by steve higgs
‘So, the crop circles is an interesting case. Have you already committed to it?’ I forced a change in subject.
Graciously, she let me off the hook about Kevin the toad and came back to the real world of work. ‘No, but I was about to call him back and arrange to visit them. If they can see me today I will go this afternoon. Otherwise, it will be as soon as possible, so I can determine if there is a real case here.' It was exactly what I would do.
‘Let me know how you get on. We need to build the caseload. We seem to be moving from one to the next with very little overlap at the moment.’
‘Yes, there are plenty of enquiries though.’
‘Plenty of crazy ones.' James chipped in from his seat at the front reception desk behind us. James read all the incoming emails and had learned to sift the worthwhile cases from the idiots looking to hand over their money when there was no case to solve.
Amanda went back to her office to start planning her investigation and do some research. I watched her go, then turned to find James and Hilary looking at me expectantly.
They wanted me to give them things to do.
‘I got your phone working.’ Announced James handing it over.
‘What was wrong with it?’
‘Nothing that I could see. I pressed the one button and it started.’ Exactly what I had been doing. I often worried that I was just too old for technology even though I was still in my thirties. Somehow, I always needed to find a teenager when I had an issue with my phone or laptop or whatever.
I thanked him and took it anyway, pulled up the picture of the witch and showed it to him. Hilary leaned in to see it as well.
‘Is that your witch?’ He asked.
‘It’s an ugly old lady. But yes, that’s the witch. Think you can find her from a picture?’ I asked James.
He screwed his face up a little. ‘Well, if she has a criminal record or a social media profile or has appeared in a paper in the last few years then probably, yes. It will be a question of luck more than skill though I think. Can you send the image to me?'
‘Um, yes.’ I knew how to do that one, so I fiddled with the phone a bit and sent it to his work email address. ‘Done.’
‘Cool.’ He said as he swung back behind the desk and clicked his mouse.
‘What shall I do?’ Hilary asked. ‘I can make coffee. Anything is better than doing nothing and stewing.’
‘You really want to help out here? Don’t want to go back to work or home to your wife?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not ready for work and they owe me holiday anyway.’
‘What about Anthea?’
‘I’m not ready to beg for forgiveness. I don’t think I should have to.’ It was the first time that he had acknowledged the concept that he might.
‘In that case, I do have a task for you. A secret mission you might say.'
His eyebrows rose to the top of his head.
Mick Cotton. Wednesday, November 9th 1302hrs
I called my client when I had finished explaining to Hilary what I needed him to do. He had been enthralled with the task, which came as a surprise because it was not a task I could find much excitement over. I shook his hand, said a few motivational words and slapped his shoulder as he squared his jaw and left the safety of my office behind.
Mick Cotton had answered his phone immediately. It hadn’t even had time to ring at my end. His reason for calling was simple: He had found a rune on the outside of his house and was quite rightly concerned about it. Obviously, I had abandoned my outline plan to track down the coroner and was heading there now.
The sky was dark, a storm was out there somewhere. I couldn't see the lightning but every now and then I thought I heard thunder above the throaty roar of my car's straight six engine. I had always loved nature's great displays of power; the spectacle of a lightning storm was something to behold if one had a good view of the landscape. Now though, it gave me a feeling of unease. What were the Witches of East Malling up to? Was there another murder planned? They knew about me somehow, forcing me to keep my distance, but had they somehow found out that Michael Cotton had hired me and now planned to remove him? Who had inscribed the rune on his house?
The route to his house from Rochester took just over half an hour and meant I skipped lunch. I was hoping to come back via my house when I was finished at Mick's, so I could walk the dogs and get something to eat. I would find out soon enough if that plan would come to fruition.
It was just after one o'clock when I pulled up at his house. He had clearly been watching for me as the front door of his house opened before I could exit my car. I threw him a wave as I stood up.
He looked relieved to see me. He also didn’t look entirely well. His skin was pale, his eyes bore bags beneath them as if he had not slept at all, but mostly he just looked like he was fighting off a particularly harsh cold.
I didn't comment, but gave him an opening to do so, ‘Mick, how are you?' I asked as I approached him and shook his outstretched hand.
‘Thank you for coming so quickly. Why do you have a frog?’
I sighed deeply. I couldn't possibly explain, even to myself, why I was carrying the toad around. I had tried to leave the office without it, but Amanda had grabbed it and chased me down. With her fantastic eyes locked onto mine, she could have told me to do anything and I would have complied. Kevin the toad was going to be my co-pilot. Mr. Cotton was still looking at me, waiting for me to answer though. All I could do was shrug.
I guess he wasn’t really all that interested because he accepted my answer and moved on. ‘Let me show you the symbol.’ He wanted to get straight down to business. I followed him to the front of his house where he picked up a large flower pot to reveal the rune hidden behind it. The symbol was eight inches high and made using a basic white stick of chalk but whoever had made it had clearly had to move the flower pot to do so and had intended for it to remain unnoticed.
‘How did you find it?’ I asked.
‘Accident.' He replied, then filled in the blanks before I prompted him for more information. ‘I lost my keys and I kept a spare one underneath the pot. Only thing was, it wasn't there. So, I have a Wiccan rune on my house just like the ones I found on my father's house before his death and someone has my front door key.'
‘So, how did you get in?’ it felt like a valid question.
‘I also keep a spare key for the back door hidden under a rock in the garden as an extra extra just in case. Thankfully, that was still there, and I could get into the house. Now though I am thinking I need to change the locks.'
‘Did you check for other runes?’
‘I did. I didn’t find any. You want to check again?’
I nodded then performed a left turn, put Kevin the toad on the doorstep and went to inspect the outside of the house. The symbol hidden behind the plant pot by the front door was a triple moon. I found the same symbol on Barbara's house when her husband was murdered.
We moved to the left side of the house as one looks at it from the road. Mick claimed to have already looked, but he had done so with tired eyes as I saw the witches knot symbol almost immediately. It was marked in chalk and no more than an inch in height, tucked into the eaves. The person making the mark would have needed to use a ladder.
I continued to the rear of the house, passing through a gate to get there. His household waste and recycling bins were located near to the back door that led out from his kitchen. There I found the third symbol, a horned god behind the recycling bin. I took my phone from my pocket and dialled Frank's number. I had a question.
His voice came on the phone, ‘Tempest. Did you get the toad?’
‘Oh, you mean Kevin?’
‘Kevin?’
‘Yes, Amanda named him for me.’
‘Jolly good. Just keep him close by and keep an ear for his gas. He will produce a high-pitched shrill sound from his anal sphincter when your witch is nearby.’
‘Frank, I have a question. The houses of the victi
ms all have Wiccan runes marked on them…’
‘Are they on all four sides?’ he interrupted, his voice was suddenly intense.
‘Yes.’
‘Is the horned god one of the symbols?’
‘Yes.’
‘They were marked for death. They are not Wiccan symbols either. They are ancient Pagan symbols, some of which have been adopted by the Wiccans. This is old world witchcraft, Tempest. Dangerous, deadly stuff.’
‘Right. Well, I’m at the client’s house now and he has symbols on his walls just like the victims did.’
‘Tempest I’m not feeling all that well.’ Mick said from behind me.
Frank was still on the phone, his voice a desperate plea in my ear, ‘Tempest you have to get out of there right now. Get your client and get him to safety. Bring him to me, I know people that can cast shielding spells until the witch can be trapped.’
I was looking at Mick. He looked ill. His skin had a glassy sheen to it and he looked to be shallow breathing. Before I could say anything, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. I dropped my phone in my bid to catch him. It clattered behind me as I dove forward to stop his head hitting the stone slabs of the path.
Then the storm hit.
Death’s Door. Wednesday, November 9th 1327hrs
Once again, I was wet, sat on the path that encircled my client's house. It was just starting to rain, but the ground was already thoroughly damp from the rain this morning. A huge peal of thunder had boomed overheard as Mick collapsed.
I may have saved him from striking his head on the hard ground, but he was unconscious now and unresponsive. I positioned his head on my legs and reached back for my phone hoping it was still functioning.
It was.
I dialled three nines. An ambulance was coming.
As the rain picked up its pace, I checked his pulse to find it weak and thready. He was significantly unwell. The ambulance would come from Pembury and could not get to me soon enough.
In the end, it took twelve minutes, my directions on where to find us thankfully sufficient to lead the paramedics directly around to the back of the house. I was instantly superfluous, but they didn't hang around trying to wake him or determine what was wrong with him. In less than a minute he was on a stretcher and heading to the ambulance parked in the street outside. Rain was pouring down on us.
I squelched around to the front of the house, snagged Kevin from the doorstep where I had left him and ran to my car. I spun it around and followed the Ambulance at speed back to Pembury where I then spent the next three hours doing nothing much at all. I was sitting in a waiting room in the accident and emergency department. Periodically, I would wander over to the desk and ask if there was any news. The answer was always the same: I would be updated in due course. I had elected to leave Kevin in the car believing that he may draw too many questions.
Questions like: Who’s the idiot with the frog?
I had tried to dry out some of my clothes using the hot air blower in the gent’s toilet, but apart from making my damp clothing warmer, I achieved very little. One of the ladies on reception was kind enough to have someone bring me a towel but mostly I was just wet and cold and used the towel to reduce the amount of dampness I transferred to the chair I was sitting on.
Having time to pass with nothing much to do allowed my mind to drift. It kept circling back to the minutes I spent hugging Mick to keep him warm and protect him from the rain. All the while I had been doing that, I had been waiting for a lightning bolt to strike us.
The storm was overhead, lightning flashing across the sky. Sat on the cold, wet floor I felt exposed and had been glancing behind me continuously while my paranoia imagined the hook-nosed crone creeping up to send the lightning coursing through my chest.
This case was weirding me out more than others had.
Eventually, just when I was considering that I should just leave and return later, a doctor appeared. He was a tall man with a dark beard shot through with grey. The grey extended into his hair to give a salt and pepper effect at the sides.
‘Mr. Michaels?' he asked as he approached me.
‘Yes.' He extended his right hand, so we shook while I waited for him to tell me something.
‘You are a friend of the patient?' he asked. I replied that I was, even though I knew it was stretching the truth. Explaining that he was my client and I was hunting a witch for him would take too long, get confusing and potentially stop the man from telling me whatever it was he had to tell. ‘I'm afraid Mr. Cotton has been poisoned. Do you know where he might have come into contact with Anthrax?'
The startling question led to a police interview a few minutes later. I had no time for it and no option but to answer their questions either. Their concern, it seemed, was to do with terrorism and whether my client was, in fact, brewing Anthrax at home as a biological weapon and had accidentally poisoned himself. At that point, I came clean about who I was and the nature of my involvement with him. I had no doubt whatsoever that the Witches of East Malling were behind his ill-health, but I left that part out, secure in the knowledge that the police would not listen to me and were most likely duty-bound to conduct a full investigation into Mick's life now anyway.
They took my details and I was finally allowed to leave. My client was seriously ill, but according to the consultant doctor I had spoken with, he would most likely pull through. They had placed him into a coma as part of his treatment.
Walking away from the hospital, I found myself convinced that he was the third victim in this case. I didn’t know why yet, but I was getting angry. The ladies were killing their husbands and had turned their attention to another man. Where or when would they stop? Better yet, who would stop them if I didn’t?
It was a good question. I was going to visit the police station in Maidstone where I was at least known. I doubted I would be able to get them to see reason, to consider that there might be a sinister coven of middle-aged women being led by a wicked old crone into murdering their husbands and lesser relatives. It sounded improbable, even to my ears. However, I had to try. If I could get them to start digging, then maybe I could prevent another death.
Mick Cotton would wake up and when he did I intended to be able to report that his case was closed.
Maidstone Police Station. Wednesday, November 9th 1616hrs
Though I was wet and cold, I went directly from Pembury hospital to the police station not far from my house. I had fire in my belly.
I regretted my decision soon enough.
I had a relationship of sorts with Chief Inspector Quinn. He was not the top man at the Maidstone station, but he acted as if he was and he was senior enough that he could make things happen if he wanted to. Our relationship was based on the fact that he really didn't like me, and I kept doing my best to give him reasons not to.
At the front desk was a young woman that knew who I was. I suspected we had met at some point, or she had been present on one of the many occasions when I had been arrested for being in the wrong place. Whatever the case, she addressed me by name before I had the chance to speak.
‘Tempest Michaels, everything okay?’
‘I am here to report a murder.’ I knew the statement would get their attention, the desk sergeant working behind her looked up immediately, then pushed back his chair and joined me at the front desk.
I didn’t know his name, but he was another cop that I recognised so he probably knew who I was too. ‘That’s a very serious accusation.’ He said. Was it derision I heard in his tone.
‘Actually, it’s two murders and one attempted murder.’ I corrected myself.
‘Goodness, well we had better give you our full attention then. Is it Casper being less than friendly this time?’ Okay, so it was derision. The lady cop looked like she was ready to pay attention to me, she was probably friends with Amanda and Patience and thus had an alternate opinion about me from them. Her Sergeant clearly thought my paranormal investigation business was a sham, or that I was a
con man or something. There were plenty that did still.
‘Perhaps I might have a quick word with Chief Inspector Quinn?’ He didn’t move. ‘Fetching him is your swiftest way to get rid of me.’ I assured him.
He continued mocking me, ‘I’ll get right on it then.’
‘Sergeant, I intend to make a statement regarding a double murder. If you don't get off your fat arse and pay attention to me, I will personally name you in the press when I solve the case and make it very clear that the police once again refused to act when a heinous crime was reported to them.' I had kept my tone calm and even but had allowed the volume to rise sufficiently that it carried back through to the rooms behind reception where a stack of officers would be working. The general din of noise coming from there stopped.
The desk sergeant’s eyes widened at my threat. Less than a week ago I had made CI Quinn look ridiculous on TV when Amanda had solved the Voodoo case that he had been happily ignoring. The TV people had loved it and I was quite confident that I could call the number on any one of the business cards I now held and have a news crew outside the station within the hour.
The desk sergeant knew it too, everyone had seen the clip of CI Quinn and I. Being fair to myself, it hadn't been my intention to make Quinny look so bad. He had done all the work for me by being pompous and refusing to see the warning signs.
The desk sergeant opened his mouth to retort. I had no idea what he was going to say, and I never found out because a fresh voice joined our little conversation.
‘I'll take it from here, thank you.' CI Quinn had appeared in the aperture that led to the front desk from the room behind. He was in uniform as always. I was beginning to wonder if he slept in it. ‘I will take your statement, Mr. Michaels.'
Jolly good.
Wordlessly, he opened a door to allow me access to the station and led me through to an interview room. I walked by the open plan main office where dozens of cops were sat at desks or performing tasks of some kind. I got a couple of nods, one from Brad Hardacre, the cop that had kicked me out of Barbara’s house on Sunday, but most faces just stared.
