Caught in a Trap

by Trevor Burton

  ‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘A genuine little black book.’

  ‘Correct,’ he agreed. ‘See you later.’

  I relayed Bill’s conversation to Amelia.

  ‘Now, we know that the odds are that Elvis is likely to be on the boat,’ she stated. ‘Therefore, all we must do is find it.’ She grimaced sarcastically.

  ‘At least we are moving forward,’ I countered. ‘Let’s check the map and maybe walk up on the top of one of the footbridges and see if there is somewhere obvious that we have missed.’

  ‘Ok. Lead the way.’

  We reached the top of the footbridge and looked around 360 degrees before consulting the map again. There seemed to be more canals than on the map.

  ‘What’s that one over there?’ Amelia pointed in a south-easterly direction.

  I checked the map. ‘It looks to me as though it should be the Staffordshire Arm.’

  We made our way down from the bridge to the towpath on the other side, walked to a junction and turned right onto the Staffordshire Arm of the canal. We saw a few narrowboats moored up and continued walking, pretending to be tourists. Five hundred yards along, and bingo! There it was: My Way – a new, expensive-looking boat with TV aerial and solar panels. The certificate showed that the licence had six months left to run, and the registration number checked out with the one provided by William. Nearing it, it appeared to be occupied.

  ‘Keep walking past,’ I whispered. ‘We don’t want to attract his attention.’

  ‘OK, but how far do we go?’

  ‘Round that bend, up ahead, then we wait a while and come back.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we call it in to Bill Lambert?’

  ‘No point,’ I answered. ‘He’ll be waiting for us by the time we get back to the Castlefield Hotel.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, of course.’

  We retraced our steps, passing the boat cautiously. We could see a shadow moving about behind a blind in the galley area.

  ‘Do you think he saw us?’ Amelia asked, with an anxious glance behind.

  ‘I don’t recall either of us ever meeting him, so he wouldn’t recognise us – as long as you stop staring!’

  ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, increasing her pace.

  Lambert was waiting for us outside the hotel, accompanied by Evans and Wang.

  ‘And?’ he demanded, seeing our expressions.

  ‘We found My Way,’ I answered. ‘Berthed up the Staffordshire arm of the Bridgewater canal, about ten minutes away.’

  ‘Is he there? On the boat?’

  ‘There is at least one person on the boat, as far as we could tell as we were just passing by.’

  ‘The windows had blinds,’ Amelia added.

  ‘Could they get away?’ asked Evans.

  ‘Why would he, unless he recognised us? And we don’t recall ever meeting him – that’s assuming it is Elvis.’

  ‘If he thought you were looking dodgy, he’s had a good half hour to scarper somewhere,’ Wang observed.

  Glancing at his colleagues and ourselves, Lambert made the decision. ‘Can’t wait for back-up. Let’s go!’ He strode off at full pace, before ordering, ‘Evans, call HQ and get a van down here.’

  We all scampered frantically after Lambert, who set a blistering pace. Arriving at the boat, Evans went forward and rapped on the side door of the boat, which opened directly onto the towpath. There was a pause before the door opened a fraction and a deep male voice enquired, ‘Who the hell are you, what the hell do you want?’

  ‘Police!’ replied Evans. ‘Brian Hampson, step off the boat. We’d like you to accompany us to the station.’

  The door opened further and large balding man stepped out onto the towpath in front of Evans. ‘You know what you can do!’ he shouted as he rained down a blow with a windlass on the outstretched arm of the unfortunate policeman. Evans recoiled in pain, as Hampson brandished the weapon threateningly. Sammy Wang stepped forward and Hampson swung a blow at his head. Wang was a karate black belt and easily dodged the blow, then gave a lightning-fast kick to the knee. Hampson howled in pain, then a rabbit punch to the neck sent him crashing onto the muddy towpath, temporarily stunned.

  ‘Well done, DC Wang!’ Lambert shouted as Evans roughly cuffed Hampson. By now he was reviving and alternating between hurling abuse and groaning with pain.

  A scurrying was heard from the back of the boat, and two scantily-clad girls scrambled off the stern of the boat, running along the towpath away from the action. Being nearest, Amelia and I gave chase. Neither was making great speed, and they appeared to be under the influence of something. The first one staggered and fell screaming like a banshee into the canal. I hauled her out by the scruff of her neck and she promptly collapsed like a beached whale. I lifted her up again and dragged her back to the waiting policemen. Amelia soon caught up with the second one and the action was all over for now.

  We trudged our arrestees back over the bridge towards the hotel, where uniform awaited them. A sizeable crowd had miraculously assembled to watch the spectacle as they were loaded into a black maria and taken off to GMPHQ.

  ‘Good work, guys,’ Lambert complimented as we all paused to take a breath.

  He then ordered Evans and Wang to secure the boat, so that uniform could guard it pending a forensic investigation. ‘I’m afraid I have to invite you two to join us,’ he said, turning to Amelia and me. ‘We do need your statement of the events of the last hour or so.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ I said sarcastically, nodding at a grimacing Amelia as we made our way to Lambert’s BMW for the drive to GMPHQ at Newton Heath.

  Statements completed, and fortified by tea and biscuits, we were kept around for another hour for a debriefing by Lambert, accompanied by Evans and Wang. Evans by then had his arm strapped and was in some pain. He swallowed several paracetamol tablets with a slug of tea.

  The debriefing turned out to be a formality, as nothing was yet available from forensics, leaving us with the pleasure of yet another visit in a few days. Somewhat peeved at this, we trudged to the metro. By the time we had picked up the car and driven back to Stockport it was well into the evening, so as we passed the pub on St Petersgate, we ditched the idea of checking out the office and just parked up in favour of Bombay Sapphire gin and Fever-Tree tonic with lime.

  Chapter 31

  On Wednesday, we heard from Alison Johnson that the coroner’s inquest into the death of Tina was scheduled for six weeks ahead. Bill Lambert also called, confirming he was still of the opinion that the verdict would be death by drowning whilst under the influence of alcohol and drugs. He invited us to the debriefing the day after.

  When we arrived at 2.30pm, Bill was there with Evans and Wang. ‘If we can start in chronological order of death,’ he began solemnly. ‘Jake Bosson, the bass player in the band Streetsound – most of this you already know, I know, but it does no harm to summarise – was found on the narrowboat Memphis/Voyager, with his head bashed in and a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach. The circumstances would seem to be that he had accompanied Elvis home to the boat and needed to relieve himself at the side of the canal. By the time he got back to the boat the door had been locked by Elvis, who had collapsed in a drunken stupor. Can you take it from here, Evans?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The testimony from Elvis himself supports that. The weapon was a kitchen knife identical to others from the hotel the band were staying in on the night of Jake’s murder. Matt Neville, the drummer from the band – his fingerprints matched those found on the knife. He was supplying drugs bought from Lenny Mack. The diamond found under the body… well, I can’t answer that one.’

  I raised my hand to speak at this point.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Bill prompted.

  ‘I think the diamond fell out of Matt’s pocket during the struggle with Jake. I believe Matt was also stealing jewellery from hotel guests and fencing them to Elvis, along with other goods from his acquaintances. This ties in with his historic association with Birmingham and where h
e travelled to, with the boat Memphis disguised and the name changed to Voyager. He met someone there and exchanged diamonds for cash.’

  Bill took up the story. ‘That is correct. CCTV at the pub the Actress and Bishop on Ludgate Hill shows him clearly in conversation with an unknown man. The area is very close to the Jewellery Quarter, and lastly among a stash of £33K on Julian’s boat we found a batch of new five-pound notes, which could be traced as recently issued to a bank in the Jewellery Quarter a short walk from the pub’

  ‘Next, we have Matt Neville, the drummer, felled by a windlass. Other than a seasoned boater, who would be likely to have a windlass. I think that’s pretty obvious. Elvis is back in town.’

  Looking over at me, he asked, ‘Would you like to explain the Julian connection?’

  ‘Sure,’ I began. ‘I think Elvis had come back to silence Matt, who was going to blow the whistle on the fencing of stolen diamonds. What he didn’t expect was Julian, his son and the band’s manager, entering the room before he had made his exit. He would have had no qualms about dispatching an intruder in equal fashion to Matt, but realising who it was, he managed to hold back. The blow only rendered Julian unconscious.’

  Bill took over once more. ‘Julian… we found a large amount of drugs on the boat My Way and cash amounting to nearly three grand. The two girls were both drugged up. Suffice to say, he will be charged with supplying. Lastly, of course, we have the unfortunate Tina (or aka Stacy when escorting). It was just unlucky that Elvis happened to be on Julian’s boat when she arrived back that night drunk and drugged. Elvis has said that he recognised her from the first time when she saw him with the body of Jake Bosson on Memphis. He denies murder, but admits he did move towards her and she accidentally fell over the side into the water.’

  ***

  Two weeks later at the Enodo office, Amelia entered my office early.

  ‘He made top of the bill at last!’ she announced. ‘This email just arrived, forwarded from Bill Lambert.’ She placed the printout on my desk. It was a newsletter, the headline read:

  Strangeways Jail Concert

  One night only Jailhouse Rock

  Starring Elvis Presley

  About the Author

  Trevor was born in Manchester and now divides his time between Cheshire and the Algarve, Portugal. He began writing after a career in finance, and director of a training company.

  His first book Countdown to Terror, is an observation on the simmering threats in the UK posed by extremist groups in 2012. Tangled Roots and Troubled Waters begin a series featuring the Gent as the enigmatic sleuth from ENODO (Latin for analyse) agency.

  Away from writing he walks daily and plays golf weekly.

  If you enjoyed reading Caught in a Trap, you might also enjoy

  Troubled Waters

  Tangled Roots

  Countdown to Terror

  Books are available in e-book and paperback at all major online stores.

  www.trevorburt.wordpress.com