by steve higgs
Several days had passed since Ambrogio had impaled himself. This had given reporters time to investigate him and the coroners time to conduct an autopsy. The autopsy of Ambrogio Silvano had revealed several things, chief among which was that he was human. Frank was still sulking over that one as he had bet money the coroner's office would be stumped and he was already claiming a cover-up. The fence post had punctured his right ventricle, killing him immediately. The crime scene people had determined somehow, angles and such I guess, that he had tripped on a raised edge in the path and fallen with his full body weight onto the fence post. The post had penetrated his chest between ribs five and six at a slight upwards angle. It had exited his back destroying his heart on its way through. His canine teeth were professionally fitted prosthetics fixed to the real teeth underneath. They were razor sharp, which had allowed him to inflict the deadly bite wounds.
The police, the press and everyone else were yet to work out who he really was. Perhaps his real name was Ambrogio Silvano, but I thought it unlikely. The money he had received from the Brotherhood of the Dead Vampire LARP club was out there somewhere. Amanda said they had forensic computer people employed for specifically this kind of task, so it would be found soon enough. I was unconcerned.
The papers were making various assumptions based on the limited information they had, but the prevailing theory was that he had discovered by accident that he resembled the Master vampire Ambrogio Silvano and had proceeded to exploit this by contacting the Brotherhood of the Dead and pretending to be their returned Master. So, why had he started killing? There was more writing on this subject, several leading criminal psychologists were giving their opinion on why he had gone on a murder spree. All conjecture at this point, but the theory I favoured was that having taken on the identity of the Master Vampire and revealed himself to the club he had then tried to fulfil their expectations and having killed once had liked it. Of course, it was such a dark and sexy subject that some papers were able to fill many pages with tales of sex parties - as reported by the people that were there! Also, recipes for fake blood-based cocktails and the obligatory pin-up girl dressed as a slutty vampire.
The Autopsy also revealed that he was pumped full of Human Growth Hormone Steroids and high on a cocktail of drugs at the time of his death. The HGH explained the enormous size and strength and perhaps the drugs explained why I had so little effect when I hit him. I would never know, and I was telling myself that it really didn’t matter now.
Obsidian had yet to be found. Poison had, of course, identified him and Keith Teeth as the two that had grabbed her. It had happened seconds after I left her that night to rush home to my parents. They had pulled up in a transit van and bundled her in the back. She had been drugged with what turned out to be Rohypnol and stashed on a riverboat. The boat belonged to one Mr. Damian Fogerty, who had reported it stolen over a week ago. It seemed impossible that something that large could be stolen and not found immediately, but it had been painted a different colour and had new, but false markings applied to it. Poison, of course, fingered the other members of the senior circle as well. Her statement claiming that they were all complicit and that each of them had been witness to her being held captive. They had not made it out of custody.
Quite where Obsidian was hiding I didn't much care, although I admitted to myself that I had some concern that he might attempt to exact retribution and that he might not necessarily target me directly. Was he daft enough to come after me? Or my family and friends? Or was the better question: Is he bright enough to evade the police? I could choose to worry about it or I could move on and assume he was miles away. As a compromise, I elected to have a chat with my parents and friends about being vigilant for a while.
Dr. Barry Bryson had been arrested and taken into custody. The police had nothing much to hold him for though, so he had been released pending investigation. The News articles that followed had instantly made him into a quasi-celebrity and he was suddenly in demand. He had appeared on day-time TV only this morning, chatting to the hosts about why he had taken the step of dressing up and the most unfortunate accident for which he was gravely sorry. His book had leaped from obscurity to number one bestseller overnight. Half of all proceeds from the book were to go to a charity that supported disfigured models, (I was amazed such a thing could even exist) although I suspected that the other half would soon be won by Mrs. Sweeting-Brand as she seemed likely to sue for damages and perhaps she was justified to do so. Michelle Sweeting-Brand's testimony was that the accident was exactly that. The Big Foot costume has scared her, but she did not believe that Barry should be blamed for the car crash and her boyfriend's death.
I reached the end of a long hedge and turned the corner to face back towards the lights of the village. Dozer was by my feet. Bull would be somewhere not far away, but he was generally more independent and likely to wander off on his own. I stopped and called for him until he appeared a few seconds later. Reassured that I would not have to search for him, I started back along the path and shortly left the scrubland and emerged back onto the pavement of the village.
I clipped the two boys back onto their leads, just in case any cars were about and just in case they saw a cat. The village was pleasantly lit, both from the street lighting and from the houses where lounges, kitchens, and bedrooms had lights on but the curtains still open. I imagined the dynamic of the families in some of those houses - dad home from work, kids in from school, dinner in the oven and the weekend ahead of them. Pleasing concepts that I had yet to realise for myself.
Crossing the car park at the pub, the door opened, and a smoker came out with her unlit cigarette in hand. A burst of noise from the conversation inside mingled with some laughter to make it feel like a great place to be heading.
I gave the smoker a quick good evening as I passed since she was smiling at the dogs, then let them drag me inside.
‘Hey, here he is!’ Big Ben knelt and scooped Dozer before I could even get into the pub.
‘Hey, brother,' I replied, grasping his offered hand for a firm shake. The other chaps offered similar greetings and I headed to the bar to get a round in as usual. Natasha was missing which struck me as unusual. I tried to remember when she was last not serving on a Friday night. Behind the bar was the landlord instead - an equally pleasant chap but not quite the same visual effect.
‘No Natasha?’ I enquired after I placed my drinks order.
‘Asked for the night off. Said she had something she had been meaning to do for ages and it was time to get on with it. Didn’t say what it was though.’ The Landlord was pouring drinks while talking and setting them on the bar. He had the face and skin pallor of an undertaker with very thin and dead looking brown hair covering his balding scalp. Perhaps he recognised his genetic shortcomings, and this was why he employed a young attractive person to work the bar rather than do it himself. On his thin white shirt were numerous damp marks. In some places, the shirt was sticking to the flesh beneath and I could see thick black hair on his belly showing through. Occupational hazard I surmised. As he handed the last pint over, he flicked the spilled foam from his fingers and got yet more on himself. He didn’t seem to notice or perhaps just didn’t care.
I took the first three drinks to the table and returned to collect my change and the other drinks before settling into my seat.
Jagjit and Hillary were discussing a new TV program they had both watched the night before, Big Ben was texting quietly, probably to some girl he met earlier today and would be done with before the weekend was out and Basic was humming to himself. I struck up a conversation with Basic about rugby because I knew he followed it and it was a subject we could debate. Big Ben joined in after a while, giving his thoughts on the Saracens season so far and why he thought Harlequins needed to replace their hooker.
Then his phone beeped from an incoming text and we lost him briefly while he dealt with his sex life again. The evening was like so many others before it. Full of laughter, stupidity, and
conversations about nothing much at all.
Not very much later I was four pints in and getting to my limit. It was 2134hrs and now full dark outside. I took the dogs outside just in case either of them felt inclined to find a bush. To the right of the door were two chaps I did not know, they were smoking but were good enough to make sure the smoke was blown away from me as I exited the building.
The dogs tugged at their leads, taking me to the grass verge at the edge of the carpark. I had guessed right, as both took the chance to lift a back leg. They went back to snuffling in the bushes soon enough and while they did, I pulled my phone from a back pocket.
No new messages.
Back inside, Big Ben was talking about women again when I re-joined the table with a final pint and a bag of pork scratchings for the dogs and me, as a rare Friday night treat.
‘So, what happened with Poison?’ Jagjit asked. ‘Ben says she kissed you. Are you planning to follow that up?’
I put my drink down and sucked on my teeth for a moment. Now that I was forced to consider how I was going to answer the question I found that I knew the answer - she was simply not right for me. ‘I don't think so,' I replied.
‘Mate are you crazy?' Big Ben wanted to know. ‘She is a totally hot, little, oriental chick.'
‘She is. She is. But I am actually old enough to be her father.’
‘So?' Jagjit asked. ‘She is actually old enough to be your girlfriend.'
‘I don’t know mate. It just doesn’t feel right.’
‘Well, she would feel right to me,’ said Big Ben. ‘Tiny little thing like that. The damage I could do…’ he tailed off wistfully.
‘She is a free agent mate. Feel free to pursue her.’
‘I’m not so sure about that, Tempest,’ he replied. ‘I saw her look at you down by the river. It was a look that said she wants to cover you in toffee sauce and eat you with a spoon. She doesn’t look at me like that.’
‘Then I will have to let her down gently I guess.’ Was Big Ben right? Was Poison really into me? The flirting had gone from innocent but fun, to kisses that felt like foreplay. Was I throwing away a chance for great sex? This was too complex to consider with several pints in my system.
‘What about the Policewomen?’ Hilary wanted to know.
‘What about her?’
‘Jagjit said that she already kissed you and that you are totally in love with her.’
‘Oh, did he?’ I fixed Jagjit with a look.
‘Hold on, when did she kiss you and why do I not know about this?’ asked Big Ben.
‘A few days ago, and there was nothing to tell.’
‘Well, you should feel a need to tell me these things, otherwise, the girls you want to chase will fall into the gravitational pull of Big Ben and you will have nothing to pursue but my cast offs. The only way to protect yourself is to put a dibs marker on them so I switch the charm off when they are around.'
‘You are such a dick,' said Hilary. ‘How many girls have you actually shagged?'
‘I don't know mate, I lost count somewhere after three hundred.'
‘Three hundred women? In your life, you have shagged over three hundred women?’
‘God no, Hilary, I thought you meant this year.'
We all laughed now.
My phone rang, breaking the conversation. Checking the screen, I saw it was not a number I recognised. I switched it to silent and put it back in my pocket. The lapse in conversation gave me the opportunity to down my drink and bid my friends a good evening. It was close to last orders, I was tired, and I had already drunk my fill.
The stroll home took a little over a minute as usual. I let myself in, let the dogs out into the back garden, waited for them to return and instructed them to hold it now until morning.
As I walked back through the house to the stairs the pair of them began barking and ran to the front door. I chastised them for making so much noise when children nearby would be in bed, but they kept going and then I heard it too - a knock on my door.
I shooed the dogs into the kitchen and shut them in there.
The outside light was illuminating a person who I could see through the frosted glass of my front door. It looked to be just one person, but a second or third could easily be standing further back in the shadows.
I wondered then if this was going to be members of The Brotherhood of the Dead come to seek revenge for bringing down their master and leaders, but I refused to be cowed into asking, ‘Who’s there?’
I opened the door with forced confidence, but it was not vampires. It was not anyone I was not pleased to see.
She had on a pair of tall heels, expensive looking to my untrained eye and a long, but elegant coat undone to reveal a cocktail dress inside. She was wearing her hair up which exposed the skin of her delicate neck wonderfully.
‘Are you going to invite me in?’ she asked smiling.
End
The Phantom of Barker Mill
The Phantom of Barker Mill
Blue Moon Investigations
Book 2
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2017 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copywrite law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘The Phantom of Barker Mill’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents:
Barker Steel Mill. Friday, July 5th, 1954
In My Bed. Thursday, 7th October 0503hrs
My Office. Thursday, 7th October 1511hrs
Mrs. Barker. Thursday, 7th October 1630hrs
Barker Mill. Thursday, 7th October 1747hrs
My House Thursday 7th October 2015hrs
Starting the Investigation. Friday, 8th October 0713hrs
Owen Larkin Interview. Friday, 8th October 0932hrs
Chat with Poison. Friday, 8th October 1100hrs
Barker Mill with Brett Barker. Friday, 8th October 1250hrs
Research at Home. Friday, 8th October 1443hrs
At the pub. Friday, 8th October 1926hrs
My Parent's House. Saturday, 9th October 0951hrs
Grabbing Life by the Balls (AKA growing a set). Saturday, 9th October 1257hrs
My Sister. Saturday, 9th October 1415hrs
A date with Hayley. Saturday, 9th October 1845hrs
A Rude Awakening. Sunday, 10th October 0815hrs
The Office. Sunday, 10th October 0903hrs
Dartford A&E. Sunday, 10th October 1200hrs
The Office. Sunday, 10th October 1537hrs
Self-Flagellation. Monday, 11th October 0530hrs
Barker Mill Again. Monday, 11th October 1012hrs
Staking out Owen Larkin. Monday, 11th October 1402hrs
Tea and Biscuits Monday, 11th October 1607hrs
Trouble at Mill. Monday, 11th October 1950hrs
A night in the Cells. Monday, October 11th 2115hrs
Outside Dartford Police Station. Tuesday, 12th October 0647hrs
Interviewing an Admin Assistant. Tuesday, 13th October 0900hrs
Spectral Dog Case. Tuesday, 12th October 1100hrs
The House of Mrs. Collins. Tuesday, October 12th 1215hrs
The Killer Clue.
Tuesday, October 12th 1617hrs
My New Office Assistant. Wednesday, 13th October 0857hrs
Raid on Brett Barker. Wednesday, 13th October 1100hrs
The Arrest. Wednesday, 13th October 1527 hrs
Training Jane/James. Thursday, 14th October 0900hrs
The Morning Star Public House. Thursday, 15th October 1517hrs
Junkyard Dog Thursday 14th October 1937hrs
The Bit of New Information Thursday October 14th 2157hrs
Breakfast and Brett Barker Friday 15th October 0907hrs
How many phantoms can you count? Friday 15th October 1057hrs
Brett’s Truth Friday 15th October 1303hrs
Benover Commercial Property. Friday, 15th October 1357hrs
Rochester High Street Flower Shop. Friday, 15th October 1600hrs
The Dirty Habit Public House. Friday, 15th October 1917 hrs
All the Women Gone. Friday, 15th October 2306hrs
Epilogue: The baby Shower. Saturday, 16th October 0900hrs
Postscript: The Klown. Saturday, 16th October 1217hrs
Barker Steel Mill. Friday, July 5th, 1954
Two weeks into the job and Samuel was beginning to feel that he fitted in. The initial jokes about being the new boy had died off by the end of the first week and he had learned his way around the place. Well, pretty much anyway. The steel mill was a warren of corridors and passageways. He had really caught it from Mr. Miller, the shift supervisor on his third day when they sent him for a tool and he had got lost for forty minutes. He had found the tool shack but had come back into the Mill by a different door and had got turned about. His absence had held up production and he had been fined a day's wages.
Expecting and prepared for a degree of banter there had been relatively little of it as if the older workers just couldn't be bothered with him. His grandad had told him about some of the tricks they might play on him, like sending him for a long wait or asking him to find some sky hooks. None of that came to pass though. At least not yet anyway. He followed everyone to the local working men's club on the first Friday night after work. Mill employment meant automatic membership and not only was the beer cheap but there were lots of girls that went there. He had been hearing about it from his mate Barry for more than a year. At the pub, the tall tales started.
