The Phantom

by Jack Murray

  Finally he put the phone down and said, ‘That was Lord Aston. He may have something. He wants to meet us now. I think the Commissioner will have to wait’

  ‘Where?’

  But Jellicoe was already on his feet reaching for his coat. The two men went towards the door. However at that moment, it opened.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ asked Bulstrode, grinning vindictively.

  ‘Yes, we were going to get you,’ replied Jellicoe evenly. Bulstrode nodded but said nothing. Jellicoe stood at the door, his face inches away from Bulstrode. Ryan tensed himself in case the two men came to blows. Finally Jellicoe said, ‘Shall we?’

  Bulstrode stood back to let the two men through. They were walking down the corridor when Ryan asked, ‘And where is Sergeant Wellbeloved?’

  ‘Doing what you should be doing, son. Catching criminals.’

  -

  The room was dark, a shaft of light shone down on the child’s face. The closed eyes began to move underneath the lids. The light on his face was not so very bright, diffused as it was by the grey cloud, but all around it was dark, graveyard-silent save for the cooing of pigeons in the corner and the occasional scuttling sound.

  A man came out from the shadow and looked down at the child. The little boy lay asleep on the bed. It was the sound of the wheezing. He’d heard it before. Lots of kids had it when he’d been growing up. Many of them didn’t last long. For a moment he felt a stab of pity and then, like cake at a children’s birthday, it was gone.

  He shook his head and looked at the other man. They both turned around as the child began to cough. This was when it would get uncomfortable.

  ‘I don’t like this.’

  This much was obvious. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. A bead of sweat on his forehead in a room as cold as a morgue. The other man looked back at him with disdain.

  ‘Going soft?’

  ‘I don’t care about the nipper, Johnny, it’s the rest of it. Wag will go mental. Just see if he doesn’t. He just wanted us to take the girl.’

  ‘Never mind Wag,’ said Johnny Mac, ‘The good Lord has just gifted us something better.’

  Out of nowhere a something seemed to attack Rusk. It lasted moments. He looked up. On a beam overhead was a pigeon. Angry now, as well as frightened, Rusk sent forth a volley of abuse that was as surprisingly eloquent as it was probably inexplicable to the pigeon. The coughing grew stronger and then the child woke up.

  The boy looked at the two unfamiliar men and the unfamiliar surroundings. Once he realised this was not his home, he began to cry.

  Loudly.

  Rusk felt like doing the same.

  Chapter 29

  Ryan drove the car with Bulstrode and Jellicoe sitting in the back. Neither was saying much. Bulstrode was oddly ill at ease. Without his partner, he seemed diminished, somehow. From time to time he turned around and looked out of the rear window. Jellicoe’s face, meanwhile, was impassive. He seemed happy to stare out the window. Taking his cue from Jellicoe, Ryan said nothing either, his own mind was already spinning quickly at the events of the last few hours.

  Perhaps the silence was proving too heavy, but eventually Bulstrode turned to Jellicoe and said, ‘This is a fool’s errand and you know it. You’re just delaying the inevitable, Jellicoe.’

  Jellicoe turned sharply to Bulstrode, ‘That’s Chief Inspector, to you. I’ll thank you to remember that, Detective Inspector.’

  Ryan coughed in the driver’s seat to make it clear he’d heard the exchange.

  ‘You just concentrate on your driving son,’ exploded Bulstrode angrily.

  ‘Yes sir,’ replied Ryan. A minor victory. It didn’t feel there would be many more.

  A few minutes later they had arrived at their destination. Through the gates they could see Kit’s Rolls Royce. He was standing beside the car waiting. Bulstrode was the last to see him.

  ‘Is this it, Chief Inspector? You’re relying on some fancy-dan lord to bail you out? I’ve seen it all now.’ His laugh wasn’t so much a laugh as a cackle that started as a hacking cough and certainly ended as one. Jellicoe couldn’t stop himself from glancing in undisguised repugnance at his fellow officer. This was noted by Bulstrode and only served to make his laugh sound harder, harsher and generally foul.

  The three policemen debouched from the car and were greeted by Kit with a bleak smile, as he realised who had come. Beside Kit was Mary. Jellicoe nodded to her and she smiled back. The smile made his hopes rise briefly but this faded quickly. The situation was a mess. As high as his regard for Lord Aston was, the problems in this case were, to all appearances, insurmountable.

  ‘Gentlemen, this way,’ said Kit. ‘I have some additional questions to ask here. I hope you don’t mind.

  ‘Certainly not, Lord Aston,’ replied Jellicoe. He looked at Kit. There were so many questions in his eyes, but he realised Kit would say nothing until they were inside.

  A few minutes later the three policemen were sitting in front of Raven Hadleigh in his cell. At Kit’s request Brickhill and Hastings stayed for the meeting.

  Bulstrode looked around the cell with something approaching repulsion. He was not a man who subscribed to the view that prison was for rehabilitation. No, in his humble opinion it served three purposes and three purposes only: retribution, incapacitation and deterrence. Deportation was even better, but sadly it had ended fifty years earlier. Hanging, was of course, best. Take away the problem completely. That was your man. The sight that had greeted him when he arrived in Hadleigh’s cell was a as shocking as it was vexing. What right had a thief like Hadleigh to enjoy such a privileged lifestyle?

  Bulstrode wasn’t the only man looking a tad displeased. Major Hastings refused to sit and stood to attention like the martinet he’d been this past thirty years. Kit looked at him coolly and smiled. There was anger in the eyes of Hastings, or perhaps it was fear. At this stage Kit was not sure. Over the next few minutes, he would know.

  Brickhill looked no more comfortable. He was standing beside Bulstrode. Two peas in a pod thought Kit sourly at the two men. Even Ryan gave the impression of being uncomfortable, unable to fix his gaze on anyone. His mind seemed elsewhere. Kit put this down to the revelations about Caroline Hadleigh. This was understandable, and he sympathised. Love could do this.

  Kit looked at Mary. She had a half smile on her face. If she felt nervous, she wasn’t showing it. Rather than quiz Kit on what he thought, she had been happy to say little on their trip to the prison. It was clear Kit was still thinking through how he would approach the meeting.

  With everyone present, Kit felt it was time to begin. As he was about to speak, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Who on earth is that?’ exclaimed Hastings, betraying the irritation that had been building up in him since the unexpected arrival of Kit.

  Two people walked into the room.

  ‘Hello father,’ said Caroline Hadleigh, with a smile. Moments later she realised Ben was in the room also. ‘Ben,’ she cried and ran over to him. She embraced him.

  Mary looked at Jellicoe. His features did not change when Caroline embraced his Detective Sergeant. This surprised her. She turned to Kit. But Kit was looking at the man who had accompanied Caroline. His face was almost unreadable. It could have been shock on his face or, perhaps, realisation. She hoped it was the latter.

  ‘Hello Aston,’ said the new arrival, taking a cigarette out of a silver box.

  Mary turned to Kit again and saw him smile.

  ‘Hello Geddes,’ said Kit.

  Gerald Geddes walked over to Kit and the two men shook hands. While the handshake was not necessarily an indication of warmth in the relationship of the two men, it certainly suggested there was respect.

  ‘May I introduce, Gerald Geddes, everyone. Geddes works for the…’

  ‘Foreign Office,’ interjected Geddes, thereby confirming in everyone’s mind that he was a spy. He was dressed, as ever, in a dark pinstriped suit. The cigarette hung lazily on his l
ower lip. He glanced at Kit as if he was an entertainer. Kit could see this in his face and smiled inwardly. Maybe that’s what he was these days.

  Caroline, meanwhile, was looking at Mary in surprise. Mary felt a twinge of regret. More than that, it felt like a gash. The duplicity she had been forced to practice had come at a price. Her peace of mind had been shattered by the thought that she had somehow put Caroline in the frame for the crimes. The look on Caroline’s face offered no solace. If she hated Mary then it was no more than she deserved.

  ‘As I was saying,’ said Kit, ‘Perhaps it’s time we begin again. I think the arrival of Geddes has added a few pieces to this jigsaw puzzle that were missing.’ Turning to Geddes, he said, ‘If I make any slip ups, you’ll fill in will you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Geddes.

  ‘Where to begin? That is the question. We could begin where I and Mary joined this story, at Lord Wolf’s house, when the theft of the diamonds was uncovered inadvertently by a practical joke being played by Lord Wolf. But this is too near the end. Perhaps I should start with the first two robberies at the end of last year. The only thing is, I know little about them except that in each case, a young woman had been hired to work in the houses in question as a maid. In each case the maid had been placed by an agency called Holland Placements. There are a number of agencies that specialise in placing house staff, this was too much of a coincidence. However, when the police investigated this agency it turned out to be as fictitious as the young lady working for the two houses. It wasn’t until Lady Mary,’ said Kit turning to his fiancée, ‘uncovered the fact that Caroline Hadleigh was working in disguise at the Rosling household, that this particular mystery was cleared up.’

  Mary looked, once again at Caroline. The dislike in Caroline’s face was evident. Mary fought hard to control tears forming in her eyes. She felt angry at herself. It was clear to her that Caroline was not a criminal, but her actions were highly suspicious. She hoped Kit had an answer to the many questions swirling around in her head.

  ‘At this point the finger was clearly pointing at Caroline. As the daughter of a notorious thief,’ said Kit, turning to Raven Hadleigh, who merely bowed slightly, ‘she would have had ample opportunity to learn the tricks of the trade from the master. And then there was the calling card left at the scene of each crime. It’s entirely conceivable that Caroline could have kept a secret stash of these. And, finally, there’s no reason why a woman such as Caroline could not, with all she has possibly learned, commit these crimes.’

  Mary was oddly torn by this comment. She agreed wholeheartedly that there was no reason a woman could not be a master thief. She just hoped it wasn’t this one.

  ‘Yes, there’s no reason at all. Except Caroline Hadleigh was not the thief,’ said Kit.

  Everyone looked at Caroline. Her emotions were beginning to get the better of her. Ryan looked down and held her tightly.

  ‘No,’ continued Kit, ‘the Phantom in this case is, was, and always will be, Raven Hadleigh.’

  Chapter 30

  Alfred sat outside the prison in Kit’s Rolls. It had been twenty minutes now and he was bored, worse, he was hungry. He cursed the curse that had given him such an enjoyment of food, such a craving for the wicked comfort provided by a moist and weighty egg, some bacon and oven-fresh bread. He could feel the saliva forming in his mouth as this delightful picture formed in his mind. With the mental image came an almost visceral sense of the exquisite aroma of the bread and the salt-sharp smell of the bacon.

  He hoped they would get a move on inside. His curiosity about what was happening matched the growing hunger pains forming in his stomach. Lord Aston had, sadly, not been very forthcoming on what was on his mind, during the journey. Alfred had consoled himself by stealing as many looks as he could of the gorgeous Lady Mary. Even with darker hair, she was still something, but he had preferred her with the blonde wig.

  The arrival of the other young woman was a pleasant surprise. She was blonde and almost as beautiful as Lady Mary. The thought of the two young women made Alfred feel warm inside, in what was, otherwise, a rather chilly day. Some men have all the luck, he thought. He didn’t begrudge Kit his good fortune. As noble’s went, he seemed a good sort. And he’d done his bit, to be fair. Still, though, what must it feel like to have such a beautiful woman in your arms? To have her look into your eyes, lovingly. To do as you commanded, willingly.

  As he thought about such unlikely scenarios, he noticed the door open of the main building. A man came running out.

  He was heading directly towards Alfred and the car.

  -

  Young Ben Ryan was asthmatic. He had been born with a condition that narrowed his airways and produced, on occasion, prodigious quantities of mucus. All too often it made breathing difficult, triggered coughing fits that ripped through his body like a hurricane, followed by wheezing and shortness of breath.

  This morning he was treating Rusk and Johnny Mac to the full array of his complaints, topped off by a roar of protest that emanated from somewhere in the region of his feet, such was its volume, pitch and ferocity. Within half an hour of his waking, it was almost possible to feel sorry for the two kidnappers as they struggled to quieten the hell-child.

  The latest outpouring of green, gloopy, mucus from young Ben’s nose, which, by now, seemed more like a tap to Rusk than an organ of the olfactory system, ran like a rivulet over the bridge of the toddler’s mouth, onto his lips.

  ‘Jesus Christ, how can one child have so much snot?’ yelled Rusk. This provoked yet more wailing from the disgruntled child. Rusk was sorely tempted to join the ghastly little child’s snivelling, such was his misery.

  ‘Haven’t you a handkerchief for that bloody child?’ snarled Johnny Mac.

  ‘I did. I threw it away. You’ll never clean that again.’ He glanced dejectedly at the sodden-green handkerchief lying on the ground. It had been a Christmas present from his mother a few years ago. He still missed her.

  ‘Well use your bloody sleeve, then.’

  ‘Why don’t you use your bloody sleeve?’ shouted Rusk in response. The situation had veered shockingly out of control. Rusk’s mood was, to say the least, frazzled by a lack of sleep, a sense of injustice at the demise of his mum’s gift and an increasing scepticism on the wisdom of their unilateral decision to go it alone and kidnap Satan’s spawn.

  Rusk was not a deep thinker. He accepted that when God had been handing out brains, he’d been in the wrong queue. This was not a problem for Rusk. He had gifts, if violence and intimidation can be considered thus. He deployed them on behalf of those more cerebrally-endowed than he. The arrangement suited both sides. However, even he could see that going against Charles ‘Wag’ McDonald was potentially rife with risk.

  Once Wag learned that the girl was ‘off limits’ then he would call everything off. Wag was not a man to take unnecessary risks with the police, even if he did employ more than a few of them. He was certainly not a man to license the kidnapping of children.

  This was against the rules.

  He was an odd man, thought Rusk, but, on balance, not one you wanted to get on the wrong side of. Right now, he and Johnny Mac were so far on the wrong side of Wag they were virtually in a different country, which is where they would need to abscond to whichever way things went. The thought of this made Rusk feel even more miserable. And then young Ben Ryan applied the coup de grace as Rusk wiped his nose with his sleeve: he sneezed messily.

  -

  Raven Hadleigh looked at Kit and smiled slowly. He seemed neither angry nor surprised by Kit’s announcement.

  ‘Interesting theory, Lord Aston,’ replied Hadleigh. Gesturing to his surroundings, ‘Perhaps you’re unaware of my present situation. This is after all, notwithstanding the obvious home comforts, a prison cell.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Kit also with a smile, ‘I had rather noticed.’

  ‘Then are you seriously proposing that I escape from the prison of an evening, make my way to a rich man’s
home and help myself to some diamond necklaces they’ve left carelessly hanging around, before breaking back into this establishment and continuing with my incarceration.?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s quite like that,’ responded Kit. ‘Clearly you had some help.’

  ‘Really? From whom? Hasting here?’

  ‘Well, yes. Hastings and Brickhill, in fact. The truth is, you walk out of here of an evening, not break out as you say, and one of these men will drive you to the target location where Caroline, simply, lets you in through the front door.’

  Kit looked at Hastings and Brickhill who both had turned puce. Hastings was clearly on the point of exploding when Kit calmly held his hand up.

  ‘The thing that bothered me from the start wasn’t the how, it was the why. Why would you return? What was the point of all of this? And then I received part of the answer this morning from my friend and your colleague Spunky Stevens. Did you send him along to me?’

  Geddes smiled and said nothing. Kit read that to mean ‘yes’.

  ‘Once I realised that it was the…’

  ‘Foreign Office,’ interjected Geddes again with a smile.

  ‘Foreign Office,’ agreed Kit, ‘then it all made sense, although a few more pieces, as I say, were filled in by your arrival with Miss Hadleigh. I won’t inquire about why you’ve targeted these individuals for theft, but I am rather interested. For another time perhaps. But I suspect the diamonds, in each case, are a cover for an ulterior motive. I’m sure you couldn’t possibly say, Geddes.’

  ‘Correct,’ replied Geddes.

  Hadleigh looked at Kit. The smile had never really left his face. But with the smile Kit could also see a sadness in the eyes. There was something else he wanted Kit to say. Kit nodded to Hadleigh and, for a moment, it seemed the room was empty except for the two men.

  ‘We’ve met before haven’t we?’ asked Kit.