Caught in a Trap

by Trevor Burton

  He dressed and made a coffee, and waved to his wife Jane as she drove off for another shopping trip – spending his money. Malcolm couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing that day. Finding his diary, he saw that nothing was filled in under Monday. “Shit,” he said aloud, banging the table and spilling coffee. Putting his head in his hands, he wept silently. “Fuck the bitch,” he cursed, incensed afresh by his wife’s infidelity. He wondered if she really was going shopping. She would no doubt bring back bags of trendy stuff, but how long did it take to accumulate it, he wondered. She could easily have an assignation planned as well. How did Alec know it was that bloke anyhow? Ah! He remembered now. He’d passed the details on to Alec from a voicemail on Jane’s mobile from her friend Samantha, whose mother had used his services. She couldn’t remember the details but her mother had said the office was in Stockport and he always commuted to his office in Stockport by train from Crewe. Alec said he’d spotted the man easily, and followed him into the centre of Stockport. He was convinced it was the man by the professional manner in which he had given him the slip.

  Feeling slightly better as his faculties began to return, Malcom checked his diary again to make sure he had no appointments, there was of course nothing filled in. He wracked his brains and then remembered, yes, he had arranged a meeting in the afternoon with an estate agent to view a large three-storey Victorian house in Altrincham. The estate agent’s spiel had suggested it would make an ideal addition to his portfolio of properties. His wife’s lover could wait until later. He called Alec and ordered him to be round in an hour.

  Alec duly arrived, and they set off for Altrincham. The viewing only took half an hour. He said he was interested, and the agent took all appropriate details and promised to put the offer forward. Seeing the property got him to thinking about the rest of his portfolio, especially apartments. He knew little of his wife’s money and assets, but why had he not thought of it before? She could easily be meeting that bloke in a place like this – well, not exactly like this, as these were destined like most of his properties for the student market. He was sure she would choose something more upmarket. Sitting in the back of the BMW, he glowered out of the window all the way on the short return journey to Wilmslow. Inviting Alec in for coffee, he quizzed him again on what he had gleaned from observing his wife’s movements. It seemed nothing concrete had been learned.

  ‘So, you’ve never actually seen her with him, or anyone else either?’

  ‘Ahem. No, not actually,’ Alec answered hesitantly.

  ‘So, when you’ve followed her, where has she gone?’

  ‘Usually, when she goes shopping, mostly the Trafford Centre, or gigs for that band Streetsound, with her sister.’

  ‘Do you think she has ever spotted you?’

  ‘I doubt it. I did what you said: dressed like a workman, and used my old Ford Mondeo. But I can’t watch all the time, because I’m driving you around.’

  Malcolm thought about this for a moment. ‘Do you know anything about putting a tracking device on her car?’

  ‘No, not my area of expertise, I’m afraid, but she has a mobile phone, don’t she?’

  ‘Yes, of course she does.’

  ‘Well, there are apps you can buy to track them down if they go missing. Tells you right down to the postcode where they are.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Malcolm uttered. ‘Maybe you are not such a dimwit after all.’

  Alec beamed. ‘Glad to be of service, boss.’

  ‘How does it work, then?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know that. Maybe we should google it.’

  ‘Excellent, Alec. Another coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks, boss. The missus is expecting me.’

  ‘OK, I’ll see you in the morning, then. You can take me to the station.’

  Alec left, leaving Malcom to further seethe and scheme. Should he download an app to track the whereabouts of his wife’s mobile phone? His pride would be hurt, but so what. He fixed another drink and began surfing the net for apps. At six thirty, he heard the door opening, and in she walked carrying several top-brand bags. He was pleased and relieved in equal measure.

  ***

  Elvis was berthed only ten miles from his destination. He had a big deal in the offing in a few days. He had been in the same spot now for nearly a week, risking some busybody taking a closer interest in the boat.

  The boat berthed only yards behind him was occupied by two gay men whose idea of background music was to play Ride of the Valkyries at full blast.

  It was early evening, and after nearly two hours of this orchestral assault, Elvis was in a foul mood, He knocked on the side of the boat and asked for the noise to be turned down. There was no response. He knocked again with the same result. He made his way onto the boat and entered to find the two gay men in the galley preparing the evening meal. One was dressed in the uniform of a Nazi officer, and the other in a leather outfit that he could only assume was meant to be that of the Gestapo. There was a large screen TV playing the film Valkyrie, apparently without sound, while a CD player played the soundtrack. He was dumbstruck. He waved his arms about to gain attention, at which point the two men turned in unison with a shocked expression. Elvis gesticulated at the sound emanating from the CD, and the Nazi uniform immediately turned it down, confirming that no sound came from the TV.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ the Nazi uniform said. ‘We must have turned the sound up too high – you see, we’re both partially deaf and can’t hear the music from the TV so we lip read and play the music on the CD, with the volume at full blast, because it’s much louder than the TV.’

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed the Gestapo-clad man. ‘I’m Larry.’ He extended his hand and turned to his friend, ‘and this is Garry.’

  Elvis, still dumbstruck, could only extend his hand and reply, ‘Brian. Nice to meet you both.’

  They further apologised, and gave Brian a glass of red wine, which he gratefully accepted. After a several minutes, during which he learned more of their Nazi obsession, he downed his wine and made his exit with a strange kind of relief. The next morning, he was off at the crack of dawn, bound for his destination.

  Chapter 19

  At 5.15am on Monday morning at GMP headquarters, Chief Inspector Bill Lambert was addressing his team. In total, there would be twenty members of the team, including detectives Evans and Wang and firearms officers. At five-thirty sharp, they set off for Ordsall. They were all experienced and had precise roles. They travelled in silence, each carefully going over in their mind their part in the operation. The important element in any attack was surprise.

  The vehicles coasted the last few yards down the street, stopping a short distance from the door. One team went around the back, cutting off any escape by that route. Two blows from the battering ram and the door caved in. A dog began barking immediately, while officers shouting armed police stormed into the house, some downstairs, and the others upstairs. Lights came on in two of the upper rooms.

  Evans and Wang followed the officers into the house whilst Lambert remained outside along with two dog handlers – one with a German shepherd and the other with a Springer spaniel. Both were barking furiously. The dog inside could be heard snarling but didn’t appear to have bitten any of the policemen. Wang emerged first, closely followed by three officers, each grasping an occupant: a woman – perhaps the wife of Lenny Mack – Saffron the niece, and her boyfriend. Outside, Lambert could still hear the dog barking over the shouts of police officers, but there was no sighting of Lenny Mack.

  Evans came out of the house. ‘Still searching, sir,’ he said, moving to stand beside Lambert.

  Lambert looked up and saw what at first sight appeared to be one of the solar panels moving slightly in the roof. ‘It’s a bloody window!’ he shouted. ‘There must be a roof conversion. The main bit will be on the back. Get some men up there now!’

  The skylight opened and two shots rang out in quick succession. The spaniel yelped and collapsed, and his handler alon
g with him.

  ‘Back off or next time it’s another one of you bastards!’ a man with a strong Scouse accent shouted, as all and sundry ran for cover behind police vehicles.

  Lambert ran over to the handler. An ashen-faced officer was kneeling over the prone form of the handler, trying valiantly with only a handkerchief to stem the flow of blood oozing from his chest.

  Lambert shouted to Evans ‘Get an ambulance here fast.’ And then to the officer, ‘Is he breathing?’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘Try mouth to mouth,’ Lambert ordered, handing him a clean handkerchief.

  Lambert stood and turned toward another officer who was knelt alongside the spaniel. He just shook his head.

  The woman, struggling in the grasp of an officer, screamed out, ‘Please, Lenny, don’t do it! They’ll kill you! They’ve got guns!’ Lenny remained quiet, with the barking of dogs providing the only reply.

  Saffron and her boyfriend were now also in tears. ‘Get them out of here!’ Lambert ordered. ‘And what’s going on inside?’ Lambert turned to Evans, who was now wearing earphones with an attached microphone.

  ‘They are below the entry into the roof,’ replied Evans. ‘It must be a lift-up set of steps.’

  ‘Give it up, Lenny!’ Lambert shouted. ‘You’ve nowhere to go.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Lenny cursed back.

  ‘I’ll give you ten minutes, Lenny, and then we’re coming in! Evans, get some steps and means to bust in to the attic, and tear gas, whatever it takes to put him down. Find out what it looks like from the back. Are there dormer windows we could fire through? It would be easier than climbing steps and aiming through a hole.’

  ‘Four men are in cover out the back and confirm it would be relatively easy to fire through the dormer window.’

  ‘Put them on orders now, here and around the back with both tear gas and weapons, ready to fire. Shoot him if necessary. I’m not giving that bastard any time for another pot-shot at us.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ Evans confirmed.

  A few minutes passed with nothing happening, and Lambert became impatient. ‘Evans, give the order now!’ he commanded.

  Evans relayed the order. The window shattered and tear gas was fired into the dormer. A short time later, Lenny’s dog began howling and Lenny could be heard wailing to be let out. A minute later, two fully-armed riot officers dragged Lenny out through the front door. He was barely conscious, with blood pouring from his mouth. It seemed that, disorientated by the tear gas, he had slipped down the ladder as he evacuated the roof space.

  The success of the quick capture of Lenny Mack was lost amidst the arrival of an ambulance to take away the body of the dog handler. The dead spaniel went in a police van. The area was cordoned off as a crime scene, pending the arrival of a SOCCO team. The original search team was left to complete their task in the house. The rest climbed back into their vehicles and headed back to Newton Heath.

  A posse of media awaited their arrival back at GMP. It was ignored for the moment, but obviously could not remain so for long. The mood remained at rock bottom for the rest of the day, with Lambert expecting serious criticism for the murder of the dog handler. He didn’t have to wait long. An Assistant Chief Constable knocked on his office door at lunch time, advising that the Chief Constable required a full report prior to addressing a press meeting in time for the early evening TV news.

  Lambert was furious with himself for not spotting the skylight. He called Evans and Wang in for a debriefing. The pair slunk in expecting a blast.

  ‘How many times had you been there before?’ he asked.

  ‘Only twice,’ Evans answered. ‘And now, even knowing it’s there, it’s almost impossible to spot.’

  ‘I have to agree on that score,’ Lambert conceded miserably.

  ‘Surely it was intentional,’ Wang said. ‘He must have arranged for the tint to be identical to the colour of the solar panels – that way he would have had a full view of the street without being seen.’

  Lambert and Evans both nodded.

  ‘And the guys arriving at the top of the stairs would only have seen a normal ceiling panel covering the entrance to the roof space. But what about the men out the back? Surely they could see a dormer?’

  ‘That’s right, boss,’ Wang began, ‘but at first glance it looked like a normal dormer. They wouldn’t know it didn’t have normal stairs up to it.’

  ‘And the search guys went in on cue,’ interjected Evans. ‘It was only when it kicked off and I relayed the information to the firearms guys under cover at the rear fence that it was not part of the normal house that they had to incapacitate him somehow.’

  Lambert was visibly relieved. At least he had a story that accounted for how the dog handler had been shot for when he attended the meeting later in the afternoon. Other good news was that over one million pounds of heroin and cannabis had been found at the premises, which more than justified the raid. The Chief Constable and the public relations team would be able to present a good news story. Lenny Mack would get his just desserts.

  ***

  I was expecting a call from Bill Lambert, but it never came. The news of the raid on Lenny Mack’s house was swiftly out, although it was too late for the national daily papers. It did, however, make the Manchester Evening News paper and the evening TV, although it was scant on details as the news was still emerging. I now realised why the call from Bill Lambert had not been forthcoming. I felt sure he would make contact the next day with more details.

  Chapter 20

  It was Tuesday, and I was hoping Amelia would show up for work in better shape than the day before. She’d been very upset. The girlfriend she’d been seeing for twelve months was in the Territorial Army Reserve, and had just been called up for a mission to Iraq. The relationship was looking serious, and Amelia was understandably very upset at the news. The weekend had apparently been one continuous row. To say her mood was morose the day before was an understatement.

  She arrived late with a face like thunder. I kept my head down and avoided continuous eye contact, as an attempt to defuse the tension.

  Eventually she calmed downed. ‘First, I’m sorry about yesterday,’ she explained. ‘Then some pillock ran into the back of my car on the way to the railway station. Must have been talking on his mobile, I think.’

  ‘Is it serious? Is it driveable’ I asked, concerned. I passed over the biscuit tin.

  ‘It is driveable, but it’ll have to go in the garage on Friday if you can give me a lift in that day.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Did you see the news last night, or this morning, by the way?’

  ‘No, I was still in a bit of a state,’ Amelia answered moodily.

  ‘You know they were going to raid Lenny Mack’s place first thing yesterday morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

  ‘When they went in, Lenny was nowhere to be seen, then, a skylight suddenly opened, and he shot a police dog handler and his spaniel.’

  ‘Are they OK, or what?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. Both the handler and the spaniel are dead. Killed instantly.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, paying shocked attention as I carried on summarising the circumstances of the raid and the news reporting of the previous evening.

  ‘Wow, are you going to ring Lambert, then?’ she asked.

  ‘I will shortly, give him a bit of time. I sure he’s up to his neck right now.’

  ‘I think that’s an understatement,’ she said, still shaking her head in disbelief.

  We went on to discuss business in general, specifically Lady Jane.

  ‘Isn’t it time we finished up with Jane Nolan and billed her?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I agree. It certainly appears that Matt has been helping himself to her jewellery, but what does he do with it? I don’t know and neither do I know why her husband and the green-beanie-hatted man attacked me.’

  ‘He obviously thinks you are seeing her, and doesn’t know about Matt the drummer
.’

  ‘I know, but there must more to it. Just the jewellery seems too simplistic… I wonder if there are connections.’

  ‘Wasn’t Bill Lambert going to check Mr Nolan out for you?’

  ‘Yes, and he was going to keep me up to date with the drugs situation from the raid on Lenny Mack. I’ll call him.’

  I made the call but he was tied up in a meeting, predictably.

  ‘I’ve had a thought,’ Amelia announced. ‘Why don’t we just tell Mr Nolan it’s not you but Matt?’

  ‘Client confidentiality, for one thing. Jane is our client, remember. It wouldn’t be a very good advertisement for our services, and besides we haven’t even billed her yet. We know it’s him, but we couldn’t prove it, could we? Not in a court of law.’

  ‘Well, is it worth confronting him and asking why he is threatening you?’

  ‘It’s an option. I’d like any information from Bill Lambert first, though.’

  ‘Sensible,’ she concurred, ‘but I still think we should have a final meeting with our Lady Jane and get her side of things finalised. Oh, and the bill as well.’

  ‘Yes, I gathered what you meant and I agree. Can you arrange it, then?’

  We stopped for lunch – or rather, Amelia popped out for whatever. I waited for her return before walking around the block and buying a newspaper for the latest on the Lenny Mack fiasco. We read the paper and ate lunch – a shared twelve-inch tuna sub. The news was merely a rehash of the day before, with added comments from local Ordsall residents, some with wild opinions on the types of weaponry used: shotguns, automatic pistols, and so on.