The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  CHAPTER 3

  At Larcombe Manor on that same Monday morning after the Glastonbury glamping weekend, Colin Bailey and his partner Annabelle Fox slept in. Despite the relative luxury of their festival accommodation, nothing compared to the sumptuous surroundings of home.

  Since Erebus vacated his suite of apartments and sailed away to a well-earned retirement in Ibiza, Athena and Phoenix had remodelled his rooms to suit their taste. In deference to the old man’s history with the Georgian house and the memory of his beloved wife Elizabeth and daughter Helen, Athena kept a selection of photographs and ornaments on a table next to one of the large windows that overlooked the rolling lawns leading to the woods on the perimeter of the estate.

  Phoenix had been sad to leave his old quarters in the stable block even though there were compensations being with his partner full-time. He missed those hours alone with his thoughts he always valued so highly as a young man; the extra responsibilities of leadership within the Olympus organisation were time-consuming, and he yearned to get back to direct action. He longed to have a chance for a little ‘street cleaning’. The good old days.

  There was no going back though. As soon as he had been dragged away from his hidey-hole in the New Year, Athena arranged for Rusty’s quarter's next door to be extended in readiness for the planned new arrival. If Zara Wheeler decided to join the organisation, it was only right they should be together. Athena knew too, that keeping Phoenix in the Manor House, a comfortable distance from the stable block and the operations room beneath the ice-house, where Zara was destined to be working, was her absolute priority.

  It wasn’t merely a selfish wish on her part; she was head of the Olympus Project at Larcombe Manor; a post she shared with Phoenix, and she was eager to have her partner at her side when they reported to the upper echelons of the organisation in London. The nuts and bolts of the operation Phoenix always got involved in must be left to more junior staff now. Athena understood too that Garry Burns and Colin Bailey looked alarmingly alike. Phoenix and Zara Wheeler had a shared history and needed to be kept apart at all costs for as long as possible. Perhaps in the fullness of time, her assimilation into the Olympus family would be such that his true identity could be revealed.

  As Annabelle Fox and Colin Bailey slept on undisturbed by the Monday morning blues that troubled many others, on the other side of Bath, DS Phil Hounsell drove to Portishead with bits of tissue on his chin. All the fun of the festival was behind him and another ultimately meaningless working week beckoned. As his car idled in the building traffic, he dreamt of lazy days of retirement with nothing more taxing than deciding which shorts to wear, or which golden beach to visit and sunbathe.

  Meanwhile, Zara Wheeler sat in her car a few hundred yards behind him, praying that now that the Divisional Commander had signed off on her resignation, the remaining items on her exit checklist would be dealt with quickly.

  Zara still promised herself that short holiday. The shock of discovering that Larcombe Manor was to be her new home continued to make her brain hurt. Her decision to leave the police service, though, remained rock solid.

  God how she hated that word. Service my eye. What was wrong with a police force that knew when to apply a firm hand where needed? As the days ticked remorselessly on towards her final Friday at Portishead Zara was only too happy to quit that tiresome pussy-footing around behind her. She wanted to see real progress being made in fighting crime and ridding the country of all the evil that strangled it. Working alongside Rusty might well give her that opportunity.

  Zara had eventually calmed down after her initial outburst that Sunday evening when Rusty dropped the bombshell about the Olympus Project. He filled in most of the blanks to pacify her and get her to take the time to think before giving him her final decision.

  Rusty explained how a wealthy group of similar-minded patriots joined forces around 2008 because the nation they loved was going to the dogs. These men and women came up with the idea of masking the true nature of the Project with a charitable organisation treating ex-servicemen suffering from PTSD. Larcombe was their HQ in the UK and it housed a lot more in its grounds that the Charity Commissioners or visiting local police personnel never got to see.

  Rusty had kept quite a few details back, she understood that. If her final decision was to reject a move to Larcombe, then she needed to pursue a different career path. Rusty assured her that no matter which way the coin fell, their relationship would be unaffected; it would carry on as it had done for the past six months, with them getting together whenever their busy schedules permitted.

  The only difference being that Zara now knew the secret behind the Olympus Project. That fact was the largest single cause of the questions banging around in her brain and leaving her with sleepless nights. Would Rusty keep her close because he loved her, or did he need to guard against her passing that red-hot information to her soon-to-be former colleagues? She briefly wondered if she was in any danger?

  Zara had dismissed that thought from her mind without question. She loved Rusty unconditionally and was convinced that the feeling was mutual. Rusty would make it work somehow; of that, she had no doubt. The few days holiday she promised herself gave more than enough time to sort those Olympus issues out in her head. For now, she needed to deal with the last few tasks on that exit checklist and if possible, avoid Phil Hounsell before making her escape from the job she had come to detest.

  Zara spotted Phil’s car in the car park. He had arrived on the site already. She parked far enough away to be comfortable that they didn’t cross paths later in the day when heading home. Then she made her way inside the building to her office. There were exit interviews on the cards this week with superiors to be endured. Also, she needed to finalise her details with the finance department and then arrange to return the paraphernalia she’d acquired over the years. Her phone, laptop, ID access badges, parking permits, uniform, warrant card, pocketbook and other odds and ends all required to be handed over.

  Zara knew full well where to lay her hands on ninety-nine per cent of it already, but a couple of items might need tracking down. She had very few belongings that she needed to gather up and put in a cardboard box. Anything relating to the cases she currently worked on, which these days were few, could be transferred to whoever took them on after she left. She peered around her office over the top of her glasses. Zara reckoned it would be easier to walk away from all this than she’d thought.

  Of course, she would miss a few people at Portishead. Toby Drysdale for one; they had been friends for ages; lovers for a brief period. She gazed across to where Angela Chambers once sat and realised how much she still missed her murdered colleague. She searched through her desk, wondering if a memento remained somewhere of Angela that she might take back home, wherever that might be so that she was able to keep her memory alive. There didn’t appear to be anything.

  Her hand rested on a folder at the bottom of a drawer. Zara recalled immediately what it contained. That photograph of Garry Burns. She opened the file and inspected the picture for the umpteenth time. Should she pass this on to someone? There was little point really; nothing more had surfaced via the ICO after Portishead reported back with the results of the interviews she carried out at Larcombe last September.

  The ICO had covered their backsides by raising a concern; the police found little unusual. Water under the bridge. As Zara took one last look at Garry Burns, she wondered whether he really left to go travelling. Perhaps he was out there somewhere putting the world to rights for Olympus. As she prepared to shred the photograph and her copy of the paperwork gathered that day, she hesitated.

  Had she already begun to cross the line between sticking to the letter of the law and aligning herself with Rusty and his colleagues in that grey area operating outside and above the law?

  Zara pressed the button.

  In his office on the other side of the building, DS Phil Hounsell was catching up on news of yet another ram-raid. Last year there had b
een several similar robberies. A gang from somewhere in the country; it had never really been established whether they came from the capital or from the Midlands. They had travelled along the M5 as it crossed his patch and paid fleeting, but profitable visits to a collection of small towns bordering the motorway.

  Many man-hours had been spent at the scenes of the crimes. Those had included jewellers and other stores that stocked high-end clothing. In the smaller towns, the target might be a relatively isolated ATM that they crudely smashed from its housing and spirited away to be opened and emptied elsewhere. The amounts of money involved varied, but accumulatively the sum now ran into the millions of pounds. There was increasing pressure from his superiors to get this gang out of commission. Phil read the details of the recent attack in Taunton.

  Dozens of designer handbags worth tens of thousands had been stolen from one of the town centre’s premier stores. Residents described hearing ‘a huge bang’ as raiders hit the flagship branch on North Street crashing a car through the reinforced windows of the store.

  One local woman from a nearby flat said ‘I heard a huge crash, like a giant door being slammed. It was a very unusual noise and when I went to check what happened later I saw police and tape all hanging around the shop.’

  A neighbouring camera store owner who lived in rooms above his business was quoted as saying ‘I heard a terrible scraping of metal and then the crash. I knew straight away that it was a ramraid. The business has been raided several times.’

  The raid took place around half past four in the morning. The raiders used a stolen Audi to smash through the glass and steal bags that retailed for up to two thousand pounds apiece. Typical of this gang’s modus operandi, they abandoned the Audi where it lay jammed in the shop storefront and used another stolen car to cover the trip to the motorway. A burnt-out Vauxhall Zafira had been found on a road leading to Junction 25 of the M5.

  Traffic on the arterial routes at that time of day is light but considering that the gang could have transferred to any vehicle, maybe a high-performance BMW or even a people carrier, it didn’t help much. Unless they then drew attention to themselves by driving like lunatics at high speed. Phil could tell this mob was too clever by half to commit that schoolboy error.

  There appeared to be a lot more reading matter on the subject. Phil had already read enough. The score in the game currently: – Ram Raiders 1 Police Leads Nil.

  Events that week carried on in much the same vein. Zara went through all the hoops required to secure a speedy and fairly amicable release from the job that had become her own personal hell. Phil Hounsell continued to search for ways to break down the stubborn defence that the ram-raid gang and the villains behind the other cases on his desk constructed. The Police score remained resolutely at nil. Both officers welcomed the weekend with open arms; Zara couldn’t wait for Monday to come around again so that she could start her last week. Phil, on the other hand, dreaded the prospect of more setbacks and stern faces from his superiors.

  Monday, July 8th, 2013

  Phil Hounsell avoided the shaving mishaps at the start of this fresh week but it had hardly started before his mood darkened. Mid-morning on Tuesday hadn’t arrived yet, and he was already disenchanted; he flicked through the dozen or so items in his in-tray. A few reports to skip-read and sign; holiday requests he would end up rubber-stamping, even though he knew it promised to leave his team more stretched than usual. Notification of confirmation of Form 232? What’s this? One lucky beggar must have decided enough was enough at last and handed in their papers. No doubt off to pastures new for a lot less stress and a good deal more money?

  Before he read it he got up and walked over to get himself a coffee. He checked to see how soft the biscuits had got in his top drawer and decided they might still be safe to eat. Phil took a bite out of his hobnob and read.

  “Bloody hell,” he shouted, almost choking on his biscuit. He started coughing and took a gulp of steaming hot coffee. That didn’t help matters. “Zara Wheeler? Where the hell is she off to I wonder?”

  Phil raced through the form, searching for details, but they were few and far between. Her actual leaving date was almost upon them as it seemed as if she planned on taking a week’s holiday as part of her notice. The Divisional Commander and the ACC were interviewing her this week and although they expressed their regret that such a fine young officer had decided to end her career, they agreed not to be bloody-minded and make her work every last minute.

  Phil sat back down in his chair and reread the information while finishing his now drinkable cup of coffee. He was certain that her leaving the service related to her superiors’ response regarding the rescue of that little mite during the floods; it wasn’t her being pissed off with his reaction after they slept together during the Kelly family trial in Bristol. Either way, he wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing her go.

  Ever since he’d clapped eyes on her in that incident room in Durham three years ago they had been working closely together. What happened in Bristol had been inevitable; he could have dealt with things better. He shouldn’t have insisted they stay overnight in the first place, and he should have resisted her advances when they returned to the hotel. There had been so many opportunities to do the right thing before and after the event. Phil failed to act upon them. Deep down he knew that was because he wanted her that night just as much as she had wanted him. Once they got it out of their system, they had avoided one another as far as possible. Both in Bath and here at Portishead.

  So much so that she had decided to leave, completed her forms and was almost through the leaving process without him even hearing a whisper. So much for the grapevine. Phil Hounsell pushed his chair away from his desk and walked towards the door of his office. He was determined to have a final chat with Zara Wheeler before the end of the week. He couldn’t let her slink off out of his life for good without at least saying goodbye.

  Zara eyed at the small cardboard box on her desk. So far it only contained her Queen’s Gallantry Medal, a few certificates for long-forgotten training course achievements and a calendar that Tracey Hounsell made for her at school. It was for 2012 when she and the Hounsell family were on better terms. It possessed that innocent charm that kids convey to each item they bring home from school after a craft project has been completed and Zara couldn’t bear to throw it away just yet.

  Only another half hour until her first meeting of the week with the Divisional Commander. Her door swung open and a flustered DI Phil Hounsell loomed in the doorway.

  “So you’re off on Friday then, Zara?” he said “You didn’t think to keep me in the loop, though? What brought on this urge to leave? Where are you going?”

  Zara didn’t reply straight away. She wasn’t sure how many questions he might have thought of on his way across the building to confront her. He may as well get them off his chest, then she would decide which ones she chose to answer.

  The silence stretched out between them. It appeared there were no more questions.

  “I am off on holiday from Friday; I won’t be returning to Portishead. My career has been blighted because of one error of judgement and there really isn’t any point in me staying. I detest traffic duties and jobs nobody else wants; to be lumbered with that burden for the rest of my service is a demoralising prospect. I need a new challenge.”

  Zara saw Phil’s reaction to her mention of an ‘error of judgement’; he couldn’t disguise the discomfort that her choice of phrase has caused.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said “my day out with Toby and Dave down at Shepton Mallet led to my downfall. I’d do it all over again. Saving Grace from drowning is the one good thing to come out of my career since I came south three years ago. Not that it’s any business of yours but I’m in a stable relationship and my partner and I will be working together in the private security sector. I’m sure you understand the word ‘private’ means I can’t divulge where I’ll be working, or with whom.”

  Phil slumped int
o the chair near the door.

  “What the hell happened to us, Zara? What became of Cat and Mouse? We worked together so well, I always hoped we’d be joined at the hip until my retirement.”

  Zara allowed herself a weak smile.

  “Bristol happened; the Kelly family trial fiasco happened. Angela Chambers was murdered; the baby Grace rescue took place. The criminals got stronger and stronger while we, the police got weaker and weaker. What chance do a Cat and a Mouse have against the Lion or the Elephant? I can’t stop to chat I’m afraid, I need to prepare for my interview with the Divisional Commander. Goodbye, Phil, it was good working with you most of the time.”

  Zara Wheeler swept past Phil Hounsell and left the room. She headed for the Ladies where she spent ten minutes taking deep breaths and getting her nerves under control. There were no tears. She realised how much stronger a woman she had become compared to that frightened little ingenue that Phil first met up with at Durham.

  DS Phil Hounsell sat all alone in Zara’s office; he had been stunned by her clear loathing for the way the whole ethos of police work was headed. Phil sympathised with her on that score; he had been a vocal opponent of the ‘softly, softly’ approach for years. Yet back in the summer of 2010 it was Zara who insisted that they must work with the system rather than turn a blind eye to a vigilante killer such as Colin Bailey. Phil had wondered whether Bailey was a ‘necessary evil’ in the society successive liberal governments had created. My how cynical and life-hardened she’d become since then.

  He was shocked too to learn that Zara was now in a relationship. Nothing had ever been mentioned by any of her colleagues at HQ; he knew how difficult it was to keep anything quiet on that score in a relatively close-knit community such as Portishead police headquarters.

  Most of all he was gutted that their personal situation had clearly deteriorated to become non-existent. How much worse could things get around here? Well, he would find out in a few minutes.