Whispers in the Rigging

by steve higgs

  ‘Ah, the confidence of youth.’ Alan said. There was no negative inflection in his tone, but Joseph took offence anyway.

  He fixed Alan with a hard stare. ‘Yes, it always wins against the tired acceptance of old age.’

  Alan merely shrugged in acknowledgement, too experienced, wise and astute to be drawn into an argument.

  ‘I’m leaving.’ I said, breaking the stalemate as Stuart, Fred and Boy George moved in to flank their pal. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  I put my hand on Joseph’s shoulder to steer him away and moved the pair of us back toward the exit and car park.

  ‘Why do you tolerate them?’ He asked meaning the old Navy guys.

  I didn’t bother to look across at him. ‘Because they have been there and done it and have the t-shirt and they know more than they will ever let on. Never let their age fool you into thinking they are less capable.’ He nodded his head in acknowledgement of what I had said but didn’t offer a verbal agreement. We were almost at the exit. ‘I advise against trying to get into the tunnel system, Joe. Check and observe what is happening around you. Tonight, do the cleaning duties they give you and monitor the movements of the guards. Otherwise, try to fit in.’

  I guess he was tired of me trying to dissuade him from saving the day because he said, ‘I don’t take orders from you, Mr Michaels. I’m the police officer here, not you. Perhaps you should take instruction from me in this investigation.’ He had stopped walking and turned to face me.

  ‘Good luck then. I urge you to stay in touch and consider everyone working here to be a potential threat. I will drop everything and come running if you feel you are compromised and need help.’ My words were intended to show him we were on the same side. I waved a quick salute as I reached the exit building and lost sight of him.

  Baby. Wednesday, November 23rd 1143hrs

  With Bull on my lap to look over the steering wheel and Dozer riding shotgun, I headed out of the car park. It was midday and mid-week, so traffic was still light, but it was still sticky as I went through the bit of Chatham next to the Pentagon shopping centre.

  I was driving to my parent’s place in Rochester. It was not a task I had intended to include today. I needed to focus on the case and found myself a bit irritated by this latest distraction. Sensing my ire rising, I quelled it, finding my centre as many different senseis had taught me over the years. With one hand I ruffled the fur on Bull’s neck.

  The information from Alex Jordan was disturbing but not surprising. I had idly wondered how he could fit into what I was seeing at the Dockyard. As CEO, he must know what was going on around him. Now the picture was complete. He was trapped by his own need to find investors. He had taken the wrong offer and now it hung over his head like a deadly storm cloud. I needed to rescue him as well.

  It took twelve minutes to make the journey to my parent’s house. Twelve minutes. Was that a long time if one was in labour or was it little more than the time between contractions at the early stages.

  I had not the faintest idea.

  Pulling up to the curb though, I got a sense that things might be moving along a little faster than my sister had indicated. She was framed in the doorway with my mother holding her hand and frantically waving for me to hurry up.

  Confused and concerned, I opened the car door forgetting the dogs who both bounded over my lap and up the driveway to scoot into the house.

  ‘Quickly, Tempest.’ Called my mother before I could get moving. ‘Your sister needs to get to the hospital. Take her car.’

  I had a stack of questions fighting for first place in order of priority such as why is there not an ambulance here? What am I expected to do once we get to the hospital? Have you told her husband yet? What am I supposed to do with my dogs? What are you doing that is so important you cannot drive her to the hospital yourself. I dismissed them all though. I was already here, my sister’s face was a mask of discomfort and I was clearly taking her to the hospital no matter what, so I elected to just get on with it.

  I offered her my hand to get her down the step from the door, but immediately regretted doing so when her grip broke every bone in my hand. I swear she could have turned a steel bar into foil with that grip. Mum thrust Rachael’s car keys at me and ushered me back to the road where her car was parked.

  What felt like thirty seconds after arriving, I was leaving again. Rachael was in the passenger seat but braced against the ceiling and dashboard as if we were about to flip over.

  I tried a tentative, ‘Everything okay?’ As I pulled away.

  It was the wrong question to ask apparently as it elicited a torrent of expletives that ought not to come from a mummy’s mouth.

  ‘So, just get to the hospital then?’

  More expletives, mostly about men and what they could do with their todgers. I drove cautiously at first, not wanting to throw the lady next to me around too much.

  She grabbed my arm, her steel grip around my left bicep cutting off the blood flow to my hand instantly. ‘Hurry up, Tempest.’ She hissed between breaths drawn in through her teeth.

  I proceeded a good deal faster after that.

  I swept the car through the tunnel under the river just as the latest contraction subsided. Calm returned as I scanned the roads for cameras and police cars as I was doing twenty more than the speed limit and wanted neither a ticket nor the delay getting pulled over would cause.

  ‘Okay. I’m okay.’ Rachael panted next to me. ‘Sorry about this, Tempest.’ She patted my forearm. ‘Things have advanced far more quickly than with Martha or Fallon. I got caught out by it.’

  Now that we were having a conversation I asked, ‘Why is it that mother couldn’t drive you or call an ambulance?’

  Rachael laughed. ‘Have you been in a car with mum recently? She is dangerous behind the wheel. Besides, she had a meeting with some church ladies this afternoon and didn’t want to miss that. She will catch up with us at the hospital.’

  That mum would believe her meeting took precedence was entirely in keeping with her world view. I would be able to go back for my dogs and car once I had settled Rachael at the hospital labour ward. I kept quiet about the very important engagement I had this afternoon for two reasons. Firstly, I recognised that it was insignificant when compared with what my sister would be doing, and secondly, I was concerned that she might try to force feed me my testicles if I mentioned it.

  ‘Is Chris on his way?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I called him an hour ago. He was in a meeting but was off to collect the kids from school. I told him not to hurry.’

  ‘Why?’

  Rachael laughed at the mystified tone in my voice. ‘Because it is our third, Tempest. It’s really not that big a deal anymore.’

  ‘Will you tell the child that?’

  I was being flippant; my sense of humour was not well received though and was timed to coincide with the start of the next contraction. As she started to suck air in through her teeth again and utter a long string of words her children ought to not even know, I swung the car into the hospital car park. Thankfully, there was a barrier dispensing tickets, so I didn’t have to scramble for change to buy a ticket.

  ‘Which way to the labour ward?’ I asked needlessly as we approached the reception desk. Anyone with eyes could see my head turning purple from her grip on the back of my neck and the space hopper looking bump jutting out through her top.

  Of course, my sense of urgency was not reflected by any of the staff in the hospital. They saw this every day, possibly even every hour, but their anaesthetised reaction to my predicament did nothing to calm my nerves.

  Next to me, still crushing my neck as she held on to me while I guided her down the corridor toward salvation, Rachael muttered more obscenities under her breath. She was sweating like a pig and turning red with the effort.

  I tried to focus my concerns and thoughts on her and how she was feeling. Truth be told though, she was my twin sister and that familiarity gave me confidence t
hat she was going to be fine. I was more worried about my bruised hand, bicep and neck.

  Finally, and with a final torrent of cursing from Rachael, I handed her off to a pair of women that introduced themselves as midwives. I guess they were used to four letter words as neither seemed to even notice.

  I leaned against the counter that formed the reception desk for the antenatal ward, relieved that I had made it. A clip board with several sheets of paper landed next to me.

  The lady behind the counter advised, ‘You’ll need to fill these out presently.’

  Before I could respond or look at them, the larger of the two midwives that had taken Rachael away came back to get me. ‘Hurry up, or you’ll miss baby.’

  ‘But I’m not…’

  ‘No time for any of that.’ She snapped, probably used to dealing with bewildered fathers-to-be. ‘Mum needs company right now.’

  I was in the labour room before I knew what was happening. I opened my mouth to protest, but once again Rachael grabbed my hand and crushed it.

  ‘Ooooooooooooh.’ She wailed. Actually, she didn’t say ooh at all but let’s say that she did. ‘Oooooooh, Tempest.’

  She was lying on a torture table that had been designed for birthing. It was tilted at an angle so the person laying on it had their back and head raised, then under the bum the device split in two to make the legs go in different directions.

  ‘Look.’ Said the midwife that had fetched me. ‘You can see baby’s head.’

  Without thinking, I looked. The sight causing me to utter an expletive of my own. I had never expected nor wanted to see the parts of my sister that I was now seeing. Not only that, but the sight was putting me off seeing the same parts on other women at any point in my future.

  Drawn in through the sheer horror of it, I saw my sister sucking at the gas and air mask like it was the only thing keeping her alive and the midwife between her legs literally grab hold of the infant while it was still inside her and pull it out with a twist.

  Baby, all covered in goo and muck, was plopped onto my sister’s chest whereupon she pulled down her top to show me another part of her I had never expected to see. With a little encouragement, my new niece started feeding.

  ‘A daughter.’ Said midwife number two from by my ear. ‘I can tell this is your first.’ She meant me not Rachael. ‘She has your eyes though, the same piercing blue.’

  ‘I’m, ah. I’m not the father.’ I managed weakly.

  ‘Oh.’ She replied, sounding surprised or confused. ‘Um.’

  ‘He’s my brother.’ Rachael filled in the blank helpfully. ‘We both have our father’s eyes and now my children have them.’

  Rachael looked tired. The baby was snuggled on her chest, warm and safe and in the best place in the world. I was a spare part with no purpose, a designation that had been true since the beginning of proceedings.

  ‘I just need to clean her up a bit love.’ Said the smaller of the two midwives. She was holding out her hands ready to take the baby but waiting for Rachael to acknowledge that she was going to take the baby away.

  When Rachael removed the arm she was using to cradle it, the midwife scooped the tiny human and expertly carried it to a table across the room. The baby started mewling. The midwife was cooing at it while patting the muck off with a white towel that didn’t stay white for very long.

  A nappy went around the little girl’s bum, then I watched, fascinated as she was lifted into the air again. ‘Would you like to hold her?’ The midwife asked.

  ‘Goodness, no!’ I recoiled. All three women laughed at me. I had no idea why they were laughing. The tiny human terrified me. What if I dropped it, or it moved when I was holding it? I would commit to picking her up when she was old enough to go to school and could be relied upon to bounce.

  ‘Back to me please?’ Rachael said. She soon had her new daughter nestled on her chest feeding again.

  ‘Sis, do you need me for anything?’ I asked.

  ‘No, Tempest. Can you let Mum know, please?’

  ‘Sure.’ The midwives were busy doing midwife things. I knew the placenta still had to come out, I had no intention of hanging around to witness that. My phone had silently buzzed in my pocket several times in the last hour, whatever messages I had received remained unread but might be important, so I kissed my sister on her head and left the room.

  I had missed calls from Big Ben and Jane. I called Big Ben first.

  ‘What have you got for me, brother?’ I asked as he came on the line.

  ‘I got chased off as soon I approached the Dockyard. There must be something there to see. Two boats about fifty times the size of mine told me to go away in quite certain terms. They even bumped me at one point. I nearly capsized, but I couldn’t do much about it, so I had to back off.’

  ‘You’re okay?’

  ‘Of course. I would have happily boarded their boats and knocked them around a bit, there was no way to easily achieve that though. I can report that they were Ukrainian, or at least they have the same accent as everyone else at the Dockyard.’

  ‘You couldn’t get close enough to see an entrance though?’

  ‘No, I saw it. I was just too busy manoeuvring the boat to get a good look though. I had planned to take pictures. It is around the corner from the dry docks where the river twists toward Gillingham. I would guess that you can only get boats in and out of it at high tide because I could see the bottom lip of it and the water was still going out. There’s no steps or anything going down to it though, so the only way in is by water.’

  I pursed my lips. This was great news. We had one entrance located and if the Ukrainians were protecting it, then my assumptions about goods coming in or out of there were likely to be right. How to get to it though? They had boats there now so would have boats there the whole time.

  ‘Where are you now?’ I asked him.

  He said, ‘Just getting back home. I need some lunch and I need to get changed before Hilary picks me up to go to Brands Hatch. How are you getting there?’

  I thought about that for a second. ‘I’m not sure actually. I’m at Medway hospital. My sister just had a baby in the last hour.

  ‘Will you be late?’ He asked, straight to the point.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I don’t intend to be.’ I was still wondering about it though. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

  We disconnected, and I made a second phone call. This one to Jane.

  Her voice came on the line almost immediately. I imagined her sitting at her desk, a pencil tucked behind one ear as she researched whatever enquiries had come in today, the phone rang on the desk next to her and she would snatch it up with her right hand, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her. ‘Hi, Boss.’ Her deep masculine voice said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m just returning a missed call, Jane. Did you call about the Hale case?’

  ‘I didn’t but I do already have a stack of data for you to sift. From my initial scan, it all looks genuine. There are accounts of mysterious deaths, all on eightieth birthdays and always the incumbent Lord Hale. One could write that off as coincidence, but the accounts all refer to the appearance of a creature. Also, the family has money. I cannot see their bank accounts, of course, but the Hale estate recently bought stocks in Berkshire Hathaway, Warren Buffet’s firm.’

  I whistled. The shares started at three-hundred grand a piece. ‘So, what did you call for?’

  ‘What do you know about demonology, inverted pentangles and missing girls?’ She asked.

  I had an immediate answer. ‘Not a lot. I would recognise the inverted pentangle as a demon worship symbol but that’s about it. What was that about missing girls? More specifically, what age do you mean when you say girls?’

  ‘Sorry, I should have been more clear. I meant young women. We don’t have a case by the way, it was more of a general question because of some feed trends I am reading.’

  ‘Go on.’ I encouraged.

  ‘Some of the paraweb news sit
es, the conspiracy nuts and suchlike have reported the appearance of inverted pentangles which has led to a discussion about demon worship. I have been tracking it for over a week, purely for interest, then yesterday there was a report of two missing women that had been linked to the practice.’

  ‘Local girls?’ I asked.

  ‘Both from Kent, but it doesn’t say whether they have been seduced and run away to join them or have been snatched from their homes for something unpleasant. How’s the Dockyard thing going?’ She asked, switching topic.

  I had been walking while I was chatting on the phone, my route taking me through the rabbit warren of Medway hospital to the Special Care Unit my dad was in. At the doors outside, I stopped to rub my hands with the alcohol gel stuff they expect everyone to use. Inside, one of the ladies on the reception desk had spotted me and buzzed the electronic doors open. I needed to finish up my call. ‘It’s proving to be bigger than I had thought. The ghost thing was nothing more than a distraction, a ruse to scare off staff they didn’t want. I hope to have it sewn up in a few days.’ That part was certainly true, but I deliberately didn’t tell her about the organised crime gang I was antagonising, there was no need to make people worry. ‘I have to go, I’m at the hospital to see my father.’

  I promised to stop in at the office the next day and left her to get on with things as I pushed through the now unlocked door and went inside.

  ‘Hello, Tempest.’ Said the lady on reception, making me feel bad that she had memorised my name, but I hadn’t even looked at hers. ‘You got the message then.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘What message?’

  Her quizzical look matched mine for a second before she said, ‘Your dad is awake.’

  I paused while the news processed through the outer limits of my brain, reached the decision-making bit of my head which sent a message to my feet. I ran to the room he was in without looking back or even thanking the nameless lady on reception.

  In his room, dad was sitting up in bed while a doctor made notes in a manila folder.