The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  Bridie wasn’t a fan of housekeeping or office administration. At least, not upstairs in her own domain; there was enough of that needed downstairs in the café, with the red tape and health and safety legislation. How a simple girl from Galway was supposed to keep her head above water was a mystery. She searched through the piles of paper on the table by the sofa. She finished her fortified coffee and topped up the mug with more Jameson’s and a dash of water for appearance's sake as was her normal routine. Finally, she found what she wanted.

  Bridie fished her mobile phone out of her apron pocket, entered Carrie’s contact number and rang her. It went straight to voicemail. As she waited for the message prompt to finish, she thought she ought to get into the habit of changing her clothes when she came upstairs from the café. How long ago had it been when she decided she couldn’t be bothered? The beep sounded.

  “Hello, Carrie? Bridie here from the café. Someone came in today looking for you sweetheart. Your family are after getting in touch with you. Give me a ring back when you’re free.”

  Bridie Carragher felt she had done her duty. The adverts were just finishing; a programme she could stand watching was starting. One of her cats jumped up onto the sofa to sit on her lap while she relayed her message. Another hour and she could get off to bed and dream of a man with shoulders as wide as the Shannon.

  The message Bridie left was read at the same time she laid her head on her pillow. It was deleted while her head still came to terms with her final Jameson’s nightcap. Dwight Thacker had confiscated the phone when he tracked down ‘his lady’, Carrie two weeks earlier.

  The stupid bitch thought she could just walk away. Dwight had too many contacts on the streets of London for that to happen. She’d told anyone who listened, she was living in a flat with students in Forest Gate. That was crap; she’d gone to a woman’s refuge, to hide away and get clean. Someone rang him with information on where she was in a day or two. He let her think she was free of him. Then after he learned she was working in the kitchens of a hotel, he waited for her to finish work one night, and grabbed her.

  Once they got back here to his flat, he reminded her how much she owed him. All the free fixes she’d had. She cried and begged just as she always did. This time, to let her go; instead of begging for another ‘hit’. He had given her a few slaps to bring her in line; and told her to forget the hotel and the refuge. That wasn’t going to happen. He needed her to work for him; to pay off what she owed. He’d taken her to bed then and reminded her that the only thing she was good for was opening her legs and giving him what he wanted. He turned her out on the streets the next morning. In addition to being her dealer, Dwight Thacker was now her pimp.

  Just after midnight, Carrie returned to the flat. Dwight took the money she had earned and handed over a wrap.

  “Sweet dreams,” he said, with a lecherous grin.

  With hopes of an end to their missing person hunt on the horizon, Phil and Wayne drove up the M4 the following day, full of optimism. Wayne wore a clean shirt Phil remembered. Although he was sure his colleague was nervous, he stood more chance with the Irish colleen, than he did with the singers and dancers on the Honey B UK tour. They had been way out of Wayne’s league.

  Phil decided it would be best to visit ‘The Wishing Well’ before the lunchtime rush. Although that meant Wayne was going to miss out on the large slice of alcoholic cake Bridie served up in afternoons, this gave them a few more hours in Forest Gate. Where they could search for Carrie Ditchburn.

  It took as long to find a parking space as it did to negotiate the M25. Bridie looked up from the till, as the café door opened.

  “My word, the boys are back in town,” she sang.

  “Any luck finding that number?” asked Wayne.

  “I did,” said Bridie, omitting to tell him she had called her former employee last night. “I’ve got it right here for you. Are you not staying? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”

  Wayne slipped the piece of paper Bridie handed him into his pocket.

  “We need to get our business done first; then we’ll drop back in on our way home.”

  Phil was turning away to return to the car; Wayne strolled towards the café door. Bridie ignored a table of three customers who looked keen on ordering an all-day breakfast. She was closing in on Wayne and grabbed his arm.

  “Look, I may have done the wrong thing last night,” she said. “I rang her, but she never answered. I left a message to say her family was searching for her. Who knows? She might have changed her phone since she was here. I thought I might make her realise there was something good to look forward to, you know, mentioning her family? London can be a dreadfully lonely place. If she went home. It might help sort her out. If it’s not too late.”

  “Okay, thanks for telling us,” Wayne replied. He and Phil returned to their car and drove across to Forest Gate. Bridie had told them what she knew. Josie Dymond had told them where Carrie told her she was living. The next five hours were a complete waste of time. Wayne called the number Bridie supplied, but there was no reply. There was no sign of Carrie anywhere on the streets of Forest Gate.

  They had driven back to Kilburn late in the afternoon. They dropped into the bar where Dwight Thacker was said to be a regular. This time they were in luck. Sure enough, there he was, suited and booted. On the surface, he looked every inch a successful businessman. Underneath, lay the scum of the earth.

  “How do you want to play this, boss?” asked Wayne.

  “A watching brief, for now. Get our drinks and bring them to that table over there. We can keep an eye on him, and the door.”

  Dwight sat alone. Rum and coke in a high glass on the bar in front of him. He was reading a copy of the Metro.

  Wayne took a sip out of his pint of lager.

  “I’ll take it steady, boss, don’t worry. At these prices, you’d think it was champagne.”

  “Let’s try that mobile number again,” Phil said, more in hope than expectation.

  Wayne had entered Carrie’s number into his mobile earlier. He dialled. On the other side of the bar, a ringtone sounded immediately. It was Marley’s ‘Don’t Worry Be Happy’. Dwight Thacker grabbed his mobile from the bar, cancelled the call, and slammed the phone next to his drink.

  “Those PPI people. Never leave me alone these days, man. Keep getting calls from strange numbers.”

  Phil looked at Wayne. That outburst explained a lot. Bridie Carragher had left a message on that phone last night. It almost certainly never reached Carrie Ditchburn. Also, things had altered yet again in Carrie’s circumstances. Any notion Josie Dymond had that her school friend escaped from Dwight and was on the long road to recovery in Forest Gate was misplaced.

  “When this waste of space leaves here, we’ll follow him,” said Phil. “Wherever his flat is in Kilburn, that’s where we’ll find Carrie,”

  Wayne cracked his knuckles; wishing he could walk across the room and give the arrogant thug payback for the beatings Carrie suffered. They didn’t have long to wait. Dwight soon finished reading, he drained his glass, collected up his phone and headed for the door.

  Phil followed him out. Wayne left the pub thirty seconds later and followed. Dwight strolled along without a care in the world. He wasn’t aware of anyone following him. There were too many people on the High Road walking in the same direction. They hadn’t gone a hundred yards before Dwight walked up the steps to the front door of a Victorian terraced property. Phil passed on by and gazed in a shop window. Wayne crossed the busy street and popped into a small general store to buy an evening newspaper. He stood outside under the awning, glancing up towards the door that Dwight entered.

  Dwight had been inside no more than five minutes. The door suddenly swung open. Dwight came out, with a sports bag over his shoulder. He ran down the High Road as if he was in training for the next Olympics. Wayne had to wait for a gap in the traffic to cross. Phil was at the bottom of the steps. He looked concerned.

  “Something sp
ooked him,” Phil said, “that bag was heavy. I was sure he never clocked us. Let’s go and have a look. It’s the top-floor flat, according to the card by the door.”

  They climbed the stairs and found the door to the flat partly open. Phil pushed the door with his shoulder and entered. The flat was tidy enough, compared to most he visited. He walked through to the bedroom. He only saw one thing that looked out of place. Drawers had been opened, a wardrobe stood half-empty. The bathroom next door also showed little sign of a male occupant. Dwight Thacker had done a runner.

  Wayne walked into the bedroom behind him, sighed and donned a pair of blue gloves.

  “Carrie Ditchburn, I presume,” he said, checking for a pulse. The young girl was no longer in pain. The needle that delivered her final hit was still dangling from her arm. Bruises on her naked body told their own story. Her face was unmarked. Even in death, Wayne could see she had been a pretty girl.

  “OD, or an accident?” Phil asked.

  “No idea. She’s been dead for several hours, though. We need to start phoning. Get an ambulance here, and the police. Then let the authorities take over.

  “Thacker will be long gone. We might as well get back to Bath after we finish here.”

  “I would love to taste a slice of Bridie’s Guinness cake. But I don’t fancy telling her Carrie died within twelve hours of her leaving that phone message. Even if Carrie never heard it. Dwight obviously controlled her mobile, the same as he controlled the rest of her life.”

  The drive back to Bath had been a miserable one. The late evening traffic, the weather, roadworks and idiot drivers conspired to make things as bleak as they could be. Phil explained to the officers who arrived on the scene they had been searching for the young woman. He gave them the details, and the mobile number, of ‘a person of interest’, one Dwight Thacker. The officers knew him only too well.

  Phil asked for permission to inform the Ditchburn family of their daughter’s death.

  “It might be unusual, but we’re both ex-coppers. We’ve done it a hundred times before, and we’re working on their behalf. It will come better from us, rather than you having to ring someone at Cheltenham nick, who don't know the family from Adam.”

  The two officers looked at one another. Anything for an easy life.

  Phil dropped Wayne off at his home, then driven up to Cheltenham. Why was it bad news always had to be delivered at such unsociable hours? He got out of the car and walked towards the front door.

  He was still five paces from his destination when the door opened. Mrs Ditchburn stood in the doorway, her husband stood behind her, resting an arm on her shoulder.

  “Thanks for coming,” she sobbed, “we’ve been dreading this moment. As soon as we heard the car stop on the road ten minutes ago; we knew why you were here.”

  An hour later, Phil left the Ditchburn family alone, to grieve. He drove home with one thing left to do tonight. Despite the lateness of the hour, he wrote up a report of the case. Not just for the HSS files, but to pass a copy to Larcombe Manor.

  Someone had to make sure Dwight Thacker faced up to the damage he had done over the years to vulnerable men and women he’d supplied with drugs. The law never seemed to pin anything on him; perhaps the Olympus Project would bring closure for Carrie Ditchburn’s family.

  CHAPTER 5

  Tuesday, 4th March 2014

  Phoenix was ready to face the day. Working through his ideas for targets last night had rekindled his enthusiasm. He couldn’t wait to get back in the field after deciding on a course of action when carrying out the missions against those villains he’d selected. As he emerged from the shower, Athena stood in the doorway of the bathroom, holding Hope.

  “I hope you slept well?” she asked.

  “Sorry; I worked late on the direct actions for these drug dealers,” he replied, “I hope I didn’t wake you when I came to bed.”

  “I barely slept,” said Athena, “Hope kept stirring and was irritable. I think she’s developing a cough. You slept through everything.”

  “Ah.”

  “Exactly,” she said, “you can take her for an hour. I can catch up on a few things. Maria Elena will collect her at nine o’clock.”

  “I’ll see you at the meeting?”

  “If I don’t fall asleep and miss it altogether? Yes, you will.”

  Phoenix took his daughter from her mother’s arms and beat a hasty retreat. It was a frosty morning at Larcombe Manor, despite Spring being imminent. Hope didn’t appear to mind. Whatever had upset her overnight was forgotten. She was happy to be with her father, for quality time.

  Cradling Hope on his shoulder, Phoenix rang Rusty. As he talked through the options with his best friend, he continually pirouetted around the room, trying to keep the phone away from Hope’s pudgy little hands. She had a penchant for shiny things. Maria Elena had soon learned not to wear a necklace; Hope would grab at the chain and either almost strangle the poor girl, or break it.

  “Okay, Phoenix,” said Rusty. “It sounds as if you’ve got your hands full, mate. I’ll see you at nine.”

  Phoenix passed responsibility for the precious bundle over to the nanny, just before he left the apartments for the morning meeting. Hope was drifting off to sleep, after a feed. Her first meal of the day had been accompanied by a lullaby. Phoenix had always enjoyed ‘Enter The Sandman’, and there weren’t many traditional songs for which he knew the lyrics. When Athena wasn’t around, he couldn’t see the harm in his daughter being introduced to the magic of metal.

  When he reached the meeting room, he discovered everyone else there, waiting. Athena looked up, gave him a smile that told him he was forgiven, and then threw his best-laid plans into turmoil.

  “I’m sure we remember Orion, the former policeman who paid us a visit last year?” she began.

  Phoenix remembered Phil Hounsell only too well; they had gone swimming together.

  Artemis recalled a steamy night in Bristol before she met Rusty Scott.

  Henry Case was the first to speak.

  “Thought my warning would have been enough. What has he poked his nose into this time?”

  “Quite the opposite,” said Athena. “He has been searching for missing persons of late. Something less dangerous than working hand in glove with a menace like the Titans. There was a tragic ending to their latest search. A twenty-year-old girl from Gloucestershire died from an overdose in London last night. Her dealer boyfriend discovered the body, but fled the scene, and is still at large. Orion passed the details of the case onto us. He thought we were best placed to act. This is a typical outcome for the teenagers we discussed yesterday morning. An early introduction to soft drugs, followed by a descent into a hell that too often ends in early death. This girl made several attempts to break free of this so-called boyfriend, but he kept dragging her back into the cess-pit in which he operates. I propose we promote this Dwight Thacker to the top of your list, Phoenix.”

  Athena handed a copy of the case notes to her partner.

  “If you’re comfortable carrying out this ex- copper's wishes, so be it,” said Phoenix. “I’m not saying this guy doesn’t deserve to be punished. Clearly, he does, but it sets a potentially dangerous precedent. Unless we dispose of this Thacker character, without anyone ever discovering the body, then there will be at least one person outside of Olympus who knows what we have done. He will have proof we operate outside of the law. That could bring the authorities down on us.”

  “My interpretation of this report is that former DCI Phil Hounsell has ‘old-school’ views on justice,” said Athena. “Perhaps those opinions hurried his departure from the force?”

  “We debated this when we worked together, Athena,” said Artemis, blushing. “Phil Hounsell believed the world a better place without the criminals killed by a vigilante killer. With the failings of the police and the legal system growing annually, he felt they were doing society a big favour. I argued we had to work with the system we had. I couldn’t accept having vigila
ntes dispensing their own form of rough justice.”

  “Are you sure, you’re in the right job?” asked Rusty, with a wry smile.

  “Events in the years following those debates made me change my mind,” said Artemis.

  Phoenix kept quiet; he didn’t want to add fuel to the flame.

  Giles Burke offered a solution.

  “To allay the fears expressed by Phoenix, maybe Hounsell might be affiliated with Olympus somehow? He holds the title of Orion; the hunter. Although that came from Demeter, it does describe his potential worth to the Project.”

  “Who would be his handler?” asked Henry Case.

  “Allowing Orion free access to Larcombe Manor would cause problems for several of us who live here,” Athena said. “My vote would be for Hayden Vincent to be his point of contact. That can be established immediately, on the outside, and can then continue after Hayden and Kelly Dexter arrive on site, to reinforce our training team.”

  Even Phoenix had to admit it was the perfect option. Artemis also breathed a sigh of relief. The risks of her coming face to face with her former boss had just drastically diminished.

  “I’ll brief Hayden on what is required of Orion, going forward,” Athena continued. “We will accept genuine intelligence on criminals he identifies during operations his company HSS carries out. We will act where appropriate. Any expenses incurred by HSS in such cases will be reimbursed. I think that covers things adequately. Phoenix, I apologise for the need to readjust your timetable to accommodate Dwight Thacker. Will you still be ready to present your report by next Monday’s meeting?”

  “I’m ready to take Rusty through everything now. We’re getting together after the meeting to put the finishing touches to my plans. If this villain has gone to ground, then the police might be hard-pressed to find him. They haven’t been that successful in the past. Thacker may have left London and headed for the provinces. According to this report, that was where he did his business for several years. We’ll need Giles and his crew in the ice-house to start a search for him.”