by steve higgs
‘Oh my God. What did you do?’ He asked disbelievingly as he came breathlessly to a halt.
I let him take it in for a moment. He plipped the alarm off.
‘Are you blind?’ he asked. ‘What have you done to my car? You had better have some good insurance.’
‘Martin.’ His face froze. I could see him trying to work out how I knew his name (It was on the pass displayed on his dashboard – Martin Wilkins). ‘Martin, you are in a surprising amount of trouble.’ I was still guessing but I either had this dead right or dead wrong and since I had already crashed into his car I might as well carry on assuming I was right.
Martin stood about six feet one inch tall. He had on flat, office shoes and was skinny.
‘Where are you hiding the Phantom cloak?’ I watched his eyes and breathing looking for facial cues. I knew they would tell me everything and they did. Even before his lips moved, I knew he was guilty. I was guilty too. Guilty of not listening. ‘My big friend. The one you kicked in the nuts? Let’s just say that he is the least of your worries.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’ He stammered.
‘Is it in the car, Martin? Or have you stashed it at the Barker house?’ He was looking a little sick.
There were still faces at windows watching us but thankfully no one else had come out.
‘Martin, we are going to do our insurance paperwork so that people watching do not come over. While we do it you are going to answer my questions.’
‘And if I don’t?’
I fixed him with a stare. He swallowed. ‘Then I will have a police friend here shortly to ask the questions for me. Would you prefer that?’
I got my insurance papers from my glovebox and we began to chat.
How Many Phantoms Can You Count? Friday 15th October 1057hrs
My talk with Martin had been most enlightening. I had let him go when I felt confident I had extracted a full and accurate story.
He was not the only person I wanted to speak to this morning though. I strolled around the back of reception without bothering to pass through it. I was done with all that nonsense. Using the age-old look like you belong here, and people will ignore you policy, I wandered unchallenged into the main office building and up the stairs.
Just down the corridor towards Brett Barker’s now vacant office, was the open plan area I had passed several times previously. The desks in it were arranged in neat clusters of four with dividing barriers to give the individual some semblance of privacy or perhaps the purpose of the barriers was to demark one desk from another. I was not sure. The barriers were high enough though to hide most of what the person on the other side was doing but not so high that two seated persons could not converse over the top of them. Most had things pinned to them. A postcard here, a note or a photograph of the children there. I could not see who I was looking for and was starting to feel a little exposed just stood in the middle of the office looking around. The lady nearest me was about to ask me a question, probably if she could be of assistance, when my quarry appeared, emerging from an alcove I had not noticed and carrying four coffee mugs.
I was guessing that she was my quarry actually. I had never met the lady, so I was using a few clues from the last week as I pieced together how dumb and blind I had been.
The girl, I say girl, but she was possible twenty or more, saw me watching her and looked at me.
‘Kerry?’ I mouthed in question.
Her eyebrows raised. It was her. I went to her desk in the corner of the office where she was now handing out the mugs of coffee to the three other ladies seated at her cluster of desks.
‘Kerry, good morning. My name is Tempest Michaels.’ I handed her my card. ‘I have been hired to investigate the Phantom.’ I watched as her face turned red. ‘Might we have a word in private?’
Kerry looked at me. She had tears in her eyes and was blushing a rather incredible shade of scarlet.
‘Perhaps we should find your grandfather.’ I suggested. I took her arm gently and led her unresisting form from the room. Her colleagues gave her some questioning looks and I noticed her shaking her head at one or two of them, answering some silent questions about whether they should intervene or not, I guess. No one did anything to impede our exit.
I gave Kerry’s arm a squeeze. I wanted to impart a sense of calm authority. Nothing bad was going to happen to her. Well, probably not, but I had truths to uncover.
Brett’s Truth. Friday 15th October 1303hrs
I left the Mill a while later having extracted everything that I could from Kerry, her grandfather Old Sam and Ronald. Most of what I learned was surprising. I was heading now to Jagjit’s place of work, although I did not know where that was beyond that it was in Canary Wharf in South London. Mrs Barker had been altogether naughty, and I was off to burst her bubble. My phone helpfully located the building that Jagjit worked in and provided a tube station that I needed to get off at all without me needing to stop walking. I arrived back at the Mill carpark, slid into my car and aimed its nose at the exit.
I had been played like a fiddle right from the start. Margaret Barker, I now refused to even think of her as Mrs Barker had lied to me, she had murdered her own husband and planted a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow to her stepson Brett. I had obeyed her wishes better than a trained dog. Now I was mad and about to get even.
I called Amanda.
‘Tempest.’ she answered with excitement. ‘Have I got news for you?’
‘Brett is totally innocent and has been working in the best interests of the Mill all along.’ I said.
‘Yes.’ she paused. ‘How do you know that already?
‘I also know that Margaret Barker killed her husband. That Brett is innocent is the only explanation left that makes sense.’
‘Do you want the details?’ Amanda asked.
‘Yes please.’ I listened as Amanda explained what Brett had told her. Most of it was surprising. I was feeling generally surprised today. Not only at the truths I was now discovering but also from what I was learning about my childish, fragile ego and how gullible I could be.
At the end of her report I told her where I was going and what I needed her to do. She promised to get it done and that I would see her shortly.
Benover Commercial Property. Friday, 15th October 1357hrs
I arrived at the Benover Commercial Property Developers and Architects Agency in Canary Wharf by tube. It simply wasn't practical to drive there, so I had ditched the car at Dartford train station and taken my second train that week.
Google maps on my phone took me to the building, otherwise, I might never have found it in the bustling concrete jungle. Towers stretched into the sky as if trying to escape the earth like rockets, only to find their feet still attached. Stood outside a building that my phone assured me was the right one, I could not see the name of the business. Only when I went inside and studied the information boards displaying business names did I find it located on the seventeenth floor. The lobby corralled people through a security process which included bag search and x-ray body scanner but started with a check of identification and appointment. Going past me were those with passes.
Without an appointment, I was directed to the security desk where I met security guard Carl.
‘Good afternoon,’ I began, only to have him lift a hand to silence me.
‘Do you have an appointment, sir?’
‘No. I,’
‘Next.' He called, turning his attention away from me. He was impressively rude.
I swallowed my anger. It was unlikely to get me inside the building any quicker. Instead of wasting my breath attempting to speak to security guard Carl, I learned from him and didn't bother. I called Jagjit and when he didn't answer I looked up the landline number for the business and called that instead.
‘Benover. How may I direct your call?’ was how the lady answered the phone. Her accent was Toronto, not unusual in London to find people from somewhere else in the world.
‘Good afternoon. My name is Tempest Michaels. Can I speak with Jagjit Singh please?’
‘I'm afraid he is in a meeting, sir.' she replied without hesitation. From Jagjit's brief description, the deal with Mrs. Barker was a big one. Jagjit was a rising junior at the firm and might very well be in the meeting with her.
‘The meeting with Mrs. Barker?' I enquired.
‘Yes. That’s right.’ she brightened.
‘I have information pertinent to Mrs. Barker. I need to deliver it by hand. Can you please have security at the front desk allow me through?' It was an outright lie, but I calculated that knowing Mrs. Barker was there and why and saying I had come to mess the deal up would be less likely to get me through the gate.
‘Just one moment, sir.’ she replied, and I could hear her typing. ‘You should be able to pass through security now. Just speak with one of the guards on the front desk.’
I strolled confidently back to the desk and security guard Carl.
‘Hello again.’ I addressed him engagingly.
He just stared at me.
‘I think if you check my name you will find I am cleared to enter.’
He just stared at me.
‘Thank you.’ I said and took my turn at being ignorant by turning my back and leaning against the counter while I checked my phone.
He gave up after a few seconds and clicked a few keys, reading my name from the driver's license I had placed on the desk. He buzzed open the security gate for me to start the process of being x-rayed and searched. He did it without a word and refused to make eye contact when I picked up my I.D. from right in front of him. He did make a point of nodding to the chap doing the body scan though, so I wasted a further five minutes taking off my shoes and belt and emptying my pockets as the randomly selected person.
The elevator was waiting for me as I pulled my belt back through the loops on my trousers as I crossed the atrium. Up seventeen floors, I exited into a wide corridor. A brass looking sign on the wall directed me left to find the Benover offices.
Through glass panelled doors, I found a young woman sitting behind a glass and chrome counter. Behind her head was a large and ornate sign telling me I had found the right place. I went in.
‘Good afternoon.' I said, looking around. ‘Tempest Michaels. I called from the lobby.'
‘Yes. Would you like me to show you to the meeting room?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I would.’ Super.
She led me down a short corridor. I could hear voices ahead of me muffled by the walls. We reached a door marked on the outside as the Board Room and she politely knocked on the door. The conversation inside paused, at which point she turned the handle and let me into the room.
A dozen faces turned to look at me, including Jagjit’s. He looked horrified and like he was going to say something. I winked as we made very brief eye contact. I dismissed him before he could speak and ignored the other occupants as I scanned the room. Margaret Barker was sitting near the head of the table next to an elderly man in a well fitted three-piece suit. To her other side was Owen Larkin who looked shocked and angry. A big piece of the puzzle fell into place.
She looked nervous. ‘You did not cover your tracks well enough, Margaret.’
‘Who the devil are you, young man?’ asked the elderly gentleman rising from his seat. The owner perhaps.
‘My apologies, sir.' I said, addressing him directly. ‘Mrs. Barker is guilty of murder, among other crimes and her accomplice Mr. Larkin is involved also. The land she is attempting to sell you for redevelopment is not hers.'
Mrs. Barker spoke. ‘You overstep your bounds, Mr. Michaels. Besides, the shares will be mine long before the deal goes through.' I watched as she placed a hand on Owen's forearm to keep him in place or from speaking.
‘Oh, Yes. The majority shares pass from heir to heir do they not? Unless the heir is found guilty of criminal behaviour and given a custodial sentence.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I have been doing some digging this morning. You see, Brett is innocent. I found the breadcrumb trail. It wasn’t easy to get the firm’s lawyer to talk. I had to get Old Sam and Ronald involved to achieve that.’
Around the table, the suited attendees were keeping quiet and listening. Most were pushed back in their chairs and listening. The elderly gentleman was looking at Mrs. Barker.
‘Those two idiots? You waste my time and yours, Mr. Michaels. Go home. Keep your bonus and stop being ridiculous.' Her confidence had returned.
‘I think not, Margaret. You found Martin Wilkins, seduced him with sex and money and had him supply you with fake heart medication for your husband. Then, you arranged for him to be employed at your firm in a position that pays more than it should so that he would keep quiet while you waited for your husband to die and for Brett to fall into your neatly crafted trap.' She said nothing. ‘You also took Mr. Larkin here as a lover because you needed to keep Brett distracted and to plant evidence in his office. Who better to act as the double agent than his own man.'
I turned to look at Owen. ‘What did she promise you? Money? Her eternal love?'
I saw him move but expected that he would just get out of his seat and start shouting. Instead, he leapt onto his seat and then the table and dived at me. He is lighter and shorter than I and was fuelled by anger, rather than fighting knowledge. I was caught momentarily off guard, but amid the sea of shocked faces, I was able to react fast enough. I feigned a move towards him as he lunged, then spun away at the last moment sweeping his hands up and away from me as they tried to grasp my face. He shot past me with his hands now no longer protecting his face and slammed into the skirting board of the wall behind me. He lay still. I calmly bent to check his pulse, then rose again satisfied that he was just knocked out and would most likely come around again quite soon.
This had happened so fast that my own pulse had not had the opportunity to react.
‘Brett is being released from custody as we speak. When forensic accounting goes through his records, will they find that he made the payment to Palmer Pharmaceuticals from his office? Or will it be that it was made from the office of the Financial Director of the firm as she has access to everyone's company credit cards?'
‘Is any of this true?' asked the elderly gentleman, staring at Mrs. Barker.
On the table in front of them was a large architect's drawing of a riverfront paradise. It showed large buildings surrounded by trees and green areas. The buildings might have been offices or residential accommodation, but the piece of land shown was unmistakably the site of the Barker Mill. She had plotted to get rich.
I wondered how long ago she had started planning this moment. Was it years? Had she married George Barker with a plan in mind? Had she unwittingly discovered that with her husband dead and Brett incarcerated she would become the new recipient of the Mill and then plotted to make it happen? I would never know.
Jagjit had stayed quiet thus far but caught my eye now. He looked like he wanted to ask me something, but I shook my head and looked away. I doubted it would serve him well at the firm if they learned he was an acquaintance of mine. We would talk later.
Mrs. Barker still had not answered the elderly gentleman but was now getting up and gathering her things. If she planned to leave, I would make no attempt to stop her. The police would pick her up soon enough, but as that thought was thinking itself, I heard voices in the corridor outside.
The door opened, and the same young lady showed in two men in shabby suits. Amanda was behind them. Mrs. Barker looked ready to kill; she was clearly incensed that her plan was unravelling.
I stepped out into the corridor as the two men showed their warrant cards and introduced themselves. Now my task really was done, and the case truly closed. What I would do with my knowledge of the Phantom I had not yet decided. It was quite an intriguing story, but I was keeping it to myself for now.
Amanda had not gone into the room so was left with me in the corridor. Behind me, we could hear Mrs. Barker being read her rights.
‘Working for you is certainly different.’ she replied. I was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. So, I asked her. ‘Good mostly.’ she answered.
I did not press for more detail.
‘I am done here, I think. Case solved, nothing else to do. Mrs. Barker was good enough to pay us already. Shall we get a coffee somewhere?' Mr. Wriggly had already noticed her cleavage was visible and that she looked as sexy as hell in her tight jeans today. I was just trying to be polite and engaging but, as always, he was whispering other thoughts directly into my brain.
‘I have to go but thank you. I am going back to Dartford to see Brett released from custody. He would have been transferred to prison tonight or tomorrow morning rather than held at a station.'
‘How is he?’ I asked.
‘If anything, he is grateful that we exposed his evil stepmother’s plans. I will be filling him in on all the details on the way to Paris.’
‘Paris?’ I asked, already certain I knew the answer.
‘He offered to take me for dinner again. Now that I know he is innocent I could not think of a reason to reject him.' Mr. Wriggly made some seriously displeased noises and comments about the tiny penis Brett would most likely be wielding.
I nodded, just so that I had something for my face to do. ‘Well, enjoy your trip, I guess.' I managed, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. ‘I will see you on Monday?'
‘No, I have a shift then, but I will call you and I am free later that week.'
‘Okay. Speak later then.’ I turned and left her to whatever tasks she was still to perform with the two plain-clothes officers and headed back out of the office to make my way home.
Walking through Canary Wharf, I called Mrs. Collins. I owed her a full report in person and was quite thankful when she said not to bother and requested a written report instead. I imagined her affairs were most likely in disarray, her husband booted out, business no longer tenable now she could not trust her staff and perhaps a complex divorce to sort out. I silently hoped I would not be called upon to provide statements or act as a witness if a divorce were to go ahead.