The Phoenix Project

by Chrissie Loveday

  She was working in the caravan one morning, when she saw the wife, or whatever she was, of the farmer next door running across the field. She went out to see her.

  ‘Come with me. Please. Someone’s only gone and done him in.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come on!’ she demanded, running back to the farm. Rosie followed her, breaking into a run.

  The rather run-down farm was in quite a state. In the yard outside, there was rubbish piled up and nobody had swept or cleaned it for some time.

  ‘Where are you?’ she called, not seeing the woman anywhere.

  ‘In ’ere. In th’ barn in front of you.’

  The woman waved her hands around indicating that she expected Rosie to go inside. She went into the barn and saw the problem. Lying on the ground was the farmer, his head stoved in by a large stone lying on the ground nearby. There was blood on the stone and some hair that she could see. She gave a shudder.

  ‘Come on. There’s nothing you can do here. Come into the house. You need to phone the police. I’ll make you some tea, shall I?’

  ‘Please thee sen. What am I gonna do?’

  ‘Like I said. We need to phone the police. Did you hear anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Heard the beasts callin’ out. I did.’

  ‘When did you see him last?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘You must know … I’ll call the police. Do you have a phone somewhere?’

  ‘I thinks so. But he don’t like me to use it.’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll use my mobile.’

  She quickly dialled and reported the problem. They promised to come immediately.

  ‘So what … er … beasts have you got out there?’

  ‘Bullocks. Sheeps. Few ’ens.’

  ‘Do they need anything doing to them?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘S’pose the bullocks needs lettin’ out. Sheeps is already out.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Shall we go and let them out?’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ near that barn agin. Not while he’m there.’

  It’s like pulling teeth, Rosie thought. She knew almost nothing about animal care.

  ‘Is there anyone who could come and help you?’

  The woman shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t even know your name.’

  Silence followed.

  ‘I’m Rosie Breeden.’

  ‘Martha.’

  ‘Fine. Well, Martha, we need to let the animals out, don’t we?’

  She nodded.

  ‘OK. So where are they?’

  ‘Round back of th’ barn. I’m not going in there. Not while he’m lyin’ there.’

  ‘OK. Well, maybe we should wait for the police to get here. Shall I make that tea?’

  ‘If ya wants.’

  She looked around the horrendous kitchen. It was so cluttered, with stuff everywhere. Piles of papers and farming magazines covered the table and umpteen mismatched chairs. She went over to the sink. It was full of dirty dishes, water floating with globs of grease. She swallowed hard, fighting off the nausea she was feeling. Maybe she’d forget the tea for now. She went to look out of the window but it was filthy and she couldn’t see anything.

  ‘I’ll go out and see if they’re coming yet,’ she told the woman.

  Anything to get outside and breathe proper, clean air. The sight of that sink would haunt her for some time, not to mention the body lying in the barn.

  She went along the drive a little way, her excuse being that she might need to show them the way into the building. She stood waiting for what seemed an age and had just decided to go back to see how the woman, Martha, was getting on, when the police car drove up. Two police officers got out.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ one of them asked.

  ‘The farmer is lying in the barn. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Rosie Breeden. I’m building the place next door. Martha, Mrs …’

  She realised she didn’t know her surname.

  ‘She came over and asked me to come back here with her.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss Breeden. And where’s Martha?’

  ‘In the kitchen. She won’t come out. She’s … well, she isn’t terribly bright and she’s in quite a state.’

  ‘We’ll take a look at the body first. Make sure he really is dead. Dennis Danter, isn’t he called?’

  His colleague nodded.

  ‘Right. Then we’ll come in to see his woman.’

  ‘OK. I’ll wait here then.’

  The two policemen went into the barn and looked around. Eventually they came out again, both looking slightly green. One of them was speaking on his radio phone, ordering more people to come over to the farm. It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 3

  The questions continued for what seemed like forever. Rosie told them she was merely a neighbour, called in at the last minute. When the rest of the team arrived, she tried to make excuses and return to the sanity of the caravan.

  ‘I wonder if you might help Martha a bit? You know, look after her.’ one of the policemen asked.

  ‘I really do need to go now,’ she said, dreading the thought of cleaning up that awful sink with its cargo of filth.

  ‘I’ll be over at the building site, if you need me any more.’

  ‘We’ll probably need to ask you some more questions. We’ll be in touch. Meantime, I suppose I’d better get someone to come and look after Martha. There’s an awful lot she’ll need help with.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got people working for me over there. I do need to go and see what they’re doing.’

  Rosie escaped, feeling terrible about leaving them all with the mess, but she really couldn’t face any more involvement.

  The day dragged on at the old farm. The body was finally removed after all the various tests were complete, photographs had been taken and they were satisfied that everything was in order. Martha hung around looking bewildered but was finally persuaded to try to clean up the kitchen, helped by one of the female constables, who had joined them. Tapes were spread across the barn and the animals let out. Help was seriously needed there but some things were left until the following day.

  The builders came over to Rosie when she returned, wanting to know what was wrong.

  ‘Blimey, poor old chap. How on earth will Martha manage on her own?’

  ‘I dread to think. The place is a pigsty. I don’t think anyone’s done any cleaning in there for months.’

  ‘You didn’t offer to help her then?’ one of them asked her, slightly cheekily.

  ‘I said I was needed here. Total lie, but I really couldn’t face doing their washing up. It was ghastly. Grease and God-knows-what floating around. Well, I don’t owe them anything, do I? I went to ask if they’d seen anything after the fire and they were downright rude to me. I do feel sorry for her, but there’s nothing I could really do.’

  ‘Maybe we could both go round later,’ Drew offered, feeling sorry for the woman left to fend for herself.

  ‘Perhaps. I suppose so. It might be better with two of us. I just couldn’t cope on my own.’

  Rosie suddenly felt guilty about refusing her help and realised that Martha would never manage.

  ‘How long have they been together?’

  ‘Must be around twenty years, I s’pose. She just turned up one day and moved in.’

  ‘So what’s his story?’

  ‘I gather he inherited the place from his dad. He died a few years back. It seems to have deteriorated since he took it on. I bet they have debts a mile high. If they spent everything they’d made from selling off the land, they certainly haven’t been earning any money since then. Maybe the cows and sheep are worth something. Dunno what’ll happen to the place now.’

  ‘Let’s hope he left a will of some sort. Martha will be in a right mess if he didn’t.’

  ‘She’s always in a mess, as far as I can see. I’m so sorry for her.’


  Drew did feel very concerned.

  Left on her own, Rosie did a little more work on her plans, still feeling guilty about Martha and the mess she’d left behind. She thought about everything that had happened lately, especially the fire. If she’d had cameras around then, she’d have an idea of who it had been who caused it. She shuddered, imagining what might have happened if she’d been in there. She would almost certainly have been killed.

  She very much regretted losing that letter from her adoptive mother, as she now thought of her. She began typing it out again from memory, before she forgot it completely. “… that does not necessarily imply that your birth mother came from the area …” was a phrase she was living with. Suppose her birth mother had come from this area? It could be anyone she saw in the street, even Martha? She gave another shudder.

  It was impossible that she might be Martha’s daughter, even with the advantage of having adoptive parents to bring her up and give her every opportunity for a decent life. But all this speculation was not a healthy pastime. Trying to find her birth parents was not something she should be doing at this time, with all the upset she had gone through over the past few months. At least the dreadful accident had come after her exams at university were over and she had a decent degree.

  When work was finished for the day, Drew suggested they might go to the farm and see if Martha was all right. Rosie agreed to accompany him, secretly dreading going inside again. The police had left some time ago and had removed the body. The couple knocked at the door. Eventually, Martha came to open it.

  ‘Hallo. We came to see if you’re all right?’ Drew said.

  ‘He’s dead and gorn. They’ve took him away.’

  ‘Yes, we assumed they would have done. Is there anything we can to do? To help in some way?’

  ‘No ta. I’m all right.’

  She made as if to shut the door.

  ‘No wait, Martha, please. Wouldn’t you like some help to clean up?’

  ‘No ta. I can do it. In my own time. I’ll clear up before I ’as to go.’

  ‘Where are you going to go to?’ Rosie asked her.

  ‘Dunno. But I ain’t stayin’ ’ere. Not on me own.’

  The two would-be helpers looked at each other.

  ‘You can’t just go and leave the place empty,’ Drew told her.

  She gave a shrug.

  ‘Be all reet.’

  ‘What about the animals?’

  ‘They be out on the field.’

  ‘Don’t you want them brought back inside?’ Drew suggested.

  ‘Na. They’m all reet left out in th’field.’

  ‘It’s pretty chilly out there. Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right this evening. We’ll leave you alone and come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Suit thee sen.’

  This time she did close the door in a final gesture.

  The pair left her and went back to the building site to collect their cars. It felt strange to think of the woman back at the farm, all alone.

  ‘I wonder if she ever lets the ‘beasts’ out? And whether she’ll ever shut them in again?’ Rosie said.

  ‘I suppose they’ll be all right for tonight, whatever she does or doesn’t do. It isn’t too cold tonight. I wonder who did for the farmer. Do you think it could have been her?’

  ‘I doubt it. She’s very small and probably wouldn’t have the strength. She seemed very shocked. Anyway, why on earth would she do it? They were all right together, weren’t they?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Anyway, we’ll leave her be for now. Let’s decide what we’re going to eat for supper instead.’

  ‘Pub, I should think. It’s easiest.’

  Rosie was all for an easy life, between all the dramas.

  ‘OK. Pub it is. You’re right. It does save a whole lot of bother – though it’s becoming a bit of a habit.’

  ‘Yes. Good isn’t it?’

  The talk in the pub was all about the late Dennis and his woman. They joined the conversation. Rosie was asked what she knew, having been first on the scene. It seemed they assumed that she knew exactly what had happened.

  ‘I only took a quick look. He looked pretty well dead to me. Well, obviously he was or they wouldn’t have taken him away.’

  ‘So what’s the thinking? Who did the deed, do you reckon?’ one of the men asked.

  ‘I’ve simply no idea. But what with my fire and now this, maybe Porthcullion isn’t the best place to be at the moment.’

  The discussion continued through the evening. By the time she and Drew were ready to leave, it had been well and truly aired, until she was thoroughly sick of the whole subject.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to call anything off,’ she told Drew as they walked up the hill together. ‘I was just venting in the pub. I’m determined to live here, eventually.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. It would be something of a tragedy if you let these events put you off the place.’

  ‘All the same, it isn’t nice to think of some crazy killer wandering around. One can’t help wondering who really did it. Nor are we any closer to knowing who burnt my caravan.’

  ‘Forget it for now. Do you want coffee?’ he asked as they arrived back at his place.

  ‘I think I’ll turn in actually, but thanks. Think I’ve had enough liquid for one night.’

  ‘There speaks the world’s worst alcoholic. What did you have? Two halves of shandy,’ said Drew with a big grin.

  ‘OK. So I’m a lightweight. But you’d only criticise me if I drank more. I’m going to bed now. Night.’

  ‘Night, night. Hope you sleep well.’

  ‘You too. And Drew … thank you so much for having me stay here. I do appreciate it.’

  She reached out for his hand and took it, kissing his fingertips. He blushed and ran his other hand through his dark curls. Then he spoke again.

  ‘I love having you here. I’m only sorry there isn’t more space. But, one of these days, you’ll have a whole house to fill with your clutter.’

  ‘I’m not going to have too much clutter. I’m going to start all over. Dump old stuff and start afresh. That’s my motto.’

  The following morning dawned bright and clear. It was certainly colder but, this near to Christmas, what else could anyone expect? After breakfast, they both went to the building site. Rosie looked at the security cameras, as she usually did first thing. Once again, the hoodied figure seemed to be wandering round the entire site, poking here and there and looking for something.

  ‘Who do you think it is?’ she asked Drew when he came to look.

  ‘I’ve got no idea. Seems to be looking for something Though what, I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Nothing seems to have been disturbed but I really don’t like it. I think I should get some fencing put round. Once we get equipment here and more supplies, they’ll be pretty vulnerable. What do you think?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  ‘I thought I’d go over to see Martha this morning,’ she said.

  ‘That would be kind. Let me know how she is, will you?’

  Once the crew were all working, Rosie tramped across the field to the farm. It all seemed quiet. The bullocks were out in their field and there was no sign of Martha. She went to knock on the door. She waited, then knocked again. She walked over to the barn and tentatively pushed open the door. It was all quiet, with no animals inside and no sign of anyone there. She called out Martha’s name but there was no response. Strange, she thought. She went round to look in the field but the bullocks merely glanced up as she called out Martha’s name again. She checked in the hen house, sited behind the barn.

  She gasped in horror at the sight. At least twenty hens lay dead or dying. Was it a fox that had got in and killed them? Somehow, she didn’t think so. Whatever should she do now? Get away from the sight of so many dead or dying creatures, was her instinct. She ran back to the building site.

  ‘It’s horrible, Drew. All those hens. I should have gone into th
e run and killed the dying ones. I didn’t know how to,’ she sobbed.

  ‘I’ll come over with you. You guys carry on, will you?’

  ‘There’s no sign of Martha anywhere.’

  ‘Did you go inside the house?’

  ‘No. I just knocked at the door. I didn’t think, really.’

  ‘OK. Let’s go and see what we can do for the hens. Then we can try the front door again.’

  They went to the hen house. Drew looked at the sight and told her to go away.

  ‘Go and see if you can raise Martha.’

  She didn’t need asking again and left him to whatever gruesome task he was about to take on.

  ‘Martha? Are you there?’ she shouted out.

  She banged on the door a couple of times and then tried to push it open. It wasn’t locked and she went inside.

  ‘Martha?’ she yelled again.

  Feeling somewhat apprehensive, she went through the kitchen into, what she assumed, was the sitting room. She kept calling out but there was no response. She hesitated before going upstairs. In light of what had happened to Dennis, she was afraid of what she might find. Shouting Martha’s name all the time, she went slowly up the stairs.

  She pushed open the first door and saw an unmade bed. Nobody in there. She opened the next door and saw another bed – or rather, just a mattress – uncovered, and nothing else. The bathroom was next, also empty. It was dark and she fumbled for a light switch. It didn’t work. She crept along the corridor to the last door. She tried to open it but it wouldn’t budge. Something was behind it, stopping it from opening. She squealed in terror. She just knew it must be Martha, lying dead behind the door. She shot down the stairs as fast as she could go, hoping to find Drew again.

  ‘I’m sorry but I think she’s up there. Lying against one of the doors. I think she’s dead.’

  She was in a dreadful state, shaking and sobbing.

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll go and see. Which room?’

  ‘The one at the end of the corridor.’