Caught in a Trap
Page 11
‘Lady Jane wasn’t answering her mobile, so I left a message to ring here,’ Amelia informed me between bites of her sub. ‘‘When we were talking about Jane before, you said that you wondered whether there were connections. What did you mean?’
‘I meant that we have several conundrums to consider, all happening approximately at the same time and occurring close together. Could there be a connection between some or all of them? If we make a list, it might make it easier.’
Back in the office, I went over to a white board on the wall and wrote down the list:
· Murder of Jake Bosson on the narrowboat Memphis.
· Disappearance of Brian Hampson and the narrowboat Memphis.
· Diamond found under the body of Jake Bosson, Streetsound bass player
· Lady Jane and her jewellery, suspect Matt Neville, Streetsound drummer
· Matt and his involvement in the jewellery and drugs
Amelia raised her hand to speak. ‘I can see tentative links between some of the items, like diamonds are part of jewellery, therefore we have got a link from Matt to the boat.’
‘We have. Didn’t I tell you that Bill Lambert told me that a diamond was found under the body of Jake Bosson? And we know from Jane that he had other items of jewellery in addition to hers, but I haven’t worked out yet if Elvis is the fence or what he does with the diamonds.’
‘No, you didn’t tell me before about the diamond under the body, so it certainly fits. What about Malcolm Nolan, your assault, and Lenny Mack?’ Amelia asked. ‘Is that connected to anything or completely isolated?’
‘Well, Malcom Nolan is Jane’s husband so connected to Jane but not necessarily to anything else. Lenny Mack, I don’t know.’
We were interrupted by the phone ringing. Amelia picked up and mouthed, ‘It is Lady Jane.’ The call lasted for a minute as Amelia explained that we wished to present Jane with a summary of her situation. There was a pause as she covered the receiver with her hand and asked, ‘She wants to come by on Friday?’
I nodded and Amelia passed on the acceptance before ending the call. We continued discussing possible connections between the items listed on the white board, none getting beyond first base.
Late afternoon, Bill Lambert called. ‘Sorry I’ve been a bit slow coming back to you. Had a lot on, as you may have seen in the papers. However, I have got some news about Lenny Mack.’
‘You certainly have been busy,’ I said. ‘Is it all true, or have the media been a tad imaginative?’
‘Not that imaginative,’ he replied grimly. ‘It was quite surreal, and your tip was spot-on. We found a load of gear stashed away, ready for distribution. We had an armed response team, just in case, but we didn’t expect him to have a secret room fitted out in the roof space of the house, nor that he would have completely lost the plot and would start shooting at the first person he saw.’
‘Did he intend to kill the handler and the dog?’
‘He claims it was an accident, but then he would.’
‘So, you’ve got him bang to rights, then? Any information from him, perhaps admitting supplying drugs to Matt the drummer?’
‘He’s not saying much. He won’t talk without a solicitor, who is due to arrive as we speak, and he needed a bit of patching up by a doctor first. We had to use tear gas to disable him, and he was a bit confused and fell down the stairs. What a shame.’
‘Unfortunate, that,’ I agreed.
Bill changed the subject. ‘About Malcolm Nolan… whilst he might be a bit dodgy, he manages to keep on the right side of the law, just about – but morally and tax-wise, that’s something else. He’s mainly involved in doing up old properties for letting out to students and young people. He’s not averse to threats of violence to persuade his tenants to pay their rent. Often goes around with an enforcer, known as Alec-something-or-other, an ex-heavyweight boxer. You could make an official complaint, but without witnesses it could be tricky. Alternatively, why don’t you just tell him he’s going for the wrong man?’
‘Yes, I’ve thought of that,’ I say, rubbing the side of my face on being reminded of the mugging incident. ‘His errant wife Jane, my client, is coming into the office tomorrow for us to summarise our findings and give her the bill. She is not aware of his threats and attack on me. I’ll run it by her, so maybe she’ll see sense and confess to him about Matt – or she might just do a runner.’
‘That sounds like a good strategy. Make sure you get the cheque first, though,’ Bill advised.
‘You can bet on that,’ I averred.
‘I’d better go now,’ he said, ‘but before I do, have you made any progress on the whereabouts of Elvis and his narrowboat?’
‘Yes.’ I hesitated. ‘We’re still working on a few theories. I figure we’ll have something we can put down on paper for you by the end of the week.’
‘I’ll keep you to that,’ he replied, ending the call abruptly.
Amelia and I discussed the client report we were going to present to Lady Jane the next day, and of course the amount we needed to charge her.
‘Can we bill all the hours we spent at the gig in Liverpool?’ asked Amelia.
‘Of course, we can,’ I answered, aghast. ‘We are not a charity, and don’t forget the travelling time.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed. ‘Just feels like we are a charity sometimes.’
I merely glared, not rising to the bait. We completed our calculations and Amelia went off to do the accounting bit while I checked out the report and added some fine tuning. I passed the draft over to her to type up while I reverted to Bill Lambert’s request of trying to figure out where Elvis could have ended up. I was sure canal enthusiasts could get excited about which canals go where and how many locks there are on various stretches, but after an hour I was nodding off. It was a quarter to five, by the time Amelia finally completed the report and the bill for Lady Jane. There was nothing more to do. We finished early and locked up the office.
With our normal train service not due to arrive at Stockport station for another hour, it was a no-brainer: we popped along to the pub at the end of the street to see what this month’s favourite gin was. We hadn’t called in for a while, and it was a surprise to see the old-fashioned hanging sign and name had been changed to a brightly lit The Gin Bar. It was no surprise to notice that the prices were no longer old-fashioned either. Johnny the Australian manager was still in charge and greeted us in his usual inimitable Outback manner. He proudly announced that they had added two new products this month with an introductory offer. The best one, he advised, was Tanqueray Ten, distilled in Basildon, Essex. Amelia went for it, but I stuck with my usual Bombay Sapphire with lime, although pushing the boat out for both of us with the Fever Tree tonic.
Chapter 21
I set off on Friday morning, enjoying the bright sunshine driving through the lanes on my normal commute to Crewe station. I was due to meet Amelia at the garage to have her car fixed.
I had been dwelling on the Elvis and his narrowboat conundrum for a couple of days. Something was emerging in my subconscious, and last night I woke in the early hours and reached for the pad and pencil I normally keep on the bedside table to make a note. It wasn’t there. I’d taken it down to the kitchen to make a shopping list. I’d vowed to remember, but was predictably struggling to remember. Deep in thought, I found I’d gone five minutes in the wrong direction. I reversed into a farm entrance before going back the right way. At the garage, the car was on the ramp being worked on, and she was anxiously waiting at the roadside like a hitchhiker.
‘What kept you? I’ve already had two offers of lifts from dodgy-looking characters.’
I apologised, explaining my preoccupation with the Elvis conundrum and the note I didn’t make in the night.
‘Well, why don’t we brainstorm it back at the office after we see Lady Jane, and see if anything pops up?’ she suggested.
‘Good idea,’ I agreed. ‘Best to concentrate on that one problem.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I apologised, explaining about Amelia’s car as she opened the office. I ushered Jane into my room while Amelia scooped up the post and dashed into the kitchen for refreshments. Jane was dressed to impress, as usual, looking like a suave newsreader in a dark suit with a frilly blouse. The newsreader look was enhanced by the fact that she was wearing spectacles rather than her normal contact lenses. She removed them to clean and saw me look and then explained that she had been having trouble with the contact lenses she normally wore.
Amelia brought in the drinks and Jane’s client file. We made small talk while drinks were sipped and biscuits passed around. I felt it was time to start proceedings.
‘Right,’ I began, maintaining eye contact with Jane. ‘We can confirm your suspicions about Matt are correct. He does appear to have been stealing your jewellery, but how he disposes of it we are still only ninety per cent sure about. Presumably the cash he raises from this endeavour goes towards his – and dare I say your – drug habit. As I recall, you said he never asks you for money.’
‘That’s correct,’ Jane confirmed. ‘And as I told you, he must be stealing stuff from other victims and then passing it on to a fence.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Amelia agreed. ‘And paying his accomplices with drugs.’
‘Where does he get the drugs from?’ Jane asked.
‘We spotted him at the Liverpool gig, in the company of a known drugs baron – a man called Lenny Mack, who is currently in the custody of the Greater Manchester Police on a charge of murder and supplying class-A drugs.’
‘Oh! My God!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘This whole thing gets worse by the minute!’
I was about to agree when there was an almighty crash as the office door was forced open. Before we could react, in rushed Malcolm Nolan, accompanied by his henchman Alec, who was carrying a lump hammer – presumably the tool used to force the door.
We all stared in amazement as they moved menacingly towards us. I stood up as Alec began a rush at me. Having no weapon to hand, I threw my cup of hot coffee into his face. He staggered back, dropping the lump hammer as the scalding-hot coffee blinded him temporarily. Malcolm Nolan made a move upon his errant spouse, who screamed like a banshee. He grabbed her by the hair and swung her around like a rag doll. She landed on an office table, which crashed over, sending files and crockery over the floor. Amelia stepped in, and despite an attempted punch from him landed two perfect karate chops, one to his neck and one to his face, whereupon he slumped senseless to the floor. Alec was a raging bull by this point, and charged at me, flailing wildly. I stepped back and grabbed with both hands the nearest item from a side table: a printer. As he charged again, I brought the printer smashing down on his head, rendering both him (and the printer, more lamentably) useless.
Jane was still shrieking. Amelia slapped her face and she calmed down. There was a rapping on the open office door and in walked our landlord Vic the Liq (liquidator), the solicitor and insolvency specialist from downstairs.
‘What the hell is going on!’ he cried. ‘I’ve called the police. They reckon to be here in five minutes.’ He stared at the still prone men. ‘Is it a hold-up?’
‘Something like that,’ I answered, before introducing him to Jane and attempting an explanation of the surreal situation.
There was a stirring from the two men on the office floor. I picked the printer up again, just in case, but the presence of Vic as a potential third adversary was enough and Alec held up his hands to signal he’d had enough.
Malcom Nolan, however, had other ideas. ‘Bastard!’ he yelled. He made a move towards me, his eyes shooting daggers.
Jane stepped in front of her husband. ‘It’s not him, you stupid idiot. Yes, I’ve been having an affair, but not with him.’ She collapsed into a chair.
A strange type of calm ensued, broken only by Amelia’s offer to make yet more drinks. There was a rapping on the office door and three policemen entered, rendering our small office suddenly overcrowded.
The first to enter, bearing the stripes of a sergeant on his arm, stated the obvious. ‘Bit of a domestic, is it?’
‘You could say that,’ I confirmed.
‘A Mr Simpkins called us,’ the sergeant stated, glancing around the room questioningly.
‘Ah! Yes, that’s me.’ Vic stepped forward. My office is downstairs, and I heard this very loud commotion. I thought somebody was being murdered or seriously injured.’ Looking towards Malcolm Nolan and Alec, the sergeant said, ‘And who is in charge in this office?’
‘Me,’ I answered.
‘Would you like to explain then, sir? Including how these two men here came by their injuries?’
With nine people in the office, and only four chairs, there were not enough to go around, so I remained standing along with Vic and the three policemen. I took a deep breath and began. I explained that Jane was our client, and we had been engaged by her on a delicate personal matter, without going into too many details. I added that her husband was a very jealous man and had her followed – at some point to this office – and had wrongly concluded that she was having an affair with me. There were half glances and almost smirks between the two assisting constables.
The sergeant was getting impatient and interrupted. ‘So, what you’re saying is that these two came around here, bashed in the door and attempted to assault you?’
‘That’s the long and the short of it,’ I answered. ‘And it’s not the first time.’
‘OK, I can’t stand here all day, but this is serious. Take them all down to the station for statements.’
‘All of them?’ one of the constables asked.
‘Yes, all of them,’ the sergeant grunted.
We were kept for what seemed like hours, only to repeat what we had already said. I confirmed that I did wish for charges to be brought against Malcolm Nolan and his minder Alec.
It was late afternoon by the time we got back to Enodo to finish up for the day and lock up as best we could, securing the still damaged office door with a hastily screwed on padlock kindly organised by Vic the Liq in our absence. We scooted off early to collect Amelia’s car before the garage closed at six o’clock. Fortune was on our side, and we made it just as it was closing. The bad news was a bill of £700 for a new bumper and other bodywork repairs. Amelia was annoyed at the cost but hopeful that it would eventually be reclaimed from the other party’s insurance company, assuming of course that his details proved to be bona fide.
Taking pity on her I made an invitation. ‘What about an early bite to eat? It is Friday, after all, and I was thinking of the Bear’s Paw pub in Warmingham. It’s on the way home and better than anywhere here in Crewe.’
‘You’re on!’ she accepted. ‘You go first, and I’ll follow.’
Fifteen minutes later we were sat at a table sipping drinks and studying the menu, when Amelia remembered something. ‘Hey, weren’t you supposed to have got back to Bill Lambert regarding Elvis and the narrowboat by the end of this week?’
‘Oh! Hell, I’d completely forgotten with the events of today.’
‘You know he often works at weekends. He may ring you.’
‘I know, but all the notes are at the office. I’m sure I can remember most of where I was going with it, but I’d reserved today for doing some research and being more confident of my conclusions.’
‘Always a good plan.’
‘I’ll go in early tomorrow and do it, then call him.’
We ordered our food and threw a few ideas around. Later I bid goodnight to Amelia, and headed off home, thinking that although it was not the most productive of days, hopefully it signalled the end of my involvement with Malcolm Nolan and Alec. Lady Jane did not appear to have been physically harmed by the events of the day, but menta
lly… who knew? And we still had the bill to be paid. I wondered how her relationship with Malcolm Nolan would turn out. Knowing I’d be out early in the morning, I didn’t even garage the Saab. Retiring early, I set the alarm for the normal weekday time of 7am.
Chapter 22
The next morning, after a quick bite of toast and a slug of coffee, I was off to Stockport. With lighter traffic at the weekend I took the motorway route, and I was in the office by eight fifteen. Early starts with quiet and solitude can be cathartic, and I began my work with enthusiasm.
All the signs were that Elvis was the fence: he had a store of gems and other valuable items, and he must have had a plan, presumably to offload them somewhere. Why use the narrowboat, excepting that it had been useful in keeping him out of sight of law enforcement? But then where the hell was he going? As before, I spread out canal maps for inspiration. I felt he must be headed for a large city, and that could leave some choice. Working clockwise from the north, there were the large towns of Lancaster, Blackburn, Burnley, and Preston, but they didn’t feel right and the canal links were difficult or non-existent. East and you had the large cities of Leeds and Sheffield, Leeds being reachable by the Leeds–Liverpool canal. South brought Stoke-on-Trent and the Potteries and Birmingham as options, served by the Trent and Mersey canal and other smaller canals. Finally, looking west, you had Liverpool – felt promising – via the Manchester Ship Canal, giving access to the Irish Sea. He would have had to ditch the narrowboat or make his trade at that point. I highlighted Liverpool on the map. I stared at the maps and diagrams for half an hour, eventually discounting north as being far too difficult. I had neither animosity to nor excitement about the county of Yorkshire, but nothing whatsoever jumped out at me. South, no initial inspiration either, but then… a bell rang in my head regarding access to the sea. Something stirred in the furthest reaches of my subconscious. A history lesson from my schooldays… was it Birmingham, or perhaps it was access to the sea again. What exactly was it, I wondered? I just couldn’t remember.