by steve higgs
It was Angelica that started speaking first, ‘So, Miss Harper…’
‘Angelica, let’s be friends here, call her Amanda.’ George interrupted, smiling at his wife.
She smiled back at him and started again, ‘Amanda, please tell us what it is that has caused you to seek us out.’
‘Thank you. I received a call last night from a young lady by the name of Kimberly Kousins.' I watched to see if their faces reacted to the name. If they recognised it at all they hid it well. I told them about her relationship with their son and her belief that he had cursed her. While I was speaking, they looked at me, never at each other and pulled various expressions. It was disbelief when I told them about the online dating and humour when I used the word voodoo. They stayed silent though until I was finished.
‘So, I am here to speak with your son in the hope that this can be resolved amicably.’
Now that I was done, they both moved in their chairs to face one another. ‘I have to say, wife, that this all sounds very unlikely.’
‘I agree, George. I doubt that Bartholomew has had anything to do with this lady at all.’
‘And the voodoo thing has to be nonsense, surely.’
I watched their conversation, letting them convince themselves that their child could not be guilty. It was possible they were right, of course, I had no evidence either way, only the word of Kimberly that he was involved at all. He had been accused before though, I could feel that I was going to have to remind them of that. They were still discussing him though, so I kept quiet rather than interrupt.
‘He is so loyal to Patrice and he has never been in trouble.’
‘Well, there was the one time that the Police saw fit to investigate him.' It was George that had brought it up. ‘He didn't do it, but he was accused of stalking then as well.'
‘Yes, but he didn’t do it.’ Angelica stated with a hint of venom. ‘All the charges were dropped two days later.’ She turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, Amanda. We are ignoring you. It was not our intention to be rude. Can I show you something?’ she asked getting up.
I moved to follow her, but she waved for me to stay where I was. ‘I need just a second.’ She said. She left the room but returned less than five seconds later holding a framed photograph. I could see what it was before she reached the sitting area. It was a graduation photograph of Bartholomew.
‘Our son has a borderline genius I.Q. He achieved a double first at Kings College Oxford in Chemistry and Advanced Physical Chemistry. He is engaged to a woman he has been dating since he was a teenager and I can assure you that he has had nothing to do with your client.' George remained quiet. ‘I believe this can all be cleared up quite easily so the simplest thing for me to do is tell you where he is and let you resolve this with him. I don't feel the need for George and me to be involved. The Kimberly girl is clearly deluded or confused. Do you agree George?' she asked, turning to her husband.
‘Yes, Dear. Bartholomew is a man, not a boy. He can take care of his own business without needing us to protect him.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.' Angelica and George were the nicest people I had ever met. They were reacting in direct contrast to what I had expected. My role in the Police had seen me deliver miscreant children of all ages back to their parents and I had never been met by such calmness.
‘I just need a moment to call him, dear.' Angelica excused herself as she got up once more. She took a few paces away, a phone to her ear. I could not hear her conversation, but it felt like my time at their house was coming to an end, so I began gathering my items into my bag in readiness to leave. Angelica and George acted as if they were completely certain that Bartholomew had to be innocent. They were so convincing in fact that I was beginning to doubt his guilt myself. I would speak with him, but unless I found some convincing evidence, I was going to have to return to Kimberly and question her again. Had she made it all up? It was Halloween after all – maybe this was an elaborate trick.
I remained seated throughout the conversation, but when I heard Angelica disconnect, I stood up, ready to leave.
‘Bartholomew is expecting you. He is, of course, innocent and will be happy to go on record or make a statement, or whatever it is that will clear his name and end your investigation. He is at a friend's house in Maidstone. You can find him there directly. Is that convenient?'
‘You mean, can I go there now?’
‘Yes, dear.'
‘All I need is an address, please.'
Angelica strode across the room to a desk, her elegant heels clicking lightly on the tiled floor. The door to the room, the one we had come in through, was in the same direction so I began walking after her, watching as she selected a slip of paper from a pad and jotted down an address for me.
While I waited for her to finish, I spotted another door in the corner of the room to my left. It was partially hidden behind a whiteboard on which a complex chemical compound was written over almost the entire board. I could not tell what it was for but recognised what it was from classes at Uni and back in school. The door led to a set of stairs that disappeared downwards into the darkness beyond. Angelica had said this was an extension to the original house for them to add offices. I wondered what was in the basement level they had added. Probably a wine cellar.
Angelica stood up and turned to me, brandishing the slip of paper which she had folded neatly. ‘Good luck with your endeavours, Miss Harper.’ She said as she handed it over. ‘I will show you out.’ I slipped the paper into my pocket after quickly checking the address for myself as we left the room.
It was on the Magdalene Estate.
‘Goodbye, my dear.' George called after me.
‘Goodbye, Mr. King.' I replied, but I was already out of the room and being led through the vast warren of corridors and rooms that would take me back to the front door.
As sunlight flooded through the open front door, I saw that it had stopped raining. I turned to thank Angelica for her assistance once more but stopped as I heard a vehicle next to me. Its diesel engine was rumbling along the side of the house to my left. Then it appeared, a small van being driven by a man sporting long dreadlocks. His dark skin was pockmarked by acne that had cleared up but had left his face damaged. The van had no markings on it to indicate it was part of a national chain.
‘Deliveries.’ Angelica said, following my gaze. ‘George and I need chemicals here to conduct our research.’
I nodded, fixing her with a smile. It was none of my business and she had been more helpful than I could have hoped for. I thanked her once again and went back out the front gate to my car. In the quiet and very lovely village of Bearsted, my car was exactly as I had left it. I wondered if it would get the same treatment back on the Magdalene Estate where I was heading yet again.
Not What I Expected. Monday, October 31st 1223hrs
I was getting hungry when I arrived at the address I had for Bartholomew. According to Angelica, it was the house of a good friend of Bartholomew's. A person he had gone to school with many years ago. I was finding it hard to imagine how he could have ever moved in the same circles as the person living in the house in front of me, but I had no reason to disbelieve what I had been told.
On the way, I had called Lily Hallett and explained that I was delayed dealing with another case and asked if we could rearrange our meeting. I was expecting her to be snippy with me for breaking our arrangement, however, she seemed satisfied that I had taken the time to call her and advised that I would be tied up. She said that Tempest and I would be able to find her at the ghost tours office in Royal Tonbridge Wells all afternoon. It was impossible to predict how my current case would pan out, but I intended to meet with her today, so that was what I told her. She seemed quite keen that Tempest be involved but I saw no reason to explain that he was out of town.
I parked my car around the corner from Mason's house. Right in front of the house was a shiny, new-looking Nissan GTR. The number plate read K1NGS. It had to
be Bartholomew's. I could have parked next to it but there were no other cars about and the house bordered a park, so my car would be very visible. Around the corner, it was tucked against a rotting fence and behind a van where I hoped it would remain out of sight.
The doorbell was broken so I knocked on the door. To my left and right were discarded free papers that might be months old. They were sun-bleached and tatty. Weeds, crisp packets and other small pieces of litter were caught in the few plants desperately clinging to life in the front garden. The whole house had an abandoned look to it, but a shadow moved through the light behind the frosted glass of the front door and I could hear music coming from within the house.
The name of the friend, the owner of the house I was knocking on, was Mason Armitage. I knew nothing about him but assumed his approximate age to be that of Bartholomew's. I also assumed he would be Haitian, or Afro Caribbean so imagine my surprise when a skinny white kid answered the door.
It was the same skinny white kid with greasy dreadlocks I had chased down for stealing purses yesterday. He was out already and was now stood leering at me from the doorway. I reached into my handbag for a business card. I would stay professional.
‘Mason Armitage?’ I enquired.
‘Nah, love. He’s inside. Come in, you are expected.’
The house smelled of marijuana. That was the first thing I noticed. The house was a typical semi-detached place. There would be a lounge and dining room coming off the corridor to my left and a kitchen dead ahead. Up the stairs on the right would be three small bedrooms and a joint bathroom and toilet. I had been in dozens, if not hundreds of these houses. Many of which were on this estate.
I followed the skinny white kid into the lounge through the first door on our left. The room was mostly in darkness, the curtains were drawn to shut out the daylight. Someone had turned the music off and now the room was silent. Two dozen faces were staring at me. I spotted Bartholomew nestled on a long sofa against the far wall from the doorway in which I was now stood. He was naked from the waist up and smoking a large joint. Either side of him were two women, their dark skin almost merging with the black leather of the sofa in the dim light. They were both stripped down to their underwear. Around the room, most of the other occupants were only partially dressed, though thankfully no one had their junk hanging out, and many of them were smoking. The room was filled with the heavy, cloying, sweet stench of marijuana.
The skinny white kid had gone into the room ahead of me. He took up a position at Bartholomew’s feet. Like a dog might. Bartholomew reached forward to pat him on the head.
Everyone was still staring at me, no one was speaking. It was quite unnerving, but I was not going to let my rising fear show. ‘Bartholomew King.' I said as I tried to make my way across the room to shake his hand. I had to go slow, there were legs and feet and hands on the carpet where the occupants had spilled from the furniture to the carpet.
I didn’t get to cross the room though before he started speaking. ‘You dare to disturb my parents?’ his voice was calm, the accent educated, but the tone carried malice. ‘Insolent white bitch.’ I sooo loved being called names.
‘Bartholomew, I think you and I need to have a little chat.' I wanted to extricate him from the crowd of people around him, but I was beginning to worry that this would not happen. Clearly, he was not as innocent and well-behaved as his parents liked to think he was. ‘Shall we go through to the kitchen?' It felt like a futile request when I said it. I really wanted to leave, but I was here now and had a good chance to deal with my client's case if I could just get him alone and talk some sense into him.
‘Woman.’ He started, still utterly relaxed and laying back on the sofa. ‘Woman you have done me wrong, but I will forgive you, for you are beautiful.’ He leaned forward then, locking eyes with me and smiling. ‘Come upstairs with me now and you can be Bartholomew’s woman.’
No thanks.
A hand brushed my leg. I jolted in reaction and spun my head around to see who it was in the dark. When I looked back at Bartholomew a heartbeat later, he was off the sofa and only a few feet away from me. He was reaching out with his hand to take mine.
‘Woman let us join ourselves now. To say no would be truly dread.’
I thought about taking his hand and leading him from the room. It seemed like a safe way to get him away from his friends, who were creeping me out with the continued silence. When I didn't respond immediately, he grabbed my left arm, pinning it with a strong grip.
I reached my right hand across, dug my thumbnail into the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger to break the grip then turned his wrist against itself. As I forced him to the floor at my feet, everything in the room changed.
At once, everyone was on their feet. Adrenalin caused my heart rate to rocket, but no one moved towards me. ‘Can I let go of you, Bartholomew? Will you behave?' I asked. I was terrified, surrounded by a crowd of people and hoping that I could keep the fear from my voice. Maybe if I sounded like I was the one in charge they would not do anything foolish. Then I remembered my Police ID.
Using my free hand, I reached into my bag to find it. ‘I must warn you that I am a Police Officer…’
‘That will not save you, woman.' Bartholomew said from his position at my feet. He began chanting. A low eerie noise using words I could not understand. Around me, the crowd in the room began to sway. A woman let out a whoop. Looking around, my panic threatening to overwhelm me, I could see that their eyes had rolled back into their heads. Every one of them was showing me white eyes. It was freaking freaky and I was scared enough to call it a day.
I dropped Bartholomew’s arm, letting him regain his feet as I backed towards the door. No one tried to stop me, so I turned and ran. ‘I curse you.’ Bartholomew called after me. As I ran, I felt a tug on my scalp like something or someone had snagged my hair.
I reached the front door, turned the handle and damned near fell out of the house into the thankful daylight outside.
‘I curse you, woman. I curse you with a plague of snakes and spiders. You will perish this very week.’ His voice carried down the street as I ran to my car. ‘Please convey to Kimberly that she has made her predicament worse.’
I risked a glance over my shoulder to make sure I was not being followed and almost sobbed with relief when I saw no one behind me. I reached the end of the row of houses and turned the corner to get back to my car. I was fumbling in my bag for my keys but could not locate them with my panicked hand. With my other hand, I held the bag open to peer inside as I ran.
Consequently, I was not looking where I was going and failed to see what was waiting for me.
‘Going somewhere, bitch?’
It was Terrance and Trevor. They were both sitting on the bonnet of my car again. This time though they had brought about twenty of their friends with them.
Not the Best Day Ever. Monday, October 31st 1257hrs
My heart rate was still calming down after escaping Mason's house and now I had these morons to deal with. I was not in the mood. I whipped out my Police ID. I was going to get them off my car and drive away.
Terrance had other ideas though. ‘Don’t think that ID will save you this time blondie. You disrespected the Magdalene Massif. No one does that.’
‘Yeah.’ Said Trevor.
‘You need to pay a toll.’
‘Yeah.’ Said Trevor.
I was wishing I had my baton with me, or perhaps a gun. The twenty or so young men that were with Trevor and Terrance had begun to fan out to surround me. Once again, I was getting thoroughly uncomfortable. This was not a safe situation. I turned to retreat back along the road. I would run for it if I had to, but my path was blocked. There were even more of them behind me.
‘Now then.’ Started Terrance, his voice full of confidence and good humour. ‘What sort of toll do you think we should make the lady pay?’ he asked the crowd.
I turned back to face him. ‘You had better enjoy this Terrance. In a short whil
e you’re going to be in a cell. Do you really want to assault a Police Officer?’
‘Oh, blondie. I'm not going to assault you. Far from it. I am going to give you the chance to perform a simple task.' He patted his groin, making it abundantly obvious what the simple task was. ‘Now, I know there is a lot of it.' He said as he unzipped his fly. ‘But we already know that you have a big mouth…'
I slumped my shoulders in resignation. All his entourage were jeering and making filthy noises of encouragement. I hiked my bag onto my shoulder and moved towards him. Encouraged, Terrance showed me what he had for me. I grabbed hold of it with both hands and tried to lift him off the ground with it.
‘You dirty little stain.’ I screamed in his face. As his friends leaped to get me off him, I let go and kneed him hard in his nuts.
Then hands were grabbing me and there were too many of them to fight. I struggled and punched and kicked at anything I could get to, but no more than a couple of seconds later I was hauled off the pavement and into the air, my limbs no longer mine to control.
Panic was rising. I had made so much noise that people had to have heard. I needed someone to call the Police and get them here before I was bundled into a car or a house and lost from sight. Then, I was falling. The young men had let go of me and were swearing and yelling about something new.
Had the Police arrived already?
‘Take that, dickhead.’
Hold on. I know that voice. I spun myself around on the pavement where I had painfully come to land. There, in front of me, was Big Ben. He was standing on the inert forms of three or four different young men, had another one hanging limply from his left hand which was wrapped around the smaller man's throat and was looking for someone else to hit.
‘Come on, boys. Is that all you’ve got? There is only one of me.’ He goaded. ‘Come on, have another go.’
