rochester. You wore glasses then and I was a little skinnier than now. You sat next to Darren Smith in the last year with Mr. Baker.'
Okay, so she clearly knew me, but I was going to have to bluff this and what did a little skinnier mean exactly?' Sarah was a few pounds over what a chart would suggest was her ideal weight and was not doing much to look after herself. Her hair was lank, greasy-looking and lifelessly brown, her face a confusion of tiny red veins and laughter lines.
I could neither confirm nor deny her claim that we had been in school together. So, I faked it, ‘Hi, Sarah, how is life treating you?’
‘I’m fine, Tempest. I have this lovely house,’ she gestured, ‘and it is all free from the government because I have a child with a disability. Plus, I have a handsome man to look after me and I don’t have to do anything all day long. I love being me. You sure grew up big and strong looking. You were skinny in school.’
‘I grew up. I joined the Army. I
filled out.’
‘You sure did. Come in for a beer,' she suggested/demanded while making urgent gestures to get me in the house, ‘It would be great to catch up.'
Not a chance.
The interior of the house looked like it had been decorated in the style of a Mogadishu slum during a particularly unpleasant fight between warring gangs. Rubbish in bags was strewn at the base of the stairs. On the stairs, various items of clothing had been discarded along with about twenty items hooked on the end of the banister rail. The carpet, what little I could see of it through the hall, was filthy.
‘Thanks, Sarah. Perhaps another time. I have a lot that I need to do today. I am investigating the Vampire murders case and Liam here is assisting me with my enquiries.'
‘No, I'm not. I'm selling you pictures if you want to pay for them, mate,' stated Liam, his tone beginning to annoy me.
‘What? You are trying to charge an old school-friend of mine for pictures that you shouldn’t have taken anyway?’
This might actually work out for me. My plan to bargain with the man would have ended with me paying something. Now maybe I would get them for free after all.
‘Are you mental, woman? These are worth money.’
‘Do you want to hump your hand for the next week?' A wonderful picture now in my head, ‘A word Liam,' Sarah demanded, indicating with her head back into the house, ‘Now,' she insisted when he failed to move.
They retreated, bickering as they went. I won’t provide a detailed narrative of their discussion, but I can say that it was heated and short and contained a surprisingly unbalanced number of words starting with either an F or a C. They had gone through a door as they argued, but Sarah re-emerged now with his phone in her hand. Behind her and further into the house a door slammed. Hard.
‘Here you are, Tempest,’ she said handing the phone to me, ‘Liam can be a proper idiot when he wants.’
