Trentbridge Tales Box Set

by Lee Wood

  “Yes, I forgot, you only moved here last year. He was based here in Trentbridge, a DCI. Eight years ago he was running a local council corruption case involving a lot of high-profile people. A really complicated case, by all accounts. He went to meet someone who was going to blow the whistle on the whole thing. He was never seen again. All the files disappeared as well. Of course, they did a major investigation, but nothing came of it. I know he must have been killed but they never even found a suspect. I guess deep down inside it’s one of the reasons I joined up, to try to find out what happened to my dad.”

  “Gosh, I’m sorry. No, I’ve never heard any of that. It’s just this case and what I’d heard. I’m sorry to drag up something…” Eden could see Tracy was upset and decided to stop before he put his foot in it even further.

  They travelled on in silence for the remainder of the five-minute journey.

  “This is it. 26 Ross Street. Flat three, on the first floor.”

  It was a rare feeling for Kevin O’Connor. Normally he couldn’t give a fuck about anything. But this time it seemed different. When he and Tyson had gone to deal with Will Gleeson after he demanded more money to keep quiet about the hit and run incident he wasn’t to know there would be a witness. Maybe he was slipping or getting complacent? Normally he would have covered his tracks, worked out every angle in advance, and always came out on top. Perhaps he’d been too quick off the mark. When Gleeson said he wanted another four grand, he should have just given it to him. But it was the principle.

  It wasn’t a good time. He had a lot on his mind. There were some big deals going down, and the last thing he needed was the police sniffing round. He might be a big man in Trentbridge, but the people he’d been working with from Europe were not the sort even he would think of crossing.

  Bringing in illegal immigrants and the new Monkey dust drug, using the river and canals from Liverpool was working well. He’d used it to bring in illegals for the past year. And now he was using it to bring in drugs. With the River Stern right at the back of his property on Fen Road, he could keep everything very low key. No one suspected what he was up to.

  The police often stopped vehicles on the motorways and found drugs. No-one suspected a slow moving canal boat to be carrying drugs. It was the perfect form of transport. No police patrols or drug squad to worry about.

  He knew with his contact on the inside that he could handle the police, so the only thing upsetting Kevin was the witness. Take him out, and he could relax.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  POLITICAL CORRUPTION

  There had been a number of complaints about a local politician who, according to a whistle blower who worked on the inside, was abusing her position of power and wasting vast sums of public money. Questions were being asked as to where all the money was being spent. And it seemed that in her capacity as a member of the planning committee, she could be involved in a lot of council land being sold off to a small group of developers for amounts that appeared to be far below their market value.

  DI Eden Gold and DS Tracy Archer worked well together as a team. However, their latest case had brought back a few bad memories for Tracy.

  Eight years earlier, her father was a Detective Chief Inspector with Trentbridge police. He had spent nearly two months investigating a major fraud case allegedly involving local politicians, councillors, members of the planning department, and a local developer. Then one afternoon, after telling a colleague he was going off to meet a potential informant, he failed to return and was never seen again. Despite a major investigation, it had remained a mystery. Then all the files of the case disappeared. After six months in which little progress was made, the whole episode was gradually run down, although cases are never officially closed.

  The closed session meeting had been arranged for 7 p.m., for the selection of the new North-West England Secretary-General. For the majority of ordinary people, it was an event that passed without them being aware. For the people involved it was an exciting development.

  The usual political unspoken agreement of ‘if you elect me, I will elect you’. The four committee members would not only get to vote on where their new headquarters would be but also to what extent they were furnished and the salary and perks they would receive. If anyone was to enquire, the message would be the old boys (and girls) network was alive and well. Thank you very much.

  The head of this new ‘quango’ was Baroness Sanjrani who had a background as a barrister and legal advisor. Five years of learning how to take common everyday language and turn it into gobbledegook so that the lawyer representing the other party involved can turn the gobbledegook back into common language and charge upwards of £200 an hour for the privilege. And if you have charged your client thousands for preparing a contract and the lawyer on the other side finds a loophole, then it’s the client who has already forked out thousands in the first place who pays and not the lawyer who failed to spot the loophole. A win-win situation for the legal profession. Nice work if you can get it.

  In surveys of the most trusted professions, year after year, lawyers have consistently failed to make it into the top ten.

  Baroness Sanjrani had decided that one of her first ‘duties’ would be to oversee the awarding of a contract for the efficient running of the organisation and its forty-two members of staff. However, instead of the usual tendering procedure, she had decided to award the contract worth £23,000 per month to the company of a friend that two years earlier had nearly been struck off by Companies House for failing to file any accounts.

  The company run by Ismail Musharraf, one of her closest friends and run from his home address didn’t appear to have any employees. Neither did it have a website or a landline phone number. Many people thought this was a strange set up for a company that purported to offer advice on efficiency. Furthermore, a separate contract was awarded to the same organisation to oversee the operations it was conducting. So, to outsiders, it looked like the company was being paid a second time to oversee it was doing a good job. Nice work if you can get it.

  It wasn’t the first quango Baroness Sanjrani had been involved with. She knew the ropes. With her legal background, she had plenty of practice of how to operate within the law. Even if it was a bit murky to anyone looking in. But don’t worry. We are dealing in political circles, and they always look after their own.

  As one commentator was quoted as saying, “Politics. The only thing that could give shit a good name.”

  A whistle blower had raised questions about what was happening in the organisation. It seemed a lot of money was being used for purposes other than what it was intended for. A garden party had been organised, and £45,000 was spent, which seemed to offer no benefit to the organisation, the main attendees had been the family and friends of the Baroness.

  Several people came forward with accusations of cronyism and venality, and called for a probe into her use of public funds.

  Furthermore, she was close to a number of local councillors and plots of land had been sold to members of her family at well below their market value. And planning permission had then been granted and the plots sold to larger developers for a vast sum.

  Then the police had been called in to try to find out what was happening. The Baroness had exerted her immense political influence to try to stop the investigation. The chief constable had been bombarded with phone calls from people in the corridors of power at Westminster. However, the matter had been reported in several newspapers that supported the government and with elections not that far off, it was deemed a good move to be seen to be doing ‘something’, rather than the usual promises of action followed up by sweeping the whole affair under the carpet. However, in such case, it wasn’t to say anything would happen and blame apportioned. What usually happened what that once it reached its conclusion after the elections had been held, the matter would be held up in endless red tape until it could be gently laid to rest with the conclusion that everything had been legally adhered to.

&
nbsp; Chapter Twenty-Nine

  BACK FROM THE CRUISE

  As Roger Maynard stepped off the ship after seven days with time to reflect, he had made the decision that to go after Kevin O’Connor and his sons would only take him down to their level. He had worked all his life to become a role model for Julie and revenge would not be a fitting tribute to his daughter. It was time to put the past behind him and try to look to the future.

  Three hours later on his way home, Roger had pulled into a service station just on the edge of Trentbridge to buy some milk. He hoped the danger was over, and he could go home.

  The O’Connor’s would have realised that he hadn’t gone to the police. They had probably forgotten all about him and gone about their dirty business, no doubt.

  Last year he had received a proposal from a rival engineering firm to buy his business. They had put forward an offer of £12 million. If it was still on the table maybe he would take their offer and move abroad. After all, with Julie gone and his ex-wife Francis living with another man, he had no one. His parents were both still alive, but he could visit them, and they could visit him.

  He had always fancied Switzerland. Flights from Birmingham to Geneva only took an hour and forty minutes.

  Arriving home, Roger could see he had just missed the housekeeper. He had phoned her as he left Southampton and she had left a note for him saying she had been to the supermarket and stocked up the fridge and freezer for him.

  So I didn’t need to buy the milk, he thought.

  Phil Jones had sent regular text messages to Roger with updates. He had called in favours and ensured that regular police patrols had kept an eye on Roger’s parents’ and his ex-wife’s addresses. So far there had been no sign of the O’Connor’s.

  Having been away for a week, Roger decided it might be nice to phone his parents and invite them over the following day for Sunday lunch.

  “I’m not really sure I could face coming to the house, Roger. All the photos and memories of Julie might set me off again. Couldn’t we go out to a restaurant?”

  “Yes, of course, Mum. If that’s what you want. I’ll come and pick you both up at twelve thirty, and we can go to The Masons Arms. One of the girls in my office is always telling me they do a lovely Sunday lunch. I’ll book a table for one o’clock, if that’s alright?”

  Roger and his parents Vernon and Elsie arrived at the pub five minutes early. It looked like a traditional back-street pub from the outside and quite small. As the trio walked into the bar, it was already busy, the people behind the bar serving eager customers. The bar had a high shelf above the counter where all the pint glasses were kept. Roger couldn’t help but smile as he noticed a young lady obviously needing to stand on tip toes and still having to stretch really hard to reach a glass. He wondered how many times a day she needed to do that and if the person who had given her the job had thought about her height before taking her on.

  The restaurant section of the pub was at the rear. Roger and his parents walked through. It was obvious the people running the pub were proud to be British, and Manchester United fans. Every wall had a union jack and replica red football shirts of their team.

  Roger counted eight tables with seating for up to four people and two tables for parties of up to eight. As they walked in, a waiter came over.

  “Have you booked a table, sir?”

  “Yes, for three in the name of Maynard.”

  “I have a nice table for you at the back. Please follow me.”

  The waiter led them over to the bay window where a table had been prepared and had a small folded sign saying ‘Reserved’ which he removed.

  “Here we are. I’ll bring over the menus in a moment. In the meantime would you like to order any drinks?”

  They did so and Roger sat facing the bay window and a view of a small but well-kept garden area while his parents had a view of the restaurant.

  “Looks like a busy place,” said Elsie.

  “Let’s hope that means the food is good,” said Vernon.

  Fifty minutes later, after they had paid the bill and left a generous tip, the three walked out of the pub. They didn’t notice a man emerging from the corridor that led to the gents toilets, but he noticed them.

  As they walked the short distance to where Roger had managed to park the car, his father said, “I have to say, that was one of the best roast dinners I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Yes, nice fresh vegetables. None of that frozen rubbish you get in a lot of places,” added Elsie.

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” said Roger.

  As the Mercedes pulled out, the black 4x4 began to follow them.

  As Roger pulled onto their front drive he failed to see the 4x4 pull in and park a few car spaces down the road from his parents’ bungalow.

  Inside the house, they sat down in the lounge.

  “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one, Roger?”

  “Yes please, Mum.”

  A short time later, Elsie returned holding a tray with three cups, which she placed down on separate coasters on top of an Ercol solid ash coffee table.

  “Now, Roger, what was it you wanted to talk about?” asked his mum.

  “I’m thinking of selling the business and moving to Switzerland. I have to face the fact Julie is gone, and it looks like Francis is happy with her new man so apart from the pair of you there’s really nothing left. Clifton Engineering have made me a generous offer to buy the business lock stock and barrel with the assurance of keeping all the members of staff, so I really don’t see much else to keep me here. Flights from Geneva take one hour forty minutes so coming to visit you or you coming to me shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “We would hate to see you go, son, but with everything that’s happened, I can see you probably want a change of scenery. All I would ask is that you give it some more thought. Don’t make a hasty decision. We’re off for two weeks’ holiday down to Cornwall tomorrow. Why don’t you think it over while we’re away.”

  “I’m not in a hurry. That seems like a good idea. If I still feel the same, I’ll accept their offer. But I won’t decide before then, and of course, I’ll come and tell you first. I promise.”

  Chapter Thirty

  THE MASONS ARMS

  From the 4x4, Lennox made a call. “Hello, Dad. I was in The Masons Arms, and I saw our friend with what looked like his parents. I’ve followed them back to a place just off Huntingdon Road called Thornton Gardens, number seven. It looks like they live here. Our friend’s inside with them now. What do you want me to do?”

  “Come home, son. I’ll get Vinny to go and park near his house and see if he goes back there. If he does then perhaps we’ll give him a special surprise visit later.”

  Five minutes after arriving at his dad’s house, Tyson was sitting on the two-seater leather sofa watching football when his brother Lennox walked in.

  “Where you been, bro?” Tyson asked Lennox.

  “Out.”

  “I reckon you’ve got a bird. And I bet she’s married the way you creep about. Yeah, that’s it ain’t it.”

  “None of your business.”

  “Settle down, you two. We’ve got some planning to do. Now, this Maynard bloke. He disappeared for a week, but Vinny’s been going past each night to watch the place, and says he’s back, and he stayed there last night. So the chances are he’s gone back to living at the gaff. Vinny’s parked up near his house, and he’ll let us know when the bastard returns. This guy is slippery. So far he’s been dead lucky.”

  “So once Vinny says he’s home we’ll go and we grab his old dears as an insurance policy and then go round and burn his fucking house down with him still in it. Then we do the pair of ’em, so there are no witnesses.”

  “Yeah, great.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Right. Let’s get everything ready. It’s going to be a long night. Lennox, go down to the end lock up and find those petrol cans and go and get them filled up. Don’t go to the super
market; they’ll have CCTV of you buying the stuff. Go to Joey’s garage. I’ll give him a quick call, and he’ll sort it out.

  At eleven thirty, Kevin and his two sons had been sitting in their 4x4 on Thornton Gardens, making sure no one was watching them. Once they were sure everything was quiet, they drove onto the drive of number seven. The three men got out of the vehicle. Tyson cut the phone wires that ran down the side of the house and Lennox made his way round to the back and used his glasscutter to take out a panel from the back door. He reached in and turned the key from the inside.

  Followed by his brother and father, he crept along the hall until he reached the door where the loud snoring was coming from. The three men walked into the room, Tyson found the light switch and clicked it.

  The two figures in the bed failed to notice. Nothing stirred.

  “Rise and fucking shine!” shouted Lennox and then gave a loud laugh.

  The pair sat up, Elsie rubbing her eyes, Vernon reaching for the glasses he kept on the bedside table.

  As the glasses had the immediate effect of bringing everything into focus, Vernon saw the three men, one holding a baseball bat and another with a sledgehammer resting over his shoulder.

  “Who are you? What do you want? We don’t keep much money in the house, but you’re welcome to it. About four hundred pounds, I think.”

  “Oh yeah, we’ll be taking that for sure. But it’s you two old fogies we want.”

  After giving them time to get dressed, Elsie and Vernon were bundled into the boot of the 4x4, which had been backed up to the front door.

  Just before he put down the boot, Kevin leaned forward in a way that threatened menace. “No funny business and no heroics if you know what’s good for you.”