The Phantom of Barker Mill

by steve higgs

  For the next three hours, except for bathroom breaks, tea making time and the obligatory letting the dogs in the garden to chase birds, I studied the boring pile of documents. I had made just over two A4 pages of notes. Little things had stood out and were possibly of some significance, but if I had hoped for a piece of evidence that would get him convicted, then I was to be disappointed. He had been expelled from Eton, caught in possession of marijuana before he completed his A levels but had finished his pre-university education at Harrow. There was clearly plenty of money to be spent on the heir. He had then been arrested bringing a small amount of marijuana into the country from Amsterdam in his early twenties but had gained a double first from Oxford and had a guaranteed future at his family's firm, so he probably felt he could break a few rules and get away with it.

  I had gone through ten years of company credit card statements, personal credit card statements and other information contained in the pack. There were some large sums that seemed anomalous. I had looked one up and It turned out to be a membership to a porn site. Vanilla porn though, nothing weird. Another, quite recent transaction had been a large and very exact sum to a pharmaceutical firm. I had made a note to investigate what they did so I could determine if it was of any significance.

  The research dutifully done, I stretched in place on the sofa and checked my watch: 1748hrs. Surprisingly the dogs had slept through their dinner time which was rigidly set at 1700hrs. It only shifted from this appointed hour if I was late getting home or was going to be out and might feed them slightly early.

  I was also in need of sustenance. I usually had a hearty meal on Friday as I was going to the pub and wanted something to slow down the alcohol absorption. I was not sure if it worked like that. Nevertheless, going to the pub on an empty stomach always resulted in reaching my limit sooner than intended so I maintained the practice.

  Friday night at the pub was a habit I had fallen into rather than chosen. I lived in a quiet country village and very much liked that it had a pub. In the summer, people would sit in the garden outside enjoying their drinks in the sun. Patrons would come not only from the village but also from the surrounding villages. Nearby there was a historic Abbey which attracted tourists and it was not uncommon to find small parties electing to take refreshment at the pub before moving on. It was called The Dirty Habit after all. In the winter, when it was cold enough, the Pub Landlord would light an open fire. The flickering firelight and the sound and smell it gave off sparked romantic notions in my head.

  One glorious evening, not long after I had moved to the village, it had snowed. Snow, a worthwhile amount of it anyway, was rare in the South East of England. However, that evening it had fallen to form a blanket about four inches deep transforming the look, feel and the sound of the village. I had wandered happily around to the pub, carrying the dogs instead of letting them walk, as their undercarriage was dragging in the snow. I had fallen in love with the place right there and then.

  It had been my first visit to the pub and I had met two chaps that night - Basic and Brian Clinton and right there the Friday night pub crew had been created. Now it was Friday night again and I was looking forward to the routine of it.

  At the pub. Friday, 8th October 1926hrs

  Dinner had been chicken and black bean enchiladas with a side of steamed brown rice and fresh avocado. The dogs devoured a can of chicken flavour pedigree chum. Now that all three of us were suitably replete we were winding our way through the streets to the pub. All thoughts of work, Brett Barker, the Phantom or anything to do with that or any other case had been banished from my mind. I was focused on getting my lips to a cold, clear glass of lager. A thought occurred to me then, which was that I needed to talk to my sister before I did anything about her baby shower. I pulled out my phone and with one hand still holding the dog leads, I managed to send her a short text message asking if she could meet me this weekend to discuss it.

  Her answer came back almost immediately, confirming that she would come to my house the following afternoon at three o'clock unless she heard from me that I was unavailable.

  I text back that it worked fine for me and put my phone away. The pub was in sight.

  I was hoping to see Natasha the barmaid tonight. A little over a week ago we had enjoyed lunch together and she had kissed me. It was not planned. The lunch that is, not the kiss. I had bumped into her near my office in Rochester where I had been on my way to get some lunch for myself. I had invited her along. Anyway, Natasha was the Friday night barmaid at the pub, she was absolutely gorgeous, educated, well-spoken and ticked every box I could come up with if a chap was allowed to walk around with a checklist for prospective mates. I had been fantasising about her for months and suddenly I was in with a serious chance. Then, after she had given me her number I couldn't find it and last Friday she had not been at the pub. Now, more than a week had gone past since she had pressed her lips to mine and told me the ball was in my court. I felt an overwhelming urge to speak with her. I had already implored the Landlord to give me her mobile number, but the look I got from him told me I was not the first that had asked for it.

  Bull and Dozer quickened their pace as we neared the pub and pulled me over the threshold into the welcoming, alcohol-scented walls of The Dirty Habit.

  Of Natasha, there was no sign. Behind the bar, the Landlord was pulling a jar of ale for one of the regulars whose name I could not remember. To my right, Basic, Hilary and, Jagjit were already sat at our usual table.

  ‘Wotcha, Tempest.’ Jagjit said in greeting. Similar salutations came from the others.

  ‘Any sign of Ben?’ I enquired.

  ‘No. Late as usual. Probably trying to wash off the stench of sex again.’ said Hilary.

  I nodded agreement. ‘My round.’ I announced and headed to the bar. Before I got there, Big Ben came through the door behind me.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, chaps. I passed a mirror and got stuck for a bit admiring myself. You know how it is. Oh, no you probably don’t, do you?’

  ‘Sit down, dickface.’ Jagjit said laughing. Big Ben cracked a smile and took a seat.

  I went to the bar. The chaps at the table behind me were a mix of characters. I met Jagjit Singh when I was four years old on the day I started school. We had hit it off and had played together at the weekends as kids do. When I left the Army and bought my own house it was serendipity that caused me to buy one just around the corner from the house his parents had moved to a few years before. Jagjit worked in real estate sales of some kind in the city. Hilary, whose real name was Brian Clinton also worked in sales but was the manager of a telemarketing firm nearby. He was kind of skinny and scrawny – the type of shape that my mother would say needed to eat a meat pie. He was the only married one of the group and the only one with kids unless Big Ben had a few out there. It was entirely possible that he did as Big Ben was a force of nature placed on the earth by God to shag women. That was what he claimed anyway. Big Ben stood six feet and seven inches tall. He was all lean, hard muscle and he was unfairly good-looking. He also had money. Not millions, but enough that he didn't bother to work and thus could invest time and effort in his main hobby of… you guessed it – shagging women. To Big Ben's right, sat Basic. His actual name was James Burnham but at some point in the past someone had given him a nickname and it had stuck. Now even he introduced himself as Basic. The nickname fitted him because he was thick. Proper thick. Like I.Q. somewhere in the high forties thick. He was also built like a bear, but he would not hurt a fly and was at the pub with us every Friday night. He had come along on capers with me a couple of times when I needed some extra muscle.

  When I returned to the table a few minutes later with five fresh pints of lager Big Ben was giving Jagjit advice on pick-up lines.

  ‘The thing to know is that every chat up line in the book has been used to death so you need to come up with something original.' I set the drinks out on the table. Jagjit, Hilary and Basic each still had some left of the previous pint, so I
lined their new ones up behind their half-drained glasses. Big Ben and I had yet to quench our thirst. No surprise then that Big Ben paused to take a long draught of his as I put it down.

  ‘So, what do you do?' asked Hilary.

  ‘I have several tactics to deploy depending on the calibre of the prey and what mood I am in. One method that often works is to strike with a shock tactic statement that gets their attention.' Big Ben answered.

  ‘Such as?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, my current favourite is to announce that the first time I sleep with a girl I am always impressed by just how far a vagina can stretch to accommodate me.’

  ‘Wow.' Jagjit said.

  Hilary just looked stunned.

  ‘And that works?’ I asked.

  ‘Generally, yes. The lady or ladies are either horrified, in which case I have blown my chance, or they are not, in which case I am pretty much guaranteed to be in.’

  ‘I’m not sure I am brave enough to try that tactic.’ said Jagjit.

  ‘I’m not sure you should try.’ said Hilary.

  ‘Nor me.’ I added.

  ‘So, moving on.’ Jagjit started, changing the subject. ‘I didn’t yet tell you all about the new love interest Tempest has attracted.’ I had my drink to my lips as Jagjit spoke and could not swallow fast enough to interrupt him.

  ‘Oh, really?’ asked Big Ben looking at me.

  ‘Really.’ replied Jagjit. ‘The delightful Debbie came by the house on Sunday night. She was wearing only lingerie, heels and a coat.’ I stayed quiet waiting for Jagjit to deliver his punchline.

  Then I was going to punch him.

  ‘Excuse me. How did this snippet not crop up in conversation over the last few days?’ Big Ben asked me quite seriously like I had been holding back important facts. Jagjit butted in before I could answer, tactilely putting his hand on my forearm as if acting as defensive spokesman.

  ‘Well, Ben the thing is, Debbie is something of a handful.’

  ‘I hope you did the decent thing and cleared out?’ Big Ben asked him.

  I was time for me to speak finally. ‘Ben you know you have that rule that a chap should not shag a girl that he cannot bench press?' I allowed him a second for that to sink in. ‘Well you could not bench press Debbie, you could not even get close. You probably could not even bicep curl her boobs.'

  ‘And she had a mustache like Lando Calrissian.' Laughed Jagjit again before regaling the entire table with the tale of how he had screamed and nearly wet himself when he opened the door to her. I then had to explain how it had come about due to my mother ambushing me with a blind date when I had gone for dinner at my parent's house. Debbie is a girl that I knew twenty-five years ago growing up. Back then she was ok to look at, but she had filled out a little more than average.

  Big Ben turned to me, put his pint down and for once posed a serious question. ‘What are you going to do about the girl situation? You seem to suddenly have options and don't know what to do about them. I could give you my advice,'

  ‘But since you would shag them all at the same time, in the same bed and then shoot off to shag their sisters as well, we can pretty much skip that part of the conversation.' I interrupted.

  ‘Weak.’ Big Ben said shaking his head sadly. ‘Just weak. But since it’s you, you shandy-sniffing butt weasel, I suppose you should pick one and focus on her.’

  ‘So, which one?’ asked Hilary, who had been quiet throughout this exchange and never got involved in conversations about single women because his wife told him he was not allowed to.

  ‘Yeah. Which one, Tempest?’ asked Big Ben.

  I shrugged, acknowledging that I just did not know the answer to the question. I stayed quiet for a second considering how to frame my answer but instead elected to use the assembled group as a sounding board. ‘Ok, so I have one girl that is clearly interested, but in my opinion too young for me.’

  ‘Poison.’ stated Jagjit.

  ‘Yes. Miss Ivy Wong, AKA Poison. I could engage in good old, honest naked fun with her.'

  ‘Damn right.' said Big Ben.

  ‘But.’ I accentuated the but hard and said it twice. ‘But, I cannot work out what I do with her after the naked fun.’

  ‘More naked fun, silly.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Ben.' I replied. ‘Seriously though, I like her. She is undeniably hot in a fitness model meets Victoria's Secret model way, but at nineteen I cannot see the two of us engaging in anything other than naked fun and I will continue to interact with her and her boss afterward. Let's just scratch her from the list for now.' I took a sip of beer before continuing. ‘Next up is Hayley from the coffee shop,'

  ‘Describe her.’ Big Ben demanded.

  ‘Okay. She is mid-twenties.'

  ‘Shag her.’ he instructed.

  ‘Is slim but curvy,’

  ‘Shag her.’

  ‘has a pretty face and delicate hands,’

  ‘Anoint her with your sticky goo.’

  ‘and sent me a text saying she just wants some cock.’

  ‘Give me her number, shag someone else.’ Big Ben concluded.

  ‘Ben, I am not sure that you are being much help.’ said Hilary. He was right of course but helping had never been Big Ben’s intention. His plan was to annoy me because he is an utter git.

  ‘The option to shag her does appeal actually.’ I conceded. ‘She is lovely and clearly wants an uncomplicated arrangement.’

  ‘Sounds like a win to me.’ said Jagjit. ‘Why are you holding back?’

  ‘Amanda.’ I answered simply. It was an honest answer and I knew it. ‘Also, I don’t just want a shag. I am not in my twenties anymore, the need to rampantly sow my seed might still call to me at times, but I can barely hear it over the desire to have something more.’

  ‘Something more… what?’ Big Ben wanted to know.

  ‘Something more relationshippy. Something where we spend time together not having sex, where we might take a holiday together or go to a garden centre to pick out shrubs.’

  Big Ben had a look on his face as if someone had just suggested being a eunuch might be fun and he should give it a go. ‘What. The Fuck. Is. The matter. With you?’

  ‘There is nothing the matter with Tempest.’ Hilary said, ‘He wants what most men except you want: A girlfriend.’

  ‘So, why don’t you shag Amanda then?’ asked Big Ben.

  ‘Because Amanda,' I paused for effect, ‘does not appear to want to shag me.'

  ‘Have you asked her?’

  Before I can answer, the door behind me opened with the tell-tale rush of cooler air and I watched as across the table the colour drained from Jagjit's face.

  I turned my head to see who it was and there was Debbie blocking the door, her frame filling it almost completely. I was just a few feet from her and effectively trapped.

  ‘Hey, baby.' she murmured, locking eyes with me and smouldering with passion.

  ‘Hey, baby!’ replied Big Ben getting up. He flashed her a smile, ‘Might I buy you a drink?’

  ‘Goodness, you are a big one.' she replied taking in Big Ben's height and musculature. I cringed, waiting for Big Ben to say exactly the same back to her.

  For once he held back and replied with, ‘You should see me naked if you think I look big now.' Then he took her unresisting hand and led her to the bar. She didn't even look in my direction as she went. I was eclipsed by the promise of a greater prize. Suddenly realising I was holding my breath I exhaled and felt myself slump.

  ‘Who is that?' whispered Hilary from across the table.

  ‘That is Debbie.’ answered Jagjit.

  ‘My God.’ Hilary said taking her in. ‘Her bum looks like two Ford Transits had a head on crash, then drove off a cliff and exploded and then someone covered them in a tarpaulin. It might weigh the same as two vans for that matter. What is Ben doing?’

  ‘Taking one for the team I think.’

  At the bar, the Landlord dutifully placed a drink in front of Debbie, a white wine sp
ritzer by the look of it. Big Ben leaned forward and said something quietly to her then headed back over to our table.

  ‘Right, knob jockey. You are going to owe me one for this. Honestly, I am not sure my knob is load tested to take that much weight, so if I snap my dick off you need to be ready to listen to a lot of women complaining.'

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked.

  ‘Take her home and shag her I guess. Make it so she never thinks about you again.’

  ‘But you were going to crash at mine, so have already been drinking. Can you drive?’

  ‘I have not yet finished my first pint. As long as I don't have any more I will be fine.' He answered.

  With that, he went back to the bar where Debbie was waiting patiently. I watched as he whispered something to her, then stared horrified as she grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the door. My gumption finally caught up with me at that point. While I might be horrified at any notion of being near to or even interacting with Debbie, I could not contemplate sleep tonight knowing the fate I had allowed Big Ben to consign himself to just to save me.

  ‘I might need a hand here.’ I said to the table as I stood up.

  Debbie and Big Ben had just passed us and were out the door of the small pub already. ‘I can’t let you do it, Ben.’ I said loud enough to arrest their motion.

  He pulled away from Debbie and came back towards the safety of the pub. As he neared though he slowed and leaned down so we could talk quietly in a huddle.

  ‘What are you doing, mate?’ he asked. ‘Will this get her off your back?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Only maybe?’

  ‘Yeah. No guarantee that I can see.’

  ‘Damn. Well, too late now.'

  ‘You have to be kidding.’ Jagjit chipped in. ‘What if she decides she wants to go on top?’

  ‘Yeah or sit on your face.’ added Hilary.

  ‘Damn right.’ I said. ‘What if she decides to sit on your face? I cannot be responsible for your death, even if death by pussy suffocation is at the top of your list of preferred ways to go.’