Betrayed (Powell Book 4) (2 page)

Powell understood why the Buckingham couple were concerned and especially the mother. He would have been devastated if Bella had ever done anything similar.

“Perhaps he has a private fortune or a rich benefactor?” Powell suggested.

“His only benefactors are the members of his commune,” Charles replied, sharply. “Look up the definition of a commune. It says something like, a group of people living together and sharing possessions and responsibilities. I take possessions to include money.”

“How much money does Harriet inherit on her birthday?”

“Twenty five million,” Charles answered.

Powell was momentarily lost for words. It was an enormous amount of money, well beyond the sum he’d expected to hear. “Where exactly does this money come from?”

“Hattie’s grandfather, left her the money in his will,” Charles explained. “And I don’t want her throwing it away. He worked hard all his life for that money.”

“And her birthday is in four months?”

“August 16
th
to be precise,” Clara answered. “We don’t have much time.”

“I’m still not sure what you expect from me.”

“Check out this Scott,” Charles answered. “I’m sure he’s up to no good. We need to get some leverage on him so we can get him to stop manipulating our daughter.”

It sounded like Charles wouldn’t be averse to manipulating Scott, given the chance. He wanted Powell to dig up some dirt they could use as leverage, which sounded awfully like another name for blackmail.

“I’ll do some preliminary enquiries and get back to you in a couple of weeks with what I discover,” Powell suggested. “Of course, it may be I discover nothing. In the meantime, I’d try hard to build bridges with Harriet.”

“Everyone calls her Hattie,” Charles said. “Except Clara, who still insists on referring to her as Harriet despite having been asked not to do so a thousand times.”

“She was christened Harriet and that’s what I will call her,” Clara said stubbornly.

“Do you have a recent picture of Harriet?” Powell asked. He’d been invited to the meeting by Clara and would observe her naming convention for her daughter. 

Clara had obviously come prepared. She reached inside a pocket in her dress and produced a photo of an attractive young woman wearing a floral dress and a straw hat. Powell studied the subject of their conversation for the first time. Harriet was tall and slim, with very dark hair that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were pools of darkness in an alabaster skin complexion and she was smiling broadly at the camera. She had a boyish or model like figure, depending on your personal choice of description. Whatever words you chose, there was no denying her beauty.

“It was taken about eighteen months ago at Henley, Clara explained. “In happier times, before she met Scott.”

“She’s very pretty,” Powell acknowledged.

“She hasn’t changed much in looks,” Clara added.

“How did she meet Scott?” Powell asked.

“In a pub, I think she said. A couple of weeks later she moved into the commune.”

“Was she experiencing any specific problems about that time?” Powell asked.

“No. The problems started once she joined that damned place,” Charles answered, impatiently.

“There weren’t any difficulties at home?”

“She wasn’t running away from us, if that’s what you mean,” Charles retorted angrily. “Our only crime has been to give her everything she ever wanted. It’s that Scott fellow you should be asking the questions. Not us.” 

“Sorry, I wasn’t implying anything,” Powell apologised. “I just wanted to understand better, Hattie’s motives for joining the commune.” He wouldn’t be surprised if Harriett and her father had frequently argued. He was very opinionated.

“She’s still very young and impressionable,” Clara added. “She probably thinks she’s in love. Whether that is truly with Scott or just the idea of being in love, I don’t know. What I do know is that she needs our help.”

“Does she have any strong religious beliefs?” Powell queried.

“Religion!” Clara laughed. “No. Harriet isn’t religious.”

“Okay. I’ll be in touch soon,” Powell said, standing to signal the meeting was finished. He felt he’d learned enough to get started.

“We can’t let this Scott, get his hands on her money,” Charles emphasised, climbing to his feet.

“It’s not just about the money,” Clara snapped.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Powell promised.

He felt there was a definite undercurrent of hostility between husband and wife, which made him feel uncomfortable. He was also uncertain whether Charles Buckingham was more concerned for the money or his daughter’s wellbeing. And why had he started the meeting so negatively? Perhaps it was just because his wife had organised the meeting. Powell thought Charles was a little pompous. Maybe he didn’t take kindly to his wife making important decisions without fully consulting with him first. There was lots for Powell to consider on the way back to Brighton.

Powell spent a day on his computer, researching the commune and its leader but discovered nothing of great value. They had no web site and there was little information on the internet about the commune or Scott. The absence of anything negative was in fact a huge positive. He had feared he would read about a cult of devil worshippers.

There were no upset parents on any of the forums, complaining about or even mentioning the commune. Hattie’s parents definitely seemed to be in a minority of one. Powell needed to find the names of other people living at the commune and check their backgrounds.

He found a people search web site, which allowed him to search on an address and back came a list of half a dozen people living at the commune address. It seemed most people living at the commune weren’t bothered about adding themselves to the electoral register, which wasn’t surprising. Hattie wasn’t listed.

He decided against making a formal visit to the commune. He would probably learn nothing by a frontal assault. The commune was located in a large country house, called Tintagel, on the edge of the village of Lindfield, to the north-east of Haywards Heath, standing on the upper reaches of the River Ouse.

Powell smiled at the name. Tintagel was a castle in Cornwall associated with the legendary story of King Arthur. Powell decided the best place to start investigating would be the village pub. The regulars at any village pub tend to know the local gossip. 

He decided to visit the pub at six when it would probably be relatively quiet and he might get a chance to chat to the people behind the bar. The drive from Brighton took just under thirty minutes and he was pleased to find the large pub car park was quite deserted when he arrived.

The pub was a traditional country pub, with old fashioned décor and furnishings, low ceilings and wooden beams. Powell walked up to the bar and studied the different beers for a minute. A pretty barmaid approached him and waited for his order. She seemed ridiculously young but then again so were some of the girls who worked in his bar. Another sure sign he was getting old. 

“What can I get you?” the barmaid asked with a  welcoming smile.

“You have a couple of beers I don’t know.”

“You can try one if you like?”

“Actually, I think I’ll stick to what I know and have a pint of San Miguel,” he said, giving his best smile. “This is a nice pub,” he added, looking around.

“Thanks.” She took a pint mug from under the shelf and started to pour his drink. “Is it your first time in here?”

“Yes, I’ve been looking at property in the area. I’m thinking of moving to somewhere around here.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Brighton. I fancy moving somewhere a bit more in the country.”

“I love Brighton,” she said, putting his beer down on the counter. “That will be four pounds thirty, please.”

Powell handed over a five pound note. “Does it get busy in here later?” he asked when she returned with his change.

“Not on a Tuesday night. There will be a few regulars but it gets busier at the weekend.”

“I might try and chat to a few of the regulars. Find out what it’s like to live around here.”

“What would you like to know? I’ve lived around here for ever.”

Powell sat himself on the bar stool. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Thanks. I’ll have a glass of white wine but if you don’t mind I’ll save it for later. It’s still a bit early.”

Powell handed over another five pound note. There was even less change this time and he smiled at the recognition he might be some distance from Brighton but that wasn’t reflected in the prices.

“I’m Powell by the way,” he said, offering his hand.

“Lucy.” She smiled and shook hands. 

“So what’s it like then, living around here?”

“Quiet. Not much happens. You have to go into Brighton for fun.”

“Sounds perfect. I’m looking for somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can escape from the madness of everyday life. Someone was telling me today you even have a commune nearby.”

“We do. Some of them come in here from time to time.”

“I thought it was a spiritual retreat. Wouldn’t think those types would frequent pubs.”

“They’re not religious or anything like that. Actually, they’re a very friendly bunch. Never cause any trouble and like a few beers.”

“Don’t we all,” Powell agreed, raising his glass and taking a drink. “I might even consider joining them now I know you can still have a drink.”

Lucy smiled. “Rather you than me. One of the girls told me you can’t have anything electronic at the house. Couldn’t live without my phone.”

“Do you work here fulltime, Lucy?”

“No. Just most evenings to make some money. I’m studying veterinary nursing at Plumpton college.”

“So you like animals?”

“More than most humans,” she laughed. “You know where you are with animals.”

“We’re not all bad; humans I mean.”

“So what do you do?” Lucy asked.

“I own a bar in Brighton, well Hove to be specific. It pretty much runs itself, which is why I’m looking to move.”

Another customer entered and Lucy excused herself to go take his order. 

“What’s your bar called?” Lucy asked, when she returned after a minute.

“Bellas.”

“I know it!” Lucy exclaimed. “I’ve had lunch there. My friend Kate lives in Hove and took me there.”

“I hope you enjoyed your visit.” Powell awaited the verdict, as he always did, with a sense of trepidation.

“To be honest, I had a great time but my memory is a bit hazy. You serve a mean Mojito.” Lucy smiled broadly before adding, “And I think the Caipirinhas were rather good as well.”

“Sounds like it was a good lunch.”

“It was great and continued well into the afternoon.” She noticed another new customer enter the pub. “Excuse me a minute.”

When Lucy returned, Powell requested, “If you see anyone enter from the commune, will you let me know. I’d like to find out more about the place.”

“Will do. If you’re staying round for a while, do you want to order some food?”

“That sounds a good idea.” Now Powell had learned members of the commune drank in the pub, he was in no hurry to leave.

Lucy handed him a menu and he chose a large steak and chips. He decided to move to a table to eat his dinner and chose a corner table where he could watch everyone in the pub.

Over the next hour, a dozen people entered the pub and they all seemed to know each other, which suggested they were probably locals. Powell ordered a further pint but was drinking slowly as he was driving. It was eight when he noticed a young looking girl enter with a couple of men. Powell wasn’t sure at first but once she removed her coat and hat, he was confident the girl was Hattie.

He thought one of the men could be Scott. He fitted the description given by Hattie’s mother. The other man looked like someone who spent plenty of time in a gym, lifting weights. He could be a body builder. Powell revised his opinion as the man walked to the bar and ordered drinks. He was light on his feet, more like a boxer than a body builder.

Hattie and Scott had sat themselves at a table. After the boxer returned with the drinks, Hattie went up to the bar and spoke with Lucy. Powell watched as Hattie ordered some crisps but what really caught his eye was when Hattie passed over the money. He was quite sure she had passed Lucy more than just some money, though he couldn’t be sure what had been in the palm of her hand.

Powell finished his beer and approached the bar. “One for the road, Lucy. Then I must be on my way.” 

“If you’re still interested in finding out more about the commune, you’re in luck. Those three are all members.” Lucy nodded in the direction of Hattie’s table.

“Thanks. I’ll go have a word.” Powell picked up his new beer and headed for the table.

“Lucy at the bar said you were the right people to have a word with about the commune,” Powell said, as he reached the table.

Scott looked up and replied, “What was it you wanted to know?”

“Well I was wondering if it was somewhere you could go if you were looking to get away for a while? I mean really escape from the material world, like a retreat.”

“I’m Scott. Pull up a chair and I can answer your questions.”

“My name’s Powell. I’m not intruding am I?”

“We were just chilling. This is Hattie and Tommy.”

Powell shook each hand and sat in the spare chair. “It’s good to meet you all.”

“So Powell, if you don’t mind my asking, what is it that makes you interested in escaping from the world?” Scott asked. 

Powell appeared as if he was struggling with difficult memories, which in truth he was, before answering. “My daughter died about two years ago. She was murdered and I’m on my own now. My wife was also murdered when Bella was just a small child. Bella was my daughter. That was about twenty years ago. Then there were the recent terrorist attacks in Brighton, which killed one of my friends. I just need to get away somewhere and clear my head. Spend some time deciding what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your family,” Scott said. “I’m sure you understand we are very careful who we allow to join our group. We have to be certain anyone new will fit in. We are a very close knit group.”

“I understand. How many of you are there?”

“Twenty four. We have eight men and sixteen women. To be honest a couple more men wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I second that,” Hattie said with a big smile.

“What do you do for a living?” Scott asked. “Are you going to be able to take time away from work?”

“I own a bar in Brighton, which runs by itself. Or at least I have a very good manager. Time isn’t an issue.”

“Okay so how about you come and spend a day with us and see what you think,” Scott suggested. “We all share the work and it isn’t suitable for everyone.”

Powell smiled broadly. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work. When would be suitable for me to pay a visit?”

“How about Thursday?” Scott asked.

“Fine with me.”

“You can spend the day with Hattie. She can show you around and introduce you to a few of the others. Then we can have a chat at the end of the day. See whether you are still interested.”

“What time should I come?”

“Come about ten,” Hattie answered. “You can join us in our morning prayers for a couple of hours.”

“Don’t worry,” Scott quickly interjected. “Hattie is just teasing. Although I consider myself spiritual, we are certainly not a religious group in the accepted sense and don’t spend time on our knees praying. If that is what you are looking for then you should try to join a monastery.”

“I’ve rather given up on religion,” Powell explained. “I have no problem with people having faith but it seems to me religion or at least the institutions of each religion, have been responsible for more harm than good.”

“I think we will get on just fine,” Scott said.

“I must be going,” Powell said rising. “I need to get back to Brighton. I’ll see you all on Thursday. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Powell returned to the bar, left his half-finished beer on the counter and thanked Lucy for her help.

As Powell walked to his car, he was very satisfied with his evening’s work. He had found Scott to be very friendly. Clara Buckingham had called him a charmer. Powell sensed she was probably right in her view. 

Powell did wonder if it was a coincidence, once he mentioned he owned a bar, Scott was very quick to invite him to visit the commune. But he wouldn’t jump to conclusions. He didn’t want to be influenced by the negative views of Charles Buckingham.

Seeing Hattie for the first time, had been an interesting experience. He was fairly sure he had seen her pass something to Lucy. The fact she hadn’t wanted anyone else in the pub to see what she was doing, did suggest it could be drugs. Even if it was, it might only be a joint and that wold be no reason for her parents to panic. Despite Clara’s concerns, most young people who enjoyed a joint, didn’t automatically move on to harder drugs.

Tommy was curious. He seemed out of place in the company of the others. He hadn’t said a word and still reminded Powell of a boxer or a bouncer. Perhaps he was just the strong, silent type. Powell decided he would have to keep an eye on Tommy.