The Phantom of Barker Mill

by steve higgs

  Ninety minutes, three pints and a second bag of pork scratchings later I was still berating myself as I ran a bath. It was 1907hrs. I was going to get a bath, watch a movie on the sofa with the two dogs and get an early night. I would go to the gym in the morning.

  Self-Flagellation. Monday, 11th October 0530hrs

  I had not set an alarm, I never do, but I awoke at almost exactly 0530hrs just as I had planned. I was still berating myself for the extra calories I had taken in the previous evening. Pointless calories in the form of beer which were completely counterintuitive to my healthy diet and exercise regime. I was about to get up and spend an hour burning calories at the gym but considered myself already in deficit through my poor choices last night.

  I had packed my gym bag before I went to bed and had laid out my clothes ready to go. I got out of bed determined to hammer out a really good workout this morning.

  An hour and a half later I was coming back through my front door exhausted but elated having achieved that aim. As punishment for the beer, I had performed one of my most brutal routines. I simply selected ten exercises that I could perform sequentially without a break and which would work every body part. I then performed as many sets as I could. Between each sequence of one hundred exercises, ten sets of ten exercises, I would give myself a break to take on water and wipe off the sweat. I had managed seven complete sets this morning, almost seven hundred exercises as I had started to fail towards the end of the last one. Then I had promptly collapsed on the gym floor in a heap of panting jelly. A few of the regular gym goers, people I saw most weeks, had observed my routine and nodded in acknowledgement of someone really going for it.

  Arriving inside my house, I had hustled to the loo with almost two litres of water planning its escape route from my bladder. It was 0715hrs as I scooped the dogs from the top of the stairs and sent them to do their business in the garden. Watching them disappear across the lawn, I noted that the grass was getting long and there were a lot of leaves down. I made a mental note to find some time for gardening soon.

  In the kitchen, I prepared a healthy breakfast using vegetables, fruit, and eggs then headed for the shower.

  Amanda and I were seeing Brett Barker at 1030hrs, so I had plenty of time before I needed to leave the house. We were meeting at the office in Rochester. I was teaching myself to call it the office and not my office now that there were two of us working there. By 0843hrs I had tidied my house, put some laundry on, walked the dogs and driven to work. I was feeling alert and empowered by my early morning workout and very much ready to catch a phantom and solve the mystery of George Barker's death. Whether there was any link between the two I did not know. It was not something I would rule out, but it certainly felt like I was getting a two-for-one deal as both cases involved the same people, same business, and the same locations.

  I opened the door that leads up the stairs to my office then changed my mind and went to get coffee. Yesterday I had avoided going to the coffee shop through confusion about how Hayley would view my presence there so soon after spending the night together. Today though it was a working day and thus completely normal that I would be there buying coffee. Content that I had it all worked out, I went in.

  I could not see her behind the counter though and as I queued for several minutes to place my order she did not appear. I ordered coffee for both Amanda and I then asked Sharon, my server if Hayley was indeed working today.

  ‘Nah, got the day off.’ she replied without looking up. Sharon handed me the beverages and moved on to the next customer.

  I left the coffee shop and crossed the street. As I neared the office, Amanda was just getting out of her car.

  ‘Good morning.’ she called.

  ‘Hey there.’ I replied holding up her coffee cup. ‘I got you coffee.’

  ‘Ooh, super.’ She took the offered cup from me and tentatively sipped the hot, bitter liquid.

  ‘Our advert for an admin assistant went live already. I checked this morning.’

  ‘Yes, I saw that too.’ she replied. ‘I wonder if anyone will apply.’

  ‘I guess we shall see.’ The conversation had taken us up the stairs and into the office. I checked my watch: Bang on 0900hrs. ‘We should not wait too long before setting off. The roads into Dartford could be hell at this time of day on a Monday.’

  Amanda had taken the lid off her cup and was blowing on the liquid to cool it. Her luscious lips bore a faint trace of pink lipstick and they formed a perfect ‘O’ as she did so. I had to look away for fear I might just lean in and kiss her.

  She sipped at the coffee and put the lid back on, content that it was now at drinking temperature.

  ‘Shall we go then?’ she asked.

  Neither one of us had even put our bags down.

  ‘We can do. You will need to drive though. My car does not have cup holders.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked, her brow wrinkling. ‘What kind of car does not have cup holders?’

  ‘Sleek, sexy, German sports cars I guess.'

  She shrugged and fished for her keys while turning to go. I locked up and followed her down the stairs.

  We got into her car, placed our coffees in the very convenient cup holders and off we went back to Barker Mill.

  Barker Mill Again. Monday, 11th October 1012hrs

  We arrived back at the Mill at 1012hrs. Today though, in contrast to any days before it, the car park had in it two news crews with vans and all the antenna and paraphernalia needed for outside broadcasting. I wanted to avoid the press if I could, so we parked in the exact same spot as we had the day before, grabbed our bits and dashed into reception where the girl from Friday was stood talking to the two ladies behind the desk.

  This was my third visit in the last few days, so I knew the drill and just got on with filling in the visitors' book and taking my visitors' badge. I had to ask Amanda for her car registration number for the form although I had no idea what they used the information for.

  The young lady escorted us out of reception via the back door and across the yard, sticking to all the yellow walkways, then into the building that housed the main offices. The door to Brett Barker's office was closed again but as we approached I could hear him shouting at someone.

  The young lady made an apologetic face and we waited outside until we heard him slam the phone down a few seconds later. She knocked, he spoke, we went in. He looked flustered and guiltily I liked it.

  ‘Please come in.’ he ushered with his left hand to the two chairs we had sat in yesterday. ‘Work stuff.’ he said gesturing to the phone by way of explanation.

  Amanda took the chair nearest the desk, but I picked the other one up and moved it across to the other side of the room, so we now formed a vee in front of his desk and he would have to swing his head back and forth to speak with us like he was watching tennis. I wondered if he would object, at which point I would have claimed a headache and wanted my back to the light from his window. However, if the change bothered him he gave no indication.

  ‘Mr. Barker.' I began, all professional polish applied. ‘I believe you wish to engage our services to catch the Phantom.'

  He squirmed a little in his seat. ‘Yes, yes I do. But look, I wish to go on record stating that there is no bloody Phantom haunting this steel mill. However, there is someone playing bloody silly games and I want them caught.'

  ‘You think it a simple act of vandalism from a member of staff? Or could this be something more sinister than that?’ I asked.

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Are there rival mills that want you out of business? Is the sabotage to your equipment actually to cover up a different crime?’ I watched as his face coloured slightly. It was momentary, and I had to commend him for his control. Yet the involuntary reaction was definitely there.

  ‘No. I mean, I don’t know.’ he stuttered. ‘This is why I need you to investigate and find the culprit, the criminal. Whatever. That is what you do, isn’t it?’

  ‘The Police do n
ot have the resources to commit to crimes of this nature.’ Amanda said.

  ‘So, in essence, yes. This is what we do.' I answered. ‘I will find your Phantom, Mr. Barker. But I will need full access to freely move around every area of the Mill and may need to bring in a team. Can you make arrangements for this?'

  He reached for his phone and when a voice answered he instructed them to fetch someone to his office. He had said the name, but I did not catch it. He put the phone down, the conversation clearly over and looked back at me. ‘You will need to inform me when you plan to be here so that I can alert security.’

  I spent the next few minutes going through my standard explanation of fees and expenses. I made it clear that the very nature of the case and its mysterious circumstances made the length of time it would take to reach a conclusion unpredictable. This was the first time Amanda had heard my speech and I noticed that she was taking hurried notes.

  ‘Is there anything else I need to know, Mr. Barker? Anything you think might be relevant? Any suspicion you may have as to who might be responsible or why?'

  He gave it a second or so with his head down in thought. His decision though was that there was nothing he could think of. I noted that I could not see what his face was doing when he put his head down.

  I slipped my notebook and pen back into my bag and got up to leave. Amanda did likewise, and Brett came around his desk once more to shake our hands.

  ‘I wonder if I might detain you for a moment, Miss Harper?’ he said.

  She looked at me instead of answering, I was not sure what I was supposed to say. I didn’t own her, and she didn’t need my protection.

  ‘I'll be outside.' I said over my shoulder as I went out the door. Brett closed it behind me.

  A moment later the door opened again, and Amanda came out. I glanced in the room to see Brett retreating behind his desk then got moving down the corridor as Amanda had not waited for me and I was several paces behind.

  Desperately curious about what Brett had wanted to see her in private for, I kept my mouth shut and played it cool, hoping she would tell me anyway.

  Cool guy, that’s me alright.

  Putting my phone away in my bag, I walked into a doorframe.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Amanda asked, a quizzical eyebrow raised.

  ‘Yup.’ I was rubbing my head where I had hit it.

  ‘Brett asked me out.' Amanda informed me matter-of-factly. 'I am not sure why he felt he needed to do that in private.'

  Same reason I would, I thought. ‘So that when you knock him back he does not have to have others see it happen.’

  ‘I said yes.’

  Bollocks.

  ‘But only after the cases are concluded. He is one of the primary suspects after all.’

  ‘That he is.’ I agreed, hoping desperately that he was guilty.

  ‘Cute though.’

  I hated him.

  We exited the building on our way back to the car and went back through reception, so we could hand over our badges and sign out once more in the visitors' book. I had forgotten about the press though and two steps into reception we were spotted and then recognised. I watched the realisation spread as the first person saw me, nudge the chap next to him who then grabbed the lady with the microphone in her hand and suddenly they swung into action as one lump because they suddenly had a new angle to their story. It took two seconds and I had nowhere to hide.

  ‘Tempest Michaels.' yelled the lady in the suit with the microphone, trying to get my attention as I returned my badge. ‘Tempest Michaels.' she called again when I did not instantly respond.

  I handed the badge to the lady behind reception, noting that it was the same lady every time I came in and wondered how many hours she worked. I resigned myself to my fate and turned around to face the reporter. Over her shoulder, I saw that the other crew of reporters were outside the glass front of reception and had also spotted me.

  ‘Yes. It is I.' I said with a touch of flamboyance. I had no idea how to handle reporters, so I was guessing that if I gave them some cooperation they might treat me kindly. I was probably fooling myself. ‘How may I assist you?'

  The microphone was thrust in my face while a chap with a boom brought another one to hover above my face and a third chap with a shoulder mounted camera lined up to shoot the event. ‘Are you here to catch the Phantom?’ the lady asked. She was mid to late twenties and quite petite. Her attire was camera ready business suit and good coat and she was attractive while wearing minimal makeup.

  ‘You have me at a loss, you appear to know my name, but forgot to introduce yourself.’

  ‘Sarah Gainsworth, Channel Six news. Are you investigating the Phantom, Mr. Michaels?' She appeared to be all about hurrying and I then realised why: The other team of reporters was setting up now just behind them and she wanted an exclusive.

  ‘I can confirm that I have been engaged to investigate the Phantom of Barker Mill.’ I answered calmly.

  ‘What do you think the Phantom is?’ she asked next.

  ‘I expect the Phantom is a man.’ My simple answer. ‘There will be no ghostly apparition at the conclusion to this case, just a man in a costume.’

  ‘Then how do you explain the one-hundred-year history of sightings, attacks, and unexplained events?'

  ‘It is quite simple. Someone partly glimpses a figure, there is a strange or unexplained incident, a shadow is seen for a moment only and can be anything. The legend of the Barker Mill Phantom is just one example of people making an explanation for something they have seen and not been able to explain. The Loch Ness Monster is perhaps the best-known example of this phenomenon.'

  The second squad shoved their version of Sarah Gainsworth forward and a fresh microphone was thrust under my chin. ‘How soon will you catch the Phantom?’ she asked.

  I flapped my mouth for a second trying to form my next sentence… and then a fight broke out. Looking back, I am not sure exactly what the catalyst was. I think one cameraman got in front of the other cameraman, and when one shoved the other, someone else got knocked and it pretty much descended into a pitched battle from there.

  I felt a tug on my shirt sleeve and turned to see Amanda. She was pulling me away from the action and any foolish idea I might have to sort it out.

  ‘Let’s go.’ she mouthed at me. So, we did. Leaving the camera crews to their business.

  Amanda ran for her car, plipping it open as she went, and we piled in. I don't know if evasive driving is standard Police training, but she nailed the pedal and had us out of the car park like she was driving a stunt car in the Italian Job. Half a mile later she calmed it down and settled in with the traffic on the bypass around Dartford.

  ‘That ever happen to you before?’ she asked.

  ‘Goodness me, which bit? The crazy fighting to get to me? The being recognised? Or the being interviewed by the press? Because no to the first two and yes to the last. That was something of a surprise.’

  ‘Okay.’ she said, eyes on the road. ‘I supposed your picture got put about quite a bit last week with the vampire thing.’

  ‘I assume that is why they recognised me.’

  ‘Something to be prepared for in future I guess.’

  Publicity. I had read once that there was no such things as bad publicity but I doubted that was actually true.

  We fell into silence which extended for a few minutes before I felt the need to strike up a conversation.

  ‘You have a shift this afternoon, do you not?’

  ‘I do. Three o’clock to midnight.’ The hours sounded decidedly unfriendly to me.

  ‘Do you want to drop me back at the office? I will get stuck into the Phantom case I think.’

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I am not sure. There is something screwy going on at the Mill, but unlike many of my cases, there is no obvious explanation that I can see yet. This will all be the work of one person, almost certainly someone motivated to put the Mill out of business or somethi
ng. It could be someone with a grudge against the Barker family. I believe I will need to stake out the Mill itself at night, my hope with that strategy is that I will get lucky and catch someone in the act. But I will be interviewing a lot of staff in a bid to expose any little secrets, get a general impression of how the staff feels – the underlying current if you like. I think I will start though with Owen Larkin. Something about him is off so I will watch him for a while.

  ‘He was not telling us the truth, that is for sure.’ Amanda agreed.

  ‘I also need to keep going with the investigation into the death of George Barker. We are being paid to find out whether he did die of natural causes and what part the Phantom might have played, so I will be making daily reports to Mrs. Barker.'

  ‘What is your gut telling you? Was he murdered?'

  ‘Yes, I think so. Quite cleverly though and I don't yet have the slightest idea how. I cannot work out if the burnt handprint on the doorframe of his office is a red herring or if it means something. It is the bit that I cannot fit to anything else. Was it intentional and left there by the killer? Or opportunistic and left there by someone acting independently? Or did someone leave it there as deliberate misdirection?'

  ‘The coroner recorded the death as natural causes. You will need a solid case to prove otherwise.’

  ‘I have no doubt you are right. Why was he not taking his heart meds though? He had a bad heart and a stressful, demanding job. It could be called suicide if he was doing it intentionally.’

  ‘One has to ask who had most to benefit from his death. Motivation and opportunity will guide us, just the same as it will in the Phantom case.’

  ‘I agree. That puts your future boyfriend Brett firmly in the frame though.’

  Amanda turned her head to look at me. Her expression was surprise mixed with displeasure. She was reacting to me referring to Brett as her future boyfriend and she was right. I was being childish.

  ‘Sorry.’ I said, looking at her now instead of the road ahead of us. ‘That was daft. I don’t know why I said it.’