Caught in a Trap

by Trevor Burton

  Amelia and I exchanged glances, but it was Matt the drummer, standing beside Jane, who interjected. ‘He did get in touch, but wouldn’t say where he was. Said he might be back to play bass, but it turns out Julian has hired Lefty Phil Harris.’

  ‘Why is he called Lefty?’ I asked stupidly.

  ‘Plays like Paul McCartney,’ he answered, demonstrating. ‘Although not as good, of course. He is an old friend of Brian’s from way back.’

  I smiled and nodded but kept my mouth shut as Jane handed Amelia and me our drinks. Matt left us to go backstage, and we chatted away whilst slowly sipping our drinks. Jane seemed relaxed, though I couldn’t tell whether it was induced by drugs. She offered no further information about Matt.

  ‘He looks dodgy to me,’ Amelia whispered as Jane deposited her empty glass on the bar. I nodded in agreement, though as yet I had nothing concrete to support my shared view.

  The first act on stage was a band called For All Seasons, a tribute to the sixties vocal group the Four Seasons, later known as Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. They were not particularly good, and one wit sitting in the row behind commented that they were surely in their last season.

  The stage appeared too far away to me, and a better view was afforded by the four giant video screens placed around the hall. The gig was far from sold out, with a seating area at the rear of the hall half-empty.

  Streetsound gave a professional performance. There were screams from groupies as the band danced about, and Lefty (Phil Harris) seemed to fit in seamlessly, like a regular member of the band. Many of the songs were written by the lead guitarist and the singer, who during their encore of Jumping Jack Flash by the Rolling Stones gave a remarkable impression of Mick Jagger, much to the delight of the audience. One young girl even fainted.

  Back in the bar of the band’s hotel, after the gig was over, I opted for my usual minus the gin in order to remain sober for driving. Amelia likewise stayed off alcohol, allowing us to take in any useful snippets. After an hour, Jane was slurring her words and was glassy-eyed, as was Matt. Whilst not observing anything directly, our whispered conclusion was that they were using. I asked Amelia to take particular notice of any jewellery worn by Jane that we could ask her about another time, although the state she was in would prevent her noticing or caring whether it was stolen.

  We decided to leave, and said goodbye to Jane. Matt was nowhere to be seen, but we caught sight of him in a corner of the reception, talking to a man who could only be described as a slime-ball. The body language suggested some kind of transaction was taking place, whether drugs or stolen jewellery we could not tell. We were not close enough to overhear any conversation, but I wondered if the man was Lenny Mack, the drug supplier, and I made a mental note to tell Bill Lambert in the morning that his man could be back in town.

  Once in the car, Amelia let rip. ‘It would be bloody obvious to a nun that something is going on!’

  ‘A short-sighted nun at that,’ I agreed with a grin.

  ‘Is everyone in the place pissed or out of it? Wouldn’t you think the hotel would do something?’

  ‘If they took too strong a line, they wouldn’t have any customers, would they?’ I commented.

  ‘Well, I think we can be pretty sure now that Matt is nicking stuff from Jane.’

  ‘Yes, but let’s leave it till after tomorrow and see if a) she remembers what jewellery she was wearing tonight and b) if she actually cares.’

  ‘Humph, hadn’t thought of it that way,’ Amelia frowned. ‘But you are probably spot-on there.’

  We continue slagging off Matt all the way back to South Cheshire. I dropped Amelia off at her cottage, arriving at my home in the early hours – with plenty to think about.

  Chapter 16

  I am up and about early the next morning, despite the late hour I had gone to bed. Restless, I call Bill.

  ‘You’re calling early! Didn’t you go to that gig in Liverpool last night? Find out anything useful?’

  ‘Yes, I certainly did. Matt is quite possibly a regular supplier for the band, as well as one or two of his close friends and hangers-on of the band. He was in a corner whispering to a real dodgy-looking bloke – looked like a transaction was being conducted. I wondered if it was that character Lenny Mack, who you mentioned, back from his holiday in Spain or wherever.’

  ‘I’d bet my shirt on it. I’ll get someone around to the house today. Hey, I had a thought when I was stuck in that traffic jam last week, and I did shout to you out of the car window, but you obviously couldn’t hear me. By the time I got back to GMP HQ I had forgotten, but hey, whichever way you look at it your attacker has to be somebody connected to this Lady Jane… what did you say her surname was?’

  ‘Nolan.’

  ‘Not an uncommon name,’ he said. ‘But I’ll see if there is any info on them.’

  ‘OK, and I’ll push on with the narrowboat and Elvis.’

  ***

  No sooner had I put the phone down than it rang again. It was Rebecca. I panicked, thinking maybe she wanted to cancel our dinner date at her place on Tuesday next week.

  ‘Hello, I don’t want to rush you, I know you are coming around on Tuesday, but if you fancy it I’m free tonight after all. It’s my sister’s birthday and I was expecting to be going over to her house for a dinner party, but her husband surprised her yesterday and has whisked her off to Ibiza for a long weekend. She did text me, but I somehow didn’t check the mobile until this morning.’

  I was delighted of course, but tried to sound nonchalant. ‘I could check my diary,’ I laughed.

  She giggled. ‘Now who’s playing hard to get?’

  ‘I am only joking. Sure, I’m free. Same time? Seven fifteen?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. See you later, then.’

  After replacing the handset, I punched the air. My love life was not fantastic… who was I kidding? It was crap. Pulling myself together, I pulled on an old boiler suit, faded check shirt and wellies, and prepared myself for whatever farm chores Cyril had in store for me that weekend. This work was in return for his daughter Lily looking after my livestock during the week after school. She did a really great job looking after my two pigs and a dozen chickens. I knew I was a good tenant, but it was still a big favour to me.

  I knocked on the farmhouse door, and Lily opened it. ‘I’ve fed the chickens and pigs already, because Dad’s got a job on that needs an extra pair of hands.’

  ‘Oh! Good morning,’ I replied, addressing both her and Cyril, who’d appeared behind her in the doorway.

  Calling ‘See you later!’ to Lily and her mother, he strode purposefully out into the farmyard. ‘What it is, see, the labourer has gone off for the weekend and I’ve got a small wooden hay store to erect in the bottom field. It needs two pairs of hands, if you’re up to it after the altercation.’ He made it sound like a disagreement in a shop.

  ‘Yes,’ I confirmed. ‘Sound as a pound now.’

  ‘Right, then, the tractor is in the barn. Let’s go!’

  It took up to half an hour to load the panels and other parts onto a trailer, then we set off in earnest. The structure was a simple affair (to Cyril), and by lunch-time the store was taking shape, with me labouring and holding things in place while he fixed brackets to hold the panels together. He let me off for the afternoon, and I felt human again after doing some proper work for a change.

  I spent the afternoon on my laptop, catching up on internet banking and stuff, in between day dreaming of the evening with Rebecca. Late afternoon, I washed and pampered the metallic green Saab 900 (my pride and joy), and I was ready for the evening. Showered, shaved and hoping to impress, I chose a dark blue shirt and light tan chinos, with loafers, all courtesy of Ted Baker from the Trafford Centre last week.

  Rebecca lived near a small market town in South Cheshire. I left at seven, taking an expensive bottle of red wine and a large box of chocolates. The journey through quiet winding lanes should have taken twenty minutes, so I drove slowly, not wanting to
appear too hasty… or was it keen? It struck me as a tad hasty going around to dinner on a first date, but then again, I had met Rebecca on several occasions at Cheshire Dining Events, courtesy of her hosting activities. I arrived just before seven-thirty. Rebecca was forty-one, and always looked kind of professional when hosting the Cheshire dinners. The door opened this evening to reveal a vision looking ten years younger, no glasses (I guessed contacts), the blue eyes matched with the light blonde hair suggesting Scandinavian heritage. She was wearing a low-cut loose pale blue chiffon top with black trousers, and no shoes. I could hear New Orleans jazz/blues playing from inside.

  ‘Hello,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve just taken the ice out, and I know your favourite aperitif is Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic with lime.’

  She kissed me lightly on both cheeks and I followed her in through the hall to the kitchen, where glasses stood ready next to a bowl of crushed ice. There was a delightful aroma of Asian cooking.

  ‘It is Malayan beef curry.’

  ‘Very impressive.’

  ‘Would you like me to bring the drinks into the orangery?’ she offered, pointing the way. ‘I’ll bring them through now.’

  ‘Marvellous!’ I followed her direction.

  I paused in the orangery, taking a moment to look around. She placed the drinks on an expansive glass-topped table and sat down on a beige faux leather sofa, patting the fabric for me to sit beside her. ‘It’ll be ready in ten,’ she announced. ‘Please,’ she added, handing me a small platter of nibbles, ‘or take a stroll in the garden and watch the boats on the canal.’

  Drink in hand I walked to a low fence relaxing in the warm evening breeze. Close to a marina, the canal was busy as boats arrived to moor up for the night. Many waved and hailed a polite good night, whilst navigating skilfully past other boats. Those charged with operating the nearby lock gates marched eagerly along swinging their lock opening tools as though as it were a permanent attachment. Feeling a presence beside me and smelling a perfume, I glanced around and Rebecca was there sipping her drink.

  ‘Oh! I didn’t notice you’d come out’

  ‘You were miles away, watching the boats, and I didn’t want to disturb the moment.’ She said.

  ‘I was intrigued as to how they are almost attached to their lock opener.’

  ‘Windlass,’ she corrected, ‘yes, it is strange how they keep hold of them, they’re quite heavy but boaters do appear to become attached to them, almost a fixation, I’m sure they must walk miles swinging them around.’

  ‘You seem quite knowledgeable.’

  ‘My brother keeps a boat on the Kennet and Avon, I’ve spent a few holidays on it.’

  We stood close, enjoying the moment and made small talk about the dinner club and how she became the organiser when the previous one quit to get married. Rebecca used to work for a law firm in Manchester chasing and processing Payment Protection Insurance (PPI) claims. After some years in the job PPI had become boring and stressful, so she left to work as a personal assistant for a prize-winning architect in Chester. She enjoyed the work and occasionally got to visit the grand opening of some giant tower block. The last one took place in London: a strange, twisted design opened in a blaze of publicity by a middle-Eastern sheik from the Emirates. A buzzer sounded.

  ‘That’ll be the food ready. Come on,’ she invited, leading the way to the dining room, where the table was already laid for dinner. Whilst she brought the food, I opened and poured the wine.

  The curry was delicious, served with boiled rice and fried crispy shallots and chillies. I was intrigued by the recipe, and she explained in detail while I listened, enthralled.

  ‘Don’t go away,’ she said, clearing plates, and seconds later she returned with strawberries and frozen yogurt for dessert, followed by coffee

  Later we were sitting back in the orangery on the sofa drinking brandy. The New Orleans jazz/blues was still playing. Then I heard a clicking noise. It heralded the arrival of a large black cat through a flap in the door of the orangery. Seeing me it stopped and looked me over and moved to glide past Rebecca and then off into the house proper. I watched it go as Rebecca explained. ‘Don’t worry he’s fine only a bit possessive, he’ll go and eat and if he decides he doesn’t like you he’ll go upstairs.’

  ‘That’s fine, so long as he doesn’t scratch.’

  Oh! I don’t think he would go that far, she said.’

  The cat was soon back and defiantly possessive giving me a dirty look as it settled itself between us with its head resting against Rebecca’s thigh.

  The jazz/blues continued with Ray Charles singing. Let the Good Times Roll. ‘What got you into this type of music,’ I asked.

  ‘It started when I was at University in Oxford. I sang in a band but when we finished the band members went their separate ways. I still like the music though.’

  It was now getting late; the cat was still around and showing no signs of leaving and I didn’t want to mess things up by making a pass. I decided it was time to go. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening, maybe we could dine out next time.’

  ‘That would be great,’ she said rising from the sofa. The cat wasn’t pleased and headed out through the cat flap. At the door, she hugged and kissed me for longer than necessary. She said something had come up on the next Tuesday, our original date and asked to me to ring her later in the week.

  Chapter 17

  At GMP headquarters, Inspector Bill Lambert summoned DS Maurice Evans and DC Sammy Wang to his office.

  ‘I’ve just had a conversation with the Gent. He was at a rock concert in Liverpool on Friday night.’

  ‘Rock concert?’ Evans quipped, surprised, glancing at Wang, who merely shrugged. ‘Doesn’t sound like his kind of thing though sir.’

  ‘Maybe not, but that’s not the point. He was there on a job that involved keeping an eye on Matt, that sleazy drummer in the band Streetsound. They were playing last night in Liverpool. He reckoned he had sight of our drugs baron Lenny Mack with Matt, possibly conducting a transaction in the lobby of the band’s hotel.’

  ‘Ah! Interesting,’ the duo agreed, nodding.

  ‘So, do you have any more information on Lenny from Liverpool police?’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ Wang replied with a note of pride, shuffling his notes. ‘They confirm he has done time for supplying drugs and GBH. He was also arrested for the murder of a prostitute found carved up close to Bootle shopping centre. The only witness, who allegedly saw a man resembling Lenny Mack and another male running away, disappeared, so the case was dropped owing to insufficient evidence.’

  ‘Nice chap,’ Lambert murmured. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There is no further record of offences and local police in Liverpool advise that it’s all gone quiet and there has been nothing heard of him for the last eighteen months.’

  Evans took up the story. ‘Even though it is quiet, and he is supposedly living in Ordsall, Salford, he keeps a house in Wavertree, Liverpool, so has not severed all ties with Merseyside.’

  ‘Maybe he can’t sell the house,’ Wang suggested.

  ‘Too simplistic,’ Lambert said. ‘It’s time we paid him another visit and searched the place.’

  ‘Which place?’ Wang asked.

  ‘The Salford place first off.’

  ‘Do we need a search warrant, or do we have reasonable cause to believe he will be in possession?’ Wang added.

  ‘We have the sighting by the Gent last night at the gig,’ Evans answered.

  ‘Yes, I remember exactly what the Gent said, he saw a man with Matt and wondered if it was Lenny Mack, back from Spain or wherever.’

  ‘Ah!’ Evans said. ‘So, he has never actually seen Lenny Mack, then.’

  ‘Correct,’ Lambert confirmed. ‘Better get him in to look at some mug shots.’

  ‘Could we not just email him a picture? It would be a lot quicker,’ Wang suggested, grinning.

  ‘I don’t know if I have his email address. I’ll ring him and get it. It’l
l give you two time to prime the troops.’

  ***

  It was Sunday, and I was doing my final chore for Cyril the farmer, clearing the loft of the barn. He wanted the hay transferring to the shed we erected the day before, which was not too backbreaking, but boring as hell. To make it bearable I’d got earplugs in listening to a George Ezra CD with more than the occasional thoughts of Rebecca. I heard a shout and looked down. It was Cyril.

  ‘Your phone’s been ringing out non-stop for the last hour!’ he shouted up.

  ‘Oh! Left my mobile in the house. I’ll be right down.’

  Dropping everything, I clambered down, thinking it would be Rebecca. On checking the phones, I found that both mobile and landline had messages from Bill Lambert saying he wanted to email me a pic of Lenny Mack for me to identify. I quickly rinsed my hands and ran into my office. I was sure he must have my email address somewhere, but rang him back straightaway. Five minutes after I gave him the details, a message arrived in my inbox, with three attached jpeg files. The frontal picture was of a much younger man than I had seen, with longer hair. Mug shots were never the best, but I couldn’t be sure it was him. I printed all three pictures out, trying to remember if the man I saw with Matt had any defining features. I stared at the frontal picture, wracking my brain. The right-side profile picture didn’t help much, but eureka, the left side nailed it. I immediately recalled the one thing I couldn’t forget: despite the longer hair, there had been a missing left ear lobe, with a scarlet ragged edge, possibly the result of a knife wound. I called Bill immediately and told him the good news.

  ‘Brilliant, thanks. We can go in with confidence now.’

  ‘Are you going now?’

  ‘No, not at teatime on a Sunday. We’ll do it first thing in the morning. It’ll be a nice alarm call.’

  ‘Best of luck,’ I said, replacing the handset.

  Chapter 18

  Malcolm Nolan was worried. He had just woken after another night bingeing on alcohol and drugs. He felt he had gone too far by joining his pet thug Alec in the attack on his wife’s lover, the private investigator, or whatever he was. Alec had confirmed that he was the man he had been following but Malcolm still wasn’t certain she was having an affair with him as the scant information from Alec did not confirm this. He would have to be careful. He didn’t want the police sniffing around himself, or Alec for that matter. Alec wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.