Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1)

by Richard Harrington

  Finally getting through, Frank called Angela, but she was only interested in an update and he had to insist she called the clinic for an ambulance or he would call the state emergency number and to hell with security.

  Standing at the foot of the steps they watched the ambulance take him away, and his condition had seemed so bad, they weren’t quite sure if they’d ever see him again.

  For Angela it was a growing mixture of anger and frustration, and now, as she stared down to the silent phone, she could still hear Lewis telling her that Monty had collapsed in Leonardo da Vinci, and as this was barely day one of the investigation, it meant her plans were already going badly wrong.

  As Frank sat quietly on the steps, he heard the clickety-click of high heels, and turning, saw Tara carrying a tray as she side-stepped down to him.

  ‘I thought you might like some coffee.’

  He smiled, his thoughts far away, ‘Thanks. That’s just what I need right now.’

  ‘And I’ll join you if I may. Unless you’d prefer to be alone.’

  ‘No, not at all. Please do.’

  Sitting on the step beside him, she poured the coffee, and he found himself thinking that if this young lady was a dark angel, she was a dark angel with a kind heart.

  ‘Mr Lewis, do you think Mr Montague will be alright?’

  He shrugged, ‘I don’t know, I wish I did.’

  After a moment she asked the obvious question, ‘Why is he working?’

  ‘He’s got no choice, and just like the rest of us, he has to do what he’s told.’

  Tara looked away, she knew that well enough, ‘Yes, I do understand.’

  Nervously clattering the tray down onto the step, she looked away to the clouds.

  ‘When you’ve completed the investigation, what happens to the guilty?’

  Her worrying question suddenly awoke his dark thoughts of Daniels and Coogan.

  ‘They’ve got a couple of contractors who specialise in accidents, they’ll sort it out.’

  Tara shivered in the sun and looked down to her hands, tightly clasped on her knees.

  ‘And Mr Montague, does he think I’m guilty?’

  ‘Well I guess you’re in the frame, but I’m not sure, and we both have to agree.’

  She swung round urgently, her eyes bright and shining, her blonde curls dancing.

  ‘But I’m innocent … I swear it … The violation of the file was none of my doing. Oh please … I was acting under orders, you must believe me.’

  Looking away to the far horizon, she pressed her soft pink lips tightly together.

  ‘You see, I really was trying to find out what was going on. But I was made the fool, I can see that now, our masters are very clever at arranging things.’

  ‘Yeah, but the trouble is, you’ve admitted having affairs with Sheverill and Bromsgrove, then you all had access to Leonardo, and in spite of all the security, that file was violated, so it just had to be an inside job, which doesn’t make it look too good for you.’

  ‘Mr Lewis, I told you, those men were instruction.’

  ‘Okay. But you still don’t get it. Your handlers would have disappeared into the woodwork as soon as they realised Cardinal was involved, and as survival is the name of the game, they’ll play the oldest double-cross in the book.’

  Tara wilted, ‘So what will they do?

  ‘Well, they’ll have a cover file, all ready and waiting for just this kind of situation.

  It will be laid out and prepared in detail, and while it will make you look as guilty as hell, it will somehow give the illusion that your handlers were the disciples at the resurrection. So you can believe me, you won’t find any friends out there now.’

  Tara felt a dark, hopeless sense of despair coming down around her like a cloak of evil.

  ‘And you think they’ll use it against me, this cover file, I mean?’

  ‘Not yet, not while you’re under the Cardinal umbrella.’

  ‘I see. So what will they do?’

  ‘Well normally they’d just keep it locked away in case you go blabbing to the media and scoot off abroad - but that wouldn’t be allowed to happen in this case.’

  ‘And why not?’

  He stared at her, ‘Are you kidding?’

  She looked down, ‘Oh, of course, I forgot. Thornley is an X Station, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re damn right it is, and no-one with your knowledge would be allowed to get up and walk away, it’s too serious for that, and I’m taking one hell of a risk trying to help you. You see, Cardinal doesn’t like people doing their own thing, and especially with someone who might be fitted-up with a charge of high treason.’

  She twisted her fingers into knots, ‘So, would you really, help me, I mean?’

  He sighed, ‘Miss Goodwin, I can only do my best, but you know how the game works, in return I’ll want something from you.’

  Tara fell still. She knew exactly what that meant, so nothing had changed.

  ‘Alright, but could you be gentle.’

  He frowned, ‘Well of course, I only want your co-operation, and after all, you’ve got nothing to lose now, so come on, be a good girl.’

  Tara looked out over the beauty of the estate, and died just a little bit more.

  She’d hoped with the death of Uncle Freddie everything would fade away and she’d be free at last, but of course, nothing had changed.

  ‘Alright, Mr Lewis, I’ll do as you wish, so shall we go up to my apartment.’

  Going up in the lift, he wondered why she’d fallen into this strange, morose silence, and inside her apartment it was bizarre, with her standing there looking at him but not saying a word, while he waited for her to find the courage to speak out against her handlers.

  She watched through low sullen eyes as he just stood there, not saying a word.

  So what did he want her to do?

  Wondering if she needed more time, he took his cigarettes and pointed to the balcony.

  Holding back the tears, she bit her lip as she watched him walk out into the sunshine.

  He was enormous and she knew it was going to hurt, just as it had with Marcus.

  As the awful memories returned, her mind shut down and slipped into her safe world, and quite suddenly she was back in Uncle Freddie’s country house again, and if she wasn’t a good girl, Jennifer Stacey would teach her a good hard lesson.

  Walking through to the bathroom she took off her clothes, and watching the water splash into the basin, lathered the big yellow sponge with Essence of Rose, and humming to her favourite song, washed herself all over, towelled herself dry and brushed her hair, and walking to the dresser, pulled the drawer open.

  Tara stared into the drawer, unable to believe her eyes.

  The drawer was empty.

  She felt inside the empty drawer.

  It was empty.

  So how could that be?

  Her heart pounded.

  Where had all the naughty clothes gone?

  She looked in terror at the empty drawer.

  Everything was gone.

  Trembling from head to foot, her heart thumped and pounded as lights erupted in a fireball behind her eyes.

  Stacey would beat her savagely, and she just couldn’t bear it.

  Quivering, she remembered the beautiful fire.

  On the day of Uncle Freddie’s death, she’d burnt the clothes in a hollow in the woods until nothing remained except fiery ash.

  She remembered laughing, singing and dancing round the fire as the clothes burnt, she thought she wouldn’t need them again, but now she did and they weren’t there anymore.

  Tara’s shrill, high pitched scream brought Frank across the balcony in a rush, but when he saw her, he came to a skidding halt as his eyes grew wide in disbelief.

  She was crouching naked in the lounge and bending towards him like a cowering animal, her tiny face contorted with terror while endless tears streamed down.

  ‘I’m sorry. So sorry. The clothes have all run away
, but it isn’t my fault, don’t hurt. Please don’t hurt. Oh, pretty please. Beg, beg.’

  He stood frozen. What was she doing? What in the name of god was happening?

  Spreading his hands, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come.

  Watching him spread out his hands, she backed away in a fearful pleading crouch.

  ‘No. No … Don’t beat. Please don’t beat.’

  Her gaze flicked to the balustrade, and before he could think, she was gone.

  Tara was past him in a flash and charging headlong out through the French windows, then onto the balcony and rushing for the balustrade.

  Swinging round, he began to run, but she was already clawing at the round topped stone, and pulling herself up, stood wobbling on the edge, and with a last terrified glance back, leapt out and threw her tiny little body into the quiet peaceful air.

  Frank hit the balustrade with a crashing thump, and lunging out into the still air, clawed frantically for her arm, but it was slippery and slid down through his fingers, and snatching again, felt his hand close around her wrist like a vice.

  He felt a hot tearing wrench as the force of her downward weight jerked at his shoulder, and knowing there were only seconds before the pain would loosen his grip, he whirled her up over the balustrade and let her fly across the balcony to land rolling and tumbling in the lounge before coming to a crashing halt against the sofa.

  Standing for a moment, he wondered if he’d killed her, but walking over, she groaned and tried to move, and kneeling beside her, checked for damage but she seemed okay.

  There was no sign of broken bones or obvious injury and her face seemed quite normal, and when he called her name, she whimpered and tried to claw herself up, but her eyes were empty and dull and a sheen of clammy sweat was covering her skin.

  She was obviously slipping into shock, and when her big green eyes suddenly rolled up, she fainted in a slump onto the carpet.

  Gathering her up, he carried her to bed, and easing her down, drew up the covers, and finding hot water bottles in a cupboard, filled them and slid them down beside her.

  Watching for a moment, he thought she was sleeping peacefully, her breathing regular, and as her colour was returning, decided against calling a medic as the only doctor he could call would be from Angela’s private clinic.

  Returning to the lounge, he picked up the phone and called security reception, and soon a confident Welsh voice came on the line.

  ‘Hello? Thornley Manor, Dafydd Jones speaking, so how can I help you?’

  ‘Hi, this is Frank Lewis. I understand Miss Goodwin left a folder with you this afternoon when my colleague, Mr Montague, was brought out to the ambulance.’

  ‘Ah yes. A sad business, but don’t worry, sir, we have it here and it’s quite safe.’

  ‘Good man, so have it brought up immediately to Miss Goodwin’s apartment.’

  ‘Very good, sir, will do. I’ll have it there now, in a minute.’

  Frank made himself a cup of strong coffee, and when a knock came at the door, a burly uniformed MoD guard asked him for his ID, and checking it over, handed him the folder and asked for a signature on his clipboard.

  Taking the folder back through to the bedroom, he sat down on a bedside chair and kept one eye on Tara as he began to read, but he didn’t know what he hoped to find that might solve the puzzle of that bizarre scene in the lounge.

  So why would she agree to speak to him privately in her apartment, and having arrived, strip herself naked, freak out and try to kill herself?

  It made no sense. Well it might to Monty, but it sure as hell made no sense to him.

  And why had she been cowering and crying like that, and why those words,

  ‘I’m sorry, the clothes have all run away, don’t hurt, don’t hurt, beg, beg.’

  But most of all, why had she wanted to kill herself?

  Opening the file, he began to read, and it wasn’t long before ugly suspicions began to creep into his mind.

  It seemed she’d been educated almost entirely in private, at Oldbury House, the home of her guardian, Sir Freddie Bromsgrove.

  But why had he been her guardian? It didn’t say.

  He remembered Angela saying that Sir Freddie Bromsgrove had been having her for almost a year, but she’d only been head of security at Thornley for barely a year.

  So could he have been taking advantage of her for much longer than that, after all, if that was his intention, why wait till she was made head of security at the manor when she’d been living with him in his country house for years?

  The rest of her CV and her meteoric rise up through the system and into MI5 read like a condensed version of the ‘Who’s Who’ of the government security services.

  Recommended by Sir Freddie Bromsgrove, advisor to the Chiefs of Staff.

  Conscripted by Sir Marcus Glenndenning, advisor to the Joint Intelligence Committee.

  Approved by the Parliamentary Intelligence and Security Committee.

  Employed by the Army Chiefs - Permanent Joint HQ, Northwood.

  Assignments by Sir Edmund Nichols, advisor to the Chief of Defence Intelligence.

  Frank looked up from the file.

  Why had this young woman, who’d lived her life in a closed environment, with no work experience and almost certainly no street cred, be taken on by some of the country’s most powerful men, and given a job, senior intelligence officers would give their eye teeth for.

  It was a secret too far. So what was the true reason for Miss Goodwin’s popularity?

  What he needed now, was the answer to two, simple, but vital questions.

  Why had Miss Goodwin’s uncle, Sir Freddie Bromsgrove become her guardian?

  And when did he become her guardian?

  He felt sure those answers were the key to a very mucky room of secrets.

  1 4

  Tara murmured, and glancing over, thought she seemed to be sleeping soundly, so he carried on reading the file.

  She had woken from a very strange dream and had been secretly watching him from under her long, blonde, eyelashes.

  At first she’d felt confused, but when her senses had come alive she’d remembered the empty drawer what seemed to be her worst nightmare.

  And then she remembered jumping, and it had seemed nice at the time, just to escape, but then whoosh and she’d been flying like Peter Pan, and now, here she was in bed, warm and snug with this man Lewis sat reading beside her.

  Becoming aware of the hot water bottles, she watched him reading, and then far off memories of her wonderful father came back.

  He used to do that, tuck her into bed with a bottle while he read her a bedtime story.

  She laid perfectly still, afraid to move or breathe in case the memory should slip away, and then she cried those dry, silent tears, the ones other people could never see.

  Frank closed the folder, and placing it down, looked up to see her lips tremble, and laying his hand on her forehead, smiled because the clamminess had gone now, but as he walked from the room, Tara secretly watched and wished he would stay.

  Fussing around in the kitchen he prepared a tea tray, and finding some aspirin in the bathroom, carried everything through, and as he set the tray down on the bedside cabinet, she pretended to lazily wake up.

  ‘Hello Tara. I’ve made some tea, would you like some?’

  She smiled, and pulling up the covers, nodded and sat up, ‘Yes please.’

  Frank watched her sipping her tea, and she didn’t seem frightened now and he wished he knew the answer to the puzzle, but never mind, the answer had to be somewhere.

  Clinking the cup down to the saucer, she looked at him with a quiet, inquisitive smile.

  ‘You make nice tea.’

  He smiled back, ‘I used the Darjeeling, was that okay?’

  She nodded, her curls dancing, ‘Yes, it’s one of my favourites.’

  He opened a packet of biscuits, ‘I found these in a cupboard. Would you like one?’


  She stared at the thick, dark, chocolate biscuits, but slowly shook her head.

  ‘I’d better not, I have to watch the calories.’

  Frank looked at her in surprise, ‘But surely, you don’t need to.’

  She looked away across the room, ‘I must. They like me slim.’

  He frowned, ‘Slim? Who does?’

  The room fell into silence, and when she looked down and bowed her head, he sighed.

  ‘Look, I think I’ll go now and you can get some rest.’

  ‘Oh. Must you?’

  ‘Well I don’t have to, but wouldn’t you like to be alone for a while?’

  She looked down, her golden curls now dancing violently as she shook her head.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t like that at all.’

  In that strange moment, she was so much the child he had to remind himself that this young lady was a fully grown woman.

  The light in her eyes suddenly flickered, her expression changing to conflicting emotions.

  ‘I think I would like a biscuit, after all.’

  Frank offered the packet, and as she took one, thoughtfully pressed her lips together.

  ‘I have a song.’

  ‘Oh? And what’s that?’

  ‘A special song. My song. So would you like to hear it?’

  Frank was trying to keep up, ‘Yes, I think I would.’

  She sat up, and without thinking, pushed away the covers, but stared down to herself.

  ‘Oh. I forgot … Just a minute.’

  Frank stared into the pattern of the wallpaper as she rustled around in the wardrobe.

  ‘Is this alright?’ She lowered her gaze, ‘Or is it silly.’

  Frank was caught totally by surprise.

  She now looked absolutely stunning, in a black, high necked, Chinese silk dress inlaid with fiery golden dragons that wrapped themselves around the contours of her body, as if protecting and defying.

  ‘No, it isn’t silly at all - and to be honest, you look absolutely wonderful.’

  She smiled, and as she glanced sideways to him, he saw the girl again.

  ‘It wasn’t a present, honestly, I bought it myself with my own money.’

  He felt puzzled, ‘Right. Well that’s good, it’s beautiful.’

  She looked down, her body lightly swinging, ‘So shall I play my song now?’