5 The Witches of East Malling

by steve higgs

  Was what I had enough to convince the police to act? It was a great question. I downloaded and compressed the file.

  ‘Frank I am going to where they are in about sixty seconds. Right after I email this in fact. That old lady is killing men. My guess is she is charging the ladies a cut of their insurance payouts, but you heard her plan to kill the next lady's husband, right?'

  ‘Yeah, WITH MAGIC!’ Frank shouted. He thought it was a valid point.

  I could have argued with him, but I knew there was no point. ‘I am going now. I think you should come with me because I am going to confront the woman and hopefully hold her there until the police arrive. If I am wrong, you can watch her turn me into a frog.'

  I finished typing a note to accompany the video file and emailed the whole thing to Chief Inspector Quinn, his boss, his boss's boss and to the internal group cc that would get it into the inbox of every police officer in Maidstone. Having Amanda around had already proven useful, getting hold of email addresses was bonus material.

  ‘Try ignoring that.’ I said as I pressed send.

  Behind me, caught in indecision, Frank didn’t know what to do.

  ‘It’s not a witch, Frank.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  To Catch a Witch. Thursday, November 10th 1611hrs

  I was pushing the speed limit on the back road that would get me to West Malling and the little tea room they were in. In the passenger seat, Frank was doing what Frank does. He was being weird.

  He had rosary beads wrapped around his right fist and was reading from the Bible while holding it upside down. I considered asking what he was doing but then I would have to listen to the answer. My hope in bringing him along was that he would see the witch in her true light as a frail old lady.

  There was still a little voice at the back of my head reminding me that the frail old lady had found a way to make lightning rip men apart in their own homes.

  I ignored it.

  She had admitted her guilt and she was going down.

  I had told Hilary to hang tight and that we would be there in fifteen minutes or less before disconnecting the call. Then I had called Maidstone police station from the car and asked for CI Quinn. The response I got was that he was unavailable. I couldn't tell if that meant he didn't want to talk to me or genuinely wasn't available.

  I left a message for him to call me.

  As we neared West Malling, I began to hope that there would be somewhere to park. Swooping in to confront the witch while she was still sat with the other ladies would be far harder if I had to circle for ten minutes looking for a spot.

  I got lucky again though as a car was just pulling out of a spot in front of the pub they had been in a few days ago. The tea shop was just down the road, less than fifty yards from my car.

  ‘Come on, Frank.' I nudged him as I took off my seat belt. I had no intention of hanging around to wait for him if he decided to dawdle. As I took off down the street, I heard the passenger's door thunk shut behind me and set of running footsteps keeping pace at my heels. A quick check over my shoulder confirmed he was following.

  I had never been in the tea room, so the orientation of the room itself was a mystery to me. Coming in through the front door, a young woman with some menus under her arm attempted to greet me, but I rudely rushed by her to find Hilary and the table of women.

  Where were they? The building was an old one, so it had odd alcoves, but I believed I was seeing all of it. I stood in the middle of the room and spun in place. No Hilary, no table of witches. Then my heart sank as I recognised the table they had been sat at.

  It was empty.

  My listening device was still on the floor where it had fallen. I had missed them, but where was Hilary? Oh, my God! Had they taken him?

  ‘Hi, Tempest.’ Hilary said by my ear, making my heart stop. I swear a little bit of wee came out.

  ‘You just missed them.’ He was out of breath. ‘I got them on camera though.’ He held up his phone to show me.

  ‘Where is the witch?’ I begged him. She was the only one I needed.

  ‘Oh, she went into the ladies toilet. Hasn’t come out yet.’

  ‘Where?’

  He pointed, and I ran. She wasn't getting away for the third time. In the dimming light outside, blue flashing lights were filling the air. Someone had reacted to the email and my call and it looked like they sent half the force.

  I found the door to the ladies toilet, paused for a heartbeat and went in. Straight ahead of me was a mother bent down in front of a little girl who was sitting on a toilet with her knickers around her ankles. The stall door was open because mum didn’t fit in it otherwise.

  The little girl screamed in the wonderfully high-pitched tone that mostly only dogs can hear. I backed out of the room at speed, my ears assailed by the noise and my face flushing from the embarrassing scene.

  The mum burst out after me though. ‘Pervert.’ She yelled accusingly.

  My lips flapped a couple of times, but no words found their way out.

  She turned to the small crowd inside the establishment. Most of them were already looking our way. ‘Pervert.’ She shouted and pointed. A man stood up. ‘Dave, he was ogling our little girl in the toilets.’

  ‘What?' The man looked rough. Even his tattoos had tattoos. ‘Faye call the police.' He was clearly talking to the little girl's mother and he was almost certainly the dad. I didn't need this hassle right now. Or ever for that matter, but definitely not now.

  I started to protest my innocence but just as Dave came at me, his massive hands balling into fists, the backdoor to the tea room opened behind me and uniformed police were coming in. It was a coordinated movement as they were coming through the door at the other end of the tea room as well.

  Dave froze, indecision etched on his face. I looked for a uniformed face I recognised and latched onto them. I was swept into the room with their passing, leaving Dave forgotten behind me.

  The police were not armed, but their sudden presence had alarmed some of the customers quietly eating their tea and cake. I heard Quinn’s voice before I saw him.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please do not be alarmed. We will not take up more than a few moments of your time. It is imperative though that you remain seated while we conduct our operation. Thank you for your cooperation.’

  He spotted me and crooked a finger at me, beckoning me over. I stood my ground and did the same back. When he didn’t move either I shouted across the room to him instead.

  ‘You missed them. We both did. You can round the ladies up at their houses. I gave you their addresses.’ It had all been on the email. ‘The fifth lady is still unidentified.’

  ‘Don't tell me how to do my job, Mr. Michaels.' He snapped. He sounded annoyed. I was getting to him.

  Good. Pompous tit.

  He whispered to the sergeant next to him, an action which elicited a reaction that took most of the police at that end of the building back out the front door. Now CI Quinn thought it acceptable to cross the room to speak with me.

  ‘There'll be no press interview for you to crash this time, Michaels. No glory for you to snatch.'

  I couldn’t work the man out. I cared not for glory, nor much about publicity. They were clearly goals he cherished, but he acted as if I hadn’t just presented him with a solved case. A day ago, he had turfed me out of his station for even suggesting I had a crime for him to investigate.

  ‘You’re a dick.’ It seemed like the right thing to say and I said it in front of half a dozen of his junior officers.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Not an impressive, meaty dick though. Not one with some girth that some would consider worthy of applause. More like a tiny, insignificant dick. You know, hung like a baby carrot. That kind of dick. That’s the kind of dick you are.’ I was finished with the dick comparison. It had been something that Big Ben might have said and quite out of keeping with my usual manner of speaking. It felt right though. Like I had got something off my
chest.

  Quinn was tensing his body. He looked like he was going to hit me. I kind of wished he would.

  I didn't give him the chance though. I looked across to make sure Frank and Hilary were there and turned my back to Quinn. He was insignificant.

  Behind me were the toilets still and in the small passage that led to the back door were some of the police officers still. ‘Has anyone come out of the ladies?’ I asked them.

  ‘The lady over there with the little girl.’ A short blonde female office answered.

  Where she was pointing Dave, Faye and their daughter were sat watching the spectacle in front of them the same as everyone else in the room was.

  ‘Sorry about earlier.’ I offered the trio. ‘I was trying to catch a bad person.’ I worried that the little girl might be traumatised by my bursting in on her. Nothing I could do about it now though.

  ‘The fifth woman, the murderer was last seen going into those toilets. She must be eighty years old so if she hasn’t come out she is still in there.’

  ‘Let’s go see.’ The female officer said and pushed the door open for me.

  It was empty. Quite utterly empty. Frank would be pleased and would have a theory to explain how she was vanishing into thin air.

  I went to the end stall and stood on the toilet bowl. At head height was a window. I pushed it open and looked outside.

  ‘I thought you said she was eighty?’ the lady cop pointed out.

  ‘I did.’ I scratched my chin. There was nothing more to see so I climbed down and went back out to the tea room. CI Quinn was already gone.

  Only one officer remained beside the one that had come into the toilet with me. ‘They are waiting outside.' She informed her colleague. They went out the back door and were gone.

  The ladies would all be arrested and questioned. I was certain of that. The video and audio footage Hillary had captured was sufficient for prosecution. I had reason to feel good, but it was dark, and I had lost the witch again. She was out there somewhere and might do anything.

  I shrugged to myself. There didn't seem to be anything I could do about it now and it was my mum's birthday party tonight.

  Time to go home.

  As we walked up the street, I put my arm around Hilary’s shoulders. ‘Do you have plans for tonight?’

  Mum’s Birthday Party. Thursday, November 10th 1935hrs

  I had elected to arrive late for mum's party to avoid some of the inevitable work involved in setting it up, but mostly because it would limit the time I would spend being shown around to her friends' unmarried daughters. I wondered if there would even be any men there. Surely some of her friends had husbands or sons?

  I was right in that they did and there were men present but they were outnumbered at least two to one. From the outside of the house, it was impossible to tell there was a party happening at all. The rhythmic thump of base one might associate with a party was absent as was any other noise. Even when I opened the front door, very little sound escaped into the cool evening air outside.

  ‘Are you sure this is alright?’ asked Hilary. He was standing just behind me and looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Of course.' I replied. 'They will be happy to have someone new to meet.'

  I was a lying dog. I had invited Hilary along because a new man in the room would attract attention from the awful collection of single daughters and their mothers that formed the dominant party in my mother's friendship circle. Spending an evening talking to some of them and his wife would seem like a catch again. I was convinced I had seen the worst of her when she burst into my house this morning and that the two of them had enjoyed a loving marriage for the most part even if she did wear the trousers.

  I steeled myself for the task ahead and let myself in.

  Cliff Richard was crooning in the background, but not at a volume that would interfere with conversation. ‘Hello, Tempest.’ said a lady that I recognised but could not name. Mum had a lot of friends like that. Women that had known me since I was a baby, or at least a young child and talked to me as if we were old friends. That I had been absent, away somewhere with the Army for most of my adult life and thus had never spoken to them as an adult, or indeed at any point in the last two decades always seemed to escape them.

  I replied anyway and asked her if she knew where my parents were. She pointed to the lounge. Mother was shorter than most of the people in the room, but then she cackled at something someone had said which made it easy to pinpoint her. As the lady in front of her moved, something caught the light and sparkled by my mother's face.

  It was a giant ruby earring dangling from her left ear. It was swishing about under her hair as she talked. Pinned to her dress was the enormous broach just above her left breast. No doubt her friends were all marvelling at the new jewellery and speculating about its origin or whether it was even real. Would any of them connect the short line of dots from their trip to Cornwall and the globally publicised treasure found there a few days ago? I might need to sow a few seeds of doubt this evening to throw people off the scent. Especially since I didn't know how much of the treasure my dad had stuffed into his pockets.

  ‘Uncle, Tempest!’ The cry came simultaneously from my nephew and niece, my sister’s young children. They had spotted me from the place on the floor where they were playing with my mother’s crystal animal ornaments. I doubted they were allowed to touch them but would not be the one to stop them.

  ‘Hi, kids.’ I replied as I bent down to get a proper look at them.

  ‘Where are the dogs?’ asked Martha, looking around and beyond me for them.

  ‘I left them at home, sweetie. Too many people here. They might get trodden on.’ I explained.

  It was not the answer she was looking for. ‘Boring.’ She replied, her attention turning back away from me, the excitement of my arrival forgotten.

  ‘Hey, kid.' Came my Dad's voice from just behind me. I turned to find him carrying a tray of full wine glasses. ‘Want one?' he asked.

  ‘No thanks. I'm driving so will play it safe and have nothing. This is Brian.' I introduced the sorry-looking man standing behind me. ‘Shall I distribute those for you? You look like you could do with a break.' He didn't actually. He looked like he was having fun and was using the need to perform tasks as a way to keep moving and thus avoid conversation with his wife's friends. But I had just introduced someone, so a shaking of hands was required.

  ‘Sure.' He said as he handed over the tray. ‘Please to meet you, Brian. Tell me, what keeps you busy?'

  I left them to it and waded into the crowd in my parent’s living room.

  ‘Oh, Tempest. I’m so glad you are here. We were just talking about you.’ Exclaimed my mother as I neared the group she was in. I already didn’t like the sound of this. ‘This is Madeline Munroe.’ She said, swishing her arm like she was presenting a prize on a TV show.

  Madeline was cast from the same mould as many of the women in the room and had what my mother would refer to as child-bearing hips. Madeline smiled at me and extended her hand.

  I stared dumbly at it. I was using both hands to hold the tray of wine. ‘Perhaps you could all unburden me of the drinks I am holding?’ I prompted.

  A chorus of, ‘Oh, yes.’ And ‘Of course.’ Preceded the tray being empty about three seconds later.

  Now that I could hold it with one hand, I shook Madeline's. ‘Very pleased to meet you.' I said, not really meaning a word of it. Madeline was undoubtedly very nice but had a stern face that was neither warm nor welcoming. I placed her age at around thirty-two and her height at five feet eight inches. She was neither attractive nor repellent and was probably single and being subjected to the same indignity that my mother always put me through. The almost carbon copy next to her, similar in every aspect but age, was her mother, another someone I recognised but could not name.

  Madeline smiled awkwardly at me and I saw a chance to make the evening easier for us both.

  ‘Could you spare me a minute?' I asked. I had
failed to release her hand and was now tugging on it ever so gently and indicating we should move away from our mothers.

  She came with me to a space in the corner of the room, passing between our mothers and the other women she had been with who were now all looking at each other and winking or exchanging knowing looks. They were exasperating.

  ‘Madeline, am I right to assume that your mother drags you along to these events and parades you around like a prize to be won? My mother insists on trying to marry me off.'

  ‘God, yes.' She replied, her shoulders slumping as the tension went out of them. ‘She just won't stop going on about my biological clock.'

  I laughed. ‘That sounds very familiar. Mine is desperate for me to produce grandchildren. I worry sometimes that I will turn up to find she has a woman upstairs that she knows to be ovulating.’

  Madeline’s eyes widened at the thought. ‘God, that’s terrible. Mine wants me to be a virgin on my wedding night so disapproves of me dating – they won’t buy the cow if they have already had the milk.’ She said in a mocking parody of her mother’s voice. ‘So somehow I have to produce children without having sex and all the men I meet are so hopelessly crap.’

  I laughed again, this time because I now fell into the category of men that she had met, although I was certain that had not been the intention of her comment.

  She changed the topic. ‘So, this would normally be the bit where I start small talk and ask what you do for a living. I already know the answer to that one though.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Everyone does. I don’t think many of them can decide what to make of it, but they talk about it a lot. You mother is always regaling them with your latest exploits.’

  ‘I expect she makes it sound more exciting than it is.’

  ‘Maybe, but it still looks pretty exciting. You were on TV last week having been involved in a dawn raid on a drug factory in Bearsted. I teach six-year-olds how to spell their name and add to twelve.'