The Ghoul of Christmas Past

record for making big busts had got him a lot of recognition in recent months and he was on track for early promotion to superintendent. They were all going out for a Christmas lunch but now they would be waiting to hear how he dealt with Mr Michaels because they all knew about the man’s son and Quinn’s association with him.
There were rumours that many of Quinn’s successful cases were down to Tempest Michaels actually solving the cases but then stepping aside to let the police make the arrests. It made CI Quinn deeply unhappy, but not as much as finding himself recently forced to hire the Blue Moon Investigation Agency to look into cases with … shall we say, special characteristics. However, he applied some spin to the situation so they then became a tool which he was wielding.
Sucking on his teeth for a second, Quinn turned his attention to the desk sergeant, a slovenly man who was lucky to still have a job in Quinn’s opinion. ‘Leave this with me, please, Sergeant Stephens. I’ll take it from here.’
‘Very good, sir.’ The sergeant made his way back to his desk and his report, leaving Michael Michaels unsure about where he now stood.
Understanding the importance of perception, Quinn said, ‘I am aware of the reports, Mr Michaels. How may I help you?’ Then to the senior officers now waiting for him, he said, ‘Gentlemen, please continue without me. I shall be along momentarily.’
Believing he was finally getting somewhere, Michael Michaels did his best to explain the connection between the missing man, the ghoul, and the stolen artefacts.
However, when he finished, Chief Inspector Quinn asked, ‘And you believe these elements to be connected somehow?’
Had he explained it poorly? ‘Yes. I mean, they must be, right? It’s too much for it to be coincidence, surely.’
Chief Inspector Quinn wasn’t new to this game, he’d played it many times with the man’s son. Holding out an arm to steer the father to the door, he ushered him from the station. ‘Mr Michaels, I think you have been overdoing it recently. It has been one thing after another for you with that son of yours. Do you have plans for Christmas?’
Surprised by the change in conversation, he said, ‘Yes, but I don’t see …’
‘I think you should focus on that for now, sir. There is an ongoing investigation into the disappearance of Ronald Norton but no good reason to suspect foul play. There has been no ransom note and his wife suspects him to be having an affair.’
‘Did he run off with the other woman?’ Michael asked automatically.
They had reached the pavement in front of the station where CI Quinn planned to find out which way Mr Michaels wanted to go and then go the other way, even if it meant a meandering route to get to his own destination. ‘That does not appear to be the case; however, I am not treating his disappearance as a priority case. Likewise, the theft from the museum and reports of a ghoul. The latter will turn out to be nothing but shadows and … given your son’s chosen career, I’m surprised you would believe in such a thing.’ Michael almost began to argue that he didn’t, but what the chief inspector believed was unimportant. ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Michaels, I really must get along. I have important business to which I must attend.’ A very important pint of Christmas beer with his superiors in fact.
‘Have there been any other thefts or reports of stolen items from the museum? Do you have someone watching the curator?’
His voice drifted back though he didn’t turn his head to answer, ‘Have a good Christmas, Mr Michaels.’
Rallying his meagre brain and cursing himself for not being faster, he tried to think of a Christmas comeback that would sting and give him the satisfaction if a well-delivered last line. Something involving Scrooge might work, by the time he’d thought of an idea that might work, the chief inspector was across the road and the moment was gone.

Creeping Suspicions. Saturday, December 24th 1422hrs
Blake stopped what he was doing and lifted his head to listen. ‘I just heard it again,’ he said.
Edward had a piece of cable in his mouth to keep it out of the way as he bared the wires on another cable ready to splice the two. He got that Blake expected him to answer but continued doing what he was doing until he was ready to open his mouth and drop the cable into a hand now that he had one free.
‘It’s your imagination,’ he assured his partner. ‘Or it’s the wind. We’re right on the river.’
Blake frowned. ‘It sounds like someone moaning in pain.’
‘Just the wind,’ persisted Edward. ‘It will be catching on something and blowing through it just like a reed instrument. Happens all the time.’
Blake wasn’t convinced. The old theme park was giving him the creeps; there were too many unexplained noises and more than once he’d been convinced there was a giant figure watching him from below while he worked. Whenever he looked it was gone and Edward said he hadn’t seen anything.
It wasn’t like him to jump at shadows but … something was off with this whole job. ‘Do you think he gave in too easily?’ Blake asked.
‘Are you nearly done?’ replied Edward, asking a question with a touch of irritation in his voice. He wanted to get the job done and leave, not waste time questioning the origin of strange noises in an old disused theme park.
‘Yes,’ Blake answered, absentmindedly as the moaning noise echoed through the building again. ‘He said yes to giving us an extra five grand like it was nothing.’
‘Maybe it is nothing.’ Edward’s only issue with the five grand was that he should have asked for ten and was feeling like he cheated himself