by steve higgs
The Phantom was either shadows or superstition or more likely it had started out as a shadow, a half-seen something that an excitable individual had then embellished to create a fanciful story. It might have started as a bit of a laugh but from it, the story of the Phantom had grown and soon it was a popular way to explain mistakes: What happened to this broken equipment? Oh, it must have been the Phantom. The individual that had broken it thus gets off scot free. But after that, I felt it entirely plausible that people had used the story of the Phantom to cover up more sinister events. If you had a love rival and wanted them out of the way you could saw through some walkway bolts and then arrange for the intended victim to go across the walkway. Would anyone even look at whether there was a culprit? Or would the Phantom be instantly blamed by one and all?
One stage further was to assume that people might dress up as the Phantom. It was described in very loose terms after all - cloaked figure all in black. Not hard to replicate. Satisfied that I had fleshed out some basic ideas for how the Phantom sightings had stretched over a century, I glanced down at the clock. I had been staking out Owen Larkin's house for twelve minutes. It felt like three hours.
Two more minutes dragged by slowly.
‘Bugger this.’ I said out loud and turned on the ignition. I checked the road before pulling out to see there was a car approaching. I recognised the driver. It was Owen Larkin. I had not considered that he might have more than one car.
I slunk down a little in my seat, turned off the ignition and watched. The car went past mine and on further down the road until the driver found a parking space large enough to accommodate his car. A few seconds later he emerged onto the pavement and walked briskly in my direction. He had his phone to his right ear and was talking loudly and with great animation. He was clearly agitated.
As I listened, I realised he was talking to Brett Barker. It was obvious in fact because he referred to him by name more than once.
‘It wasn’t me, Brett. I didn’t go to the Mill on Saturday night.’
This was getting interesting. As he passed me by and went up his driveway, I eased out of my car keeping as quiet as I could. I was wearing brogues that would make too much noise on the road and paths, so I slipped them off and deposited them in my car, then crossed the road keeping low in just my socks.
Owen Larkin was good enough to have grown a hedge that shielded me from view but allowed noise to penetrate. Overhearing his conversation was easy. Then I heard the door open and as I peered through the trees, I could see Owen was stood halfway through his door. He was listening to Brett on the other end of the call again.
‘Yes.’
A pause while he listened
‘Make sure Furnace B is out of action.
A pause.
‘Ok. I’ll do it tonight.’
A pause.
‘Yes. You told me that already.’
A pause.
‘I don't think we need to worry about Tempest Michaels. He clearly has no idea what happened to your grandfather.' Owen laughed then. A shared joke of some kind. ‘Well, your grandfather had it coming, but there is no chance they will ever tie it to you.'
This was solid gold!
‘Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.'
A pause.
‘Yes.’ Then he disconnected. I was still crouching behind a bush.
‘What are you doing?' asked a voice from behind me. The voice belonged to a little old lady walking her equally old Jack Russell. I turned in horror at the question. It was loud enough for Owen to have heard and through the tiny gaps in his hedge, I could see him looking in my direction now. He knew my voice! I could not dare to answer the lady. It seemed rude but, in my hesitation, Owen appeared to be moving back towards the street from his front door.
Needing to move fast and not sure how to do so without exposing myself, I took a few fast steps and dived through the neat hedge of his next-door neighbour. I came to rest just as I heard heavy footsteps hit the pavement where I had been. I held my breath, waiting for Owen to spot me, finally exhaling thirty seconds later when I heard the front door close. The old lady had found me boring thankfully and had gone on her way.
I needed to get up and get moving, the full realisation of what I had just heard now hitting me. Owen Larkin was the Phantom! He had been guilty all along and his actions were being orchestrated by Brett Barker himself. Not only that but he had suggested that Brett was guilty of his grandfather's murder. I didn't know what they were up to with all the Phantom nonsense, but Owen was going to be at the Mill tonight to perform some task at furnace B. Now that the street was quiet again, I risked a glance over the short hedge I had hidden behind to make sure Owen was not looking out his front window. I could neither see nor hear anyone moving, so I got up, maintained a crouch until I was back out onto the street then ran across the road and dived into my car.
Tea and Biscuits Monday, 11th October 1607hrs
The Mill was so vast I needed everyone I could get my hands on to help me cover it if we were to catch Owen Larkin in the act. On my way home, I had called Big Ben and Amanda and then Jagjit and Basic and finally Frank. They were all up for a bit of Ghostbusting and Frank had assured me Poison would be coming too. The exception was Amanda who was on shift tonight. I called her, not because I wanted to see if she could join us, but because I specifically didn't want to call her. It felt cowardly to avoid speaking with her now, so I had set my jaw and made the call. I told her what I had heard and what I planned to do. Surprisingly though, Amanda questioned whether going into the Mill to catch Owen was a good idea.
She also could not believe that Brett was behind the crimes. ‘Brett hired us, Tempest.’
‘I cannot explain his strategy, Amanda. However, I heard what I heard. Owen is hitting the Mill tonight on the instruction of Brett Barker.’
‘Are you going to clear it with anyone that you will be at the Mill tonight? You cannot ask for Brett's permission to be there.'
‘I don't want people to know we are coming. I do not know who else is involved so I cannot speak to anyone. Except maybe Mrs. Barker.'
‘Well look, Tempest. Basically, if you do not have permission to be on the premises you will be breaking and entering. Even if you do not break anything in the process.’
‘Understood. I think you are worrying needlessly. If we catch Owen Larkin the Phantom case will be sewn up – case solved in record time. Faced with taking the blame himself, Owen will implicate Brett and I expect to be able to ascertain then whether Mr. George Barker was murdered and how.'
‘Tempest, I am advising against this course of action.’
I was struggling for words. I was going. I knew it was the right thing to do and my best chance to catch the man responsible. Catch Owen sabotaging the Mill and dressed as a Phantom and there would be little he could do to wiggle free.
‘I fail to see the flaw in my logic, Amanda. I will call you when we catch him.’ I heard Amanda sigh at the other end of the line. She had no further warnings to give though so she wished me luck, which sounded quite forced and false and she disconnected.
I counted my team. I had seven live bodies. It was far too few, but it was what I had.
I had a stack of simple two-way radios that I had bought from a sale of Army goods more than a decade ago. At the time, I thought I might just be able to flog them on for a profit as they had been virtually giving them away but had never actually got around to doing so. Now they were in a box in my loft gathering dust and should only require a charge to make them functional.
The loose plan was to get to the Mill early, spread out with large fields of vision around and between the various building so we could watch most entry points and thus spy the perpetrator arriving or leaving. Brett had told Owen he wanted it done tonight which to me meant after dark when the Mill was shut down and there was no one there. As a former employee, Owen would know his way around the Mill and probably had been given keys or passes or whatever by Brett so that he could get in. I w
as making assumptions, but they felt sound.
Catching him in the act, together with my testimony that I had overheard Brett issuing him with instruction to sabotage equipment, ought to be sufficient to wrap up the case. However, I expected that Owen would cave in and give us the full story. Better yet, Amanda still had her police ID and was still actually a police officer, so could arrest him and hand him over to the local police once we had what information we needed. What would the full story be though? Had they also conspired to kill the late George Barker also? Honestly, at this point, I still had no idea how they had achieved it, although I could easily convince myself the two crimes were connected and perpetrated by the same person or persons. It would be nice to wrap up both cases together and get a fat cheque from Mrs. Barker. Hold on though, Brett had taken the firm on to catch the Phantom. When I proved that he was orchestrating the Phantom's actions would I still get paid? Who would I send the invoice to? You should have taken a fee upfront, Tempest. Silly boy.
Never mind though. A case is a case and I wanted to solve this one.
I was nearing my house and felt the usual elation I get when I can feel a case coming together. I had never expected to find solving silly mysteries so gratifying.
I turned the final corner into my street and saw my parent's car parked in front of my house. This was not particularly unusual, they lived only a few miles away and liked to borrow the dogs to go for a walk in the countryside. I had given them a key when I moved in, so on occasion, which is to say every other week or so, they would just turn up. If I was in, we would have a cup of tea and a chat and we might all go out for a walk together. If I was out, as I had been when they arrived today, they would simply take the dogs and head off into the local countryside by themselves. I was being a bit too generous there. More typically mother would spend half an hour weeding my garden, so she could moan at me for not staying on top of it and then she would take the dogs for a walk and would return via the village pub for an industrial strength gin.
I parked beside their car and went inside. In a rare change from the usual, no dogs came rushing to greet me. I went to the kitchen window and peered around the back garden. Since they were not there either, my parents must be out walking them and would return soon enough. I flicked the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea and headed to the loft.
I believed that I knew where the box of radios was in my loft, but I was wrong, and it took five minutes of searching under other items to reveal their location. I bumped my head twice on wooden trusses during my rummage and found an old Play Station 2 that I had not seen in years but brought out of the attic with me anyway. It would be fun to play some of the old games on it, maybe have a lad's night with Mortal Kombat and Need for Speed. I took it and the radios back downstairs and set the kettle to boil again.
While the tea infused, I dusted the radios off and plugged each one into the base charging unit I had got with it. In all, I had twelve radios and eleven of them showed the little red light to indicate they were charging but not charged. They would display a green light when they were fully charged, which if my memory was correct, would take about three hours. I poked the twelfth radio with my technology ignorant fingers, but it steadfastly refused to be raised from its dormant state.
Behind me, the front door opened as my parents returned with the dogs. They all spotted me at once, the little dog's tails prescribing a fast arc as they strained at their leads to get to me.
‘Hiya, kid.’ My dad called through.
‘Hello, Father. Hello, mother. Did you have a nice walk?’
The dogs were finally released from their leads and shot across the kitchen floor. I knelt to pet them.
‘It is a lovely Autumn day, Tempest.’ My mother said. ‘We found some late blackberries so picked and ate them off the bush.’
‘Sounds nice.’ Which it did. I lived in a lovely area surrounded by fields and vineyards on rolling hills that provided wonderful views out across the countryside. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I enquired.
‘Now that sounds nice.' My dad said so the kettle was pressed into action once more.
‘What is going on with these?’ asked my Dad pointing at the radios.
‘I have a Phantom to catch tonight.' I replied in a husky, vaudeville-stage voice while wiggling my eyebrows mysteriously. He looked at me quizzically, indulging me like one might a simple person. I gave up trying to be theatrical. ‘There is a fellow dressing up and sabotaging the Barker Steel Mill. I believe he will strike again tonight. The Mill is vast, so I have a gang of us going up there, so we can spread out and cover as much ground as we can.' I sipped my tea. ‘I think it will be an easy task this time.' The last time I had involved my friends in one of my excursions we had all got into an enormous fight that was probably more accurately described as a riot and then we all got arrested.
‘How many in your team?’ my dad asked.
‘Seven. Not really enough given the ground we need to cover but we will make it work.’ I could see my dad was counting the radios.
‘Hmm. So, is this Phantom chap dangerous would you say?’
‘Hard to tell. Anyone can be dangerous if they are armed, but the short answer is that I don't think so. The chap I am now convinced is acting as the Phantom is a young executive type and not much bigger in height than mum. His movements are being controlled by someone else, but that person will most likely not be there, so it is just the one man to catch. He will be outnumbered, so I expect him to just surrender when we corner him.
‘Hmm.’ My dad said again.
We drank our tea along with a handful of dunking biscuits from the tin I keep in the cupboard for guests. Dunking biscuits are a thing of beauty my dad had once observed when I was a child on his knee. I could still hear the echo of it every time the tin came out. It was a warm and pleasant memory.
We sat on the sofas in my lounge and talked about what was happening in the News and whether we would get together for dinner at their house this coming weekend. It was not long though before mother brought up the topic of the baby shower.
‘I had a quick chat with some of the other Grandmothers I know, and I think I will get by just fine without your help. So, you are off the hook.’ It sounded like a disaster in the making. I had not told her that Rachael had visited me and clearly Rachael had not done so either. The event was planned now but I played along rather than give mother the impression she was not needed.
‘Jolly good, mother. What do you have planned?’
Mother’s face beamed though as she prepared to tell me all about her exciting plans. ‘Well, Tempest. Margaret Wilson, you know… from the church. Well, she said that she threw a baby shower for her daughter, Sarah, you know… from the church. And they had it at her house and she invited friends and family and they all made gifts for the baby and drank nice wine and Margaret made sandwiches and quiche and…’
The noise of mother speaking was becoming a drone and I needed to stop her, ask some clarifying questions and convince her to abandon any derivative of this plan that she might have. Unfortunately, once in full flow Moher was a lot like an ocean liner; hard to stop, dangerous to get in front of and if you tried to affect a turn it would take a while before she even noticed.
I looked at dad. He just shrugged at me. Helpful.
I raised a hand. Like a child.
‘… but she did say it was a bit crowded at her house and if she were doing it again she would use the church hall.’ Mother finally noticed my raised hand which had now been in the air so long I was holding it aloft with my other hand. ‘Did you want to ask a question, Dear?’
I put my hands back in my lap. ‘I have a few items on your list to discuss. You plan to all drink wine, yet the mother-to-be, for whom the party is being thrown is not able to drink…’
‘She can have a small one.’ Mother complained.
‘No, she cannot, mother and I suspect that her friends would slap the drink from her hand if they saw her with it.’
&
nbsp; ‘I had a small brandy every night when I was pregnant with the two of you.’ Mother claimed defiantly.
‘That explains a lot, mother. Nevertheless, pregnant mothers do not drink because they understand what it does to the foetus, so we need to consider the impact on the guest of honour if everyone else is to drink. I would suggest non-alcoholic drinks only.
Mother was muttering under her breath.
I pressed on. ‘Then you mentioned making gifts. Are you talking about knitting clothes and blankets for the baby?’
‘Yes, Dear. So much nicer than buying something from a store.’
I doubted my sister would agree but accepted that it was going to take some clever diplomatic skills to get this message into mum’s brain.
‘Hmmm,’ I started, knowing I would need to play my hand very carefully. ‘I wonder if perhaps we should at least explore some alternate options and see what Racheal thinks of them. Do you have a list of her friends to invite?
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Then I will have her email me a list tonight with phone numbers. That way we can do a head count and see if they will all fit in your house.' Mother acknowledged that element of my plan with a nod of her head. I was on safe ground if I suggested doing anything with a computer as she hated technology. I pressed my advantage. ‘You do realise that you will have days of preparing food and then all the cleaning and washing up afterward.' It was actual washing up too as mother’s hate of technology extended to dishwashers also.
‘That’s what I have your father for.’ she said grinning at him. He made an exaggerated sad and hurt face.
‘Yes, mother. I am sure he is already looking forward to it. However, I can send her a few images of alternate venues just in case she has something else in mind and perhaps we can avoid having dad standing in the kitchen for several hours.’