by steve higgs
The crimes had all been restricted to Kent apart from one. Was it just coincidence or were all the people they wish to terrorise simply living in Kent? The only time they had appeared outside of the County had been more than a week ago towards the start of their campaign when they attacked a woman in Scunthorpe. Marion Lloyd had been attacked outside her house early on the morning on Tuesday 17th. Four Klowns had kicked and beaten her, leaving her with multiple internal injuries and broken bones. They sprayed their calling card on the side of her car, but the attack had been dismissed by the Police as a copycat attack and thus not perpetrated by the same Klowns at all. I wondered about that.
At the desktop PC, Jane was cross-referencing data, looking into the history of the victims, their lives and careers etcetera and trying to find patterns, links, anything that might tie them to me. The problem was I didn't know any of them. Not one name was familiar and only one name was missing – the murder victim from last night had still not been named. It was quite possible, probable even, that there were other victims that had not yet come forward. There was no point including that possibility in my considerations though.
I had marked on the board the one connection we had found – the two women that had gone to school together in Charing, a small village just outside of Ashford. They appeared to have no other connection and Jane could not see that there were any other victims that had also gone to that school. There was most certainly no connection to me that I could perceive.
‘I have something.’ Jane said, putting her hand up but not taking her eyes off the screen. I went around to join her behind the desk, pushing a plate with a couple of pizza crusts out of the way with my fingertips so that I could put my hand down and lean in to inspect the screen myself. ‘These two, Mark Tanner and Erica Carpenter worked at the same business a few years ago. I had to dig right back into their work histories to find it. They both worked at Inspirations Web Developers in the late nineties. Their time at the firm overlapped by about two years.’
‘Okay.' I said staring now at the whiteboard for their names. I spotted Erica first. She had been attacked quite early on, almost a month ago now but had not been hurt. The Klowns had chased and harassed her but nothing more than that. This had occurred near her house in Ramsgate. She was fifty-eight and the second oldest person on the list. Mark Tanner had been mugged by three Klowns in broad daylight less than a week ago. It had happened as he came away from an ATM during his lunch break in Rainham. The mugging had been violent in that they knocked him to the ground and kicked him a few times. ‘So, they worked together. Anything else?'
‘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 ch
urch 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 had 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 poop. 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 am
usement 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.
