by Ted Tayler
“Surveillance is now in place in Deptford. The juror is in his driveway, washing his car. His wife just got back from having her hair done, by the sound of it. The street is quiet for now.”
“That’s one guy less to worry over,” said Phoenix.
As they continued discussing the shortcomings of the witness protection scheme their phones buzzed with updates.
Jurors names were being ticked off the list, as the surveillance teams confirmed their whereabouts, and that they were safe.
“Eight accounted for, three to find,” said Phoenix, as the clock ticked around to one o’clock.
“We had better call the kitchens for our usual lunchtime treat, Phoenix,” said Rusty. “We’re stuck here for a while. We need these last three sorted, then we can move on to the Finkelman’s and the Kelly’s.”
“That’s a great idea, Rusty,” said Phoenix. “I’m starving.”
With the rush to get to the meeting this morning as the Brent Cross murder was headlining, neither of them had had any breakfast.
They pored over the notes relating to the three outstanding jurors, looking for reasons why they might have been targeted by Hanigan. Nothing sprang off the pages. They were ordinary, working folk, who had been summoned to do their civic duty. Each was as normal as the guy in Deptford, who washed his car on a sunny Saturday morning.
They were as normal as Simon Greaves too, the airport baggage handler. Yet that poor sod had been gunned down with his wife. Hanigan was a maniac. Nobody was safe. What was holding up these last three phone calls? Did these people work at weekends? They could have taken advantage of the weather and gone away for two days.
“Are you getting worried?” Rusty asked Phoenix.
“I’ve done the same as you, I bet,” he replied, “gone through a checklist of places they could be if they’re not at home. It’s the weekend. They could be on their way to football, or a rugby match. They could be on a golf course. Check the notes again, and if we’re short of information, call Artemis. She can send their social media data to the agents involved, so they have extra options to locate them. They might be on the ball, but we should have thought of this angle earlier.”
“Yeah, we assumed after a stressed-out few weeks at a major trial they wanted to sit at home with their feet up relaxing,” said Rusty. “It takes all sorts. People relax by throwing themselves off tall buildings with just a piece of cloth the size of a duster to keep them safe until they land on terra firma.”
“Yeah, it takes all sorts,” said Phoenix.
Rusty called Artemis.
“We may need more data than we asked for on these jurors, Artemis,” he said. “Can you dig through their online profiles to see what they might be up to this weekend. Their teams haven’t reported in yet, so they must be having trouble tracking them.”
“No problem, Rusty,” she replied. “Just tell me which teams I need to update, and I’ll send the information through as soon as I get it. It will save you relaying it to them. I’ll bring a copy over to the house later.”
“Thanks. We’re in the orangery,” Rusty told her, “waiting for lunch to be delivered.”
“Coffee and bacon rolls, no doubt?” she groaned, “they’ll be gone before I can get there. See you later.”
Rusty ended the call. It rang again at once.
It was the lead agent on the team assigned to Ruislip, in West London. Peter Downs, forty-six years old, worked for Lloyds Bank in the town. There was no sign of him at his home address. They had tried his place of work, but he wasn’t scheduled to be on duty this Saturday.
“You should receive a message from our people in a short while,” said Rusty, “we’re analysing this guy’s social media accounts. It may give us a lead on where he’s gone.”
Rusty listened to the team leader’s reply.
“Okay, keep searching, and if you get any more tips, let us know.”
Rusty ended the call and gave a big sigh.
“A nosy neighbour came out to see why our guys were outside her house. So much for being careful. She reckoned Peter Downs hasn’t been home since late last night. Downs lives alone. Friday nights he has a beer with work colleagues then picks up a curry. The neighbour saw him go indoors at half-past nine. At midnight, she lay in bed, reading, and the headlights of a vehicle swept across her bedroom window. She didn’t get out of bed, to look, but she heard noises, and what sounded like a scuffle. She put her light out and dropped off to sleep. Nothing disturbed her after that.”
“Damn,” said Phoenix, “it sounds as if someone could have lifted him.”
A phone rang. It was Phoenix’s turn to answer.
“What have you got for us?” he asked.
Rusty watched as Phoenix closed his eyes. It was not good news. The door behind him opened and their lunch had arrived. A steward brought it over and laid the tray on the table.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” he said, “but there’s a right load of trouble in London, it’s breaking news. They’re running a special bulletin. You might need to get back to the main house where you can watch the TV.”
“Any idea where the boss is?” he asked.
“She was in the gardens with Miss Hope, and the new training officer, Kelly Dixon, when I delivered this tray. They were sitting on the patio enjoying the sunshine.”
Phoenix had finished his conversation.
“Grab everything, and let’s get back,” he said to Rusty. He pointed to the tray. “I know you’ve carried it over here, but can you follow on behind us? We’ll be in the meeting room upstairs, and we’re still starving.”
The steward nodded.
Rusty and Phoenix hurried across the lawns towards the Manor. They could see Athena in the distance. When she spotted them, she jumped up, said something to Kelly and ran to meet them.
“What’s happened?” she said.
“We’ve got two jurors confirmed as missing,” said Phoenix. “One team has still to report back. We need to get in front of the TV screen, pronto.”
“Where did your team report in from just now,” asked Rusty.
“Lewisham,” said Phoenix, “a young girl from the jury. Melissa Sanders, twenty-five, went out to a nightclub with a party of friends. Never made it home. Her family have reported it to the police. Our team are staying nearby, to monitor the situation. We have three jurors involved in incidents now, maybe four. How long will it take for the police to join up the dots?”
“Have you had any contact with the team that’s not reported in?” asked Athena.
Rusty checked his phone.
“Still nothing, Athena. They’re in Bromley, looking for Grenville Benjamin, the thirty-seven-year-old dentist. He’s married to David Spears, same age, who owns a flower shop on the High Street in town.”
“Call the team again,” she said. “I need to know what they’re doing. A dentist should be at home at the weekend, even if his husband might be working. Who knows? Benjamin could help out in the shop on a Saturday, if they’ve got weddings, and parties to supply. Let’s find out, shall we?”
They had arrived at the meeting room. The steward was just leaving.
“I’ve turned the TV on for you ma’am,” he said, “and brought the lunch tray across for the gentlemen. Shall I fetch extra coffee and sandwiches from the kitchen?”
“That would be great, thanks,” Athena said. She turned to watch the news unfolding on the screen.
“I can’t reach them, Athena,” said a concerned Rusty. “It’s gone straight to voicemail.”
Phoenix picked up his phone, and without taking his eyes from the TV screen, he dialled.
“I know you’re keeping watch on your assigned juror, but we need someone to get across to Bromley to find out what’s happened to our team. You’re the closest, a twenty-minute drive away. Call me the second you locate them.”
“Was that the nearest team?” asked Athena.
“Croydon,” Phoenix nodded. “Their little old lady juror has walked the dog and
is now watching the racing on TV. We can relax the surveillance and get a new guy to keep watch. The team leader will make the call, disturb someone’s afternoon, then he’ll drive to Bromley. The old lady will be okay on her own for half an hour.”
“This doesn’t feel right, Phoenix,” said Athena watching the news on the TV screen. “I’m getting worried, very worried indeed.”
“That’s the special bulletin over then,” said Rusty, as the programme ended, and the normal afternoon schedule resumed. “We need to switch to the 24-hour news channel. It will be on a loop, but at least we can get up to date.”
Rusty flicked to the rolling news, and they caught the start of the report on the fate of Peter Downs. They listened in silence to the stern-faced male newsreader: -
A vicious gang kidnapped Mr Downs from his home in Ruislip late last night. He was driven to the Colne Valley Regional Park. There he appears to have been tortured and killed. Joggers discovered his body this morning, lying half in, and half out of the water. The forty-six-year-old bank employee had been shot several times in the knees and finished execution-style with a single shot to the back of the head. DCI Geoff Titmus, who is leading the inquiry, spoke to our reporter at the scene: -
“This gang must be caught. They’ve used extreme violence and are dangerous, vicious people. They forced their way into Mr Downs’s property at midnight, bundled him into a vehicle, and tortured him for six hours. Our preliminary ‘time of death’ is eight o’clock this morning. Two members of the public discovered the body at a quarter past nine while out running. We’re tracking the movements on CCTV of a black, or dark blue van that travelled between the town and the country park just after midnight. We are keen to talk to anyone who noticed any vehicles in Ruislip similar to the one I described. This was either earlier on Friday evening, or when they returned home early on Saturday morning. A number of men were involved in the attack. We believe this victim was targeted, and not killed in a random assault. We do not have a motive, at present, but there are possible links to another ongoing investigation.”
Neighbours of Mr Downs told our reporter he had just completed a spell of jury duty at the Central Criminal Court, the Old Bailey. He hadn’t spoken of his experience, except to say he was glad it had ended. The ongoing investigation DCI Titmus referred to is believed to be the slaughter yesterday evening of Simon and Dani Greaves at a barbecue in Brent Cross. This is a strong hint that jurors who deliberated that case, finding the gang leader guilty of murder, are being targeted and murdered. We await confirmation from the Metropolitan police that a link exists between the two incidents.
Athena muted the sound on the television as the programme moved on to the weather and sport.
“I feel helpless sat here,” she said, “we need to be taking action, yet I’m at a loss to know where to start.”
“We’re off the pace, Athena,” said Rusty. “Hanigan has selected his targets. Although we now have teams covering the majority of the jurors, the fact that two are dead, and one missing means we’re too late. Somehow we need to anticipate his next move and get in front of him.”
“Where does Reuben Finkelman live?” asked Phoenix, “and perhaps, more important, what is he doing this weekend?”
“He lives near Beaconsfield, in south Buckinghamshire,” said Rusty, checking notes he had received from Artemis. “The family have a six-bedroom detached house in Forty Green, valued at around four and a half million. As for where he’s spending the weekend, I’ll get Artemis to check.”
“Do that Rusty,” said Athena. “I’m calling Zeus right away. We need to hold an emergency meeting early next week. That full-blown crisis we discussed has arrived. We can’t sit on our hands any longer.”
Rusty called Artemis in the ice-house.
Phoenix called Giles Burke in Devon, to order him back to Larcombe Manor. There could be no quiet weekend for any of them. Giles had seen the news reports and promised to be back on duty in two hours.
“Tell Artemis that Giles will be with her by four this afternoon,” Phoenix called to Rusty.
“OK. The Finkelman’s flew to their Jersey home after the trial,” said Rusty. “Four family members travelled from Denham Aerodrome by chartered helicopter. Reuben, his wife Miriam, and their twin daughters Ruth and Rachel. Their flight schedule shows they are returning to Denham early on Sunday evening. They have a regular reservation for dinner at the Beech House restaurant, in Beaconsfield. In the morning, the Judge will be driven into London for O’Riordan’s sentencing hearing at the Old Bailey. Artemis has confirmed that nothing has happened to the family on the outbound flight, or since they have been at their holiday home in St Ouen.”
“Rusty and I will get a team to Denham to meet the helicopter,” said Phoenix. “We’ll make sure the Judge gets home safe and sound, enjoys his evening meal, and gets a good night’s sleep in his own bed. In the morning, we’ll escort the car that picks him up on its journey into the capital.”
Rusty nodded at the screen behind Athena. She was concluding her telephone conversation with Zeus.
“Something new has hit the fan,” he said.
It was Melissa Sanders, the third missing juror. A reporter stood outside her Lewisham home. Athena turned up the volume. A different reporter this time, but a similar depressing report: -
Melissa Sanders enjoyed a fun-packed Friday night in several cocktail bars and nightclubs in Lewisham. When she decided to return here, to the home she shared with her parents at around two o’clock, she left her friends and walked to a nearby taxi rank. The police have viewed CCTV images from the town centre, and Melissa was spotted still waiting for a taxi at ten past two. There were several people in the neighbourhood who may have seen her. The police are keen to speak with them. The nightclub’s own CCTV showed two men, of Middle-Eastern origin, leaving thirty seconds after Melissa Sanders. At fifteen minutes past two, Melissa was no longer standing by the taxi-rank. There’s no evidence so far to suggest she was picked up by a registered cab. At some point in those five minutes, Melissa disappeared. Whether these two unidentified men were involved in her disappearance is uncertain. The police are due to issue e-fit photographs of the men they wish to interview later today. For the time being, Melissa’s parents, and the rest of her family and friends can only hope and pray for her safe return. DCI Geoff Titmus who is heading the investigation into the brutal murder of Peter Downs, in Ruislip, was unavailable for comment. The question we wished to put to him is whether Melissa Sanders is the third juror in the Thomas O’Riordan murder trial to have been abducted. The nation’s capital is waiting for an answer.
“So far then, they haven’t heard the news concerning Grenville Benjamin,” said Athena.
“When do we meet Zeus and the others?” asked Phoenix.
“I’ll be in London on Tuesday, at our usual venue,” said Athena. “Whether you join me will depend on how long it takes finding the missing jurors, protecting the Judge, and guarding Maurice Kelly and his wife. Hanigan can find these people at will. He has terrific resources at his disposal.”
“In the past, criminal gangs were parochial, and competed against one another within city boundaries,” Phoenix replied. “What happened in other parts of the country rarely concerned them. Hanigan is a different breed of criminal. He is intelligent, ruthless, and with the ability to get the different nationalities within organised crime to work together. Their network of intelligence is impressive and may even be more extensive than our own in some instances.”
There was a knock at the door. The steward had returned with fresh coffee and several plates of sandwiches. A mobile phone rang as he left.
Phoenix picked up his phone from the table, looked at the screen, and paused before answering, “It’s our Croydon team calling from Bromley.”
“What did you find out?” he asked the team leader.
Athena and Rusty poured cups of coffee while they watched Phoenix listening to the team leader’s report. He sat stone-faced, staring at the wa
ll in front of him. He placed the phone on the table.
“Our Croydon team arrived at the home Grenville Benjamin and David Spears shared. The street was quiet. No sign of movement at the property. They checked with the flower shop and learned Mr Spears had finished work today at one o’clock. He had received an urgent call from Mr Benjamin, asking him to return home as soon as possible. The car which our surveillance team had driven had been parked fifty yards up the street from the house. It was empty. The passenger side door window was smashed. There was no sign of the agents. The team leader decided to enter the property. They found four bodies in the lounge, bound and gagged. Their throats were cut.”
“Oh no,” said Athena, “what a nightmare.”
“Hell,” said Phoenix, “we need to act fast. Hanigan is clever. If he, or his hired killers, call the police, they will discover the dead juror, and his husband, plus two bodies that don’t belong. We must protect Olympus whatever it costs. The police mustn’t prove a link between the two ‘foreign’ bodies and Larcombe Manor. We have only one choice. I’m calling the Croydon team to instruct them to remove our men and set fire to the lounge. With luck, we can burn the house to the ground. The remains of two men in the ashes will confirm the death of yet another juror, and his husband. If we act at once and leave no clues, we may just get away with it.”
Athena nodded. She was thinking of the dead agents. Their families had to be notified. A visit from one of the Olympians arranged. This meant two more agents to be replaced. If Hanigan and his collection of thugs continued unchallenged for much longer, there was no telling how much bloodshed there might be. These were testing days indeed. She recalled the phrase Henry had quoted on Thursday, something wicked this way comes. She shivered at the thought.
“The wheels are set in motion, Athena,” said Phoenix after completing yet another call, “the bodies will be removed, and the fire set. They’ll take the car back to base with them. We must pray the police aren’t on their way. We can only wait and hope.”