The Phantom of Barker Mill

by steve higgs

  As I was pondering whether I had been over exuberant in my desire to search his rooms we arrived at them. Mrs. Barker inserted a mortice key into a relatively unassuming, but still large, solid oak door and pushed it open in front of her. Amanda followed her in with me trailing behind.

  The room on the other side of the door was another atrium or lobby - it was not a room to be lived in but one to be passed through. The cool, sleek marble floor had a pair of matching leather sofas arranged to face each other. They were set in the middle of the room with a chrome and glass coffee table between them. On the coffee table was a copy of the Financial Times, which had clearly been read or at least opened, a copy of the economist and a vase containing an arrangement of white lilies. The walls were panelled to a height of about six feet with ornate oak. Above the oak was a burgundy wallpaper that probably cost more per square metre than my car. Everything in the room was perfect: Perfectly arranged, perfectly considered to match or contrast with the other items and perfect in its condition. It was a room that trumpeted opulence. I have never stayed at a penthouse suite in a top-flight hotel, but I imagined this would be what I ought to expect if I did. Mrs. Barker seemed not to notice, her perception of such things clearly different from mine after years of seeing it every day.

  Amanda let out a quiet whistle of impressed appreciation. ‘Where do we start?’ she asked.

  I asked Mrs. Barker, ‘How many rooms are there?'

  ‘In this wing of the house? I do not know. There are seven bedrooms, and each has a private bathroom and dressing room adjoining so that is twenty-one. Then there is a library, billiard room, kitchen and two dining rooms.’

  ‘Two dining rooms?’ Amanda asked.

  ‘Formal and informal.' Mrs. Barker replied in a tone that suggested it was perfectly obvious why there would be two dining rooms. ‘There will also be a cinema room, several lounging rooms plus offices and rooms such as this one. It has been years since I came in here, so I cannot be certain, but I would hazard a guess at perhaps thirty-five rooms.'

  Inside my head, I said wow. ‘I propose we start with the most likely places to yield a result. Does he have a personal computer here?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Amanda do you want to tackle his computer or get started on the physical search?’

  ‘I’ll take the physical search, thank you. I looked at man’s browser history once and it scarred me for life.’

  ‘Can you show us the computer please?’

  Mrs. Barker advised me that she didn't know where his computer was, reminding me again that she not been in his wing of the house in years. She nevertheless found it on her first attempt in a room set up as an office. A few seconds later I was at the keyboard.

  I expected to find his computer was password protected and it was, but like many people, his built-in security demanded he change the password every few weeks. After a while, he had run out of easy to remember words or number/letter combinations and had been forced to concoct less memorable ones. His password was not on a post-it note in the first drawer I opened, or the second drawer or the third but was under the keyboard itself.

  While I sat at the desk, Amanda busied herself opening drawers and cupboards in a methodical manner. This was my first ever house search. I discounted those I had conducted as a soldier in places like Northern Ireland and Iraq but had elected to not tell Amanda and had read up on the subject last night: Good old Google. I was watching how she performed the task so that I could copy her movements and look like I knew what I was doing.

  By 1330hrs, some two and a half hours later, my stomach was beginning to grumble, and we had found nothing of any worth. Brett was either meticulous about erasing his browser history or had erased it recently by chance. His emails, the few of them I found, showed correspondence with a small group of old university buddies with whom he was planning a skiing trip. There were some personal banking transaction emails and a few Amazon purchase and dispatch notifications. Nothing pertaining to the case though.

  Amanda had searched a stack of rooms and I had joined her after accepting the computer was going to give me nothing. There were still toilets and a few rooms left that looked like no one had ever lived in them, but we were running out of places to look.

  Mrs. Barker had left us to complete our task but had sent a servant up with refreshments. A cold lunch was waiting for us back in the marble-floored entrance room.

  In lieu of anything more productive to do, I announced to Amanda that I was going to get something to eat and left Amanda looking through a cabinet in the bathroom adjoining his bedroom.

  On the coffee table was a spread of cold cuts and sliced cheeses, pastries, cakes and biscuits and a selection of what appeared to be freshly baked bread rolls. I selected a seeded wholemeal bap, split it in half with my fingers and made a sandwich.

  I assembled a plate of food and relaxed on a couch expecting Amanda to join me shortly. As I munched, I posed to myself the question of where would I be if I was an incriminating piece of evidence?

  ‘Tempest.’ Amanda’s voice echoed through from somewhere in the house. Rather than shout a response I put my plate down and got up to find her.

  Amanda was still sat on the bathroom floor where I had left her. ‘I leaned on the bottom of the cabinet to lever myself up and it moved under my hand. It has a false bottom.' She lifted what I had assumed to be the base of the cupboard under the sink and there, in the gap underneath were packets and packets of Captopril. ‘I cannot tell if they are the real pills or the fake ones or a mix of both but here is your smoking gun.' She looked unhappy. I told myself it was probably just fatigue and elected to ignore it.

  ‘That’s it then.’ I said.

  ‘I guess it is.’

  Mrs. Barker chose that moment to check on our progress. ‘Hello?' she called. ‘Mr. Michaels?'

  ‘In here.’ I called back then exited the room to stand in the corridor and make myself visible.

  She followed me into the bathroom. ‘Goodness.’ she exclaimed as Amanda showed her the pills. ‘Is that George’s heart medication?’ she asked.

  ‘It would appear to be.’ I answered her.

  ‘Is that sufficient for a conviction?’ she asked us, eager to hear the answer.

  I looked at Amanda for her to answer. ‘For a conviction? That I cannot say, but it is enough for me to call in a forensics team. I need to make a phone call.' she said levering herself off the floor and pulling out her phone. ‘I must insist you both vacate the room. No one can touch this now until it has all been formally catalogued. Mrs. Barker, I'm afraid you are likely to have police swarming all over the house for much of the rest of the day.'

  If that prospect bothered her she showed no sign. Her mood was gleeful. She thanked me several times as we walked back to the entrance room then left me there advising that she needed to attend to something else.

  Satisfied that I had met the terms of my contract I wandered back to my lunch. Picking up my plate again I sank down into one of Brett’s luxurious sofas and cared not if I spilled crumbs. Brett was guilty. I smiled to myself like the Grinch at Christmas.

  Within the hour I was a sideline attraction. I was still sat on the sofa but where I had started out alone there were now a dozen or more people going back and forth through the room. They were conducting a search of the house focused almost exclusively on his rooms and I was waiting for Amanda. She had requested that she be allowed to make the arrest like it was a perk she had earned. A mark of respect perhaps for solving a crime that was otherwise going to go without investigation.

  There was a plain clothes Detective Inspector on the scene, who had agreed she could and was now on the opposite side of the room briefing her. I could easily hear their conversation. She would meet two uniformed officers at Barker Mill where they expected to find Brett. After she made the arrest they would take him into custody. A further forensics team would then conduct a search of his offices for further evidence.

  I had been l
argely ignored throughout all of this. It did not bother me. I had considered asking if there was anything I could do to help, yet I had not done so as I was convinced the answer would be negative. More than anything, I was looking forward to getting the arrest over with and to getting home. The adrenalin rush of finding exactly what I was looking for, and in that moment knowing I had solved the case, had drained away and left me tired. I was surplus to requirement for the arrest, but Amanda was my ride home, so I was stuck waiting for her until the task was done.

  As she chatted with the Chief Inspector I wondered why she was so keen to make the arrest herself. A few more minutes ticked by as people bustled past me paying me no heed. Just as I was going to take myself outside for a change of scenery Amanda shook the Chief Inspector’s hand and headed my way.

  ‘Let's go.' she said not bothering to pause as she went out the door.

  ‘Okay.' I replied to her back as it disappeared around the doorframe, flailing in my attempt to get my fat bum off the low sofa quickly.

  I ran to catch up. ‘All done here?’ I asked rhetorically.

  ‘We need to get to the Mill fast. The uniforms are already there so I have maybe fifteen minutes before they perform the arrest without me.’

  ‘Why are you so keen to do it? I thought you liked him.’

  ‘He appears to be guilty of murder, Tempest. Any interest he may have shown me is of no further concern. Plus, this will be my first arrest ever and since I only have a few days left in the police I feel like this is my last chance.'

  Silently I noted that she had managed to be in the police for years without making an arrest. Was that even slightly normal? Were there other officers that could boast the same?

  Outside it had begun to drizzle lightly. A fine misty rain fell from the dank grey sky. I turned my face up and let it wet my face.

  ‘Are you ok?' Amanda asked, paused half in, half out of her car.

  ‘Oh, Yes.’ I replied. ‘I am just pausing to mark the moment.’

  ‘We have to go.’ said Amanda. She got in the car and started the engine.

  As I crossed the short distance to the car I looked back at the Barker Mansion, trying to commit the image to my memory. I doubted I would ever see it again.

  Neither of us spoke on the way to the Mill. I had no idea what Amanda was thinking. She might still be annoyed with me, but whether this was because she thought I was in love with her and had employed her as a move to get close to her, or if it was indirectly aimed at me because she was interested in Brett Barker and was on her way to arrest him I could not tell. It might be neither and she was simply nervous because she was about to perform her first arrest. I kept quiet though rather than encourage conversation.

  My phone pinged quietly in my pocket. As I read the message I suddenly had something to talk about.

  ‘Amanda, I have a text message that has come through with no number on it. I didn’t know that was possible, but the message claims that Brett has a false panel in the wall of his office and we will find the Phantom outfit in there.’

  ‘Let me see.’ she demanded.

  I handed her the phone, which she stared at for a few seconds reading the text for herself. I watched her eyes flick across the words then revert to watching the road ahead.

  ‘I guess we will find out soon enough.’ was all she said.

  The Arrest. Wednesday, 13th October 1527 hrs

  There were indeed uniforms waiting for us at the Barker Mill. Several of them in fact as if the pair assigned to the task had brought some mates along because they had nothing better to do. A white panel van with police markings was parked next to the two squad cars – probably the forensics chaps. The office building that overlooked the car park had faces peering through the windows.

  The rain had picked up. It covered the windows in running lines of water, turning the faces into indistinguishable blobs. In deference to the rain, they were all staying inside despite their curiosity.

  Amanda introduced herself and then me. After an initial handshake, I was once again side-lined as surplus to requirement and I considered staying in her car and having a snooze. Curiosity won in the end, so I trailed after the group heading towards the main office building.

  Taking charge, Amanda explained where Brett worked and where we would most likely find him then led the assembled group past reception and directly towards his office.

  Inside the building, for the umpteenth time in the last week, I followed them upstairs knowing exactly where they were going but with no purpose of my own. As Amanda strode towards the end of the upstairs corridor and Brett's closed office door, I stopped by a water cooler and got myself a drink. The office staff had all stopped work and were staring at the police. Some of them stood up for a better view.

  No one moved to make any attempt to stop Amanda or the two uniforms flanking her or the two forensics guys as she opened his office door and went in. From my vantage point down the corridor, I saw the surprise on his face. The door closed. I sipped my water.

  Less than a minute later the door opened again, and Brett came out in cuffs with one of the uniformed officers guiding him from behind with a hand on his shoulder.

  Brett was led along the corridor where I was leaning on the water cooler. He did not make eye contact with me or acknowledge me in any way.

  The office door opened again, and Amanda came out. I pushed myself upright and met her halfway down the corridor before she could close the distance to me.

  ‘All done?’ I asked her.

  ‘No. This is going to take a while longer. Bryan, one of the forensics guys already found the hidden compartment in Brett’s office. There was a cloak hanging up and a steel hand thing that has clearly been exposed to some heat – the hot glove thing you described. Bryan said it looks like it has burnt flesh on it.’

  My mouth made an ‘O’. Was Brett the Phantom as well?

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘I took a picture.’ she offered. It showed a crude hand that could be held by a handle at one end. The handle appeared to have a lever on it to flex the fingers. The fingers were articulated at each knuckle. It was chunky looking and could be held at a point where the wrist should be. The handle, I could not tell from the photograph, so I was making guesses, would be made from asbestos or some other kind of insulating material so that the device could be held once heated.

  ‘What on earth was he thinking, keeping it in his office?'

  ‘He immediately claimed that he had never seen it before and had no idea the compartment it was in even existed.’

  Amanda wanted to stay to wrap things up, but I was done. I was playing no part in current events and had not been involved for a couple of hours now. My time was precious enough that I had no intention of squandering it sat around waiting for Amanda. I bid her goodbye, promised to catch up later and caught a cab to Dartford train station with the insistent rain now beating against the windscreen.

  Luck was on my side for there was a train just pulling into the platform as I was handed my ticket. I boarded the carriage, musing that I could not remember the last time had taken a train anywhere. It would probably have been to take a trip into central London some years ago as it was the one place only a fool or the very knowledgeable tried to drive and park.

  I fell asleep on the train with my face against the window and awoke through pure luck as I arrived at Rochester station. I walked from there to my office in the rain to retrieve my car. A little more than an hour and a half after making my decision to leave the Mill, I arrived back home. The rain still fell, gurgling into the drains. It would sweep the autumn leaves before it, convincing the last few leaves clinging to their summer homes to give in and vacate the premises until next year. Autumn was my favourite time of the year, but it always heralded the bleakness of winter.

  As a walked up to my front door my phone pinged to announce a text message. I glanced at the screen to see that Amanda had replied to the message I had sent her from the train. I had wondered how sh
e was getting on at the Mill, but she had already left by the time I asked and was home. She got back before me. Had I bothered to wait…

  Oh well.

  It was 1743hrs and once again the dogs were overdue for their dinner. The rain looked like it was clearing, if it stopped I would take the chaps out and let them chase bunnies at the park.

  I allowed myself a smile at another case closed and another cheque in the post. I opened my door and went inside.

  Training Jane/James. Thursday, 14th October 0900hrs

  I got to work the next day wondering if my assistant would be a boy or a girl today. I was early, so I ducked into the coffee shop to get a drink on my way to the office. Hayley, who I had hoped to bump into was absent. I asked one of her colleagues as she served me if Hayley would be in later. Sharon, according to the name tag told me that Hayley had a day off. I swore in my head and pulled out my phone to text her. Sharon handed me my skinny americano with a shot of hazelnut which I took to a table while I tried to work out what to write.

  ‘Hi, Tempest.’

  I looked up to find Jane, not James looking down at me.

  ‘I felt like getting a coffee on my way to work and was going to pick up one for you. I see you already have one though.’ she said.

  ‘I do. I have not yet taken the first sip though. Grab yours, I’ll wait for you.’ I suggested.

  Jane smiled and headed over to the counter.

  I started with, “Hi, Hayley.” Then deleted Hayley and wrote, “Sexy.” Instead. Then deleted that and wrote, “Sex bomb.” Still not satisfied with the first two words I just wrote her name.

  “I held off messaging you for a few days because I am still not sure what sort of relationship you want. The other night was fantastic and would very much like to repeat the event any time you wish. I am mildly,” I crossed out mildly. "I am concerned that I should have text you sooner so please forgive me if I have misread your cues. You did, however, make it clear that you wanted hassle-free sex, so I have kept my distance this week."