by steve higgs
‘Show me please’
For the next twenty minutes, Jane and I went through the emails, calls, and messages that had come through over the weekend. Most of them were rubbish, but as always there were one or two that held merit. One of which was from the manager of Tonbridge Wells Ghost tours. The lady's name was Lily Hallett and she claimed they now had a real ghost. The ghost tour went around some of the older parts of Tonbridge Wells town centre, where the guide told stories and they had a few surprises where, with good timing, they were able to draw screams from their audience by having figures jump out on them or make noises in the dark. Recently they had been finding the audience screaming when they were not expected to though. Several customers had reported being touched by something unseen in the dark
It was interesting enough that I copied the woman's number into my phone and called her. It rang for a few seconds before a voice came on the phone with a distinct Tonbridge Wells accent. She could not have been more posh if she tried.
‘Good morning. Lily Hallett speaking.’
‘Mrs. Hallett. This is Amanda Harper calling from the Blue Moon Investigation Agency. I believe you have a ghost on your ghost tour and would like us to investigate.'
‘Thank you for calling, Miss Harper. Is Tempest available to take my case?' Tempest has explained the sense in tackling several cases simultaneously. Most cases were only simple to solve after you had solved them. Finding the perfectly rational explanation often took hours of research and investigation though, so it was best to have overlapping cases that would allow some time for thought in between them and the time for information to be gathered. Tempest always had more than one case on the go.
‘We are.' I replied, meaning the business. 'I need to meet with you so that I might begin the process of gathering information. When would be convenient? Are you able to meet with me today?'
’I have an opening this morning if you are able to come to my office in Royal Tonbridge Wells’ She had made a point of saying Royal, just in case I was not aware of the towns full title. I had never heard anyone bother to say it before, even though it was on all the road signs.
I checked my watch. It was twenty minutes after nine. I wanted to start looking into the voodoo case for Kimberly and I wanted to drop by the station to see Patience and have her check some information on Bartholomew, but I also wanted to bill some hours for the ghost tour case as it seemed likely that Mrs. Hallett could afford it. I outlined our fees, which she would most likely have already read from our website and promised to meet her at her office at eleven o'clock. Mrs. Hallett sounded very content that I was able to react quickly.
With the call complete, I turned my attention back to Jane and picked up my tea to drink as it was now getting cool. ‘We need to look into Bartholomew King and Meet Market.' I said as I emptied the mug and placed it on the dining table out of the way.
‘Bartholomew King’. Jane recited as she typed. ‘Who is he?’
‘He is the person Kimberly claims has cursed her. The police registered a complaint from her when her cat went missing. She accused him of taking it, but she has no evidence. I will head to the station when I leave here and see if he has a record. She makes him sound like a dirtbag and he is from the Magdalene Estate so has probably been in trouble many times. I intend to find out a bit more about him and then visit him in uniform. I still have it, so I might as well make good use of it. I expect that a stern warning will be sufficient to get him to leave Kimberly alone.’
Jane nodded in agreement, then squinted at the screen. ‘You have his address wrong. It says here he lives in Bearsted. Nice postcode.’
I leaned in to look as Jane switched to Google Earth and pulled up images of the street. We could not tell which of the houses he lived in, but the postcode could show us the houses in that street and they were all big, expensive places.
‘Wow.’ I said almost as an involuntary reaction. I knew Bearsted. There were several very lovely restaurants there and a lot of expensive properties that surrounded a large village green where one could watch a Sunday cricket match. It was the kind of village that attracted rich businessmen from London as they could commute to work each day on a direct line into the city centre but come home every night to a family living in the countryside. It was not unusual for there to be Lamborghinis or Ferraris parked outside people’s houses. It was absolutely not in keeping with the image I had for the young man that Kimberly claimed had cursed her. ‘Are you sure you have the right person?’ I asked.
‘I could have it wrong. We only have limited data, but he is the only Bartholomew King living in the South East of England. There are only three people with that name in the United Kingdom, so I figure I must have the right guy.'
‘Can you email me his address, please? I will see what I can find out at the station and probably go there later today.' Jane clicked a few keys and my phone pinged at the arrival of the email. ‘Can you look at Meet Market? I want to see what kind of website it is, see if we can find his profile.'
Jane started clicking the mouse again. ‘You ever try online dating.’ She asked.
‘No. thought about it once or twice. Wondered if I could filter out some of the idiots before I wasted an evening talking to them in a dreary bar somewhere. I never got around to it though. You?'
‘Once or twice. They are good for hook-ups, but I doubt many people find their true love using a website.' Talking to Jane, I often forgot that beneath the perfume, makeup and dress was a man. He sounded like a man of course. He didn't try to hide his deep voice, but he looked and acted like a girl most of the time. Like a man though, he was probably able to have emotionless sex with a perfect stranger and think nothing of it, so hook-ups might be appealing to him. They were certainly not to me.
‘I'm going to leave you with that to research and head off to see what I can find out about Bartholomew King.' Given the disparity in the addresses, I wondered if maybe the chap Kimberly was being stalked by had used a fake name. I would find out soon enough.
‘Sure thing.’ Jane replied, without looking up. She seemed quite content to do research sitting in the home office, so I collected my bag, pulled out my car keys and headed off to visit Patience.
Maidstone Police Station. Monday, October 31st 1006hrs
The station was on the far side of the town centre from where I was at Tempest’s house and a little more than a mile from my house, which I had to pass on my way there. I still had the chip in my car to access the car park behind the station and I was officially still employed, so I parked my car as near to the door as I could get and went inside.
No one paid me any attention as I sat at an available desk and booted up the computer on it.
‘Hey, girl.' Came a familiar voice from behind me. I didn't have to turn around to see who it was, I already knew that it was Patience, but I could hear her coming my way, being abusive to men as she made her way across the room. ‘Want a doughnut?' she asked as she arrived by my right elbow.
Patience had a coffee cup in her right hand and two dough-nuts in her left. One of them had several bite marks in it. There was a trace of icing sugar on her top lip and a few sprinkles on her uniform. The uniform was looking a little snug.
‘That was a rhetorical question wasn’t it?’
‘Yup.' Patience was not well known for sharing her confections. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you quit this job.' Patience put her coffee down, shoved the remainder of the half-eaten doughnut in her mouth and pulled up a chair.
‘I need to look someone up on the database. My latest case involves a young lady that lives on the Magdalene Estate. She has a stalker of sorts and I want to check his record.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘You have heard of the Magdalene King, right?’
‘Of course. Everyone has. Might be a legend, might be real. No one really knows.'
‘The client believes her stalker is the Magdalene King.’
‘Isn’t that legend a few decades old now?’
‘Ma
ybe it was a legend and now it is not. Anyway, I need to find this chap and see what kind of record he has.' I clicked the mouse a couple of times, navigated to a new screen and typed in his name. The page spooled for about a second before a young, handsome, black man's face filled the left half of the screen He looked like a college athlete, all he needed was his varsity top. He was smooth shaven, but not just his face. His head was completely bald as well. It was the same man Kimberly has shown me a photograph of last night. In her photo, he has been smiling. On the right half of the screen were details regarding his past.
‘Looks like your boy likes to do a bit of stalking. Arrested in January last year but released without charge.' Patience was reading from the screen. I printed the page and put it in my bag. ‘Hold on.' Patience started. ‘This doesn't sound very supernatural. Why are you looking into it?'
‘He thinks he is a voodoo priest. He cursed her with ugliness and now her hair is falling out and she has pimples.' I replied starting to get up. Then I noticed Patience's face - it had stopped moving. There was a piece of half-chewed doughnut in there that was visible because her jaw was hanging open. ‘Are you okay?' I asked her.
Slowly, she cleared her mouth and swallowed. ‘V-v-v-voodoo.' She stammered. ‘You can't go messing with voodoo, Amanda.' She never called me Amanda. ‘It's a shame about your client, but you have to leave this one alone.' She was dead serious.
‘Patience, there is no such thing as voodoo. All I need to do is investigate the case, work out what is happening with her hair and face and stop Mr. King from bothering her. I am going to his house right now to have a little chat with him. I am sure that is all it will take.'
Her eyes were bugging right out of her head. She darted forward, grabbed my handbag and shoved her arm inside it. Thrown off-balance I almost fell over while she was rooting around.
‘A-ha!’ she announced, coming away with my keys in her hand. ‘Patience is gonna save you from your own stupidity this time. You ain’t messing with no voodoo on my watch, girl.’
‘Give me my keys.’ I demanded, cutting my eyes at her.
‘Nu-uh. You need to rethink your plan. Voodoo is real, girl and you cannot go messing with those that know the art.’
‘Patience what are you talking about?’
As she opened her mouth to answer my question I leaped forward, grabbing for my keys. She danced away and got a desk between us.
Other people in the room had turned away from what they had been doing so they could watch us.
‘Patience I don’t have time for this. Give me my keys.’ I made another grab for them, but each time I tried to close the distance she just hopped out of the way. I dumped my bag and climbed on the desk.
Patience saw me go vertical and ran for the door. I had to run across the room using the desks as stepping stones. My foot caught someone's coffee spill though, I slid, arms cartwheeling and down I went. As I fell, I caught sight of Patience reaching the door. She was looking back at me and failed to notice CI Quinn coming through it. She barrelled into him and knocked him flying just as I was crashing to the carpet.
The entertaining spectator sport ended abruptly as a roar from CI Quinn silenced the laughter that had filled the room a second ago. ‘Woods get off me.’
‘Yes, Chief.’ I heard her reply.
‘Get up Harper, I saw you. The rest of you get back to work.’ CI Quinn’s voice had returned to its usual unflappable calm tone. I levered myself off the floor.
‘What are you doing here, Harper? Back already? New job not what you thought? Or have you failed at that and been fired already?' CI Quinn never overtly picked on me, he was very cold towards me though and, it seemed, always looked for something hurtful to say.
‘My keys, Patience.’ I asked again, holding out my hand.
‘Don’t mess with no voo…’ She was silenced by CI Quinn holding his hand in front of her face. It was something he did all too often and mostly with the women officers. Patience shot him a glance but handed over my keys with some reluctance while mouthing that I should go home and abandon the case.
‘Should I expect to see you in here again, Miss Harper?’ The Chief was making a point that I was no longer part of the team.
‘No, Ian.’ I answered using his first name. He stiffened visibly as he considered how to reply.
‘Make sure that I do not.' He stared at me, he was not going to be the one that turned and walked away. So, I had to.
It was very easy to dislike him.
It was starting to rain outside, a light drizzle that was dampening the street. It matched my mood. I forced myself to brighten. I no longer had to put up with CI Quinn and his attitude. I slid behind the wheel of my car and joined the traffic heading out of town.
The Home of a Voodoo Priest. Monday, October 31st 1051hrs
The drive to the small village of Bearsted, just outside Maidstone, took twelve minutes. Traffic was light, as I had expected it would be, allowing me to sweep through Penenden Heath without pausing. At rush hour, the journey would take more than an hour. The address for the house was right on the village green. On a summer day, the green would have children playing on it, pre-school age toddlers laughing and running and perhaps people out walking their dogs. In the drizzle that was falling now, the green was utterly deserted. I found the house just a couple of properties along from the restaurant that dominated one corner of the green.
I had to use the word property even when mentally referring to the houses around the village as they were all large, bespoke, imposing places. Then I remembered Brett’s house. These places would be the groundsman’s cottage at his stately home. Nevertheless, a person needed to part with several million to buy one, so all the local residents were doing okay for themselves.
I was arriving unannounced and had no way of knowing if anyone would be in to receive me. I was speculating that there would be as it had the potential to bring a swift end to the case – or at least a partial end. If I could stop Bartholomew from stalking Kimberly, I was halfway home. I would then need to work out what was going on with her hair and face and teeth, however, I suspected it would prove to be psychosomatic.
I parked in the street, right in front of their property and dashed through the pedestrian gate to get to the front door. Even the door was double height and double width and surely designed to make people feel small. My question regarding whether I would get lucky and find someone in was soon answered. A tall, elegant black lady answered the door. She wore a business suit with trousers in a striking dark blue and a gorgeous pair of tan leather Christian Louboutin shoes, their red soles teasing me with their perfection. Her blouse top looked to be silk and the whole ensemble was quietly telling the observer that the lady had money and knew where to spend it.
‘Good morning. Mrs. King, is it? My name is Amanda Harper, I hoped I could have a few minutes of your time to talk to you about your son, Bartholomew.'
She raised an eyebrow at my mention of her son. ‘Are you the Police?’ she asked.
I was on dodgy ground suddenly. If I said that I was not, then I would be lying. ‘I am a serving Police Officer, but I am not here in any official capacity.’ I decided to stick with the truth. ‘I work for a private investigation agency and my presence here today is to represent the concerns of a client.’
She seemed to consider that for a moment, then opened the door wider. ‘You had better come in, Miss Harper.’
I thanked her and followed her through the house. The house was immaculate, what mine would be if I could afford to hire a cleaner. There was no dust on any surfaces and every piece of furniture, every soft furnishing looked expensive. I wondered what they did for a living.
I did not have to wonder for long though as Mrs. King started talking as she walked me through the house. ‘You’re lucky to catch us here. Normally my husband and I would be meeting with clients or suppliers or in a meeting at one of our facilities. We are both Chemists. We met at University in Haiti, you are probably thinking that I do
n't sound like I come from Haiti and you would be right. My husband does though. I was out there on an exchange opportunity between the two universities and he followed me back here. We set up a business together and have been quite successful.'
Quite successful was an understatement.
‘Have you lived here long?’ I asked, making conversation. We were still walking through her house. I had no idea where we were going, but it was taking a while to get there.
‘Do you mean, in this house? Or in Bearsted? I grew up not far from here, we bought the house twenty years ago. It was already a good size then but we have added to it since we moved in. We needed an office wing for my husband and me and for little Barty of course. Not that he is little anymore. Tell me, please. What is it that he is being accused of? I cannot believe he will be guilty, no matter what it is.'
The lady had failed to give me her name and I had failed to look it up. I made a mental note to do better research in the future. She was pleasant and engaging though, someone that engendered trust. Was that why she had been so successful in her career?
As I opened my mouth to begin answering her question, we turned right, left the corridor we had been in to arrive in an office. It was a large and well-appointed room with several desks set out with computers on them. At our arrival, a man turned from his workstation, smiled and came across the room. ‘Angelica, I was wondering where you had got to. Who is your friend?' he asked. His voice had a playful, sing-song tone to it that made me want to believe he would be an excellent singer.
‘George this is Amanda Harper, she is a private investigator. Her client has made accusations about Barty.’ At least now I knew both of their names.
‘Really?’ he replied, turning his gaze from his wife to me. ‘I think we had better sit down and hear all about it.’
I had been mildly concerned that they would not take my presence, or the suggestion that their son was less than perfect very well. Thankfully, they were treating me as a person that deserved respect. They led me to an arrangement of chairs and indicated for me to sit as they each took a seat.
