Caught in a Trap

by Trevor Burton

  ‘Who found the body?’ Lambert asked.

  ‘I did,’ the official began, ‘well actually…’ He nodded towards Julian. ‘He must have, as he was already there, but was out cold when I came into the dressing room, so I immediately came to fetch you.’

  ‘Julian?’ Lambert looked at him.

  ‘Er, I came looking for Matt, as the band were late starting. I opened the door and walked in and there he was lying on the floor, just as you saw, and then… wallop! That’s the last thing I can remember until this man helped me up into the chair.’

  ‘So, you didn’t get sight of whoever hit you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was the person already in the room, or did they follow you in?’ Evans asked.

  ‘Oh! I don’t know.’

  ‘OK, let’s get you looked at and cleaned up, and then we’d like you to come down to the station for a written statement,’ Lambert finished.

  ‘What do we do about that crowd out there? They’re close to rioting,’ the official implored.

  ‘Oh shit!’ Julian wailed, looking at Lambert for inspiration.

  ‘I’ll come with you and explain that there has been an incident and the show has to be cancelled,’ Lambert offered.

  ‘You’ll have to confirm they can claim their money back,’ added Julian. ‘And a discount on a future booking, or there will be a riot.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Wang interjected. ‘What about the other lot – the support band, Steely Don? Their drummer was pretty good. Why can’t he stand in, as an emergency? Are they still here?’

  ‘’Course they’re still here. They won’t have had time to down their usual few beers yet.’ Julian jumped up and headed out of the door to their dressing room.

  A good deal of booing and swearing could be heard coming from the arena, and while some beer bottles were thrown, the tight security prevented any serious disturbance.

  Julian was back in a minute, looking much relieved. ‘Yes, he’ll do it. He’s sorting himself out.’ Grabbing the official by the arm, he ordered, ‘You’d better come with me out front, while I make some excuse about the delay.’

  Whatever excuse was made couldn’t be heard backstage, but the sudden loud cheer confirmed that Streetsound were about to take to the stage, complete with drummer.

  A few minutes later the policemen and Julian, now patched up, left the arena to the deafening noise of the Streetsound opening number.

  Back at GMP HQ, Wang and Evans were debriefing in Lambert’s office. Wang raised an interesting point.

  ‘Having listened to you guys talking over Julian’s evidence, what strikes me (no pun intended) as strange is that if the attacker had followed him into the room, you would have expected the blow to strike him on the back of the head rather than on the left temple.’

  ‘Ah!’ Evans interrupted. ‘In which case, the attacker would most likely already have been in the room and Julian ought to have seen him… unless he was hiding, that is.’

  ‘Ah yes, could be more to this than meets the eye,’ Lambert agreed. ‘But let’s get the written statement first, before we challenge him on his verbal evidence.’

  Chapter 26

  On Tuesday morning, I was breakfasting on porridge with honey and chopped apple – not everyone’s cup of tea, but hey, it was my new attempt at being health conscious. I was due to meet William the Canal and River Trust volunteer. He was meeting me at Birmingham New Street station at noon. A thought suddenly occurred to me. I picked up the phone and called Amelia’s mobile.

  ‘Early,’ she answered somewhat tetchily. ‘Got a problem?’

  ‘No, only a slight change of plan. It just occurred to me, there’s no point me coming into the office only to travel back in the same direction. I can save an hour by going straight there from Crewe.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell. Never occurred to me last night either, when you said. Call us investigators?’

  ‘Pressure of business,’ I jested.

  ‘More like pressure of cash,’ she answered back. ‘No cheque from Lady Jane yet… how long do we give her? I thought she said it was going to be the next day.’

  ‘She did, but leave it until Friday.’

  ‘OK. So, will you make it in today at all?’

  ‘That depends on what this William chap has to say and whether there is any sign of Elvis. The whole thing could be over in an hour, so I might make it back in the afternoon. I’ll let you know.’

  With time on my hands, I reviewed my thoughts, and I was convinced that Brian had gone to Birmingham and why. I picked up the phone to speak to Bill Lambert, but hesitated. I decided to wait until later when I returned from Birmingham. I muddled through some mundane chores and passed the time of day with Cyril, who I asked to have a look at the roof of my barn conversion, as there was a damp patch on the ceiling of the spare bedroom. As ever, he was obliging and promised to check it out later in the day.

  I backed the Saab out of the garage and travelled as normal to Crewe. It felt strange standing on a southbound platform, and I found myself looking in the wrong direction for the expected train. The journey was uneventful. Disembarking the train, I wondered how I would recognise William, but all became quickly clear. Exiting the platform, I spotted several men hovering about, one holding at chest height a Canal and River trust “become a friend” leaflet. I walked on over and the fit-looking man in his sixties smiled, extended his hand and welcomed me to Birmingham.

  ‘It’s only fifteen minutes to walk to the Jewellery Quarter,’ he said. ‘Are you all right with that?’

  ‘No problem. Could do with the walk, after the train.’

  We set off at an easy pace. As we negotiated the busy city streets, he explained that he was a retired bank employee, and as a life-long fan of canals and the outdoors generally, it was a no-brainer to volunteer and fund-raise for a few hours work a week.

  ‘Tell me about this boat, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it was the towpath ranger who alerted me to be a bit more vigilant. He had received a call from head office that Greater Manchester Police were looking to trace one narrowboat, but there are so many narrowboats that it is a bit like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. When I saw this boat, at first sight it looks like many other old narrowboats. However, we had an event over the last weekend and I was quite close to it for a few hours. A few things didn’t look right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He went on to explain about the obvious expensive modern items, TV aerials and solar panels on the outside and especially the sumptuous interior being at odds with the general appearance of the exterior.

  ‘It is almost like it is being deliberately disguised,’ he finished.

  ‘That could well be the case,’ I concurred. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’

  Five minutes later we were at Farmers Bridge Locks and descended onto the towpath. A few yards along the canal we arrived at the berthing place of the suspect narrowboat. At a cursory glance, it was not a pretty sight. Some of the paintwork was streaked, as though done in a hurry, and there were scratches on the side. On the roof sat a log basket and an old bicycle, but incongruously there were also solar panels and a TV aerial. The registration number looked authentic, and there was a certificate in one of the windows, both of which must have passed the scrutiny of the towpath ranger. Threadbare curtains were drawn at most of the windows, preventing any view of the interior. The one undrawn curtain afforded a full view of a brand-new, expensive-looking kitchen, complete with microwave and a fancy American-style fridge/freezer that would not look out of place in a penthouse apartment.

  ‘What time did you see him leave yesterday?’ I asked.

  ‘About 11.30.’

  ‘Does the boat look the same now as it did when he left it?’

  ‘I can’t see any difference from yesterday.’

  ‘Looks like he’s not been back then. Let’s knock and see if there’s any response,’ I suggested.

  We walked over, and I knocked on
the door. No response.

  ‘No sign of occupation,’ I observed, rather needlessly.

  ‘Not at all,’ William agreed.

  We walked away from the boat in silence for a minute, before a thought struck me. ‘Did you give your head office the details of the boat to check out? Registration number, paid-up certificate, etc.?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Ask them to check also for both the name Memphis and Voyager, and owner Brian Hampson.’

  ‘Oh! Shit, I never thought, and he never asked,’ an embarrassed William admitted.

  ‘Don’t worry. But can you do it right now? Only I don’t fancy trying to force an entry without good reason.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll call them. They’re supposed to have all the details on a computer database. License evasion is only five per cent, but it still has to be enforced.’

  William took a few paces away from me to make his call. I twiddled my thumbs and waved at a passing narrowboat with two terrier dogs on the roof, barking furiously at the ducks. I pondered on what a leisurely way of life it was, to live on the canals.

  ‘I spoke to my contact, Melvin Chapman. He says to give him half an hour, as he’s in a meeting.’ William said as he walked back towards me.

  ‘Aren’t they always?’ I exclaimed.

  William’s mobile rang in only fifteen minutes. I waited while he listened and made notes. After switching off his mobile, he reported back to me. ‘The records do show a boat called Voyager, and whilst the registration number checks out, and it is paid up to date, the name on the registration is not that of Brian Hampson. He also says there is a boat named Memphis registered to a Brian Hampson, paid up too, but with a different registration number and showing as only two years old. However, there is no record of the registration number on the Voyager.’ He pointed to the boat moored up on the canal only yards in front of us.

  ‘Very interesting,’ I observed. ‘I think we can conclude, then, that the certificate on this boat is a forgery and that this boat is really Memphis, just disguised.’

  William looks at me. ‘Well I’m convinced

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t be one hundred per cent certain, but all the signs are there. Other than that GMP really need to talk to this bloke, and I’m betting he won’t be back here for a while, shall we take a closer look?’

  ‘Why not?’ replied William, looking rather excited.

  Striding over to the boat again we peered once more through the window with the curtain drawn back, and then checked out the doors. The rear door was damaged, and the lock appeared to be broken, the only security now being a cheap padlock, as though someone had acted in a hurry. I wondered if the damage had been caused by a burglar trying to break in.

  William looked at me as if reading my mind, and then shook his head. ‘You can’t just break in!’

  ‘Don’t tell the towpath ranger, besides it looks as if somebody has already tried.’

  Stepping back, I aimed an almighty kick. The wood cracked on impact around the padlock, and a second kick swung the door open. William was shocked, but as keen as I was to look inside. We ventured in cautiously, and there was no sign of habitation. The boat was indeed luxurious, but everything was spick and span, as though it had been cleaned up and the owner was not planning to return for some time. We walked all through the boat, opening doors and checking cupboards, but found nothing of interest.

  ‘Is he your man?’ William asked eagerly.

  ‘I’d bet on it, but without forensics crawling all over it, getting fingerprints etc., I can’t be certain. I’ll report to my contact in GMP, and he’ll decide their next move on that score. Most likely you’ll find your local CID will be here pronto.’

  ‘Can I do anything in the meantime?’

  ‘If you could hang around for a couple of hours, until the police turn up…?’

  ‘Sure enough,’ he agreed, looking thrilled to remain involved.

  ‘I’ll be off back to Manchester,’ I said, shaking his hand. I climbed up the steps from the towpath, looking back to wave. William hadn’t moved from the spot, and waved me off.

  Leaving the Jewellery Quarter, I checked my watch and was amazed to realize that the scenario at the canal had taken less than two hours. There was a return train to Manchester at fifteen minutes past the hour, so I jogged to Birmingham New Street station, arriving just in time. I could be at Enodo offices by three thirty. Lunch was a bottle of water and a chocolate bar on the train. Mulling over the last few hours, I was now prepared to offer my conclusions to Inspector Bill Lambert.

  I checked in first with Amelia.

  ‘You’re on the train coming back? Didn’t expect you to be so fast.’

  ‘There is only so much time you can spend looking around a narrowboat,’ I explained.

  ‘OK, yeah, I can see that. What did you find out? Was this William bloke any use?’

  ‘Yes, he was, and I don’t think he realised quite how much. He certainly helped to fill in the gaps.’ I went on to relay my conversation with him. ‘Anything going on up there?’

  ‘Bill Lambert’s been after you. Asked what a mobile is for if it’s not answered. The rest can wait.’

  ‘Ah! I had it switched off while I was with William.’

  ‘Oh! And you’ll be pleased to hear we’ve got a cheque from Lady Jane, so I gave Vic the Liq his cheque for the rent.’

  ‘That feels like three steps forward and two back, but beggars can’t be choosers.’ ‘Remember, we are a month in arrears,’ she added.

  ‘Yeah, I forgot. Three steps forward and three back, then,’ I replied grimly. ‘OK, I should be there in half an hour.’

  I picked up the mobile to call Bill, but put it down again, deciding to wait until I reached the office. The journey was uneventful, and as I exited the station my shoulders were warmed pleasantly by the summer sun as I waited for a gap in traffic to cross the A6. My genial mood was shattered when I entered the office and saw a glum-faced Amelia holding an email printout.

  ‘From Lady Jane,’ she announced. ‘The cheque is going to bounce. Malcolm Nolan has drawn all the cash out of her account.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ I exclaimed. ‘At least she warned us. Most people wouldn’t. Is there enough in our bank account to pay Vic the Liq’s rent?’

  ‘No,’ she said morosely. ‘Do we tell him?’

  ‘Let me have a minute to think first,’ I answered, feeling a headache coming on.

  ‘The only two jobs we have on, other than Bill Lambert, are not ready for billing yet,’ Amelia reminded me as she turned to go and make the coffee.

  ‘What about the missing Tina?’

  ‘We haven’t discussed it properly yet, never mind prepared a report. You said wait until Bill Lambert came back with their slant on the situation.’

  ‘Oh! Yes, I did,’ I accepted. ‘Let me phone Lambert now, and we’ll take it from there.’

  I slumped in my chair, wondering whether to ask Vic not to bank his cheque or ask for an advance from Bill Lambert. Vic could wait, I decided, dialling Bill Lambert’s number.

  ‘Lambert!’ he barked by way of greeting.

  I held the phone away from my ear. ‘It’s me,’ I said tentatively. ‘I’ve just come back from Birmingham. Got good news, but also a problem.’

  ‘Tell me about Birmingham first.’

  ‘There’s quite a lot to tell, actually. I’m preparing a report for you, but the important thing is we found the boat, and it looks like he’s done a runner. The lock on the door is broken, and William, my contact with the Canal and River Trust, is literally still standing there keeping eye out right now. I said you would get the locals round pronto to do forensics on it. The rest can wait for my report.’

  ‘OK, I’ll organise that straightaway. You said you had a problem...?’

  I explained my financial situation. ‘We need to meet up, and so long as you have a report for me I can release some cash. What about Forest View golf club?’

  ‘Fantastic!’ I agreed. ‘I
owe you one.’

  ‘If you’re talking about drinks, then it’s more than one,’ he quipped. ‘It is four thirty now, so a bit late for today. What with rush hour traffic, what about lunch time tomorrow, say one o’clock? And I’ll let you know what the news is on your missing person, Tina.’

  ‘There’ll be a pint on the bar waiting for you.’

  I explained all to Amelia before reviewing the chances of billing our other clients. We talked around the situation but found no acceptable way to make any further charges.

  ‘Fancy an early meal? Cheap and cheerful, the Italian down the street?’ I suggested. ‘I missed lunch and I’m starving.’

  Amelia grinned and picked up her bag in double-quick time. ‘I thought there was no money in the bank,’ she teased.

  ‘Credit card,’ I retorted.

  We locked up and headed down St Petersgate towards the A6. The barman remembered us and made up two Bombay Sapphire gin and tonics with lime, along with bread and olives, and nodded to bring both over as we sat down with menus. It didn’t take long to order, Amelia choosing a crab linguine whilst I opted for a hearty beef lasagne with garlic bread. The wine was Montepulciano. Perfect.

  I brought Amelia up to date with Elvis and the like, and advised her that Lambert would come back soon about our client Alison Johnson and her missing daughter Tina.

  ‘It took me a while to get to see the people I needed to see because of exams and term end dates, etc., but I spoke to two friends in her lecture class and they said that over the last couple of months she had changed. She was always tired, wasn’t paying attention properly in lectures, and even missed a few, which wasn’t like her at all.’