by steve higgs
‘No thanks. I'm driving so will play it safe and have nothing. This is Brian.' I introduced the sorry-looking man standing behind me. ‘Shall I distribute those for you? You look like you could do with a break.' He didn't actually. He looked like he was having fun and was using the need to perform tasks as a way to keep moving and thus avoid conversation with his wife's friends. But I had just introduced someone, so a shaking of hands was required.
‘Sure.' He said as he handed over the tray. ‘Please to meet you, Brian. Tell me, what keeps you busy?'
I left them to it and waded into the crowd in my parent’s living room.
‘Oh, Tempest. I’m so glad you are here. We were just talking about you.’ Exclaimed my mother as I neared the group she was in. I already didn’t like the sound of this. ‘This is Madeline Munroe.’ She said, swishing her arm like she was presenting a prize on a TV show.
Madeline was cast from the same mould as many of the women in the room and had what my mother would refer to as child-bearing hips. Madeline smiled at me and extended her hand.
I stared dumbly at it. I was using both hands to hold the tray of wine. ‘Perhaps you could all unburden me of the drinks I am holding?’ I prompted.
A chorus of, ‘Oh, yes.’ And ‘Of course.’ Preceded the tray being empty about three seconds later.
Now that I could hold it with one hand, I shook Madeline's. ‘Very pleased to meet you.' I said, not really meaning a word of it. Madeline was undoubtedly very nice but had a stern face that was neither warm nor welcoming. I placed her age at around thirty-two and her height at five feet eight inches. She was neither attractive nor repellent and was probably single and being subjected to the same indignity that my mother always put me through. The almost carbon copy next to her, similar in every aspect but age, was her mother, another someone I recognised but could not name.
Madeline smiled awkwardly at me and I saw a chance to make the evening easier for us both.
‘Could you spare me a minute?' I asked. I had failed to release her hand and was now tugging on it ever so gently and indicating we should move away from our mothers.
She came with me to a space in the corner of the room, passing between our mothers and the other women she had been with who were now all looking at each other and winking or exchanging knowing looks. They were exasperating.
‘Madeline, am I right to assume that your mother drags you along to these events and parades you around like a prize to be won? My mother insists on trying to marry me off.'
‘God, yes.' She replied, her shoulders slumping as the tension went out of them. ‘She just won't stop going on about my biological clock.'
I laughed. ‘That sounds very familiar. Mine is desperate for me to produce grandchildren. I worry sometimes that I will turn up to find she has a woman upstairs that she knows to be ovulating.’
Madeline’s eyes widened at the thought. ‘God, that’s terrible. Mine wants me to be a virgin on my wedding night so disapproves of me dating – they won’t buy the cow if they have already had the milk.’ She said in a mocking parody of her mother’s voice. ‘So somehow I have to produce children without having sex and all the men I meet are so hopelessly crap.’
I laughed again, this time because I now fell into the category of men that she had met, although I was certain that had not been the intention of her comment.
She changed the topic. ‘So, this would normally be the bit where I start small talk and ask what you do for a living. I already know the answer to that one though.’
‘Oh?’
‘Everyone does. I don’t think many of them can decide what to make of it, but they talk about it a lot. You mother is always regaling them with your latest exploits.’
‘I expect she makes it sound more exciting than it is.’
‘Maybe, but it still looks pretty exciting. You were on TV last week having been involved in a dawn raid on a drug factory in Bearsted. I teach six-year-olds how to spell their name and add to twelve.'
She had me there. ‘Have you been teaching long?’
We talked for a while. It was pleasant and kept our mothers off our backs but we both knew we would get grilled about the conversation later and be asked when we were seeing each other again. Thankfully she had also expressed that she was seeing someone.
Dad came by with a tray of sausage rolls. Madeline snagged one while I declined but a troubling thought occurred to me. ‘Dad where is Hilary?’
‘Hilary?’
‘I mean Brian.’
Dad looked directly at me. ‘Is he another cross-dresser that likes to pretend to be a lady at the weekends?' He was smiling with an evil smile. He had the same beliefs as me and didn't care what people did for the most part but knew that my mother's head had damned near rotated off its shoulders when she discovered I had employed an assistant that was gender neutral.
‘No, dad. His last name is Clinton.'
‘Gotcha.' He winked. ‘As for his whereabouts, I don't actually know. I excused myself to deal with the food. Last I saw he was chatting with Debbie.'
Oh fuck
‘Won't you please excuse me?' I abandoned Madeline and went to look for him. Debbie was a man-eater that could probably smuggle Hilary out of the house inside her vagina. She was yet another woman that my mother had seen fit to set me up with despite the significant size difference between us – I was man-sized, and she was the size and weight of a car after it had been crushed by one of those machines at the scrap yard.
Despite that, she ought to be easy to spot and I couldn't see her anywhere. The house wasn't so big that she could easily hide either. In the end, I found her in the kitchen where she was pinning Hilary in place by using her mass as a barrier to his escape. She wasn't touching him that I could see, although he was cowering into the wall and might have been trying to claw his way through it as his hands were behind his back. Instead, she was standing in front of him with one arm up to lean on the wall, so she formed a diagonal barrier from the bottom corner of one wall to near the top corner of the other wall in the narrow galley kitchen.
‘Hello, Debbie.’ I announced my presence.
‘Oh, hi, Tempest. Brian and I were just getting to know one another.’
‘No, we weren’t.’ he squeaked.
‘Yes, we were, silly. It seems we are both single currently.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Your wife kicked you out, darling. You said so yourself. No fun for little Brian down there, so your new friend Debbie is going to help you out with that, isn’t she?’
Hilary locked eyes with me, ‘Help.’ He mouthed silently. It was a request I could understand. I had suffered a similar encounter myself one cold night when she came to my house in lingerie.
‘Sorry, old boy. You’re on your own with this one.’ I backed out the door.
I heard him blow out his breath as Debbie advanced on him.
I lumped back through the doorway. ‘Only joking! Debbie, I apologise for denying you your prize. This one needs to go home to his wife. I worry that a night of passion with you might ruin him forever.' I wanted to say break him forever. Or kill him. Or roll him flat like a steamroller, but I didn't want to get into a fight, so being generous and appealing to her ego seemed more likely to get the result I wanted.
I reached under Debbie’s arm, snagged hold of Hilary’s shirt and yanked him out of harm’s way.
‘Everything alright?’ My father asked on his way back to the kitchen with an empty tray.
‘Peachy.’ I called out as I turned a corner with Hilary still in tow.
Just coming out of the toilet with Martha at her side was my sister. I had spotted her and her husband a couple of times across the room but hadn't managed to speak to either yet.
'Hey, sis.' I pulled her into a hug. Her belly was seriously swollen now, making her look like a watermelon about her middle. 'How are you holding up?'
Rachael took my question as a cue to unload on me the long list of woes she was suffering in the late stages of
pregnancy. I listened patiently.
Her husband Chris found us. 'Hi, Tempest.' I hadn't seen him or spoken to him in more than a year. There was no time for a catch up now either though as they were leaving. It was well after the children's bedtime and he insisted that Rachael needed to go home and lie down. We shook hands and that was about it.
Mum’s birthday party drew to a natural close as people started to drift away around 2200hrs. Some had work, although many of her friends were retired. Hilary had found some whisky and sunk a couple of neat ones to recover from his fright. He looked sleepy now.
I kissed my mother, shook my father’s hand and pushed Hilary out the door.
Driving home, I planned out what I needed to do on Friday.
Just before setting off I had received a phone call from a Sergeant Butterworth at Maidstone Police Station. Edna, Barbara, Mabel, and Dorothy had all been arrested yesterday evening and were being held for questioning regarding the deaths of Bernhard Myers and Andrew Cotton. I needed to come to the station to give a statement regarding my involvement.
I agreed to do so the next morning. It would eat up a chunk of my day but if a conviction was secured then everyone wins. Except the ladies of course, but, you know, don't go murdering.
The witch was still out there somewhere. A strange little old lady that had eluded me every time I had tried to follow her. I was not going to label it as vanishing. Despite her age, she had somehow gone out the window at the tea room this afternoon. Or she had never gone in there and Hilary was mistaken.
The case for my client was solved. He had asked me to prove that his stepmother had murdered his father. I wasn't content to leave it there though, nor was I certain that the witch would scarper. She had already been to my house once, I had not imagined seeing her in my garden. So, for me, the case was still running.
I would start working on a next case or cases, would see if Amanda needed any assistance with what she was working on and would continue to develop the business. However, I felt a need to find the old lady at the bottom of it all. The police might be able to obtain confessions from the ladies already in custody and from that might learn the old lady’s name and address. I had a feeling though that none of them really knew who she was.
As I drifted off to sleep, my two Dachshunds snoring quietly on the duvet next to me, it was the witch’s face that I was picturing, framed in the flash of lightning outside my window.
Mick Cotton Lives. Friday, November 11th 0845hrs
I had nightmares that night. This was not all that unusual, but mostly my dreams sucked me back into a time when I was in uniform and in combat, the horror of such events permanently etched into my brain in vivid detail.
My nightmare though had been all to do with the witch. I was still calling her that even though I now knew her first name. I had awoken to find her standing at the foot of my bed, lightning crackling from her fingers like a Sith Lord. She grinned at me as I sat up in bed startled, then blasted me with both hands. The resulting shock caused me to actually wake.
I left the bed to get a drink of water. When I returned, the Dachshunds had retreated under the bed, something they rarely do so I must have been thrashing around for some time before I woke up.
Sleep found me again, this time blissfully peaceful until I woke to visit the gym at 0500hrs.
Sitting at my breakfast bar nearly three hours later, I was still playing the nightmare over in my head. The TV was on, the newscaster talking about an earthquake in Taiwan, but it washed over me. I was trying to distract myself by thinking about Natasha. Following our date on Wednesday I had asked her to let me know if she wanted to see me again and left it for her to text me. Thirty-six hours later I had heard nothing, so in typical Tempest Michaels style I was starting to assume that she wasn’t going to text. I reminded myself that it had only been one day so far, and she might message me at any moment.
My phone rang. I snatched for it, hoping to see Natasha’s name on the screen. When I didn’t recognise the number, I acknowledged to myself that I had genuinely been keen to speak with her. This was a switch from constantly mooning over Amanda. I got on with the task of answering the call. ‘Blue Moon Investigations, Tempest Michaels speaking. Good morning.’
‘Mr Michaels, this is Mavis Cruet.’ The voice was that of a late middle-aged woman. ‘I work at Pembury Hospital in the Special Care unit. I have an instruction to call you if Mr Cotton wakes up.’
That brought my attention back to the now.
‘He is awake?’
‘He is eating some breakfast right now.’ her voice bright with the good news.
‘Thank you for letting me know. Will he be released today?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so but that will be down to his doctors. Would you like to speak with him?’
It hadn’t occurred to me to ask. ‘Yes please.’
There was quiet for a moment while she carried the handset to his room. ‘Hi, this is Mick Cotton.’
‘Mick, good morning. This is Tempest. So glad to have you back among the living.’
He chuckled at the other end. ‘I believe I have your fast reactions to thank for that.’
‘I think the credit must go to the doctors and nurses. All I did was call them.’ I hated being praised.
‘That’s very gracious of you, but without you I would have died at my house.’
‘Think nothing of it. How are you feeling?’ I asked to move the conversation on.
‘As well as can be expected. They have said I will be weak for a while. Mostly I woke up hungry and thirsty, but they are looking after me.’
‘Have they told you the news about your stepmother?’
‘No.’ Suddenly his interest was piqued.
I loved being able to call my clients with good news. ‘She was arrested yesterday along with her three friends.’
At the other end of the phone he whooped. ‘Tempest you are brilliant. I am so glad I called you. So glad I brought my suspicions to you. Has she been charged?’
‘That I don’t know. It is out of my hands now. The police will conduct the investigation and pursue a conviction if there is enough evidence. I have provided them with a video where the four ladies discuss the murder, so I doubt she will be able to wiggle free.’
‘Good. I hope they hang the old bag.’ I couldn’t agree with his sentiment but then she hadn’t murdered my father. I might feel entirely different if she had.
I thought of something to ask him. ‘Mick have you any idea how the Anthrax got into your system?’ I had assumed his poisoning was linked to the murders and perpetrated by the same old lady posing as a witch. He had runes on his house, a piece of evidence I would be asking the police to consider when I met with them later this morning.
Hilary walked into the kitchen, waving a hello as he came. He saw that I was on the phone and kept quiet, though he did press the kettle into service.
It started to hiss as Mick gave me his answer. ‘None at all. They said the reaction time to it entering my system and getting sick is measured in hours and I had been at home all morning. I had a guest at the house the previous night, so I cannot imagine where I picked up Anthrax.’
I thought about that for a moment. ‘A house guest? You mean a woman, like a girlfriend?’ He gave off a heterosexual vibe.
‘Err, yes. Not a girlfriend though. I only met her yesterday.’ He sounded a little boastful like he had picked up a hot girl by dint of being worthy.
I checked my watch. I needed to get moving. I wasn’t sure, but the woman sounded suspicious. I also needed to learn more about Anthrax poisoning. ‘Listen, Mick, I’m on my way to the police station this morning to give evidence regarding your stepmother. I don’t know how long that will take but I am coming to you afterwards. If they release you, please message me and if the woman contacts you again… Mick, have you got her number?’
‘Yeah, in my phone. I don’t know where that is though. I’ll ask Mavis. Hold on…’
‘No. I’ll cal
l you back. Just… It might be nothing.’ I had a theory forming and I needed to let it simmer for a while. ‘Just give me a few hours, okay? If the lady calls, please just say you will call her later and don’t let her visit you.’
We disconnected. I drummed my fingers on the table and pursed my lips. There was something here that I wasn’t seeing, only glimpsing.
I turned to face Hilary. ‘What’s your plan for the day?’
‘I don’t have one. I have a bit of a headache actually.’
‘Okay. Feel free to keep the dogs company. I don’t have anything for you to do I’m afraid. No secret missions to deploy you on. Not yet at least. I have to go to the police station, so I might be late back for lunch. If you are still here then, can you take the dogs for a walk please?’
‘Of course.’
‘Righto. See you later then.’ I grabbed my phone, checked my wallet and keys were in my pockets, slung my bag over my shoulder and stood up. In the living room I gave the dogs a quick pat and went out the door.
It was time to see the police.
Maidstone Police Station. Friday, November 11th 0900hrs
It irked me that I had to pay for parking when I was at the station to assist them with their enquiries. That was how it would be recorded; I was assisting them. There was a general consensus to ignore the inconvenient fact that I had presented them with the case a day before they did anything and had pretty much solved the whole thing for them. I asked the desk sergeant, the same ignorant arsehole that had been there on Wednesday, about validating my parking ticket. He just made a derisory noise in my direction and walked away.
I wasn’t made to wait too long for once. A different sergeant came through a door to escort me to an interview room. It was one I had been in before. A few weeks ago, a man that had attacked me while dressed as a Klown had tried to kill me again by throwing himself over the table I was now taking a seat at.
Having escorted me into the room, the sergeant left me there and closed the door as he went out. I leaned over, curious and tried the lock but I wasn't locked in, my paranoia about what tricks CI Quinn might play was unfounded.
