Trentbridge Tales Box Set

by Lee Wood

  “I understand your reluctance to come forward. You may not have realised how serious the matter was at the time. However, the gentleman who sustained the injuries is still in a coma in hospital. So obviously anything you can tell us could help to find those responsible.”

  At that moment, the kettle boiled and Eric got up and made two cups of coffee. He handed one to Eden Gold and sat down at the kitchen table with the other cup. “I didn’t know his injuries were so serious. Yes of course I’ll help. But I could see the men who did it are not the type of people you want to get involved with. They looked nasty. You could see they enjoyed beating him up.”

  Over the course of the next hour, Eric Davies gave full details. He remembered part of the registration number of the 4x4 and gave the detectives a clear description of the three men he had seen.

  As Eden and Carla left the house they both thanked Eric for his help and told them they would be in touch again soon but not to worry.

  Eden’s parting words. “You did the right thing. You called an ambulance. Some people would have just driven off. Thank you for your time, Mr Davies.”

  Once in their vehicle and heading back towards Trentbridge police station, Carla spoke. “So what did you make of him and his account of things?”

  “I’m convinced. He seemed level headed on everything. It must have been a shock to see such a level of violence take place a few feet in front of you. He’s lucky they didn’t spot him or we might have two people in the hospital. From the description, does anyone spring to mind?”

  “Yes. We both know who was involved in this. Kevin O’Connor and his two lovely boys, Tyson and Lennox. All we have to do is prove it was them. I’d love to see them behind bars for a few years. It would make our lives easier and the crime rate in Trentbridge would probably halve.”

  Eden drove to the Five Bells pub and after pressure telling him that the police might raise an objection to the renewal of his drinks licence, the owner reluctantly gave a statement describing the incident and descriptions of the men involved that closely resembled the three male members of the O’Connor clan.

  Under normal circumstances, Eden would have brought the suspects in for questioning but experience taught him this wouldn’t be enough. Kevin O’Connor was well versed in his rights, and all aspects of legal matters. And, should the need arise; Eden knew Kevin had the number of one of the top criminal lawyers in the area on speed dial. Their paths had crossed before.

  The only way they would get anything on the O’Connor family was if they were caught in the act. Because of trouble in the past the local council had set up CCTV cameras at various points along Fen Road, including opposite the entrance to the main caravan site, which shared the same driveway that led to the O’Connor family plot consisting of a large house built from two extremely large and plush mobile homes that had been joined together plus a collection of outbuildings and a triple-size car garage. The whole plot covering nearly an acre but most of it difficult to observe due to the large trees that had been planted, the police suspected this had been done to restrict the view from outside. Particularly in light of the police’s ever-increasing use of drones.

  Kevin O’Connor was extremely cunning and not a man to be underestimated. Eden had often thought he would be far more successful if he concentrated his skills on running legitimate businesses but he suspected the man got too much pleasure from pitting his wits against the police and from conning hard working people out of their money.

  And the police were unaware of just how cunning he could be. What they didn’t know was Kevin had put in the trees to cover the fact he was using the back of his property to link to the River Stern that ran a few yards behind his property to bring in illegal immigrants and drugs. He had links with a European organisation that brought them in via the port of Merseyside where he met up with associates of the organisation and transferred the immigrants and drugs onto his narrowboat with its hidden compartments and then sailed it down to the Trent Canal.

  Unaware of such activities and with no immediate possibility of making progress, all they could do was watch and wait and see if he made a mistake or in the hope some evidence came to light that they could use in court to help put him away. Eden wasn’t holding his breath on either count.

  While he was working out what was the best course of action with regard to Kevin O’Connor he decided to spend some time concentrating his efforts on the three other cases sitting in his in-tray. The top file was an arson attack on a local school. Luckily the building had good fire alarms and the blaze had been caught early with damage restricted to just one classroom. The CCTV had good clear images of the suspected culprits. It looked like this would be a fairly straightforward case. However, Eden knew not to count his chickens too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Over the last six months, James Sheldon had become one of the most talked about and respected figures in Trentbridge. Two years ago, he had been a police detective inspector working alongside Eden when his wife and two kids were killed in a hit and run. After the funerals, he had taken to drink and eight months later, he became homeless. Then in an amazing twist of fortune he won £168 million on the Euro Lotto after a stranger had given him a two-pound coin and said he should try his luck.

  Instead of simply drinking himself into oblivion or going off and living the life of riley, he managed to get himself straight and started a charity, spending £75 million of his winnings on buying a run-down housing estate of 880 houses and turning it into affordable homes for local people.

  The last Eden had heard was James had become a partner in a private investigation company run by another ex-detective called Phil Jones. He called James and they had arranged to meet up.

  “Hi, Great to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

  “Hi, Eden. Yes, too long. We should have done this sooner. When you called you said you needed my help on something?”

  “I guess you’re aware of the murder at the Albion Hotel?”

  James grinned. “I should be, Eden, I own the hotel.”

  “You what?”

  “Long story but when I became homeless I stayed round the back of the hotel. The night manager and a couple of the workers helped me out, gave me food, made sure I was okay. Then I heard they were closing the hotel to turn it into apartments and all the people there would lose their jobs. I had a bit of spare cash lying around so I bought it.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Honest.”

  “In that case, this is going to be of more interest to you than I thought. Look. The guy we’ve charged with the murder, Norman Gentle. The guvnor thinks he’s in the frame for it. He’s getting a lot of pressure from upstairs and all they want are results. But I have my doubts. A few things don’t quite add up. You know the score with the top brass. Justice isn’t a priority anymore. I’ve been given new cases to work on and warned off but it just keeps nagging at me. I thought with your background and you running the agency with Phil you might cast a second pair of eyes over it. Unofficially of course.”

  “Why not. I’m not exactly rushed off my feet and something to engage the brain cells would be good. All we get at the agency are lost cats and women who suspect their husbands are playing away. Just one question. Who’s paying the bill on this?”

  Eden pulled a face. “Oh, er, I guess that’ll be me.”

  “Ha ha. Caught you there. Just kidding. You couldn’t afford me, not on your paltry salary. If I find out it wasn’t this Norman character then you owe me an orange juice. Nowadays I have to stay off the alcohol or I could find myself back on the streets. The AA meetings help but the craving never leaves you.”

  Eden’s shoulders relaxed. “Phew. You had me going there for a sec. Maybe you could contact Norman’s solicitor and tell her what you’re up to and then you could have an interview with Norman and see what you think?” If you’re acting in an official capacity for the defence then you’d have access to the files. And it just so happens I’ve g
ot a copy of the files in my car. What a coincidence.

  “Yes. Ha ha. Funny that. Okay that sounds like a good place to start. I’ll spend this evening going through the files and get in touch with his solicitor tomorrow.”

  With little money of his own, Norman had to rely on the legal aid solicitor appointed for him. His case had been given to Martina Fanshaw. One of the more qualified criminal lawyers in the firm of Price and Major.

  “You say you want to undertake investigation work for my client at no cost. This is most extraordinary. May I ask why you think you are qualified for such work?”

  The solicitor looked up from her paperwork inquisitively.

  “Yes, Mrs Fanshaw. Up until two years ago I was a detective inspector. In fact our paths crossed on a few occasions when you defended a few villains I managed to persuade the jury would serve the community better if they were behind bars.”

  “Goodness. Yes. Now I remember you.”

  She smiled for the first time since James had entered the room.

  “But, may I ask, why you want to help my client, Norman Gentle. Is there a family connection?”

  “No. But if he murdered someone in the Albion then it’s my business and I’d like to get to the truth.”

  “Why would it be your business because of the Albion Hotel?”

  James tried his hardest to seem nonchalant. “Because I own the hotel, Mrs Fanshaw.”

  “Gosh. I see. Well that puts a different light on the matter. I’ll confer with my client and get back to you, hopefully later today.”

  Four hours later, James’s mobile rang.

  “Hello, Mr Sheldon. I’ve spoken to my client and he is happy for you to help. I can arrange for you to visit him at the prison this afternoon if that is agreeable.”

  “Very much so, Mrs Fanshaw.”

  “Right then. Leave it with me and I’ll be in touch shortly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  HM Prison Birmingham was a leftover from the Victorian age. Originally built in 1849 it had housed some famous people over the years including; Fred West, The Birmingham Six, Charlie Wilson, one of the Great Train Robbers, and rock star Ozzy Osbourne who served six weeks there in 1966 for breaking and entering.

  It was a prison with all the usual problems of overcrowding, staff shortages, drug taking, violence and assaults to both staff and fellow prisoners.

  Norman Gentle was being held there on remand until a date could be fixed for his trial.

  James shook his hand. “Hello, Norman, it’s good of you to agree to see me.”

  “Hello, Mr Sheldon. My solicitor told me about you but I’m a little confused. She says you want to investigate if I’m innocent but you don’t want any money, not that I could afford any at the moment.”

  “I’ll keep it brief, Norman. Up until a couple of years ago I was a serving police detective. Something happened and I’m now independently wealthy so I don’t need the money but I still believe in justice. Someone, I can’t tell you who it is, believes you might be innocent and so I have agreed to get involved. However, let me warn you, if what I find leads me to believe you’re guilty then as far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the matter. Is that fair enough?”

  “I’m innocent. I wouldn’t, couldn’t hurt Peter or anyone else. So go ahead please and find the person who did this. I’d like to see whoever is responsible for his murder punished.”

  “Okay, let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

  Forty minutes later, James Sheldon walked out of the prison, having signed out and collected his belongings from reception.

  His talk with Norman had convinced him that unless he had just been in the presence of an outstanding liar, then Norman was indeed innocent of killing Peter Winston-Moore.

  One of the things that had changed since he had gone into partnership with Phil Jones was that instead of working out of Phil’s spare room, the business had town centre offices with a receptionist.

  He still ran the charity he had set up to purchase the 880 run-down houses that formed the Asbury Park estate on the edge of Trentbridge. Building work was still ongoing but every week more families were being offered the chance to move into a modern house with a garden at a rent they could afford.

  The MJA housing trust had offices on Sidney Street, and two extra offices had been taken on for the investigation business, with the rent subsidised by James.

  James had been in his office for most of the late afternoon, reviewing the files and making notes.

  Eden Gold as a detective working on the case had full access to police files and at the request of James had done some searches and passed on the results.

  He started by searching for background on the victim, Peter Winston-Moore. It showed he didn’t have a criminal record either with his current name or before he had changed it from Peter Moore by deed poll some years back. However, it did flag up details of an allegation that had been made against him three years prior. It seems at the time the police had investigated but no charges were ever brought.

  Based on this new information, James decided it would be worth a visit down to London to informally interview the three antique dealers known as The Three Musketeers.

  He telephoned the three men and they had agreed to see him. The first on his list was Victor Athos and the interview would take place at his antiques shop in London’s Shepherds Bush.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Athos Antiques was situated a few yards off one of the main roads that passed through Shepherds Bush towards Acton and Ealing. James managed to find a parking meter that allowed him to stay for up to two hours. He thought that would be enough.

  The shop had a white facade with the name above in blue lettering. There were a row of shops and each side were doors that led to the apartments situated on the two floors above.

  James had looked for reviews of the shop on Google. There was only one with five stars that read ‘An Aladdin's cave of treasures and always new things on display with extremely helpful and knowledgeable staff.’

  He wondered if the review had been placed by a customer or more likely the shop owner.

  He entered and a man matching the description he had seen in the file came over.

  “Hello, are you Victor Athos?”

  “Yes I am. You must be the gentleman I spoke to earlier.”

  “Yes, I’m James Sheldon. And thank you for agreeing to see me today.”

  “Not a problem. Shall we go through to the office, it’s more comfortable in there and the kettle has just boiled.”

  Victor poured two cups of tea and then sat facing James.

  “As I explained on the phone, I’m working with Norman Gentle’s lawyer to see if we have the full picture with the murder of Peter Winston-Moore and I appreciate your time. I only have a few questions relating to what I’ve come across since you spoke to the police on Friday. I know some of the questions you’ve already answered but it would be most helpful if we could go over them again. As it’s been a few days your mind might have possibly recalled something you didn’t think of at the time. Can you start by telling me how you first met Peter Winston-Moore?”

  “I’ve known, sorry… knew him for about eight years. I first met him when he sold me some items he said were genuine Clarice Cliff. He told me he had purchased them from a house clearance. I was new to the trade so I took him at his word. They turned out to be fake reproductions from China. Then I saw him at some auctions and as I got to know my way around the trade and spoke to other dealers I learned about his reputation and I tried to avoid him as much as possible, but he's, sorry was, a difficult person to avoid.”

  James made some notes on his pad and then asked.

  “What about more recently, have you had any dealings with him?”

  “No. It’s just that over the past few months he suddenly found lots of nice, often quite rare, items, real genuine items, not the fake ones, and he was making a lot of money. You must have heard he found a Picasso and sold it for mil
lions. Ever since then he seemed to have the knack. None of them were in the same league as the painting but nonetheless good solid stock usually worth a few hundred or a few thousand.”

  “You mentioned the Picasso. Can you tell me anything else about it?”

  “He told everyone he found it in a junk shop somewhere in Trentbridge but after a while nobody believed him because of all the other stuff he kept coming up with. So I wanted to know, well, to be honest, we all wanted to find out how he was doing it. The three of us just about manage to scrape a living and there he was driving a bloody Bentley. So we followed him to Trentbridge to try to discover what he got up to. He found the painting there but no one could figure out how he did it. It was driving us nuts.”

  “Okay, thank you for giving such a clear account. Now, as part of my investigation, I’ve discovered that in July 2015 you reported him to the police. You allege he stole a considerable sum of money from you. Can you tell me about that?”

  Victor’s eyes narrowed. James could tell it was obviously a sore point.

  “Yes. He came into the shop one afternoon when I had a customer who wanted to sell some highly valuable items. We agreed a price but the guy wanted cash. It was late in the day so I couldn’t get to the bank before they closed. We agreed he would come in the next day at noon and I’d pay him. All through the books, you understand. Nothing underhand going on. Anyway, Winston-Moore was looking round the shop and must have overheard the conversation. He came in the shop the next day at around eleven. I happened to get called out to the back of the shop to help my restorer who needed a hand to turn a heavy table over so he could work on it. When I came back a couple of minutes later, Winston-Moore had gone.

  “Then, when the client came in at noon to collect his cash I discovered the £6,000 we’d agreed had been taken from behind the counter. I didn’t keep it in an obvious place but Winston-Moore knew where I kept my cash. When the police questioned him he denied it, of course. He told them someone else walked in as he was leaving and it must have been them that took it. I didn’t have CCTV in the shop like I do now so I couldn’t prove it. And I didn’t have enough money in the bank to raise another six grand so I lost the deal. It was a sweet one as well. I could’ve made ten grand profit. It hurt my reputation too. I don’t mind telling you, it took me a long time to recover from it.