The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  “We’ll make the necessary preparations,” said Minos, “we know the drill. The paperwork for the charity will be in order, don’t worry.”

  “In that case, Thursday won’t be a problem,” said Athena. “Although, the sooner I can get rid of them the better. I need to go into Bath to finalise things for Saturday. I can pick up the dresses and suits from the cleaners, check on the flowers and get my hair and nails done. Artemis and I are pampering ourselves on Friday; we’re going to the Spa.”

  “Aren’t you the lucky one,” said Rusty to his partner.

  “I’ll be thinking of you as I bathe in the naturally warm, mineral-rich waters just as the Romans did over two thousand years ago,” Artemis said. “The open-air rooftop pool has spectacular views, and the aroma steam rooms offer such a variety of treatments. It will be heavenly.”

  Phoenix gave a hollow laugh.

  “While you two are lying around until your skin puckers up like an old prune, Rusty and I will have a few cans in the orangery. I’ve ordered bacon rolls, to keep us going. I’ve never had a stag-do before any of my other weddings. Going out on the town in Bath isn’t an option.”

  “That’s enough,” said Athena, “stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re only jealous. Let’s get on with the rest of our day. Saturday will be here before we know it.”

  Tuesday, 15th April 2014

  ‘The hanging death of Sean Painter has puzzled authorities. Officers continue to pound the pavements in York hoping to find answers to the questions surrounding it. Painter, forty-four, was found hanging from a tree by a bedsheet not far from his home on Monday at 9:23 a.m. Searchers scoured nearby woods for him. Sean Painter had been missing since Saturday when he was last seen by a friend who dropped him off at the George and Dragon pub in the city centre.’

  “Eight of his friends went looking for Sean,” said Janey Digby, a barmaid from the pub. “Half an hour later, they discovered the body a few hundred yards from his house. At that point, they notified the police."

  ‘Police continue the probe into whether Painter's death was a suicide or a homicide. They are working on the streets. Talking to people who knew Painter. To discover what was going on in his life in his last weeks, days, and hours.’

  A police spokeswoman said last night, “The body is undergoing an autopsy on Thursday, results won’t be available until Tuesday, because of the Bank Holiday weekend. While no conclusions have been reached in this matter, it is important for law enforcement to handle these investigations with the utmost care and considers every possibility.”

  ‘Blake Wilson, seventy-two, a George and Dragon regular, said, “I searched for Sean while walking my dog, Mitzi, and I saw the body. All signs of life had gone. His cold, vacant eyes stared out at me, accusingly. What a shocking waste of life. What drove him to it?” This reporter has questions for the police.’

  ‘There was no ladder present or convenient point to climb up from. How did Painter get to where he was found hanging in the first place? That wood has dozens of access and exit points. People often walk their dogs there, like Blake Wilson; courting couples park close by, and joggers use the surrounding footpaths. It may be difficult to pinpoint relevant evidence, but surely there must be doubt over this being a suicide?’

  ‘The autopsy will yield more clues; scrapings under the nails would suggest Painter tried to fight off an attacker. Bruises and ligature marks would have to be assessed to see if they were consistent with Painter having taken his own life. Painter spent ten years in HMP Full Sutton for possession of a firearm with intent to cause fear or violence. He was a violent criminal, known to have strong links with the criminal underworld. It might be easier to find motive and opportunity for murder than to find a reason for Sean Painter to take his own life. We await the autopsy results with great interest. More from this reporter on Tuesday.’

  *****

  At the HSS offices in Bath, Phil Hounsell was checking the accounts. He had been right. The sizeable deposit he had received from Annabelle Fox at Larcombe had eased their financial pressures. Security work for the lads was still being phoned through; enough to keep them ticking over at least. He had two missing person jobs for him to pursue. Happy Easter.

  Wayne returned to the office with two doughnuts and two coffees.

  “Still sticking to the diet, I see then, Wayne,” he said.

  “Yes, boss, I’ve cut down to only one doughnut. How are things looking?”

  “Good, for the time being,” said Phil, closing his laptop.

  The sight of the ten thousand pounds’ deposit had reminded Phil of something he overheard at the weekend.

  “Oh, by the way, Wayne, I was out walking by the Roman Baths late on Saturday afternoon, with Erica and the kids. A couple walked past, and I heard them chatting.”

  “Earwigging, boss? Once a copper, always a copper, eh?”

  “Unless my hearing has gone haywire, his voice sounded like that bloke who rang me a month back; do you remember me saying there might be a new line of work coming our way?”

  “I remember you being evasive about the nature of the work, boss, but that’s it,”

  “I can’t say too much more, but if he’s a local now, then we might bump into him more often.”

  As they polished off the doughnuts and drank the coffee, Phil thought of the two people he had seen. They had just left the Baths and walked in front of him and his family. They turned right and headed through the pillars past the Pump Rooms towards the Abbey. Newcomers to the city, he’d thought, as he had continued up to Milsom Street; but not tourists. The woman was very attractive, and the man, well, he had been dressed in casual clothes which masked his physique. Phil knew if they stood toe to toe, he’d be looking at the guy’s chin. God forbid, they stripped to the waist; he’d be unfit, and flabby, while his Olympus contact would be well-muscled, with a washboard stomach.

  “I think I’d better cut out the doughnuts from now on, Wayne,” he said.

  “You’re the boss,” said Wayne.

  Wednesday, 16th April 2014

  There was a surprise visitor at Larcombe, late on Wednesday afternoon. The Reverend Sarah Gough arrived in her somewhat battered VW camper van. She spluttered her way over the cattle grid, and up the driveway. When she pulled up in front of the main building, there was an audible sigh from the radiator.

  “Ah well,” said Sarah, “you’ve got me here Maggie. That’s the main thing. I’m sure Annabelle will put me up for a few nights, and you can have a good rest. If you need to be tinkered with, perhaps there will be a friendly mechanic in the congregation.”

  Conversations with her car, her bicycle and her cats were a common occurrence. Sarah often tried out her sermons on them, and there had never been a critical review, so she ploughed on regardless.

  Sarah had climbed out of the van and struggled to lift her suitcase from the back. A loud voice interrupted her labours.

  “Excuse me, madam, but you can’t park here. This is private property. Perhaps you would like to turn around and leave?”

  Sarah emerged, red-faced with her exertions, from behind the door. Her suitcase had fallen open, and various items of clothing and accessories dropped to the floor. Stood over her was a rather imposing gentleman.

  Henry Case tried not to look at the female undergarments that now littered the front steps of the manor house. He raised his eyes to look at the unexpected guest’s face. He stopped when he saw the white clerical collar.

  “Ah, I may have been mistaken. You are not trespassing. Well, that may not be the best choice of word in the circumstances… I don’t suppose you ever do. Trespass, that is. You must be Miss Gough. We understood you were due to arrive on Friday. Do you need a hand with your things? Well, perhaps I’m not the right chap…”

  Sarah Gough let this pompous oaf squirm a while longer. Did he know how deliciously long his eyelashes were? She could sense that her face stubbornly refused to reduce in colour from scarlet to pink. Why did that have to happen? Oh
heavens, she thought, I haven’t felt like this for such a long time.

  Henry tried again. He stuck out a hand.

  “Welcome, Miss Gough. I’m Henry Case, head of security here at Larcombe Manor. If you rescue your things, I’ll look after the suitcase. We’ll find the bride-to-be, and no doubt she will sort out your quarters. Do you want to give me the keys to your van? It sounded ‘dicky’ when I heard you coming up the driveway. I’ll get our garage people to check her over for you.”

  “She’s called Maggie,” said Sarah, “thank you, Henry, that would be marvellous.”

  “Would you let me show you around tomorrow, padre? There are places that are off-limits, but the grounds are lovely in the springtime. You can inspect the church too, get your bearings, ready for Saturday.”

  “That sounds splendid,” said Sarah, and she meant it.

  Henry beamed at her, picked up her suitcase as if it were a feather, and strode inside the house. Sarah gathered up her bits and pieces, mortified that Henry knew she wore red underwear beneath her cassock. Until now, it had been her little secret.

  *****

  ‘In Telford on Wednesday evening, Pavel Kowalski was bludgeoned to death with a claw hammer. Twenty-four-year-old Kowalski’s body was found in an alley, fifty yards from the town centre. Police are appealing for witnesses.’

  This was not long after Sarah Gough had stored her clothes away in her super bedroom, overlooking the front lawns. She looked at herself in the mirror, before joining Annabelle Fox and her partner for an evening meal.

  Sarah was not a natural beauty; unlike her university chum, Annabelle. If she was brutally honest, she could afford to lose a few pounds; but her flock had the image of the Vicar of Dibley in their heads from the TV series. Sarah shrugged her shoulders and talked to the mirror: -

  “You probably won’t see him again after the weekend; so why raise your hopes?”

  She joined her hosts in their apartment. The meal was excellent, the company warm and friendly, just as she had expected. Little Hope had been put to bed for the night, so Sarah didn’t get a chance of a cuddle as she had hoped.

  “I have a meeting tomorrow with the Charity Commission,” said Athena, “their inspectors are paying us one of their regular visits. I hope you won’t be too bored, Sarah.”

  “Your head of security, Henry, has offered to take me on a tour of the estate,” replied Sarah. “Not to worry, he seems very capable of taking care of people.”

  “He’s prone to do that alright,” said Phoenix, “we wouldn’t be without him.”

  He wasn’t surprised when he received a kick on the ankle from Athena.

  Sarah tried to suppress a yawn.

  “Oh dear, the long journey, and two glasses of wine are taking their toll. I’m not the girl I was at university, Annabelle.”

  “Time for bed, then Sarah,” said her friend, not wishing for tales of drunken nights as an undergraduate to be the subject of conversation tonight. Sarah Gough was asleep by eleven o’clock. Phoenix and Athena were not long behind her.

  Just before midnight, twenty-eight-year-old Liam Rush, from Croxteth, Liverpool, died from injuries sustained in a fall from the Waterfront multi-storey car park. Police enquiries are concentrating on his connections to organised crime in the city.

  *****

  Thursday, 17th April 2014

  The inspectors arrived at Larcombe at ten o’clock. Henry Case met them at the front door, then took them to the charity’s main office. He introduced them to Annabelle Fox, the CEO, and Sir Julian Langford, and Michael Purvis, her team leaders.

  Athena, Minos, and Alastor then provided their carefully crafted answers to the questions the inspectors had for them on this occasion. Minos and Alastor had done well; the relevant documentation on safeguarding and treatment provided for the poor devils in their charge was at hand, and up to date.

  Meanwhile, Henry Case showed Sarah Gough around the orangery. She marvelled at the beauty of the building, and the solitude it afforded.

  “This would be a perfect place for me to write my sermons,” she said.

  “As it’s a fine day, Miss Gough, we’ll cut across the lawns to the church,” said Henry.

  “I wish you would call me Sarah, Henry,” she said. “Miss Gough makes me sound like one of those old spinsters in an Agatha Christie murder story. Padre doesn’t sound right either. I imagine you’ve been out of the army for a while? I think they call them female chaplains these days.”

  “Consider me reprimanded,” said Henry. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Sarah, slipping her arm through his, as they walked across the lawn, “I’m having fun, aren’t you?”

  Henry had to admit to himself that he was having great fun.

  In the office, the meeting still dragged on. Athena was convinced the inspectors had run out of questions, but they had learned from colleagues of the excellent food on offer at Larcombe Manor.

  “Perhaps we should break for lunch?” she asked.

  “That would be great,” said the chief inspector, “after we’ve eaten, might we visit the walled garden? I understand you grow many of your own vegetables and fruit here?”

  “Of course,” said Minos, “I’ll show you. It will be my pleasure.”

  When Minos emerged from the building with his three inspectors trotting along behind him, he spotted Henry, and a woman wearing a clerical collar walking towards them. This must be the vicar Athena mentioned, he thought, she’s already here for the wedding.

  Henry guided his companion along the path leading to the front of the house, to avoid bumping into Minos. Sarah waved a greeting, to be friendly, which was her nature.

  The former High Court judge escorted his guests to the garden. There were men working there, as he expected. It was part of the elaborate cover Olympus provided every time inquisitive outsiders visited.

  Thirty minutes later, after a visit to the flower beds, and shrubbery, Minos returned to the office. The inspectors were perfectly satisfied. As Annabelle Fox walked with them to the front door, to see them off, the chief inspector stopped and shook her hand.

  “We were impressed by everything we saw today Ms Fox. I shall recommend we reduce our inspection visits; you now tick all the relevant boxes. As we walked in the grounds, we saw your female chaplain. What a marvellous addition she is to what your charity offers these soldiers. Pastoral care is so important, isn’t it?”

  As the car drove off, Athena smiled. Sometimes, it helps to be lucky too, she thought.

  CHAPTER 16

  Good Friday, 18th April 2014

  Everything was quiet at Larcombe Manor. The staff were enjoying the extra hours in bed. Only a skeleton crew manned the ice-house. Athena and Artemis were soon to travel into the city for their few hours of relaxation at the Spa. Phoenix and Rusty planned how best to spend their free time. Should they go for a swim first? Work out in the gym? Or challenge one another to target practice in the shooting range? They knew where they had to finish; there were cans of lager, and food later in the orangery. Life was simple.

  Around the country, Friday was neither Good nor simple for several people.

  *****

  At around two in the morning, in Gloucester, Mick Fry. twenty-seven died in a house fire. The victim had been drinking in The New Inn until midnight.

  The Chief Fire Officer for the Gloucestershire Fire Service who attended the scene said: - “I’ve got an open mind, on this one. We need to carry out an intensive investigation to see whether this was an accident, caused by a carelessly dropped cigarette, or a deliberate act.”

  Over one hundred and seventy miles away on the north-west coast, in Blackpool, Ali Broughton, just twenty, drowned in the seas off Cleveleys Beach. His family and friends said Ali was a strong swimmer. He went out for a drink with mates early last evening but never returned home. The police appealed for witnesses.

  *****

  Athena and Artemis returned from the city centre by five o’clock. Phoe
nix and Rusty had spent the afternoon putting the world to rights in the orangery over a few drinks. Maria Elena looked after Hope; Giles was at a loose end. He went swimming alone.

  Henry Case had walked over to the garage after lunch, to discover that Maggie would be out of action until Tuesday lunchtime. He told Sarah the news about her beloved VW camper van. She was crestfallen; to make amends, he drove them both to Burrington Combe. Henry parked the car. He led her to the spot where legend said the Anglican cleric Augustus Toplady sheltered from the rain when out walking from his parish in nearby Blagdon. The spot under the rock in the steep narrow valley, which inspired him to write the hymn ‘Rock of Ages, cleft for me.’

  As they stood close together, beneath the overhanging rock, Henry was similarly inspired. He kissed Sarah Gough on the lips.

  “Sarah,” he said, “I hope we can keep seeing one another after the wedding.”

  “I should jolly well hope so, Henry,” she replied, “but I assume you’re referring to Annabelle’s wedding tomorrow?”

  Henry blushed at his mistake.

  “I’m not very good at this,” he said.

  “Perhaps we should have more practice,” said Sarah.

  As Good Friday drew to a pleasant close for everyone concerned at Larcombe, around the country there were more deaths to add to the statistics.

  Over thirteen hundred people die every day in the UK. The media reports on the infrequent violent death, or a series of deaths; on a fog-bound motorway, an overturned coach, a light plane crashing in a field in bad weather. These stand out from the rest and receive more attention. Sadly, for many men and women, their deaths are mundane, unspectacular, almost predictable.