by steve higgs
Ronald put a steadying hand on Old Sam's shoulder in support and turned his face to me. ‘Perhaps the Phantom will get him, Mr. Michaels.' The way he said it sounded like a suggestion or a prediction like it was something that could come to pass if he just wished hard enough for it. A brief chill passed down my spine and I snapped my notebook shut to break the moment.
‘Gentlemen, I must thank you for your time, it has been invaluable.' I had taken a lot in over the last couple of hours and now needed to sift through my notes, write down my thoughts and start my investigation proper. I would need to come back to the Mill undoubtedly, but my watch told me the time was 1847hrs, so I had kept Ronald way past his allotted finishing time and it was time to let him go. ‘Would you be so kind as to escort me back to reception, Ronald?' I indicated about the room, ‘I have become somewhat disoriented.'
‘Of course, sir. I would not want you wandering around the Mill unaccompanied anyway. Some fool was in by B Furnace earlier this afternoon actually, just before you arrived in fact. That's why I was late meeting you. I went looking for him. The boys said the idiot was wandering around with a clipboard and a hat that said HSE.'
My cheeks wanted to colour, so I focused on not letting them. If Ronald knew it had been me, he gave no indication, but I made a mental note to reconsider the HSE disguise.
We bid Old Sam good evening and set off on a winding route back to reception. It was a good thing I had Ronald as a guide as I would otherwise have needed to find the Thames just, so I could orientate myself.
Ten minutes later Ronald had me back at reception where I gave him a business card and asked him to call me if he thought of anything I might need to know. He headed off to his car and I went to mine at the far end of the car park where I had left it.
My House Thursday 7th October 2015hrs
The drive home had been swift and painless. The traffic out of Dartford had already peaked and was dwindling by the time I joined it so that I got home in less than half the time it had taken me to get there. To fill the time though, I went back over the events of the last few hours. Mrs. Barker seemed genuine in her belief that her husband had been murdered and in her grief. It was something of an odd case for me because I was not actually investigating the Phantom, I was looking into whether her husband had died of natural causes. The Phantom felt like nothing more than a red herring at this point. Still, since the paranormal is codswallop this case had precisely the same amount of it as any other I took on. Unintentionally, I found myself thinking about Amanda's role in the forthcoming investigation, how I would deploy her and how much time we would spend together. This inevitably led me to consider whether our time together would yield any kind of romance between us. I saw it happen all the time on TV cop shows, inevitable sparks between the two sexy detectives. The more reasonable part of my brain assured me this was pure fantasy though. Not only that, the continuing desperate hope that I could win Amanda's heart would torture me as she dated other men oblivious to my feelings. The option to tell her how I felt had two alternate endings. She runs into my arms or the far more likely version where it all becomes very awkward and weird and we cannot work together. The logical course of action, I assured myself was to pursue someone else. Hayley at the coffee shop, Natasha at the pub, Poison in the bookshop. All had suggested I was on their list of things to do. Poison and Hayley especially. I continued to ponder my options for the rest of the drive, slowly convincing myself that I would be less distracted by thoughts of Amanda if I were finally getting some action elsewhere. Typically, though, I had not arrived at a decision by the time I got home and started my evening routine.
It was well after dinner time as far as the dogs were concerned, so they had fallen hungrily into their kibble before I could put it on the floor. They were now asleep either side of me as I was sitting on the sofa. I had a few items on my to-do list, such as call my mother and make sure I avoid her plan to have me organise a baby shower, go through my notes on the Phantom case, work out my next move and call Amanda so I could discuss it with her. The most pressing on my list though was eating. I had eaten an apple since lunch time and I was registering empty.
I eased myself out from between the slumbering hounds and headed to the kitchen. Perpetually fighting taste over nutrition, I wanted a juicy, fat, cheeseburger with bacon and cheese covered fries. I rarely bought the ingredients to create such a feast though, knowing that temptation was far harder to succumb to if one did not have such things to hand. I settled on a compromise that ticked enough boxes from both taste and nutrition camps and made a turkey burger with sweet potato fries. The fries were oven baked and I used a wholemeal roll with no mayonnaise. First Dozer and then Bull had come through to the kitchen to investigate whether I had something extra for them to eat. I tossed them each a thick slice of carrot and watched as they trotted happily away to devour their prizes in private.
While my burger had sizzled in the pan, I continued to consider my relationship options. I dismissed the notion of falling into bed with Poison. There were several reasons why I shouldn't. At my decision, Mr. Wriggly folded his arms and turned his back on me grumpily. Natasha felt like an obvious choice, but also like I was settling for the silver medal because I could not win the gold. Acknowledging that made me uncomfortable, but since I had no way of contacting her it was a moot point. This left Hayley. Part of my brain categorised her as the bronze medal. I told that part to shut up though. Hayley was lovely. What she appeared to be offering in terms of a relationship was not exactly what I was looking for, but since beggars cannot be choosers and I wanted to avoid getting to the point where I was begging, she made perfect sense. Anyway, all I was proposing to do was go out on a date for some dinner or something. I decided that I would visit Hayley in the next day or so and ask her to join me for dinner. There, decision made. Unless, of course, I could get hold of Natasha. She had given me her number, which I had promptly lost, so the ball was in my court, but I was unable to do anything with it.
I checked the fries and flipped the burger. Maybe I would talk to the chaps about it at the pub tomorrow. Get a steer from them. And maybe I would see Natasha there anyway, and if it felt right I could ask her out in person. I had a few minutes before the food would be ready to eat, so I called my mother on her house phone. She answered on the third ring by reciting the phone number as usual.
‘Good evening, mother.’ I replied.
‘Oh. Hello, Tempest. What can I do for you?’
‘The baby shower, mother.’
‘What about it?’
‘It is not a task that falls within my skill set.' I heard my mother open her mouth to speak, so I pressed on quickly. ‘However, I realise that whenever I tell you I cannot do something, I just wind up doing it anyway. So, I might as well just accept my fate and help you plan it.'
‘Oh, you are a good boy.' The truth was that my mother was rubbish at organising anything that did not take place at the church hall. If I refused to get involved, my sister would end up there with her friends eating soggy egg sandwiches and singing baby themed hymns.
‘Yes, mother.' I replied neutrally. ‘Have you already thought about what you want to do? Has Rachael said anything? Or given you any ideas about what she wants? Does she even know you are doing this?'
‘Rachael was here today actually, so I have a full list of things that she wants and places that she thinks we could have it.' I sighed in relief. Half the battle was won if Rachael had already given mother a list. There remained a distinct chance that left alone my mother would ignore all the requests and do it the way she felt it should be done. I would need to remain involved, but the task was less complex than I feared it might be. I listened while mother recited the list to me and we made a brief plan for me to free up some time in the next couple of days. I could take her to see some of the suggested venues and help with booking flowers and cakes and food etcetera. No date was set. It was left to me to call her in a day or so to arrange it when I had wrestled my diary under contro
l. I had expressed that I had just taken on a major new case, but it was obvious from my mother's tone that my sister's baby shower was more important.
My food was ready to eat, and I was hungry, so I promised once again to make some time and that I would call her soon. Then, thankfully, I disconnected. It was not that I disliked my mother, or disliked spending time with her. It was just that she was a little bit demanding, expected everyone to dance to her tune with no concept that anyone might have anything better to do and that she was generally a pain in the backside. Nevertheless, she was still my mother, the only one I had, and combined with my father, with whom she still lived, I could say that I had great parents.
I was sitting at the breakfast bar in my kitchen leafing through a food magazine while I ate. As always, the enjoyable bit of consuming the meal took a fraction of the time to prepare it, but it was tasty and nutritious and well worth the effort.
There had been a light drizzle earlier and the pavements outside were wet. Despite this, the rain appeared to have passed and it was a pleasant enough evening. The dogs needed some exercise, so I clipped their leads on and headed out on our usual route around the village. Periodically, they would stop to sniff something or urinate on a lamppost that had been urinated on by dogs ever since it was erected.
We reached the park in the centre of the village and I unclipped them from their tethers, so they could run free and search for squirrels. I took out my phone and called Amanda.
She answered on the third ring. ‘Tempest. Good evening.’
‘Hi, Amanda. Good evening to you. How was your day?’ I enquired.
‘Perfectly acceptable, thank you. Do we have a case?’ she asked, straight to the point.
‘Indeed, we do. I met with Mrs. Barker, widow of the late owner of Barker Mill. She is convinced her husband was murdered despite the coroners' report claiming natural causes and believes it was the heir Brett Barker that did it.' I paused while I checked that I could still see both dogs. Bull emerged from behind a tree to join his brother.
Amanda spoke before I could continue. ‘What about the Phantom?'
‘Well, there is something going on at that Mill. I am just not sure what it is. The likely explanation is that someone once saw a shadow and convinced themselves it was a figure. Since then superstition has caused people to blame accidents on a mysterious cloaked figure.'
‘You do not sound as certain as you usually do.’
She was right. ‘There is some physical evidence, burnt handprints, and the eyewitness reports sounded more convincing than usual. Like I said, there is something going on at that steel mill. We have been hired to investigate her husband's death though, not the Phantom. So, that is what we need to focus on. Are you available tomorrow?'
‘Yes. I have a shift tomorrow evening, so I will need to get away by late afternoon, say around four o'clock so that I can get a few hours' sleep before I start. Otherwise, I am good to go.'
‘Super. I have a couple of people to interview already but we should get started early and see them later. Can you come to my place at 0800hrs?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then I will see you in the morning.’ I had bid her good evening and disconnected just in time to see Bull shoot after a rabbit that had popped up in a nearby bush. I yelled his name in the vain hope that he might halt his charge. I might just have well have attempted to use the force for all the impact it had. Thankfully, I managed to snag him as he popped back out of the bush still wagging his tail and snuffling the dirt where he had first spotted it. The rabbit had doubtless sought refuge back down his hole, so I was lucky the tiny dog was not halfway down the hole himself.
Tethered once again to their leads, I led the two of them out of the park and back to the house. It was mid-evening, the day seemed to have been quite long already, so I would be bound for bed before very long.
First, though, I needed to spend some time going over the large pack of paperwork I had been given at the Mill. It was bound in plain brown paper and labelled only with, "FAO Tempest Michaels". I knew already that the pack contained financial reports and other drab documents pertaining to Brett Barker's affairs. I was not going to have any trouble getting to sleep.
Starting the Investigation. Friday, 8th October 0713hrs
I awoke to find the utterly boring financial statements I had been reading through last night still lying on the bed. I had fallen asleep reading. Across the bed, the duvet moved slightly, and a small black nose peeked out: A Dachshund coming to snorkel depth. An odd thing about Dachshunds is they love to burrow. They will burrow anywhere they can. I don't mean they dig a maze of warrens under my garden, but in the house, they go under pillows, under blankets, under a sweatshirt if I discard it on the floor. They will stay like that for hours, reaching what I would expect to be an uncomfortable temperature, yet it appears to be their preferred state.
The nose belonged to Dozer. He peered at me suspiciously, wondering if I would make him get up just because I was awake, but his concerns were for naught. The clock told me it was 0713hrs, which constituted a lie in for me. I considered the day ahead for a few lazy minutes still tucked under my warm bedding. I had a new case to pursue. I had a new partner, which ought to mean that the firm would solve more cases and make more money. I was seriously considering getting a part time admin assistant and the thought of not having to do all the paperwork was joyous.
This morning I had Amanda coming to the house to go over what I knew about the Barker Mill case so far. Then we would be off to interview the chap that had been dismissed under suspicion of being the Phantom, and then to see Brett Barker hopefully. I wanted to interview the chap that had been fired simply because I needed to eliminate him. That he might be guilty of any involvement in the death of George Barker never entered my mind. I was just being thorough and building a complete picture of the events surrounding the death. I suppose though that he might have a grudge against the old man. Anyway, I was off to interview him with Amanda and I wanted to meet Brett Barker, the man my client was convinced had murdered her husband. How he had pulled that off I had no idea. Yet. He might be entirely innocent. The death might yet prove to be natural causes. But then what was with the Phantom and the burning handprint on the door frame. Something was amiss at the Mill. I did not like things that were amiss. I did not like mysteries with ridiculous supernatural explanations. It was time then, to find some answers. I swung my legs out of bed and followed them to the bathroom for a shower and shave. Amanda would be here soon enough, and the day was beckoning.
Forty-seven minutes later the doorbell chimed to announce the arrival of someone that wished to enter my abode and the dogs burst into their usual fit of barking.
By then I was showered, shaved, dressed and fed. The dogs had been out and had eaten and the day had begun.
I opened the door to find Amanda on my doorstep as expected. As always, she looked fantastic in everyday clothes. Today she was wearing, knee-high black, leather boots with stretchy black leggings, not the cheap kind though, her leggings looked like they came from Hobbs or Laura Ashley. Her perfect chest was clad in another stretchy fabric. Unadorned with a logo declaring the designer, it was a long sleeved deep red roll neck top that somehow made her boobs look bigger. At least, to me they did, as I tried my hardest not to notice how they pushed the unzipped portion of her black leather jacket apart like two faces peeking between closed curtains.
‘Good morning.’ I managed, stepping away from the door to let her in. The dogs were shut in the kitchen so that she could come in without having to step over them.
‘Good morning, Tempest.’ She smiled her ever winning smile.
‘Shall I open this?' she asked, one hand on the kitchen door handle. The dogs had gone silent or at least had stopped barking and were sniffing underneath the door, probably already aware that they knew the person on the other side. I nodded and watched as the two sausage-shaped fools climbed over each other to get out the door first.
To stop them
jumping up at her legs, Amanda crouched down to pet them. They both rolled onto their backs to have her scratch their undercarriage. She cooed at them for a minute before standing back up, and contented, they trotted off to their bed in the lounge.
Amanda followed me into the office where I had already printed off a ream of information regarding the Mill and the persons of interest. I found photographs of Mrs. Barker, her late husband George and the new owner Brett just by exploring the internet. I had printed off pictures of the Mill from the outside and some shots of the inside, plus the picture of the Phantom and the shots of the burnt handprint. Some were already pinned to the cork board in my office/dining room, those that were still on the table I swept up and added to the board while Amanda took off her jacket and began to study them.
‘This is Brett Barker?' she asked, indicating his picture. ‘Good looking.' she said when I nodded. Was he? I guess she would be a better judge than me on male attractiveness. To me, he looked like a bloke, but I suppose, now that I was considering it, he had good hair, a strong jaw and a certain muscular athleticism to his figure. Amanda was still staring at his picture. I decided that I hated him and suddenly hoped he was guilty.
‘Shall I make tea?' I asked, already on my way out the door. I wanted one, so the kettle was going on anyway, but she called after me that a tea sounded great.
A few minutes later, two mugs steamed on the dining table while we sat, and I brought her up to date on what I knew so far. It did not take long. I tried to avoid conjecture at this point of a case as early conclusions tended to prove themselves false. The plan for the day was to interview Owen Larkin, the young executive that had been fired by Mr. Barker over suspicion of sabotage and to revisit the Mill to interview Brett Barker. I had emailed Mrs. Barker last night requesting her assistance in setting up the appointment with Brett. I expected the new Mill owner to be resistant to interview and suspicious of my purpose. Whether that would prove to be the case I was yet to find out, but Mrs. Barker had assured me he would make himself available today and his PA would contact me later to advise a time.
