5 The Witches of East Malling

by steve higgs

  I was about to reply when I noticed a change at the table of ladies. Barbara had received a phone call. There is nothing unusual in that, but the other ladies had all stopped talking. Even the inebriated Mabel, and they were listening intently to what Barbara was saying into her phone.

  Barbara had her eyes closed and her head down. She ended the call and did nothing for several seconds. Then she lifted her head, opened her eyes and said, ‘It’s done.’ It was loud enough for me to hear.

  ‘Sir.’ The gentleman at my shoulder reminded me of his presence and desire that I should leave.

  I nodded my head and moved to follow him. He was leading the way out of the bar. At the table, the ladies, including Barbara, all looked jubilant. Her expression was that of a woman that had just received a great bit of news, that she had been expecting or hoping for, but had not dared to believe would ever come. To her left and right, were Mabel and Edna, both of whom were patting her on the arm or shoulder in congratulations. As I followed the tweed dressed gent out of the bar, I saw them all get up.

  I went through a brief charade of obtaining the club captain’s personal email so I could contact him about membership and arranging a trial round for free, but soon made my excuses and went outside to see if the ladies were indeed leaving.

  Sat in my car with the heater on and the wipers going, my patience was rewarded a few minutes later as all four of them emerged from the main clubhouse entrance. They tottered across to a large blue Range Rover, an older model with a private plate to hide its age. Dorothy climbed behind the steering wheel.

  Death by Misadventure. Sunday, November 6th 1522hrs

  I followed the Range Rover two miles back through East Malling. Quite where East Malling ended and West Malling began I did not know, but we must have been getting close to the next village when the car indicated and turned up a driveway and towards a large detached house that had two police cars outside it.

  Now I wasn’t sure what to do. I had a bad feeling about what was going on. Sat in my car on the opposite side of the road weighing up my options, the arrival of a vehicle marked as County Coroner confirmed my assumption to be most likely true.

  The house, I was certain I would later prove, belonged to Barbara and inside it was her dead husband, his heart exploded from his chest by a bolt of lightning from the storm today. What I wanted to do was go into the house and confirm it. I had no authority to do so though. No jurisdiction.

  Calling Amanda might have worked a week ago, but she was out of the police now. She still knew people and might be able to call in the odd favour, right now though, I needed to get used to working without the benefit of having someone on the inside.

  Would it hurt to try? Probably not. With that thought echoing in my head, I drove my car off the grass verge I had stopped on. Only I didn't. I put the car into gear and listened as the back wheels spun on the wet grass. I opened my door and looked back at the wheel behind me. If I continued I would just dig a muddy hole and make it even harder to get out.

  I swore but then saw the opportunity this presented: I had a legitimate reason to knock on a door. The only house I could see was the one with the coroner’s van and the police cars outside of it.

  I jogged down the gravel drive to knock on the door, hoping that I could convince them to let me in out of the wet whereupon I might overhear something.

  The front door wasn’t even shut! It was open a crack, so I gently, quietly pushed it open and stepped inside. This was as good as I could have hoped for. Voices were coming from deeper in the house along with the sound of camera shutters going as photographs were taken.

  I edged forward. There was no one in this part of the house. I concocted a fast lie about knocking for help but finding the front door open and coming to look for help when no one answered. I doubted it would fool anyone, but I didn't really need it to. They wouldn't arrest me, I was fairly sure.

  I crossed a hallway and came to a hub of sorts from which lots of rooms came off like spokes. To my right was where all the conversation and noise was coming. I moved quietly in that direction. As I got nearer, I started to make out what people were saying.

  Before I got there though, a young female police officer came out of a different door bearing a tray full of steaming mugs.

  I froze.

  ‘Oh.’ She said. ‘Aren’t you Tempest Michaels? I saw you on the news this weekend.’

  I nodded. ‘Guilty as charged. Can I help you with your beverages?’

  ‘What? Oh, no. Ah, just follow me.' She said and went straight into the room where all the noise was coming from with me hot on her heels. ‘I need to go back to take care of the widow and deal with all of that.' She put the tray down on a table and was gone. I guess she thought I was supposed to be here.

  I had stuck my neck out this far, I might as well keep going so I selected a mug from the tray and gave it a sip. Not bad. I was worried it might have sugar in it, but it was unsweetened. No one paid me any attention, so I sipped my tea and watched.

  A photographer was snapping pictures as the coroner gave instructions. Two police officers, one of whom I recognised as Brad Hardacre, were standing around doing nothing much at all but were probably also waiting for instruction. All the work was being done by the person bent over examining the body.

  I had not met a coroner before. At least, if I had I did not remember the occasion, but in my head, they did not look like the lady I could now see. She was bent over with her back to me, which is to say her peachy and perfectly rounded bottom was pointing in my direction. Mr. Wriggly was filling my head with thoughts on the subject.

  She was dictating into a recording device, probably for writing up her report later, her words mostly mumbo-jumbo to me as it was all complex medical terms. I listened though, staying out of the way.

  ‘… wound to thorax consistent with lightning strike. No evidence of other injuries.’

  She stood up at that point and gave me my first look at the victim as she moved around. I sputtered my tea as I had been taking a sip. The man's chest had been opened out like the lid on a can of beans. Several ribs were poking out, his clothing was soaked with blood and had been cut away to reveal the wound for examination. He was very, very dead.

  Of course, having made a noise as I spat tea down my chin, all faces turned to me.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the coroner lady. I was getting my first proper look at her too. She was my age or maybe a little older, perhaps even forty, but she was stunning. She could have been a swimwear model if she wanted with the figure I could see even with the layers of clothing.

  ‘He is Tempest Michaels. A ghost hunter.’ Said Brad.

  ‘That’s not even nearly true, Brad, thank you. Apart from the name bit. You got that right.’ I put the tea mug down and crossed the room to offer my hand. The coroner lady had on green plastic gloves though and they were covered in blood. She just looked blankly at me. I took my hand away. ‘So, this all looks quite grisly. How do you think the murder is being perpetrated?’

  ‘Murder?' The coroner lady tilted her head as if trying to work out what I was saying. ‘How can it be murder? The victim was hit by lightning. PC Hardacre does this man have any right to be here?' she asked, turning her attention away from me just when it was getting interesting.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Brad answered. He had been leaning against a window frame until this point, now meaningfully he levered himself off it.

  Undeterred, I asked another question. ‘If not murder, then what will your verdict be?

  Death by misadventure?'

  ‘Accidental death, Mr. Michaels.'

  ‘You genuinely think a lightning strike caused that wound?' I was pushing her. I wasn't sure why other than I didn't believe it myself and wanted to hear her defend her assessment.

  ‘Get him out of here, please.’ She instructed the two police officers. They moved toward me, but I offered no resistance. I had already seen more than I hoped to and learned a lot in the process.

&
nbsp; I turned and left the room with the two officers following me. They were going to escort me from the property and make sure that I went away.

  At the door, Brad had something to say, ‘We are never going to be friends, man. But I heard about what you did for Amanda and Patience. I like those girls, so thank you.' He offered me his hand to shake.

  I took it. He had a good grip. ‘Now get out.’ His partner said trying to look and sound tough. I grinned at him, nodded at Brad and went back out into the rain to find that it had largely stopped. I could still hear the constant drip of water filtering down through the trees, but the rain had all but completely left off now.

  I heard the door shut behind me. They were content that I was leaving. I wasn't though. I doubled back and started looking around the outside of the house, making sure I kept away from the windows so no one inside would see me. I was looking for the runes Mick Cotton had described to me. I found the first one on the wall on the left side of the house. It was easy to see because it was three feet high – a witch's knot. I went back to the front of the building and had to scout around a bit to find the symbol there. The front façade looked to be free of any marking. In the end, I found it behind a plant pot close to the front door. It was the horned god. I would love to boast that studying all of this nonsense as part of my on the job training had given me the ability to identify these symbols by sight. Alas, I was doing it using an app on my phone. On the next wall on the other side of the building, I found a triple moon. I was willing to bet that there would be another symbol on the back of the house but I was certain I would be spotted if I tried to find it, so after a quick peek around the corner to see if it was obvious and easy to spot, I accepted that I would need to return another time if I really wanted to find out what it was.

  The house was marked with wiccan symbols. There might be more inside, and I expected that I would find other artefacts if I were to have free reign to inspect the house.

  My car was still stuck but that wasn't going to hold me up for very long. On the way back down the long driveway, I stopped under a few pine trees to collect pine cones and fallen bits of branch. These I shoved under the leading edge of each back tyre so that they bit in when I eased the car forward, allowing me to get moving. Once the wheels were turning I was free.

  The car dropped back down onto the road and I took it home.

  Groomsman Duties. Sunday, November 6th 1812hrs

  Jagjit had texted me earlier to ask when I wanted to talk through the Best Man stuff. He wanted a stag party but had very specific ideas about what that should be like. He trusted that I would not ignore his wishes and organise an event with prostitutes or strippers and leave him tied naked to a lamppost.

  He was due at 1800hrs but was late as usual. At 1812hrs he knocked on my door then called out as he let himself in. The dogs, who were barking before they made it off the sofa, saw who it was and fussed about his feet as he joined me in the kitchen.

  ‘I brought beer with me.’ He announced, holding a four pack of Cobra lager aloft in each hand.

  ‘Thanks, man, but I am off the sauce for the next few weeks.’

  ‘Really? You were knocking them back on Friday night.’

  I nodded. ‘I was, but that was my last hurrah if you like. I am on the fitness trail again.’ I patted my love handles. ‘I’m getting a bit tubby.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re really not. So, diet and exercise then?’

  ‘I think of it more as training and nutrition. I just have to get my head in the right place. A few days in and the cravings will go. Then the benefits will start to show, and I will get addicted to fitness again.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Jagjit didn’t run unless something was chasing him. He was content to work up a sweat on his X Box but the thought of going to the gym never entered his mind. He set the beers down, pulled one from the pack nearest him and took a long draft from it. ‘All the more for me then.’

  I looked longingly at the drinks but knew no good could come from it. I needed to avoid it for a while in order to lose the excess bodyfat I had gained.

  ‘Down to business?’ I asked.

  He took a seat at my breakfast bar and we started discussing the plan for the wedding, what he wanted for a stag do and who I should invite.

  ‘Have you planned a honeymoon?’ I asked when the question occurred to me.

  He took another slug of beer and crushed the can before selecting another. ‘We are going to Tignes. It’s all booked.’

  ‘As a surprise?’

  ‘No, I didn’t think I could organise something so important without involving her. Anyway, it was her idea.’

  ‘Have you ever skied before? I don’t remember you ever talking about it.’

  ‘Yeah, man! I’m like Triple X only browner!’

  I doubted that. I just hoped there wasn’t a gulf of ability between them that meant she left him on the baby slopes every day.

  ‘When do you go?’

  ‘Right after the ceremony. There is a Eurostar service that goes from St Pancras directly there overnight, so we leave on the Sunday evening.’

  ‘Sounds good. It has been too long since I hit the slopes. I should look into booking myself a week away.’

  ‘Does Natasha ski?’ he asked.

  I frowned a little at the question. ‘I don’t know, but since we haven’t been on a date yet, I will leave off planning our holiday together for a while yet.’

  ‘Good point.’ He conceded.

  We talked some more after moving through to my lounge to watch TV. His mention of Triple X inciting a successful search for the film. I drank water while Jagjit worked his way through six of the beers and Vin Diesel did his thing.

  By 2100hrs I had endured quite enough of watching Jagjit drink beer and I was getting tired. He had work in the morning too, so he wished me luck for my week and went home. We would most likely not see each other until next Friday night when I would have the even harder task of drinking water at the pub.

  I had ironing to do, so I tackled the boring task while watching Jason Statham, then went upstairs to run a bath.

  The day was over.

  House Guest. Sunday, November 6th 2150hrs

  Laying in the bath hours later, I was still wondering what I needed to do to move the case forward. I had gone to the gym again, this time for a weights session, which combined with the very healthy approach I was taking to my food since returning from Cornwall was making me feel not only physically better but, in many ways, mentally relieved that I was now tackling an issue I had been ignoring. Now I was soaking my body and getting it ready for the aches it was going to feel tomorrow when I would pound it again just as hard.

  The case though was far less controllable than my fitness and nutrition regime. Barbara's husband had died in the exact same manner as Mabel's. There was no way it was a coincidence. This was murder, and someone had gone to a lot of trouble to disguise it as something that could be written off as a freak accident.

  Who did I go to with this though? I wanted the coroner to reconsider her verdict. Who had been the coroner on the first case? That was a key question I needed an answer to. I would research it in the morning. I was secretly hoping that James/Jane would turn up for work as expected and in so doing give me the chance to hand the research over to him/her. He/She was better at it after all and it would mean I could pursue other lines of enquiry, maybe take on another case or find us a new office.

  My doorbell rang downstairs, causing a cacophony of barking from the dogs as they ran from the sofa they had undoubtedly been sleeping on, to the front door where I heard their paws skid to a stop. They barked some more.

  I had neither my phone nor a watch with me so I could not be certain of the time. My best guess was somewhere close to 2200hrs, a time at which I would not expect to have people ringing my doorbell.

  I ignored it, believing that whoever was outside would get bored and wander off and the dogs would take themselves back to bed.

  The doorbell
bingbonged again though, eliciting another round of barking from the dogs. Still, I ignored it. It was late for it to be an opportunistic salesperson, or perhaps a well-meaning soul collecting for charity, but I couldn’t imagine who else it might be. Regardless, I was in a nice, warm bath and felt no desire to rush downstairs, dripping with water to open the door to the cool late-Autumn air.

  Several seconds ticked by. They had probably given up I decided. Then changed my mind when I heard the front door handle turning.

  Someone was trying to get in!

  I leaped from the bath and ran, snagging a towel as I went. The bathroom was right by the top of the stairs and the front door just beyond them. My wet feet quickly dried as the moisture was stolen by the carpet pile. Downstairs, the dogs were going absolutely nuts now to repel the intruder and I could feel adrenalin hitting my bloodstream. It was spiking my pulse rate.

  I hit the bottom step… and stopped.

  Hilary's woeful face was peering through a crack in the door. He was trying to calm the dogs and keeping the door almost closed so they could not escape. They had still not worked out that it was someone they knew and were in kill mode. Admittedly, an angry Miniature Dachshund is not that terrifying, nor is it likely to do much damage, but he was probably wise to keep the barrier in place.

  ‘Hilary? What's up? What brings you here at this time on a Sunday?' I asked as I opened the door to welcome him in. Whatever had driven him to disturb my Sunday evening peace was insignificant, I could find out about it later. He had thought it important enough to come here so it was my task to welcome him inside.

  As I opened the door, he saw that I was holding a towel around my waist with one hand while steam billowed off my skin. The dogs saw who it was and hopped over the doorsill to sniff him and I caught sight of the suitcase and duffel bag at his feet.

  Oh dear.