by steve higgs
For safety's sake, I abstained from such self-indulgent behaviour.
At 1037hrs I drove slowly past the address I had for Mrs. Lloyd. There was a car on the driveway suggesting someone was in. I parked a street away, got the dogs and went for a walk. As we walked by her house, I glanced at it and the street around me several times, then mimed stopping to pick up poop so I could check around a bit more and not look like I was doing so. The dogs continued to snuffle, ignorant of the subterfuge. I completed a circuit, arriving back at the car where I then left the dogs peering out the passenger window at me once again. It was cool, but just in case I cracked the windows before I left them. Mostly I had been scanning the street to make sure the house was not being watched by anyone. I did not want to deal with reporters or Police, but I was fairly confident that the house was not under surveillance.
The big question that remained unanswered, was whether Marion Lloyd was even in the house, which was really just the first hurdle of many in finding out any worthwhile information. As it turned out she wasn't.
Her husband was.
I introduced myself but that only warranted a stony glare. I elected to wait until he got bored enough to speak.
‘What is it that you want, Mr, Michaels?'
‘Like I said, I am not a reporter. I am not the Police. I am a person threatened by the Klowns and wanting to know what is going on. My survival and that of my family (I didn’t elaborate) might depend on getting some answers.’
He slumped slightly at that. My embellished answer was not what he had expected, and he had no prepared defence for it. He retreated into the house with a defeated nod of his head indicating that I should follow.
‘Sorry, Mr. Michaels. There have been so many people here already dredging up Marion's past.'
‘What past? Sorry. I have to ask.’
Mr. Lloyd ignored me for a minute, tapping at a laptop that he had collected from a countertop as we went through the house. I indulged him and watched his face. He was looking me up. At least that was my guess. I would have done the same.
He nodded to himself. Satisfied.
‘Blue Moon Investigations? Google has quite a bit on you. Sorry, I needed to check that you were who you say you are.’
‘No offence taken. It makes me sad that your experience since the attack has made you feel the need.' He was looking directly at me now. ‘How is Mrs. Lloyd?'
‘You see? That right there. That is how I know you are what you say you are. Everyone else has called her Marion, as if they were trying to be knowledgeable or as if they knew her or we were all old friends. It made me hate them.’
Apparently, my simple, honest approach worked. For today at least.
Mr. Lloyd told me everything he could think of to tell me. He gave me so much detail and kept me so long that I started to worry about the dogs. My concern was unwarranted though. When I got back to the car they were still fast asleep on the passenger's seat. I insisted they get up and come for a walk anyway as we had another three-hour ride home, which I would do in one hit if they gave no indication that they needed to get out. Key to that was making sure their bladders were empty.
No Friggin' Clue. Friday, October 28th 1201hrs
What I had learned from Mr. Lloyd was that his wife Marion had taken a hard beating that had landed her in hospital. It had happened right outside their house. Mr. Lloyd heard the commotion, ran outside to intervene and got a beating of his own. He said that it would have been far more severe, but as luck would have it a random Police patrol car had shown up and the Klowns had fled. The Klowns that had perpetrated it may or may not have been the same ones that were causing all the trouble in Kent. I might never know, or never be able to prove it but they had delivered a message just as I had hoped they might.
One of them, while kneeling on her back and grabbing her hair had shouted, "You shouldn't have given him up for adoption." Or words to that effect. I felt it likely Mr. Lloyd had deleted some expletives in his retelling.
She had returned to work just this morning, she was a barrister, an intelligent lady and the breadwinner of the house, leaving her husband at home to raise and care for their children. They had talked about the incident though, while she was still in the hospital. He hadn't asked her about it, he assured me, she had volunteered the information as if glad to finally be able to tell him.
She had been fourteen when she got pregnant, fifteen when she had the baby and had given it up at the insistence of her parents. She had not resisted. Doing so had allowed her to continue on the path she had planned. Marion Lloyd had lived in Scunthorpe all her life. The baby had been born there but the adoption service had removed the child just days after the birth and she had no idea, or way of finding out, where it went.
Her maiden name was Hargreaves. The child’s name was Sebastian.
Sebastian Hargreaves. It meant nothing. It was not a name I had ever heard. I spent the entire trip home running through variables and derivatives in my head, wondering if it was a guy I had known in the Army or someone I had dealt with since at some point. Was it just a dead end? A red herring? Was Marion Lloyd not connected at all? Was it just a copycat attack? I wanted to state that it could not be.
The taste of blood made its way into my consciousness. I was biting my lip. I had no idea what was going on and it was really pissing me off.
Over and over I ran the few connections I had, trying to tie them to me, to Edna Wilkins and her school children, to Marion Lloyd, to anyone. Nothing made sense. There was no connection between the crimes or between the victims.
It made me angry as if it made a difference if the Klowns had a reason for their reign of terror rather than no reason at all.
My anger had dissipated only slightly by the time I arrived home at 1521hrs. I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel, unaware that my knuckles had been white with tension until I let go. My hands hurt. I shot a sorrowful but loving look at the two dogs now awake and excited to leave the car. They were both stood on their back legs looking out the passenger’s window. They knew where they were, either by smell or sight and they wanted to get out and run around. I could not blame them; it had been a long period for two dogs to be in a car.
My phone rang. We were still in the car, but the engine was off, so it did not transfer to the car hands-free system. I checked the screen on my phone to see that the caller was Sophie.
I had to deal with the dog’s needs ahead of my own, so rejected the call, leaned across and opened their door. They vanished from view, reappearing a few seconds later beyond the bonnet of the car as they shot under a bush at the front of the house. I followed them, then convinced them to leave whatever they had found of interest under the bush and come through the house to the back garden where they could explore in safety.
With the danger of them wandering off averted, I turned my attention back to my phone and called Sophie. Little more than a minute had passed, filling me with a hope that she would still be on a work break or something into which she had shoehorned her call to me.
She picked up straight away. ‘Tempest?’
‘Yes. Hello, Sophie.’
‘Hi. Err. I just wanted to check that we are still on for tonight. You know… after that last couple of times.’
Fair point.
‘Yes, Sophie. I fully intend to meet my commitment to dine you in an appropriate style, as promised.’
‘McDonald's will do, Tempest. Just so long as you actually turn up.' I had nothing I could say to defend myself. ‘Look, I will meet you there at eight o'clock as planned. If you are not there it's okay, just please do not ever call me again. Okay?'
‘I understand.’ I was going to be there, and I was going to be the most charming dinner companion she had ever heard about.
‘Okay, well… I hope you are. I am looking forward to it. Bye for now.’
We disconnected. I checked my watch: 1457hrs. I had five hours before my date with Sophie. I wanted to use them wisely to pursue the Klown case, but still
had no idea what I was doing.
The large breakfast was hours ago, the bloating I had felt after eating it forgotten and all I had eaten since was an apple I had taken in the car with me. I headed into the kitchen to find some lunch. Being healthy for the first time in what felt like days, I grilled a piece of fish and paired it with some brown rice and green veg. I ate it in front of my computer trying to find information on Sebastian Hargreaves.
As usual, I found lots of men called by that name, both social media and Google are great for that, so I spent an hour sifting through them to filter out those that were too old, too young, too geographically displaced, too dead in one case. In the end, I had two possible candidates, but neither of them looked likely to be the guy.
I made a fresh tea in my thermos mug and took the dogs for a walk through the vineyards to clear my mind. It was breezy out, with a little moisture being carried on the air. There was a distinct smell of autumn to it. The dogs scampered ahead of me, sniffing where other dogs had marked, adding their own scent, then moving on to the next smell. It was a pleasant way to erode thirty minutes of my life. It did not get me any closer to the Klowns though. Giving myself time to think was not helping. My thoughts strayed to my date with Sophie. I had booked a table online since such things were easy to do now, but I wanted to demonstrate to her that I had put a little more thought into it than that, so when we arrived back at the house I popped the dogs into the car and drove to the restaurant.
A crisp twenty pounds note pressed into the hands of the Maître d', ensured we would be sat near to the open fire and well away from the cool breeze coming through the door as it opened and closed. It also meant we had a more intimate two-seater table which had a great view. Furthermore, the table was close to a wall so that it was a little more separate from other tables than most locations in the restaurant – correct table selection is essential. Not that I planned or expected to be talking about subjects that others should not overhear but providing a romantic setting for an evening with a charming female companion simply felt like it was the right thing to do.
All the better to charm her knickers off.
I ignored the voice coming from below my belt, his counsel could be pertinent at times but was mostly predictable. I had not given any thought to the concept that Sophie and I might get beyond a first date or that at some point Mr. Wriggly might get to enact some of the plans he was making.
Satisfied that I had made all the appropriate arrangements I could without going over the top, I left the restaurant. The dogs were where I left them tied to a post outside, but they were not alone. Another Dachshund had joined them, a little girly one if the pink harness and lead were any indication.
‘Hello.' I said to the lady holding the lead. She was crouching down to fuss my dogs, who were, in turn, taking great interest in the new dog and her back end.
‘Hello.’ she said looking up. ‘Are they yours? They are lovely. I am so jealous that you have two.’
I nodded that they were indeed mine while marvelling at how wholesomely pretty she was. She had on muddy wellies and tan jodhpurs and a wax jacket to keep her warm. Her hair was yanked into a rough ponytail that was already mostly unwound so that wisps were escaping. She had on no make-up but was nice to look at, nevertheless. Staring at her, I wondered if she really was as pretty as I thought or if I just needed to get laid.
‘Err, are you okay?’ she asked.
I had been looking at her rather than speaking. ‘Err, yes. Sorry. And yes, the dogs are mine. Bull on the left and the squidgy looking one is Dozer. I’m Tempest.’
‘This little princess is Lula.' She said stroking her dog affectionately. ‘Are the boys done?'
‘Done? You mean castrated? No. I couldn't bring myself to do that to them.' At the thought of it, my testicles tried to make themselves smaller.
‘Hmm, this little one is about to come into season. It is probably why your boys are so interested in her. Would you be interested in breeding with me?’
Mr. Wriggly woke up instantly.
I wanted to smirk – like a boy would. I was actually finding it quite hard not to, but I maintained my straight face. ‘I have never given any thought to having the dogs breed. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t though.
‘Can I get your number then, Tempest?' She stood up finally. I was glad of it. I had found it a little hard to concentrate with a pretty girl crouching with her head at my groin height and asking if I wanted to breed with her. ‘I'm Elizabeth.' she said, sticking out her hand for me to shake.
I smiled, shook her hand and gave her my business card so that she had my mobile number and email. The three dogs were still circling each other, the boys very keen on Lula, Lula very keen on the boys. There was a lot of butt investigation going on.
‘Come along, Talula.' Instructed Elizabeth, giving a tug at her lead. Reluctantly, the little dog allowed herself to be pulled away from the boys. I had to hold them in place as they were trying hard to follow her. I guess she was giving off a scent they were finding hard to resist. I knew how that was.
Walking back to the car I wondered if they would get some action before me. It seemed very possible that they would. But hold on. Would it be both the boys with little Lula? I did not know what was normal. Well, I might never hear from Elizabeth again anyway.
A Date with Sophie. Friday, October 28th 2015hrs
I had arrived home at 1816hrs, well after the dogs appointed dinner time, so was not surprised to watch them run to the cupboard that housed their food and bowls. Dinner might be a little late, but they were well exercised and would be no trouble for Mrs. Comerforth tonight. I would drop them off just as I was going out, although I was certain my neighbour would happily have them right now.
I was already hungry, so I took an apple from my fruit bowl and headed upstairs to shave, floss and make myself as clean and presentable as I could.
In Rochester, I parked the car in its usual spot behind my office. I considered popping up to my office. There was a stack of information on the Klowns that I wanted to check, but I worried that I would become engrossed in it, forget the time and arrive late for my date with Sophie. I could not risk that, so I bypassed my office door and headed along the High Street. I noticed the two guys in suits from Wednesday once again. They were dressed in casual clothing this time and walking along the High Street towards me. I thought about approaching them but reasoned that if I made it clear their cover was blown, they would just get replaced by someone that I would not recognise and who might be better at the job of staying out of sight. Besides, if the Klowns did attack me and these guys were Police, it would help to have them around.
Walking back through the door of the restaurant I was pleased to see a little plastic sign claiming my chosen table as reserved. A lady at the door took my coat and escorted me to the table where I made sure everything was to my liking. I gave the lady a description of Sophie so that she would be able to act as if she were expected and instinctively bring her across.
Sat idly waiting at the table, I considered the Klown case again. No one had tried to kill me or anyone I knew for almost forty-eight hours and no crimes had been reported at all. Why? Were they planning something big and that meant they were too distracted to commit other crimes? It was a worrying thought. That the Klowns had simply disbanded and gone back to their previous lives seemed implausible. That there appeared to be no reason for the crimes in the first place did not help me to rationalise why they might stop.
So, if I ignore that the Klowns have stopped and go back to the one person at the centre theory…
What if the person at the centre isn’t me? What if it is one of the Klowns instead? Who is Deadface? My brain went around in a circle trying to work out how the people that had been attacked were linked and why. Were they just not linked at all and the whole crime wave perpetrated by the Klowns was sporadic and random? How do you get a group of people to dress as Klowns and then convince them to maim and kill random people?
> What if each of them was somehow linked to Deadface? As always, there was a piece of the puzzle that I could perceive but could not actually see. Something tantalising, hiding just out of sight.
‘Good evening, Tempest.' Sophie said right next to me, making me start. I had been so deep in thought I had not only failed to hear her approach but had totally forgotten I was waiting for her. My reaction had caused her to jump in turn.
‘My Lord, you gave me a scare, Tempest.’ she laughed, one hand on the table to support herself as if the shock had made her legs weak.
‘Sorry, Sophie. I was deep in thought and did not hear you.’ My pulse was returning to normal thankfully. I got out of my chair and went around behind her to the other side of the table. ‘Good evening, Sophie. Thank you for joining me.’ I said as I pulled out her chair.
‘Thank you, Tempest.’ she replied, manoeuvring to the chair but instead of sitting down she turned to face me, leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips. Pulling away again she smiled at my surprised expression. ‘I always get so nervous on dates, wondering if the boy will want to kiss me, whether I should try to kiss him, trying to work out when I should do that. I thought that maybe if we got a kiss out of the way early on it would make it easier.’
Sophie was being really sweet, it was most endearing, and I liked it a lot. She turned around again and allowed me to push in her chair. I tried very hard to not hear what Mr. Wriggly had to say about her delightfully toned bottom. He was right though.
The Maître d’ himself came across to deliver water and menus and ask about wine then returned a few minutes later with a bottle of 2014 Châteauneuf Du Pape Les Cornalines. I planned to have one glass and see how the evening went. If I felt inclined, I could always get a taxi home and come back for the car in the morning.
‘Tempest, I would like to set just one ground rule for tonight, if that is okay?’
