by steve higgs
Arthur opened the foil wrapping with one meaty fist and performed a disappearing trick on the sandwich; in four bites the whole thing was gone, and his still-hungry expression reminded me of a dog that wants a treat one second after it has swallowed the previous one as if the memory bank is wiped clean each time.
Thankfully, the remaining distance to the coffee shop in town took only a few minutes and Arthur gave me his arm to make walking easier. Next to the coffee shop was one of those shops that cuts keys, and sells trophies, and puts heels back on shoes. The chap behind the counter scratched his head and said, ‘I’ll give it a go.’ So, then barefoot, I took Arthur for cake.
The Blue Moon Office. 1643hrs Friday, December 2nd
A little more than four hours later, I was winding down for the day and getting ready to go home. I would be knocking off a few minutes early, but I was okay with that and I knew Tempest would be okay with it too. I regularly worked extra hours, answered calls from either Tempest or Amanda on days off or during the evening and stayed late whenever it felt necessary. I didn’t complain about doing it and Tempest was always grateful for my efforts. The Blue Moon Investigation Agency was just the kind of business where normal office hours didn’t really apply.
The two investigators, Tempest and Amanda, solved a lot of cases at night. I can’t say if the same is true for other detective agencies but at Blue Moon it was fairly standard simply because of the weird nature of the cases – you don’t get vampires, werewolves or ghosts during the day.
Anyway, after my hurried run through West Kinglsey park to get to Arthur, my feet were sore. The cobbler managed to fix my heel though he warned it would never be as strong as it was when new, so my feet looked great but were ready to be set free and stuffed into a pair of fluffy slippers instead. Collecting my phone, lipstick and nail file from the desk, I put them in my handbag as I took my keys out. The unicorn keyring I kept them on had seen better days; the fluffy white mane was no longer white and the fuzz on the pink horn had worn through to show the plastic beneath but I twirled it on my finger as I switched off my desk lamp and shut down the computer.
I was less than a second from walking to the back door when the phone rang. My right foot twitched to walk away, but I sighed instead, put my handbag back down and snatched up the desk phone. ‘Blue Moon Investigations, Jane speaking. How may I help you?’
‘Good evening, this is PC Van Doorn of Kent police. Can I speak with Tempest Michaels please?’
I leaned across the desk to grab a pad and pen. Normally when I answer the phone, I find it easier to create a note on the computer, but it was off so pen and paper would have to do as if I were a luddite caveperson. Cradling the handset under my chin while I worked the pen to write down the caller’s name was awkward, so I flicked it onto speaker. ‘Hello, PC Van Doorn. I’m afraid Tempest is temporarily unavailable. We have other investigators here though. What is the nature of your business?’ As I asked the question, I realised the constable probably wasn’t calling to report a paranormal anomaly he wanted us to investigate. More likely it was something else or he would have announced himself by name, not rank.
‘I am under instruction that it has to be Tempest Michaels. Under no circumstances can it be Amanda Harper, Miss Butterworth.’ He knew my last name without me saying it, so the boy had done some homework. Of course, one could find such information on our website easily enough. I had a great picture on the website because I constructed and ran it. Whether to go with a boy picture or a girl picture had been a question I debated for almost a week at the time, but in the end, I simply selected the best picture I had. It just happened to be one where I wore my blonde wig and made sure my adams apple wasn’t visible.
I was curious now though. Why was he insisting that Amanda couldn’t be the investigator? ‘Can you tell me why, please?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why it must not be Miss Harper,’ I demanded.
He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper when he answered, ‘It’s something to do with Chief Inspector Quinn. I’m calling on his behalf. He wants to hire Tempest Michaels and was most clear that he would kill me if Amanda Harper turned up.’
Ah. That explained it. I wasn’t sure what the history was between Amanda and her old chief inspector, but she hated him, and he seemed to loathe her. His request for Tempest’s help was a new thing though. I said, ‘Very good,’ because I couldn’t think of anything else to say, then decided to start lying my arse off. ‘Actually, Miss Harper is not available either, but the initial investigation and research is always conducted by me so the best person to attend a meeting and get the ball going is me.’ There wasn’t much truth in that statement. Yes, I did the research, but mostly that was on Tempest’s instruction. I had recently taken on a case of my own though that Tempest didn’t know about yet. Buoyed by solving that by myself, I believed I could get this case started for him. He had been away a few days already so was bound to be back soon. When he returned, I would present him with a case file and research ready to go.
That ought to win a few points.
‘Can I ask the nature of the case?’
‘The chief inspector does not wish the details discussed over the phone. He said that Mr Michaels would be interested enough to attend and he would tell him then.’
‘Well, it will be me for the first meeting or no one, I’m afraid. What time in the morning would be convenient?’
‘Oh, um. Actually, I believe he expected Mr Michaels to come directly.’
Oh, did he?
I didn’t know the chief inspector, but I had heard Tempest talking about him using some rather colourful and descriptive language. Tempest didn’t swear much so it stuck out when he did. I gave another sigh and accepted that I was going. I got a huge buzz from solving the last case, and ever since had been toying with the idea that I might approach Tempest about taking on another one. With both he and Amanda out of the country, I could legitimately take this on and see how it went.
Getting ready to end the call, I said, ‘Please tell the chief inspector I will be there in thirty minutes.’ PC Van Doorn thanked me and advised that I should ask for him at the front desk when I arrived.
With the call done, I cleared my throat. I had been doing girl voice more and more recently and though I felt I was getting better at it, it made my throat hurt after a while. I spoke in my normal baritone just to ease the dull ache and drank the last of the water in the glass on my desk. Suddenly wondering what I was getting into and then wondering why I had thought this was a good idea, I grabbed my bag once more and headed to the car park.
Swamp Monster? Friday, December 2nd 1737hrs
At a little after five o’clock on a Wednesday, traffic through the Medway towns was murder. Offices had kicked out and the old narrow streets couldn’t handle the converging traffic. My normal route home didn’t take me through the towns but around them, driving almost twice the distance but in half the time. But, bumper to bumper for thirty-five minutes and I arrived at the police station in Maidstone a few minutes later than predicted.
The desk sergeant stood up as I approached, glaring at me from behind the counter. In front of him was a young female police officer, her brown hair cut into a tidy bob. She flicked her eyebrows at me in greeting. ‘Good evening.’
‘Hi, Jane Butterworth to see Chief Inspector Quinn. I was instructed to ask for PC Van Doorn.’
‘Yes, take a seat, please,’ she said while indicting the row of plastic chairs behind me. ‘Someone will be out to collect you shortly.’
‘Are there restrooms?’ I asked looking about. The water I drank at the office had filtered through me on the journey over and I was about to go into a meeting.
‘Just along the corridor,’ the female PC indicated, this time to the left. Following her hand, I saw the sign for the ladies and set off.
As I reached the door, I heard the sergeant speak for the first time. ‘Excuse me. Where do you think you’re going?’
I was hal
fway through the door of the ladies but froze, rooted to the spot and embarrassed even before I turned around to face him. His younger female colleague was staring at him with a confused face. ‘She asked where the toilets were,’ she explained as if he were being ridiculous.
He had a cruel smile on his lips though. ‘You’re Tempest Michaels’s freak, aren’t you? I heard about you. I must say when they told me you actually look like a girl, I figured they were exaggerating. You’ll use the gents toilet though. Thank you very much.’ When I didn’t move, he frowned at me. ‘Go on now, James. There’s a good boy.’
Mortified, but seeing no course of action that would save me face, I complied, letting the door to the ladies toilet go as I trudged to the mens’ bog instead. I didn’t meet many people that were truly bothered by my choice to cross-dress, but those that did always seemed to be in a position of power and thus had the ability to be as awful as they liked.
When I returned to the plastic chairs a minute later, the girl at the desk made a silent apology with her eyes but the sergeant didn’t even bother to look up. I held my head high and refused to let my cheeks colour as I walked in front of him. I didn’t make it to the seat though. A cheerful voice attached to a cheerful face got my attention instead as a door opened next to the counter.
‘Miss Butterworth?’ the cheerful face said as he stuck out his hand to shake. ‘PC Van Doorn. Are you ready?’ I was still smarting from being called out a moment ago and knew that I wouldn’t tolerate it if the chief inspector was equally horrible. PC Van Dorn was a delight though. He shot me a big smile as he held the door and, my goodness, he was nice to look at. Six feet three inches tall, or maybe a little more, deep blue eyes I just wanted to swim in and a pretty, pretty face. I was in a serious relationship and lived with a guy, but it didn’t hurt to look, right? Plus, Simon had been a bit of a dick when I called him from the car to say I would be late home this evening. He wanted dinner and didn’t like that I had a job. He had more than enough money for both of us and made it clear he would much rather I stayed at home to look after his needs. Well, stuff that. I would take it up with him later and no doubt he would apologise and that would lead to some fooling around.
That was for later though. Right now I was pursuing a case and trying not to stare at PC Van Doorn’s muscular bottom as I followed him through the station. He led me along a corridor, around a corner and up some stairs. At the top, the stairs opened out into an open-plan office which bustled with activity. Almost, but not quite everyone was in uniform and those that were not were wearing suits with ties as if that were the only alternative attire. Perhaps it was.
On the far side of the room were more offices, and as we approached, I saw a man I recognised as Chief Inspector Quinn. He looked to be somewhere around forty years old and about six feet tall. He had the body of an endurance athlete, which is to say that he looked fit, but from running not lifting weights like Tempest. He had a female police officer in his office with him, receiving instructions by the look it.
PC Van Doorn paused at the door while he knocked and waited to be called to enter. The female officer left, exchanging the briefest of glances with me as she came through the door. Then PC Van Doorn caught it before it could close and held it for me to go in. Only once I was in the room did the chief inspector look up from the paperwork on his desk.
‘Oh,’ he said, expecting Tempest and getting me instead. ‘I expected Mr Michaels.’
I jumped in quickly. ‘Yes, he is temporarily unavailable but didn’t want to make you wait. I’m his assistant Jane Butterworth.’
‘Yes, I know who you are,’ he replied. He said the words as if he had something else to say about me, but he didn’t follow up.
‘With his growing caseload, I often perform the initial research to get things moving,’ I explained, hoping my slow drive over hadn’t been a waste of time. To press the matter forward, I lifted the flap on my handbag, took out a small tablet to record notes and sat, unbidden, in the chair on my side of his desk. It felt like something Tempest would do; taking control of the situation to achieve the outcome he wanted. ‘How can Blue Moon be of assistance, sir?’
The chief inspector looked like he was going to ask me to leave, but looking directly at me with an unreadable expression when he opened his mouth to speak, he said, ‘Close the door, please, Van Doorn.’ Then, as I poised my fingers for taking notes, he pushed some paperwork across the desk. ‘You’ll need to sign this non-disclosure agreement first, Miss Butterworth.’ Then he waited patiently while I scanned it, added my signature and handed it back. Leaning back in his chair, he asked a question. ‘Are you familiar with the swamp monster murder?’
Suddenly feeling like a kid in school that hasn’t been paying attention, I said, ‘No.’
He inclined his head in a gesture that I read as not surprised, then he started talking, ‘It was three years ago now. A man drowned in Biddenden lake. He was camping with his girlfriend in a remote spot and was found by her in the morning, floating near the edge of the lake. Her report was that she saw a creature in the water when she approached him. She was adamant about it, refusing to change her story throughout the investigation. She even had a drawing produced of the creature she described. Someone, we never found out who, leaked the picture to the press which resulted in the case being sensationalized and the ridiculous swamp monster name.’
‘The girlfriend, Jennifer Lasseter, was the prime suspect. By her own admission there was no one else around and the only shoe prints at the scene were hers and his. I was the lead investigator at the time, it was my first case as a chief inspector and the national news interest meant a lot of senior eyes were on me from the start. There were no leads though and the victim was a large man; a body builder and he was not only twice as heavy as the suspect but far stronger. Her lawyer quickly argued that she could not have overpowered him and there were no signs of injury on her that she would surely have sustained. Furthermore, he produced evidence that Jennifer Lasseter could not swim and had a recorded fear of open bodies of water. I had never heard of such a thing but I soon discovered it is common enough to have a name: thalassophobia. The victim’s body looked like it had been in a fight and the postmortem bruising produced web-shaped handprints. Not only that, there were bite marks on him, some of which had bitten chunks of flesh right off his bones. The species of creature blamed for the attack could not be identified, the forensic pathologists were stumped, and I had no case and no choice but to let the suspect go.’ He fell silent for a while, staring into nothing as he ordered his thoughts. The silence stretched out long enough that I began to feel uncomfortable and wondered if I should say something. ‘To this day, it is the only case I haven’t solved,’ he said, finally.
‘How can we help?’ I asked again, admittedly enthralled by the story, but unsure what it was that he wanted us to do with a three-year-old cold case.
The chief inspector brought his focus back to me. ‘In the last three weeks there have been two more unexplained drownings at the lake. Both were men and both were police officers involved in the swamp monster case and the investigation afterwards. Their bodies were found by campers in both instances, both have postmortem bruising with webbed handprints and the same bite marks with missing bits of flesh. So far as I can make out, there is no motive, no suspect and I have no leads. I cannot even establish what the men might have been doing at the lake. Neither one was an angler or avid camper which might have placed them there deliberately. So, what do I want from Tempest Michaels? He specializes in weird. This is weird. I have a fund which can be used to employ specialist consultants so I want him to help me solve this case.’ With the final line delivered, he pushed back into his chair and looked away. He seemed annoyed by the situation, or maybe it was asking for help that upset him. Whatever it was, he had an unexplained case and he wanted us to take it.
I felt jubilant. ‘Is there a casefile?’ I asked.
‘PC Van Doorn will provide you with a copy of the original c
asefile and all the notes I have since the first new death three weeks ago. Van Doorn,’ he called to get the younger man’s attention.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘You will act as liaison to Miss Butterworth and Mr Michaels. Make sure she has contact details for you.’
‘Yes, sir.’ And just like that, the chief inspector went back to his paperback. He didn’t offer to shake my hand or even wish me luck. It was as if he had already forgotten I was there. Sensing that I had been dismissed, I tucked my tablet away and got up to leave. What would Tempest have done at this point? Probably knocked the man’s coffee over to make a point about manners, but as I stood, the chief inspector had one more thing to say. ‘You will remember to keep Miss Harper away from this case, won’t you? I won’t tolerate her incompetence.’
I wasn’t sure if he expected an answer or not, but I gave one automatically. ‘I understand.’ It was all I could think of to say because I wanted to argue that I thought her to be brilliant but saw no benefit to be gained from doing so. PC Van Doorn closed the door behind me, and I was done.
‘I’ll get you that case file,’ he said, walking fast to get around me as I made my way back to the stairs. ‘I’ll need to copy it first though.’
‘What? Hold on. You mean it is a paper file?’ I asked, my tone incredulous.
He laughed. ‘Yes, we still have physical files here. A lot of it is kept electronically, but physical files, with handwritten paper reports and actual prints of photographs are still used. We gather all manner of physical evidence which cannot be stored electronically so…’ I gave him a single eyebrow rise to show my feelings on the matter. He laughed again but we were back at the reception desk already. ‘I’ll bring it to the office in the morning, shall I?’
‘You know where it is?’
‘I have the address. I’m sure I’ll find it,’ he replied, still smiling.
