‘And what happened? Why was Jake outside?’ asked Lambert.
‘He needed a pee and stopped under the arches back there. I carried on without him and crashed out, then the next thing I knew was when I ventured out in the morning and saw him lying there dead. You know the rest.’
‘Tell us more about yourself, Mr Hampson,’ said Lambert. ‘How does one become an Elvis impersonator?’
Brian Hampson breathed a sigh of relief at finding himself on firmer ground. Like many actors he was more comfortable assuming a role.
‘My parents were musicians and they also toured in a repertory company. They sent me to stage school, where I found I was good at impersonating people as well as acting. I was a big fan of Mike Yarwood and those types.’
‘But how did Elvis and the band thing come about?’ Evans asked.
‘This was the time when every young bloke was in a pop group of some kind. I could play guitar quite well, so I ended up as a bass player, which I have done on and off for years. The Elvis stuff just started from there, to add a bit to the gigs.’
‘And the acting?’ Lambert asked.
‘Oh, I got the occasional acting part, but never the star role, unfortunately. I was in Corrie once.’ Hampson finished, with a note of pride.
‘Where does your son Julian fit in?’ Evans asked.
‘Er, he was in a couple of bands but didn’t really have the talent for music. He did a business degree at university, so he became my manager and looks after a few other artists as well, including Streetsound, of course.’
‘Is there a Mrs Hampson? Any other kids?’
‘We divorced years ago, and she stayed in Birmingham with the two younger girls. It’s difficult when you’re on the road all the time, you understand. Julian was always interested in music and couldn’t wait to be involved in the business. The two girls take after their mother: just not interested in the music business.’
Lambert nodded. ‘OK, I think we’ve got the general picture, Mr Hampson. You’re free to go now, but don’t leave town. We may need to talk to you again.’
‘Glad to be of assistance,’ Brian said, standing and making quickly for the door.
After Brian left the room, Evans commented sarcastically, ‘Nice life story. Seems to stack up, but doesn’t really get us any further.’
‘No,’ Lambert agreed. ‘Have forensic and SOCCO finished up at the boat?’
‘Yes, guv. Two hours ago. We’re awaiting their final report.’
‘And what’s the general feeling so far?’
‘Obvious signs of a scuffle. There are fingerprints on the knife, but they’re not Brian Hampson’s.’
‘Bugger,’ Lambert muttered. ‘So, we don’t really have a clue right now, then, do we?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t, guv,’ Evans agreed. ‘And we’ll have to let him go then.’
‘Yes. We can’t keep him any longer,’ Lambert said, rising from his chair to leave the interview room.
Later that day, Sammy Wang rapped on Lambert’s office door and entered, holding a small bag. ‘Ah! Just tried your office,’ he said, noticing Evans’s presence. ‘Forensics found this at the scene, under the body.’ He opened the bag and carefully extracted a small felt cloth and opened it up on the table to reveal a small diamond.
‘What do we make of that, then?’ Evans wondered.
‘Damned if I know,’ Lambert concurred. ‘Could it have come from the body, or was it already on the deck, which would be very strange indeed.’
‘What did forensics have to say about it?’ Evans asked.
‘They haven’t a clue either,’ replied Sammy.
‘Why didn’t we know this earlier?’ Lambert demanded.
‘It is in the final report,’ Wang explained. ‘But there’s nothing to tie it to Elvis. The boat was searched inside and out, and nothing incriminating was found, so as it was found under the body of the dead man it was assumed to be connected to him.’
Evans and Lambert exchanged glances.
‘Bloody hell, we can’t take that for granted!’ Lambert exclaimed. ‘We need to ask Elvis about it. Evans, you had better go and bring him back in.’ Once Evans had left the room, he turned to Wang. ‘Get back to forensics. They should be able to get us some more info. Has it been worked on? Has it come out of a ring or necklace? Where was it made, what country and so forth?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Sammy responded, rushing out of the room.
An hour later Evans returned with a very strange look on his face.
‘You took your time,’ Lambert commented.
Evans sat down wearily, pausing before attempting to answer. ‘Well, you see, sir… I’m not sure where to start.’
‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’
‘When I got back to where the boat was berthed, there was no sign of it. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s just disappeared.’
‘A seventy-foot bloody narrowboat can’t just disappear!’ Lambert bellowed. ‘Are you sure you went back to the right place?’
‘I could have got it wrong, with all the bridges and cuts around there, but I did have a good look around even though it felt stupid.’
‘What’s happened, then? Where is he?’
‘Presumably on the boat,’ Evans answered. ‘It is a fantastic boat, luxury and all mod cons. It must be worth well over a hundred grand.’
‘Not the point, detective,’ Lambert snapped.
‘No, sir,’ Evans agreed.
‘Let’s get back down to Castlefield and have a look around, talk to some of the other canal folk and visit the offices overlooking the Basin.’
Newly familiar with the locality, Evans soon found the best place to park up the big Vauxhall Insignia. With two other detectives, it took no more than an hour to interview all the boat-dwellers who were home. None could even identify the Memphis. A slightly better result was obtained from a producer at one of the local radio stations operating in a new office block overlooking the mooring site. He remembered the boat simply because of the name, and his description of a man going onto the boat fitted that of Brian Hampson. He was, however, unable to shed any light onto when the boat left Castlefield Basin.
Back at GMP headquarters a dejected mood prevailed after the lack of success in obtaining information.
‘We do need to quiz him on the diamond, don’t we?’ Evans broached.
‘Yes, of course we do,’ chided Lambert glumly. ‘But where do we start? I’m sure GMP does not have a canal policing division, let alone a dedicated police officer, so how do we go about finding a missing narrowboat captained by an Elvis impersonator?’
‘Did Elvis sing The Wanderer, sir?’ Evans posed.
‘Concentrate, Evans!’ retorted his boss.
Chapter 3
At the Enodo office, mid-afternoon on Monday, we were not busy when Amelia, my partner in Enodo, put a call through. ‘Got a female on the line. “Lady Jane,” that’s all she would say about her identity – she’s got a problem, and she says we were recommended. She will only speak to you – ‘the Gent.’
‘Lady Jane? You’re winding me up! She actually called herself that?’ I chuckled. ‘Or someone else is winding me up! Does she want money not to tell my naughty secrets? I should be so lucky!’
Amelia laughed. ‘No, straight up, she wouldn’t give me any more info. Wait till you hear the cut-glass accent.’
‘OK, put her through,’ I agreed, intrigued. ‘Hello, how can I help you?’ I asked tentatively, as I heard the call connect.
The accent was truly cut-glass. ‘A mutual friend of ours, Jamie a farmer, said you were known as the Gent and very professional and discreet.’
I recognised the name instantly. ‘Yes, he is a good friend of mine. Are you able to let me know how I can be of service?’
‘I’d prefer to visit you in person, as it’s a delicate matter. I can be there in half an hour.’
Although spoken softly, her request came across as more of a command. My curiosity prevailed over
any thoughts about the undue haste.
‘OK, fine. We’ll have coffee waiting.’
I replaced the handset, and looked up quizzically at Amelia, who was lounging in the doorway grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘You can’t keep a Lady Jane waiting,’ she smirked.
‘Certainly not,’ I agreed, wondering what the hell was going on.
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ she said, adding over her shoulder, ‘I hope you don’t expect me to Hoover as well.’
After only fifteen minutes, the door monitor chimed.
‘Come right up,’ Amelia instructed into the speaker. ‘It’s Lady Jane,’ she announced, as though there was a room full of people rather than just me.
As befitting the incessant drizzle outside, Lady Jane was wearing a grey raincoat and carrying a sodden umbrella. Amelia took her brolly and coat and invited her to take a chair in my office, raising her eyebrows at me to ask whether she should stay. Lady Jane was a pretty lady wearing minimal make-up, and appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with blonde hair tied back. Wearing a fashionably cut dark blue suit and white blouse, with black high heels, she was the epitome of a modern business executive.
‘Please take a seat,’ I offered. Nodding towards Amelia, I asked ‘Tea or coffee?’ adding, ‘Amelia is my partner and would normally remain in the office for initial discussions, if that is acceptable to you.’
‘May I have tea, please?’ she answered. ‘And I have no objections.’ She casts an examining look at Amelia whilst taking her seat.
‘You must have been close by,’ I said, making time for Amelia to return with coffee.
‘Yes, I was in Bramhall, at my sister’s house.’
We dragged out a discussion about the weather, after which there was a pregnant pause, only saved by Amelia bringing in the drinks. Lady Jane delicately polished her designer spectacles and took a dainty sip of tea. Raising her head, she looked plaintively at me, clearly unsure where to begin.
I tried to help by making a guess. ‘Would I be correct in assuming that you have a of personal problem, Matrimonial, perhaps?’
‘I certainly will have if this gets out,’ she answered ruefully.
‘Would you like to tell us what this is?’ I probed delicately.
‘Well, I’ve been having an affair with a younger man – I suppose you would call him a toy-boy, and you would probably be right. My husband is away a lot. I’m sure you know what I mean.’
I glanced at Amelia, who gave me the impression she didn’t think I did know by interjecting, ‘Has somebody found out? Are you being blackmailed?’
‘No, I don’t think anyone suspects. The problem is I think he is stealing my jewellery.’
‘From your house?’ Amelia asked incredulously.
‘No, no, that would be much too obvious.’
‘What makes you think he is stealing from you?’ I asked. ‘And if it’s not from your house, then from where?’
‘We tend to meet in hotels, and I also have an apartment in town. I wasn’t sure at first and put it down to me being drunk or just plain careless, but it’s happened two or three times now and the items are expensive.’
‘What kind of items have gone missing?’ Amelia asks.
‘It’s always items with diamonds: rings, earrings, necklaces.’ She glanced at me and then back at Amelia. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
Amelia looked at me, confused, as I offered a possible explanation. ‘I take it you mean high-value items that can be broken down into smaller parts, making them harder to trace and easier to trade...?’
‘Absolutely,’ the lady confirmed gratefully, as Amelia nodded.
‘Have you confronted him?’ Amelia asked. ‘And why don’t you just end the relationship?’
She reached into her Gucci handbag for a handkerchief and dabbed away a tear, the confident veneer beginning to slip. ‘I don’t really want to dump him, you see. I keep meaning to challenge him, but he’s also my supplier.’
‘Drugs?’ I suggested.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed with a trace of embarrassment. ‘He just gives me them whenever I need something, and doesn’t ask me for money. Maybe he thinks stealing my jewellery is therefore OK in lieu of payment.’
‘I can see a sort of logic in that, although it is somewhat bizarre,’ I commented.
‘Have you thought of going to the police?’ Amelia asked.
‘No, of course not. I thought I explained before – my husband would divorce me straightaway.’
I was getting exasperated. ‘So, what exactly do you want us to do?’
‘I would like to know for sure that it is him, and what on earth he is doing with the stuff.’
‘OK, that’s a start. Can you tell us something about him? How you met, his name, where you go, etc.’
‘His name is Matt, and he is the drummer in a rock band called Streetsound. I went to a concert with my younger sister, who works as a producer for the BBC at Media City on Salford Quays and was checking out the band. She invited me backstage to meet the band, and we just seemed to get on. Things just went from there. There are usually lots of people around after the concerts, so it’s easy to mingle. When we need more privacy, we just go to my apartment in the centre of Manchester.’
‘OK, if you could let us have a think about this before we decide how to proceed? We might need an invitation somehow into your social circle, so we could observe, see who he talks to, perhaps where he goes.’
The confidence was back. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you will help me. You don’t know how stressed I have been! I will call you the next time the band are playing and you can join the party in the hotel afterwards. You’ll let me know how much I owe you, won’t you?’
‘We certainly will,’ Amelia finished.
With that, Lady Jane removed her spectacles and waltzed away, leaving us lost for words. Amelia broke the silence. ‘What on earth do we make of that, then?’
‘It did feel kind of unrealistic,’ was all I could come up with. ‘If we gate-crash this group, are we going to look like fishes out of water? A bit too old, or what?’
‘Speak for yourself!’ she spluttered.
‘Just saying, just saying.’
‘With a bit of work, we could… make you look trendy.’
‘Humph, thanks a bunch,’ was all I could manage to counter.
Chapter 4
Lambert had ordered both Detective Sergeant Maurice Evans and Detective Constable Sammy Wang to spend time finding the whereabouts of both Elvis and the Memphis, in addition to investigating the murder of Jake, the Streetsound bass player.
They had already re-interviewed Mick, the traffic warden, and Stacy the young jogger. Mick had clearly revelled in his rescue of a damsel in distress, whilst Stacy, now calm and collected, had reverted to type as a somewhat vague student – allegedly of maths – at Manchester University. This said, neither had been able to provide any more information of use in a murder investigation.
The simple task of finding out the venue of the band’s gig and their hotel had been delegated to support staff. This corroborated the name of the band’s manager as Julian Hampson, the son of their vanished Elvis. Julian had not been at the soirée after the gig, and little information was obtained about him. Of the band members, other than the deceased bass player Jake Bosson, the most interesting character was Matt, the drummer, who Sammy Wang took an instant dislike to as a blatant racist. Surprisingly healthy-looking for one ostensibly living the clichéd lifestyle of a rock drummer, he struck Sammy immediately as dodgy.
Evans was nonplussed as to why. ‘Come on, Sammy. Just because you think he’s a racist doesn’t automatically make him guilty of a crime.’
Sammy was adamant. ‘No, I’m dead sure he’s got something to hide.’
‘We still have to go through the statements of the other people at the party, and perhaps we’ll get a lead from there,’ Evans declared.
A breakthrough occurred later in the day, when summoned to a meeting with Dete
ctive Inspector Bill Lambert.
‘Got some info for you here,’ he announced. ‘One of the other guests was found in possession of class-A drugs, and says he obtained them from Matt, the drummer in the band.’
‘What did I tell you’ Sammy said, grinning triumphantly at Evans.
‘We’ll get right on it,’ Evans confirmed, smirking at Wang.
‘Anything on Brian Hampson and the boat?’ continued Lambert.
Evans spoke up first. ‘We’ve put feelers out with everyone we can think of who might be able to track a narrowboat. We’ve been on to the Canal and Rivers Trust, the new organisation set up after the Tory government closed the British Waterways Authority to save money. A spokeswoman, who didn’t want to be identified, said they don’t employ a lot of people anymore, and have to rely very much on volunteers, and as you would expect those are spread far and wide. They have confirmed a continual cruising licence was issued to Brian Hampson for the boat Memphis, and it is still valid for another two months.’
‘What does a continual cruising licence mean? Surely they have to stop sometime?’ Lambert queried.
‘Yes, sir, but it means it’s supposed to keep moving, not like a houseboat that basically doesn’t go anywhere. You can only moor up for fourteen days before you have to move on.’
‘Ah! That makes some sense, I suppose,’ Lambert agreed. ‘Where was the licence issued from?’
‘Ah! There’s technology for you, sir. You can now do it online.’
‘Bugger!’ muttered Lambert ‘But surely it has a number or something to identify it? And does it not have to be displayed on the boat?’
‘Yes, indeed, but it’s not very big, so you would have to go right up to the boat to check.’
‘There can’t be that many canals in and out of Manchester,’ persisted Lambert. ‘And narrowboats only travel at a snail’s pace, for God’s sake, don’t they?’
Evans remained calm. ‘Yes, sir, but there are quite a few canals heading in all directions, especially once you begin to transfer onto other canals. We are currently working on what possible routes he could have taken out of Manchester, but as for spotting the boat, sir, to the untrained eye they all look a bit the same. It would only take a few minutes to paint over the name and replace it with something else.’
Caught in a Trap Page 2
