The Ghoul of Christmas Past

already defrosting.’
Pausing halfway out of the passenger door, Michael grasped the opportunity his wife had just presented. ‘Yes, that is a bother. Maybe you should just go home, love. I can walk over the bridge and home when I am done.’
She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You won’t stop in a pub on the way?’
‘Scout’s honour.’ It was an easy promise to give because he had no intention of going to a pub. He’d noticed that one of the other shareholders lived in Rochester and not too far from the bridge. He could drop in there to ask a few questions on the way home. First though, he was going to do exactly as his wife suggested and talk to the police. He leaned across to kiss her cheek and escaped before she could change her mind.
A final wave saw her back onto the main road where she merged with traffic and vanished from sight. This was much more like it, Michael thought to himself. Michael Michaels, super sleuth and paranormal detective. It had a pleasing ring to it.
It was not the first time he’d ever been to Rochester police station, but he could not remember when he was last here or what it had been for. Searching his memory, he thought it might have been to report a lost wallet. It was insignificant to the matter at hand so he pushed it from his mind and approached the front desk where a young police officer was waiting.
‘Good … afternoon,’ he tried, hesitating briefly while he checked the clock behind the man’s head. ‘I’m here to report …’ What? He was here to report a ghoul and a conspiracy? How did Tempest do this? ‘I wondered if it might be possible to speak to someone about the recent theft from the Dickens museum and the disappearance of Ronald Norton.’
The young male officer looked across at his desk sergeant and back at Michael Michaels’ eyes. ‘You wish to confess to the theft?’ he queried.
Michael’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head. ‘Good heavens, no. I wanted to talk to someone about the case because I think I might have spotted a few clues they appear to have missed.’
The desk sergeant, a long looked-over-for-promotion man called Stephens looked up from the report he was writing. It was Christmas Eve for goodness sake; he was expecting crazy people to wander through the door, but not this early in the day.
The young police officer shook his head as if the action would rid him of the confusion he now felt. ‘You have spotted some clues?’
‘I think so,’ Michael replied, not sounding or feeling as confident as he had before he started talking. ‘There is a ghoul at the Dickens Greatest Works Theme Park, right?’
‘I thought you were talking about the museum,’ the officer queried.
‘Yes, but also the theme park.’ Michael could see he was making a mess of things.
The desk sergeant got to his feet. ‘Is this a prank, sir?’ He gave the grey-haired gentleman a level stare and folded his arms over his ample belly as a show that he was not impressed. ‘Because wasting police time is not taken lightly, sir. I’m sure your family wouldn’t like to have you spend the big day in a cell now, would they?’
Tempest’s dad could feel heat beginning to radiate from his cheeks. ‘I can assure you this is not a prank. I am hoping to assist in the apprehension of a criminal.’
‘A ghoul?’ Sergeant Stephens repeated the word Michael had himself used. Then made a spooky noise and waved his arms around like a ghost. ‘Oooooowwww!’
Feeling his embarrassment and frustration rising, Michael couldn’t withdraw the word now, but could defend it. ‘A large man, described by those who saw it as a ghoul, has been spotted several times at the Dickens Greatest Works Theme Park.’
‘I thought that place closed down?’ queried the young officer.
‘It did,’ Sergeant Stephens assured him. ‘Is there anything else, sir? Or would you like to leave now?’
He was being verbally shown the door! Michael Michaels couldn’t believe it. ‘I came here to help,’ he protested. ‘There is something going on and a man might be in danger.’
Sergeant Stephens was bored already. ‘All right, that’s enough. Hop it or I’ll arrest you myself.’ His face was contorted into an angry threat but rather than make Tempest’s dad turn tail, it had the opposite effect.
Just as he was going to lay into the man, a door to Michael’s left opened. Several officers in uniform came through it and at the head was a man he recognised.
‘Ah, Chief Inspector Quinn. If I might have a word.’ Michael turned his back on the unpleasant sergeant, mentally wiping the slate clean and planning to start afresh.
Hearing his name, CI Quinn focussed on the man who had just said it. It took a moment for his mental gears to align, but when they did all he could do was close his eyes and sigh. ‘Mr Michaels.’
‘Yes, hello.’ He’d last seen the chief inspector two days ago. Perhaps, in fact, it was more recent than that because he was leading the police at the old airfield where Tempest managed to finally locate the Undead Incorporated bunch. Before that, he’d seen the chief inspector just outside Reculver where Tempest uncovered a biker gang smuggling illegal immigrants into the country. Michael felt that gave them some common ground.
However, before he could say anything, Sergeant Stephens left the front desk, popping around the back to emerge through another side door. ‘He’s been in here spouting some nonsense about a ghoul at the Dickens theme park, sir,’ he blabbed like a school child ratting another kid out to the teacher.
Chief Inspector Quinn had his own boss right next to him and several other officers of status just behind him. They would all be listening. His