by Ted Tayler
When he dug deeper into her circumstances after the separation, he saw a different pattern. The monthly allowance didn’t always arrive in her account. It was delayed, or she only received part-payment. That didn’t tally with her husband’s wealth. The amounts may have been high in Orion’s eye, but they were small beer to Sir James.
It had to be deliberate. Sir James made his wife suffer for having walked out on him. This was what led to her so-called mountain of debt. In the court case, a year after the separation, she had been charged with driving under the influence. Orion checked the official court report, word for word, rather than the sensational version in the press. He wondered whether a payment to a reporter spiced up things.
There was no disputing the fact Fiona was under the influence. Yet, she carried prescription drugs at the time of her arrest. Orion checked the list of items in her handbag. A competent solicitor would have checked to find whether the roadside reading was aggravated by the opiate-based drugs in her possession. Orion didn’t know whether she had smoked cannabis that day, or snorted cocaine. What he did know was she had taken tramadol for severe pain for ages.
If only he could find Fiona and talk to her. How long was James abusing you? That would be his first question. Did it start straight after the wedding? Or, was it after you found you couldn’t give him children? Which bones did he break that still cause you intolerable pain?
On February the twentieth in 2004 Fiona went to Musselburgh. Orion thought what courage that must have taken, given what he now believed. She faced the lion in his lair. He said she wanted more money, and he had refused. They argued, she left, and the lassie at the off-licence says she sold her a large bottle of vodka. That was the last time anyone saw Fiona alive.
Orion knew the passage of time was against him. Over ten years had elapsed since that sighting in the off-licence. He would struggle to find the female assistant, and good luck trying to get her to recall one distraught middle-aged customer from that far back. He wished he still had Wayne Sangster to use as a sounding board. His partner at Hounsell Security Services didn’t always know the answer, but he listened. That was often enough for Orion to come up with the solution himself.
Wayne lived in the flat above the Wishing Well café on the Kilburn High Road, Camden. He had plucked up the courage to contact café owner Bridie Carragher, at last. She took a shine to the big man when they hunted for Carrie Ditchburn. That hunt didn’t end well, but the Galway girl still wanted to give Wayne more than her famous Guinness cake. It just took longer for them to get together than it should.
Since joining Olympus, the two friends hadn’t spoken. Maybe, he could ring Wayne tonight. Give him the gist of the story revealing no names and see if he had any ideas where to start. Meanwhile, he must make a start on the fresh batch of cases Hayden left him.
CHAPTER 11
Wednesday, 15th October 2014
While at home with wife Erica and children Shaun and Tracey, he was Phil or Daddy. There were days when Phil Hounsell felt like a superhero, but without the butch costume. As soon as he crossed the cattle grid to enter the Larcombe Manor estate he became Orion, the hunter. What a change from his career in the police force.
It was eight forty-five. He sat in traffic outside Bath on his way to Larcombe for another day working for the Olympus Project. He had finally contacted Wayne Sangster last night. They shared memories of the happy days they worked together with Hounsell Security Services. Wayne brought him up to date with the changes in his working life.
Triple S was alive and well. Sangster Security Services now possessed the logo Wayne had always wanted. The white flying horse Pegasus stood proudly on both sides of the black van he used. Under the Triple S business name, it proclaimed to the world that the firm had offices in Bath and London.
“You’re keeping our old office as a base then Wayne?” Phil had queried.
“Yes, boss,” Wayne had replied, he had never got used to the change in their relationship.
“Where have you opened an office in London? That must cost a fortune?”
“No, boss. I’m using upstairs in the Wishing Well café as my address. In Bridie’s flat. That’s my office when I stay there.”
“I’m glad to hear you two have realised you fancy one another, at last. It was embarrassing sitting opposite you with our coffee and a slice of her luscious cake. She would hover over you like a mother hen. I couldn’t decide which of you was drooling the most.”
“I had to convince her it wasn’t just her cakes I fancied,” said Wayne, “that wasn’t a hardship. We’re compatible.”
“Spare me the details, Wayne. I’m pleased, let’s leave it at that. Have you got enough work to keep you busy?”
“Yes boss, Bridie has introduced me to loads of contacts. Customers in need of security advice, for their homes and businesses. Then they ask me to find friends and family with which they’ve lost contact. I’m driving to Bath two days a week at present to sort out cases I’m still handling in the area. If things in London stay as they are with me and Bridie, I’ll close the Bath office next year. What’s it like working for those people at Larcombe, anyway?”
“I’m isolated from the other things they do there. Whatever that might be. I report to Hayden, the agent you spoke to from time to time. He keeps me busy. Every resource I need is made available. The mood is always positive. Remember when we were coppers? Two steps forward, three steps back. One hand tied behind your back when dealing with criminals. Villains getting off when a case went to court. Our successes in those days were rare. With Olympus, every job produces a good result.”
“Life’s a bowl of cherries, then?” said Wayne.
“Well, I’ve got a missing person I can’t find. That’s one reason I called.”
Phil summarised the Fiona Grant-Nicholls story for his ex-colleague without using real names and asked Wayne’s advice.
“There are only two reasons you can’t find someone, boss. They’re dead, or they don’t want to be found.”
“I followed every avenue I can think of,” said Phil, “and I can’t find anyone remotely matching this woman’s description. The places Hayden arranged to check on my behalf beggared belief. They must have serious surveillance equipment on the site somewhere. I don’t suppose I’ll ever access it myself. Oh, that reminds me. Did I ever mention Zara Wheeler, the Detective Sergeant who worked with me in Durham? Zara moved to Bath and followed me to the HQ at Portishead. She left the force just before me, but I never heard where she went. Zara’s working at Larcombe Manor.”
“I think her name cropped up now and again,” said Wayne, “I always wondered if you had a soft spot for her.”
Quite the opposite, Phil thought but didn’t want to share it with Wayne.
“Talking of Zara, when I bumped into her on that first day I spotted a man carrying bags up the steps into the main building. You know us coppers. We get a photo of a suspect in January, and nine months later we see a face in Tesco or waiting for a plane at the airport. A bell rings, and you know it’s them.”
“Who do you reckon he was then, boss? Why would they employ a criminal at Larcombe?”
“It nagged at me on the way home in the car. I couldn’t place him. Chatting with you now, Glastonbury popped into my head. That bloke and his girlfriend we spotted listening to the Stones.”
“I remember, boss,” said Wayne, “she turned out to be the CEO of Olympus. So, it’s no biggie to find her boyfriend living there, is it?”
“That wasn’t who I thought of when I saw him first,” said Phil. “If I’d seen his face straight off, I would have recognised him as Annabelle Fox’s partner. Seeing him from behind, the way he walked, his posture, I don’t know, he reminded me of someone from my past.”
“A criminal sent to prison because of your dogged determination, or one that got away?”
“That’s it, Wayne,” cried Phil, “you’ve hit the nail on the head. The one that got away, Colin Bailey. That’s who this man resem
bled.”
“What happened to him?”
“Bailey died. Or he was missing presumed dead back in 2010.”
“At Pulteney Weir, I remember the incident now. You nearly drowned, and he did. Wasn’t Zara Wheeler one of the officers who saved your life?”
“Along with Toby Drysdale, that’s right.”
“Hang on,” said Wayne, “if Zara Wheeler has worked for Olympus for longer than you, surely she’s met this bloke? If it was this Bailey fellow, she would have said something to her old colleagues on the force. You never associated him with being Bailey when we saw them at Glastonbury, did you?”
“There was something that looked familiar,” said Phil, “but when I got closer, their faces were different. Maybe, he has a double. We’ve all got one if you believe the rubbish in the newspapers.”
“Ask Zara Wheeler,” said Wayne, “see if she sees the resemblance. Anyway, Bridie says it’s late, and she wants to go to bed. So, if you want my final word for tonight on the other matter, it seems you’ve exhausted the places this missing person might be hiding. That means she’s dead. Start the search for a body within a mile of the last place she was seen alive. My money says that’s as far as she got.”
Ahead of Phil, the Wednesday rush-hour traffic began moving again. He and Zara were unlikely to enjoy a long friendly chat based on the last time they had spoken. He would ask if the opportunity arose. Phil determined to keep his eyes open for Annabelle Fox’s partner, to see if there were any telltale signs that everything was not as it seemed.
As he drove over the cattle grid, he morphed into Orion. The search for Fiona’s body started in earnest today. He would ask Hayden for a helping hand, and permission to travel to Scotland. The last vestiges of his Phil Hounsell persona were leaking away. But, he allowed himself a smile as he remembered looking at his watch after he ended the call with Wayne last night. It had been half-past nine. Compatible was one thing, overdoing matters was something else again.
*****
Orion parked his car in his allotted space at nine o’clock. In the main building behind him, Athena was asking Giles for the ice-house’s progress on finding the jewel robbers.
“We’ve isolated specific images for you from CCTV in the diamond quarter,” said Giles Burke. Artemis projected the array of camera stills onto a screen.
“Groups of two’s and three’s in the area before Saturday drew a blank,” Giles continued. “We found no evidence of concerted surveillance of the bank. It must have been carried out by a gang member acting alone.”
“The inside help gave him a head start,” said Rusty.
“On Saturday evening, we found three possible candidates. A man and a woman. Two African males, and then this trio of middle-aged Hasidic Jews.”
“Men in the street in their hundreds every day of the working week,” said Alastor.
“Or, these men are hiding in plain sight,” said Phoenix.
“Hold that thought,” said Artemis.
“Around noon on Sunday, we captured these images,” said Giles, “as you can see the foot traffic is sparse. This couple walking away from a lane behind the bank interests us.”
“Two of the men we spotted on Saturday unless I’m mistaken,” said Henry Case.
“Weighed down by backpacks containing the haul, or two-thirds of it,” said Giles.
“What was in the corner of that last image?” asked Minos.
“A police patrol car,” said Giles, “it was not responding to an enquiry, merely doing what it was named for, patrolling.”
“The gang must have been bricking it when that car arrived,” said Rusty.
“What happened to the third man?” asked Henry.
“In this image, the officers are walking back towards the bank,” said Artemis. “We discovered a call made to the emergency services from a concerned flat owner at the end of the lane. A waste bin was alight. The policemen from the patrol car attended the scene, the fire brigade arrived in due course, but the bin was destroyed.”
“The third man was tasked with getting rid of the rubbish,” said Giles.
“That was an expensive bin,” said Phoenix. “It contained any excess cash they physically handled, plus items from the safe-deposit boxes the gang couldn’t use.”
“Have we got a shot of the third man joining the others?” asked Minos, “do we know what vehicle they drove?
Artemis shook her head.
“The car or van must have been parked in a CCTV blind spot. That was deliberate. We only have a camera on the nearest main road. If we analyse traffic travelling away from the diamond quarter in that five or ten-minute segment after midday it should contain the vehicle.”
“How long were the police at the scene of the fire?” asked Phoenix, “Don’t start the analysis until at least five past twelve. The gang would have sat and waited for them to leave. They would want to be sure the robbery wasn’t discovered until the following morning.”
“It sounds a long job,” said Athena, “with so many vehicles. Even if we could see the driver and passenger’s faces there will be plenty to check.”
“One more stumbling block nobody has mentioned yet,” said Rusty, “our gang were disguised.”
Seven faces turned to view again the image of the three men captured on Saturday evening.
“If that’s a mask, it’s better than any I’ve seen outside a film set,” said Alastor.
“It wasn’t the faces that gave them away,” said Rusty, “it was their shoes. When did you last see a middle-aged businessman wearing steel-capped trainers? I’ve worn a pair of those that bloke on the right is wearing. With rubble and metal flying around in the vault they couldn’t afford to leave a clue from a bloody toe.”
“That makes finding them even harder,” said Henry, “if they removed the wigs and prosthetics in the car, we’ll never spot them driving on the main road.”
“The easiest way to find them is from the make-up artist who provided the disguises,” said Athena. “There can’t be more than a handful in London capable of doing such a superb job.”
“We’ll get back to the ice-house and start the search for the car and the make-up artist,” said Giles.
“Alastor, where have the police reached with their questioning of the employees?” asked Phoenix, “are they close to identifying the leak?”
“It’s ongoing, that’s all the police are saying. The crime scene has been cordoned off and populated with white tents. There are scenes of crimes operatives crawling over every inch of ground inside and outside the bank. I saw a dozen policemen in that nearby lane carrying out fingertip searches, but nothing concrete has been established yet.”
Phoenix was impatient. He counted off the list of actions he wanted on his fingers.
“Identify the make-up artist. Find out who paid him. Hunt for the three jokers. Retrieve as much of the loot as we can. Dispose of the three robbers.”
“OK, Phoenix,” said Athena, “We know you’re itching to get into action. Patience is a virtue.”
“Time is ticking, Athena. The authorities are struggling with this case, and the public is eager for arrests, or at least a response. The Grid has one hand on the nation’s throat. There’s a further blockbuster crime to come, I can feel it. That will be the second hand, and the Grid will have reached the tipping point. The authorities will be held responsible for the nation being held to ransom. The government could fall if we let things get that far. A vacuum left before any general election is the perfect time for a dictator or an extreme faction to strike.”
“That’s a tad dramatic, even for you, Phoenix,” said Minos, “we’re a long way from that.”
“When unpalatable decisions are not taken, evil smiles and continues to flourish,” said Phoenix, “a great man once said.”
“Burke,” said Alastor.
He raised a hand before an affronted Phoenix could reply.
“It was Edmund Burke, He said the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is f
or good men to do nothing.”
“I rest my case,” said Phoenix, “actions speak louder than words. It’s the only language the evil at the head of the Grid understands.”
*****
Aleks Bogdani had just completed a deal to sell the gold items and the gems they had stolen. The price he had negotiated had been below his upper estimate, but he was happy the scrap merchant hadn’t cheated him. There was something in it for both. The dealer had to make a living, and Aleks wanted to hit a minimum of forty million in any way possible. They already had the bonus two million euros in cash that hadn’t reached the Glencairn.
The diamonds were his trump card. He would travel by train to Paris overnight tonight. The onward journey to Amsterdam took a further three and a half hours. His appointment was at one o’clock in the afternoon.
The success of the robbery depended on this meeting. If the seven velvet bags they had discovered contained diamonds of the highest quality they would each be millionaires, several times over. If they were poor quality, Tyrone O’Riordan would look for a new gang to commit the bank robbery.
Aleks knew that meant he, Zamir, and Januz would be surplus to the Grid’s requirements. Aleks had heard rumours of Tyrone’s prowess with a knife. He prayed the men who had stored those diamonds in the vault had bought wisely.
*****
Friday, 17th October 2014
The final morning meeting of the week had ended. Phoenix and Athena returned to their apartment. Maria Elena had finished preparing lunch for the family and was playing on the floor with Hope.
“Hello, Maria Elena,” said Athena, “have you seen my father this morning?”
“Mr Fox popped in to see us mid-morning. We had a cup of coffee together, and then he said he was returning to his room. He was expecting a phone call from his solicitors.”
“Gosh, that was quick,” said Athena, “I hope it’s good news. We’ll miss him around the place, but I want to see him get settled before Christmas.”