‘Are we still going up?’ Wang asked.
‘’Course we are, if only to hear the same fairy story she told us before, but we’ll try and have a good look around while we’re there.’
The concierge politely challenged them as they entered into the bright reception area. A flash of Wang’s warrant card and he was all sweetness and light, confirming that a young man fitting the description of Matt had left the building via the garage exit ten minutes earlier. Jane opened the door of the tenth-floor apartment at the first rap. She led the policemen into a lounge with stunning views over the city. At first glance, everything appeared to be neat and tidy with no sign of another recent presence. Jane was ready to rock with a white blouse and tight black leather trousers and black high heels. The jewellery looked expensive as expected. She turned around smiled and raised her eyebrows mockingly.
‘You say you have no idea where Matt could be?’ Evans began.
‘No, I don’t,’ she answered. ‘So, I can’t understand why you actually came all the way up here.’
‘We’d like to ask him a few questions, Mrs Nolan,’ Wang said. ‘We understand you are quite good friends.’
‘We have sex, if that’s what you mean,’ she answered bluntly.
Wang wisely declined to comment.
‘Would you mind if we had a quick look round, Mrs Nolan?’ Evans asked
‘I’m not happy about it. Shouldn’t you have a warrant or something before you go searching someone’s property?’
‘It won’t take five minutes, Mrs Nolan, and will save us the trouble of having to come back later and disturb you again.’
‘Make bloody sure it is only five minutes, then,’ she shot back, sitting down resignedly.
They skipped out on searching the lounge – firstly because she was there, second because there were clear signs of a clean-up operation. The bedroom didn’t reveal anything, so Matt obviously didn’t keep any clothes in the apartment. There was a shaving kit in the bathroom, confirming the presence of a male at some time. Success came in the kitchen: opening the fridge, a six-pack of lager stood on the shelf with only two bottles removed. A quick tap on the pedal bin revealed the two empty bottles. Not sure-fire proof of Matt, but a clear indication of a very recent male presence.
Back in the lounge, Evans addressed Jane again. ‘You don’t look like a beer drinker, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Don’t be so bloody sarcastic,’ she shot back. ‘I’m saying nothing more without a solicitor.’
‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Nolan. We’ll see ourselves out,’ Evans said tartly, making for the door, before pausing and adding, ‘we’ll let you know if we need to talk to you again.’
Wang drove in silence for five minutes before venturing an opinion on the last hour. ‘Not much of a result for our efforts.’
‘It’s not that bad, we know he was definitely in her apartment, and by him scarpering and her denying he was there, they’re basically telling us he has something to hide.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ Wang replied, looking unconvinced.
Back at GMP headquarters, Lambert appeared to be impressed by their efforts. ‘Well done! He did exactly as I expected.’
‘How come, boss?’ Wang asked, looking confused.
‘I will let you know later, after we check the gig this evening.’
‘Do you think he will turn up?’ Evans asked.
‘I’m not a betting man, but I’d put a pound on it. He’s between a rock and a hard place: turn up and risk being arrested, not turn up and virtually admit he should be arrested.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’m only 90% sure, but after a call to the Gent for some more information I might be even more confident. So, let’s leave it there for now. What time should they be onstage?’
Evans looked at Wang, who had spoken to Julian Hampson.
‘There is a warm-up act on first – no, not Elvis, of course. It’s a tribute to seventies band Steely Dan. Julian told me that Streetsound were scheduled for 9.45.’
‘Right,’ Lambert announced. ‘We’ll break for now and regroup at 8.30.’ Addressing Wang, he continued, ‘can you have a word with Julian? It would be better if we could get in without showing our credentials. Oh! And by the way I can even remember Steely Dan, you know.’
Chapter 24
Elvis was nearing the end of his journey. Having negotiated the Trent and Mersey canal and the Coventry canal he was now cruising the Birmingham and Fazeley canal into the centre of Birmingham, reputed to have more miles of canals than Venice. He moored up at Farmers Bridge Locks, his destination – or to be more precise, close to his destination: The Jewellery Quarter. It was mid-afternoon, and he had time on his hands until a meeting the next day at noon. The days spent cruising the Trent and Mersey canal and other smaller canals down to Birmingham had allowed him the opportunity to take stock of his future. It was time to stop the fencing, so the meeting scheduled for tomorrow at noon would be his last. He also was tired of being an Elvis impersonator; there was no enjoyment in it any more. It was time to hang up the ludicrous Elvis wig.
He already had a one-way ticket booked to the Algarve in a fortnight. Accommodation was an apartment in Praia da Luz near Lagos, in the west of the region, an hour’s drive from Faro airport. In such a quiet resort populated mainly with families or retirees, he would fit in rather well. There were many bars and restaurants in Luz and Lagos where he felt sure his talents would be appreciated if he felt the need. The old stone fort aptly named Fortaleza, opposite the church in Praia da Luz, reputedly dated back as far as the times of the Crusaders, and legend had it that Richard the Lionheart stopped off on his way to the to the crusades. The Fortaleza had featured Elvis impersonators many times in the past.
He just needed to get back up to Manchester to tie up a few loose ends. He did the final tidying-up jobs on the boat, to leave it ready for however long it may take to sell.
Too early for food or alcohol, he settled down for an afternoon nap that lasted through to four-thirty. He then strolled for an hour along the canal and back, and then watched the early evening news. Not wanting to mess up the boat by cooking, he walked a quarter-mile to a row of shops and bought a six-pack of lager and a takeaway pizza for his evening meal. He settled down to watch an old James Bond movie before retiring to bed.
***
Coincidently the next morning a few yards away on a patch of grass adjacent to the towpath, the Canal and Rivers Trust arrived to set up a small welcome centre in a pergola. It was manned by three volunteers offering tourist guides and maps, but the underlying objective was to solicit donations for the upkeep of the canal.
William, the senior volunteer, was outside the pergola handing out leaflets to tourists and passers-by, describing the various events taking place in and around the area over the summer months. Exciting (to some enthusiasts) was the chance to visit an ongoing lock maintenance project, with a volunteer explaining the ins and outs of how the locks operated so efficiently even after more than two hundred years.
This afforded William the opportunity to engage the unwitting canal visitor in conversation and invite them into the pergola. Once there, the two other volunteers answered any questions and worked on them some more, with the objective of obtaining a direct debit signature for a monthly contribution or a cash donation there and then. The percentage sales made was significant.
William had spotted a scruffy downtrodden narrowboat when first setting up the pergola at 10.30am. There was something about the boat that disturbed him. What at first appeared to be a boat in need of restoration sported a TV aerial and two solar panels on its roof. He was distracted before he could dwell further. An hour later, the door in the centre of the boat opened and a man in his fifties stepped out. William took the opportunity to saunter over, hoping to engage him in conversation. The man was dressed casually in a light pullover top and jeans with trainers, and carried a weighty rucksack, as did many others wandering around the touri
st attractions of the Birmingham Jewellery Quarter. William managed to hail him before he could close and lock the door of the boat. All the curtains were drawn, bar one. As he approached the boat and whilst passing by, the sparkling new interior was clearly visible, and at odds with the downtrodden exterior. Any attempt at conversation was waved away, and a leaflet refused. William was disappointed but intrigued. Back in the pergola William called in the unusual scenario he had seen as requested by his head office. He was praised by Melvin at head office, and an hour later Melvin called back and advised that a private investigator was soon to travel down from Manchester to have a chat.
***
I was poring over canal maps yet again in the Enodo offices. Amelia disturbed my concentration – or to be honest, my lack thereof.
‘You still messing about with that?’ she observed, placing a mug of coffee on the desk. ‘I thought you had decided it had to be Birmingham, and that they would now speak to you.’
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘I did have a word with the head office after Bill Lambert spoke to them, but they had nothing to report.’
‘Might it be worth checking again today? Or even making a trip down there?’
‘Funny… I was thinking the same thing. Could do it in an hour or so on the train or even by car on the motorway.’
I made the call to the head office of the Canal and Rivers Trust and asked for the contact given by Bill Lambert – a man named Melvin Chapman. He told me that they’d had six reports that could be described as odd, with one coming from Birmingham. He agreed for me to meet the local volunteer who phoned it in: a man named William. Armed with William’s mobile number, I made the call and arranged to travel down the next morning. Driving could be quicker, but with the never-ending roadworks on the M6 motorway, trying to calculate an accurate time of arrival was impossible. I plumped for the direct train from Stockport to Birmingham New Street with a travel time of one hour twenty minutes. William agreed to meet me at the station.
***
Meanwhile, Elvis exited the canal towpath and walked up Ludgate Hill towards St Paul’s Square, in the centre of the Jewellery Quarter. He stopped at the Actress and Bishop public house at 11.45, where his meeting was to take place at noon. Sitting in the outside area, he placed his rucksack under the table. He ordered coffee and a donut and watched the world go by, in company with half a dozen other patrons.
At precisely noon a man of average height, slightly overweight, arrived. Wearing a dark business suit and red tie, and carrying a document case under his arm, he could have been mistaken for an estate agent. He greeted Elvis like a business client, and likewise he ordered coffee but chose a Danish pastry.
For the benefit of potential eavesdroppers, he announced, ‘I’ve brought some properties I thought you might like.’ He opened his document case and produced several A4 sheets of paper.
‘Here is a list of my precise requirements,’ Elvis replied, reaching into an inside pocket of his rucksack and handing over a single sheet of paper with long bulleted lists on both sides.
The two men drank and ate as they discussed the paperwork for twenty minutes, before shaking hands. The man placed a large envelope on the table, picked up his document case and the rucksack, and then immediately left in the direction from whence he had come. Elvis picked up the envelope, placed it in the inside of his pullover, tucked it into the top of his chinos and left, walking north in the opposite direction to the Birmingham and Fazeley canal. He walked for fifteen minutes to Birmingham New Street Railway Station, where he purchased a ticket to Manchester Piccadilly.
***
It was 1.30am, and Tina had been escorting that night in Manchester. The punter was quite young and good-looking, but fat. He said he worked as a trader on the London Stock Exchange and was in Manchester on business. He treated her well, and the business was all over in minutes, when he passed out drunk. Grabbing the cash, she went to the bathroom where she took some stuff, had a quick shower and fixed herself up. Peering around the bathroom door, she could see he still appeared to be out cold and snoring. She walked to the bureau and took an extra five twenty-pound notes from his wallet. Creeping to the door and carefully opening it, she heard a stirring from the bed, and could hear a slurred mumbling.
‘Night, Stacy.’
Tina closed the door sharply and ran down the corridor to the lift.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked out of the hotel into the cool night air.
She wasn’t afraid; the streets were well lit and there were still plenty of late-night revellers about in this upmarket part of town. The drug was working now, and she calmed down as she made her way slowly back to Castlefield. By the time she got to Julian’s narrowboat, where she often stayed the night after escort work, she was stoned and beginning to stagger a little. Pausing to steady herself, she lit a cigarette before moving on. Crossing Deansgate, it was only a few hundred yards down Liverpool Road near the Castlefield Hotel where she walked down the steps onto the canal towpath. Five minutes later she was at the boat. Clambering aboard, she tripped and cursed, grasping the side of the boat to stop herself falling into the water. Expecting the boat to be unoccupied, she was shocked when the door opened and a large balding man in his mid- to late-fifties stepped out.
He challenged her in a slurred voice. ‘Who are you? And what the hell are you doing on this boat?’
‘I’m staying here with the permission of the owner. Never mind who I am. Who are you?’
‘Wait a minute. I recognise you now!’ Elvis said angrily. Without warning he took a step forward and pushed her over the side of the boat, where she ended up floundering and gulping mouthfuls of filthy water.
Shocked, panicking and still drugged, she was unable to make even the feeblest effort to right herself. It took less than a minute before she slowly sank to the bottom of the canal, with just the odd bubble of expelled air rising to the surface. It was pitch-dark and Brian could see nothing – not that he had any inclination of trying to rescue her.
It would be days before the partly decomposed body would rise from the depths, with substantial damage caused by passing boats and being bumped against the unforgiving slimy wall of the canal. The macabre sight appalled a middle-aged lady out for a stroll. She froze for a few seconds in disbelief, before recovering sufficiently to make the 999 call to emergency services.
Chapter 25
At 8.30pm on Saturday 11th June, the three detectives strode out of the door of GMP headquarters, where a large BMW awaited them, complete with uniformed driver. The sunshine of the day had gone as dusk approached, replaced by a cool drizzle.
‘Don’t often get this treatment,’ Evans remarked.
‘This car is brand spanking new,’ said Lambert. ‘Can’t have it damaged in some car park the very first time we use it, can we? The driver will drop us off outside the gig venue and then whip back here, and wait for us to call in when we’re ready to be collected – hopefully with Matt Neville in tow. What’s the situation with Julian, Sammy?’
‘He’s got tickets for us all and says to ask for him at the information desk.’
‘We are getting the treatment,’ said Evans drily.
‘Don’t get too comfy,’ Lambert replied. ‘We may well be earning it.’
The drive downtown took only fifteen minutes. They asked for Julian at the information desk, and he was out in a flash, guiding them to an expensive seating area. The arena was jam-packed, with only a few vacant seats left.
‘I’m surprised there are some empty seats left at all,’ Evans observed.
‘If you knew what they cost, you wouldn’t be,’ Lambert commented, raising an eyebrow.
All the policemen immediately discarded their jackets and loosened their ties in the hot and humid atmosphere of the venue. When Julian offered drinks, they all went for the soft option: Evans and Wang chose coke and Lambert went for lemonade. No ice was included, and the drinks were downed in seconds.
Steely Don (AKA Steely Dan) were soon
in full flow, and were crowd-pleasers, if the noise from the audience was anything to go by. They finished playing at 9.15, when there was a break before Streetsound were due on stage. Julian arranged for more non-alcoholic drinks for the three policemen before going backstage to look after the band.
At 9.35, warming up sounds could be heard from a variety of instruments, although strangely no drums were evident. 9.45 came and went. The crowd was becoming jumpy, and some drunken fans began shouting obscenities. A group of security staff appeared from nowhere and stood menacingly in the aisles. At 9.55, an announcement was made that there had been a delay and to please be patient for another five minutes. Fill-in music emanated from the speakers.
A flustered official suddenly appeared next to the policemen. ‘Inspector Lambert?’ he asked.
‘Yes, what’s the problem?’ Lambert raised a hand.
‘I’m afraid there’s been an incident. Can you follow me please?’
Passing through the backstage area, it was apparent that the band – apart from Matt the drummer – were up on stage and in the process of warming up. They followed the official along a corridor and into a large dressing room, and were shocked to find Julian with a bloodied wound on his left temple, sprawled half-conscious in a chair. The prostrate form of Matt the drummer lay face-down on the floor.
‘Bloody hell! Check for a pulse, Evans!’ Lambert ordered.
Evans leapt forward and crouched down, placing his left hand on the side of Matt’s neck. ‘No pulse, sir.’
‘First-aiders!’ Lambert barked at the official. ‘And phone 999 for an ambulance, quick.’
‘I’ll make the call right away, sir,’ the official confirmed as he sped out of the room.
‘Wang, get down there with Evans and help start CPR!’
Lambert called GMP HQ for assistance while the first-aiders arrived, taking over and attaching a defibrillator to the chest of the prone drummer. The body shook at short intervals as the high-voltage electric shock passed through the chest wall. This continued for several minutes while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. Ten minutes later the paramedics took over, and Matt Neville was rushed to Manchester Royal Infirmary. The first-aiders packed up, leaving the policemen to secure the crime scene and await the arrival of a forensics team. Julian had received attention from the paramedics and had recovered, refusing to be taken to hospital. Wang was left in charge whilst Lambert, Evans, Julian and the official moved next door to another room. They were to hear later that Matt Neville was pronounced dead on arrival at MRI.
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