by steve higgs
Night Work
Blue Moon Investigations
Book 12
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2019 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Night Work’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To all the fans of funny thrillers
Hi there,
Firstly, thank your purchasing this book. I hope that you enjoy reading it anywhere near as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do, then I have a growing library of other books to make you laugh and keep you turning pages when you really ought to be going to sleep.
There is a FREE book on offer which you may have already found. Under a Blue Moon is the origin story to the Blue Moon Investigation Agency universe. You can find that on Amazon but there is another FREE story – Zombie Granny, which you can only get from me by signing up to my Newsletter.
It’s a fun story and it sits neatly between book 3 – Amanda Harper Paranormal Detective and book 4 – The Klowns of Kent. If you want it, you need only ask. Please click the link below and tell me where to send it. Here’s the link:
Yes, please! Send me my FREE story!
Blue Moon Investigations
Paranormal Nonsense
The Phantom of Barker Mill
Amanda Harper Paranormal Detective
The Klowns of Kent
Dead Pirates of Cawsand
In the Doodoo With Voodoo
The Witches of East Malling
Crop Circles, Cows and Crazy Aliens
Whispers in the Rigging
Bloodlust Blonde – a short story
Paws of the Yeti
Under a Blue Moon – an Origin Story
Night Work
Table of Contents
Tears of an Ogre. East Kingsley, 1152hrs Friday, December 2nd
The Blue Moon Office. 1643hrs Friday, December 2nd
Swamp Monster? Friday, December 2nd 1737hrs
My Apartment, 0643hrs Saturday, December 3rd
Lunch. Saturday, December 3rd 1227hrs
Karen Gilbert’s House. Saturday, December 3rd 1400hrs
Jennifer Lasseter. Saturday, December 3rd 1537hrs
Frank’s theories. Saturday, December 3rd 1624hrs
Self-defense. Saturday, December 3rd 1800hrs
My First Stakeout. Saturday, December 3rd 2018hrs
Fire. Sunday, December 4th 0048hrs
Tempest’s House. Sunday, December 4th 0447hrs
Break ups. Sunday, December 4th 1303hrs
Fresh Evidence. Sunday December 4th 1512hrs
Maidstone Police Station. Sunday, December 4th 1530hrs
Biddenden Lake. Sunday, December 4th 1648hrs
Late Night Research. Sunday, December 4th 2246hrs
Cardiac Trauma. Monday, December 5th 0154hrs
Full Office. Monday, December 5th 0834hrs
Reformed Ogre. Monday, December 5th 0911hrs
Threats. Monday, December 5th 1022hrs
Pay Raise. Monday, December 5th 1039hrs
A Clue in a Puddle. Monday, December 5th 1547hrs
Swamp Monster. Monday, December 5th, no idea what time.
Familiar Territory. Monday, December 5th unsure of time
Sir Arthur. Monday, December 5th 2042hrs
Rescue. Monday, December 5th 2112hrs
Battle. Monday, December 5th 2149hrs
Mopping Up. Monday, December 5th 2254hrs
Epilogue
Extract from Lord Hale’s Monster
Tears of an Ogre. East Kingsley, 1152hrs Friday, December 2nd
I arrived at the entrance to Queen’s park in East Kingsley going too fast. My little Ford Fiesta wasn’t built for speed and most certainly not for cornering hard which I found out to my dismay as I threw it into a hard, right turn and felt the back end drifting out. The speed was a result of the ticking clock. The ticking clock because I doubted I had much time left and still had some distance to cover on foot.
The drive from the office in Rochester High Street, where I had been, to the park in West Kingsley ought to take twenty minutes. Traffic had been light though as schools and offices were still operating but I had to stop to pick something up on route; something I knew I would need, so the journey took me almost half an hour despite the empty road and my heavy foot.
Had another car been coming out of the park, I would have caused a crash. Thankfully, there wasn’t, so I swung the car wide, the rear end skidding sideways a bit on the fallen leaves, until I righted it once more and sprang forward. With my heart thumping from almost killing myself, I slowed to a more survivable speed as I reached the brow of the small slope that led into the car park.
Today my name is Jane Butterworth and I work at the Blue Moon Investigation Agency, a firm that specializes in cases with a paranormal or just plain strange element. Tempest Michaels opened the business just a few months back in the Spring of this year, but demand for his services resulted in fast growth and he took on a new investigator in the form of ex-cop Amanda Harper and then me as an admin assistant. Somehow my role has morphed into something more than admin though.
I say it happened somehow, but the truth is that it happened because I thought it might be fun to try solving a case by myself. The case in question was to do with a vampire, or, at least, sort of to do with a vampire.
Not so very long ago at all, I was still living in the closet and allowing my suppressed side to voice itself by being part of a vampire Live Action Role Play or LARP club. LARP allowed me to dress up and do fun stuff. And it was through the club that I met Tempest, when my grandmother, who I lived with at the time, called him because she thought I might bite her neck one night. The club broke up and, a little lost, I finally admitted to myself that I was gay and that I liked wearing girl clothes. Almost overnight, my female personality, Jane, was born.
I now have two personalities. Not like a schizophrenic, but like a person that is truly gender neutral and lets mood determine which underwear drawer I pick from each morning. Somedays I am James and I dress to the left. Other days I am Jane and do my best to pretend I don’t have a penis.
As I pulled into the carpark, I saw the park warden standing in plain sight. He was waiting for me and recognized the car or perhaps me behind the wheel. Whatever the case, he certainly knew it was me and was waving for me to hurry before I could even get the handbrake on.
‘Don’t worry about paying for parking,’ he called. ‘I’ll put a sign on it in case the local council parking officer turns up.’
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘The parking officer?’
I shook my head like he was being dumb; the adrenalin making me bouncy and over-excited. ‘No, the ogre.’
‘Oh. Yeah, that should have been obvi
ous. In his usual place. Just scared a load of mums who were out with their babies. This is really not cool, you know. I called again, like you asked, but this has to be the last time, Jane.’
‘Yeah, I got it.’ I took off running, not that I could go very fast. I had on killer high heels today and they were designed for being tall in, not moving at speed.
The park warden wasn’t done though. As I ran across the grass toward the bridge, he shouted, ‘Last time, Jane. You tell him that. Next time I will call the police myself.’ I didn’t turn or bother answering; nothing could be gained by it.
Queen’s Park in West Kingsley is a wide expanse of trees and fields running alongside a river. It has several bridges that cross over it where kids go to play Pooh sticks or feed the ducks. It was a place where local people walked their dogs or went for some open-air fitness. Families took picnics there on a warm day and like most parks, it was a lovely place to go.
Recently though it had developed a new attraction: an ogre. He jumped out from beneath the bridge and generally scared the crap out of anyone passing by. The park warden had first called Tempest almost a month ago after reports of a giant ugly creature living beneath one of the three bridges in the park could no longer be ignored. At that time, the reports were from school children on their way home and a few old ladies walking their pugs and poodles or early morning joggers getting the surprise of their lives as the disgusting swamp creature jumped out and screamed for them to get off his bridge.
In typical Tempest style, he had staked out the park, lying in wait in a shallow trench he dug for himself in the middle of the night. When the sun began to come up, he saw the ogre climb down from the path and position itself beneath the bridge. He waited then until he could catch the creature in the act and sprang from his hiding place as a jogger came down the path and the ogre got ready to jump out.
Tempest issued a loud verbal warning but unheeded, the ogre proceeded to scare the heck out of the poor chap running down the path with his headphones on. So, Tempest tackled him, performing a move he calls the reverse leg sweep. I don’t know what that is, but it had no effect other than to enrage the ogre who picked him up and threw him in the river. Tempest had responded with an intent to do whatever violence was necessary to subdue the fellow but before the first punch was thrown, the ogre held up his hands in surrender.
It wasn’t an ogre, of course. It was just a man, but in this case, a homeless man who probably had some mental health issues. The park and indeed the bridge were famous as the subject of a book written many years ago. The Ogre under the Bridge was a childhood classic story of a little boy who grew up alone in a big house and had no friends because his father was the local rich person. When he found an ogre living under the bridge in the park near his house, the two of them set off on quests together. I remembered my grandmother reading me the book when I was little.
The giant man Tempest faced, seemed confused about what he might have done wrong; his attempts to scare people were intended only to give them an exciting experience and remind them of the joyous children’s tale.
Arthur wore tatty clothes and had an unkempt beard and hair. He stood around seven feet tall and was perfect for playing the part of an ogre. Assuming he was homeless, Tempest offered him a hot meal and walked him out of the park and into the small town of West Kingsley where, over hot bacon rolls, Arthur agreed to give up his role as the ogre. That appeared to be that, and Tempest closed the case.
Tempest had thought it settled but a few days later, the park warden called again: Arthur was back. Whether from boredom or lack of memory, he had gone back to hiding under the bridge and jumping out to scare people again.
Tempest dealt with it again. And again two days later. It would have been simple enough to get the police involved but Tempest didn’t want that. In his conversations with Arthur, he learned that the man’s wife had died two years ago and, all alone, he had regressed to a childlike outlook on life. He kept using the word quest and insisting he be referred to as Sir Arthur. After the fourth incident, it had gone quiet but when Tempest went to France to deal with the Yeti, he asked me to give my number to the wardens in case Arthur did it again. Which he did, about an hour after Tempest left. I didn’t bother to tell him or Amanda about it, I just got in my car and dealt with it.
He promised he wouldn’t do it again, but it was clear to me that whatever had driven him to act out the part of ogre under the bridge the first time, now he was doing it because it was fun: I doubted he had many friends.
He had been hungry at the time. It was a cold November day, so, remembering Tempest’s tactic, I got him away from the bridge by enticement in the form of a hot sandwich in a local café. We must have looked quite the sight; a petite blond woman and a seven-foot monster with bits of tree in his hair. They let us in though from the look I got, I was fairly certain they wouldn’t do so again.
That brought me back to today and the latest call from the angry park warden. Having crossed the field diagonally, the fastest way to get to the bridge from the car park, I grimaced at the state of my beautiful heels. They were covered in mud and I had marks on my stockings. Mumbling to myself that Arthur needed to hope they would clean up, I heard the distant wail of a cop car’s siren: the mums had called the police no doubt. Fearing I had no time to lose, I approached the bridge making plenty of noise to attract his attention.
Sure enough, the great lummox leapt out to scare me, making horrendous growling screeching noises which ended when he started to say, ‘Get off my bridge!’
Feeling distinctly like kicking him in the nuts, I said, ‘Again?’ filling my question with a heavy dose of dismay and disappointment. It shut him up instantly. ‘You promised me you wouldn’t do this again, I pointed out. The police are coming you know?’
‘Sorry, Miss Jane,’ he said, his head bowed in shame.
I sighed. He was huge and scary and menacing, but he was also a bit pathetic, so I had to remind myself I was basically dealing with a homeless man who most likely had a limited IQ. ‘I brought you a sandwich,’ I said, producing the double-wrapped toasted BLT I stopped for on route.
His head came up and his eye sparkled. ‘For me?’
‘Yes, but only if you come with me. You can’t stay here, and you can’t come back here. Jumping out and scaring people isn’t funny.’
‘It’s not supposed to be funny,’ he complained. ‘It is the start of a great adventure. I am inspiring kids and adults alike to find their own quests and reminding them of how special this place is. It inspired a story that dominated my life, you know?’
‘Yes, I know Arthur. Now come on, we have to get moving.’ When he didn’t shift, I shouted. ‘Now, Arthur!’ and stamped my foot which snapped the heel of my shoe clean off. I said some choice words at that point and balanced on one foot while I stared disbelievingly at my favourite footwear. Seeing my rage, Arthur tried to get back below the bridge. ‘Hey, Arthur. Get back out here. What would your mother think?’
The words just came to me. I couldn’t tell you why I thought bringing his mother into it might work, but it did. ‘Mummy?’ he echoed. ‘Mummy would be cross. Mummy said I had to be nice.’
‘Yes, well, this isn’t nice, Arthur. You are being bad, and you need to stop.’
‘Because that is what mummy would want?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, making myself sound confident but really not sure how he would now react. Whatever I had expected, it wasn’t tears. His face crumpled, and salty drops were running off his scraggly beard as he began to bawl.
The sirens, which had been getting louder and closer suddenly shut off; the cops were here. They would still have to cross the field, but they wouldn’t be doing it in high heels. I grabbed Arthur’s arm, kind of hopping and limping with my shoe back on my foot but the heel in my handbag.
‘Come on, Arthur. You can still make your mum proud, but we must get going. Right now,’ I added when he didn’t move. He still didn’t move; he just tipped his head back and
howled his unhappiness. I tugged his arm, but I might as well have been trying to move the bridge for all the impact I had. Arthur had to weigh two-hundred pounds more than me and I could hear voices now; the cops shouting instructions to each other.
If we didn’t move soon, we were going to be in big trouble. Not just him, me too probably given how often Tempest got arrested. ‘Hey, Arthur. If you come with me now, I’ll get you some cake to go with the sandwich. How does that sound?’
‘Cake?’ he asked, the tears switching off as suddenly as they started.
‘Yes, cake.’ I gave his arm another tug, this time managing to make him trudge along with me as we crossed the bridge that would lead us out of the park and into the village. ‘We need to hurry though.’ I tried to explain.
Clearly my urgency had some resonance because I was suddenly and unexpectedly scooped into the air as he picked me up like a baby and began running. I started to demand that he put me down, but I stopped myself as I saw how fast we were now moving. The shouts of the unseen uniformed officers faded behind us as he followed the twisting path through the woods. I had to crane my neck to see where we were going but could see the woods thinning ahead of us.
I patted his arm to get his attention. ‘Put me down now, we are coming to the road.’
He complied just as we reached the end of the path and shimmied through the barriers designed to keep bikes out. I didn’t know if we were safe or not and I was now more than a mile from my car, which I would have to return to.
My companion had other concerns though. ‘Cake?’ he prompted.
‘Yes, Arthur. Now it’s time for cake. Well done, by the way. That was some very impressive running then.’
‘Sandwich?’ he prompted, lest I forget that I had a sandwich for him in my bag. Still hobbling along in my broken shoe, I fished in the bag to retrieve his meal, happy to have it out of my bag where the bacon was bound to leave a scent for days to come. Just what every girl wants: the smell of bacon following her around. It would make me popular with dogs if nothing else.
