The Trap

by Chambers, Kimberley

  Donald followed the officer out of the room.

  ‘My colleague said something about your children attending a party at a snooker club yesterday that is owned by Vinny and Roy Butler. Are you two families friends?’

  ‘Oh, dear God, no! We have only moved into the area recently and my wife and I have barely spoken to the Butler family. My daughter has just started a new school and is in the same class as young Brenda. That is the only reason why she and Christopher got invited to the party.’

  ‘And what was this incident your son was involved in yesterday? My colleague mentioned that somebody was attacked at the party?’ D.I. Stevens asked. He was well aware of Kenny Jackson being admitted to the London Hospital, but his wife had insisted he had fallen over drunk, which both she and he knew was a big fat lie.

  ‘No, as far as I’m aware nobody was attacked, officer. My children ran home scared because they saw a man lying on the floor bleeding nearby the building as they left,’ Donald lied. His Christopher was in too deep as it was, and he wasn’t in the right frame of mind for even more questioning.

  ‘Does your son know Vinny Butler well, Mr Walker?’

  ‘No, of course he doesn’t,’ Donald spat.

  Furious that he was getting nowhere fast, D.I. Stevens strode back into the room and left Donald standing outside. Whitechapel was becoming a hotbed for gangland families and murders these days and it was his duty to stamp out such scum.

  ‘Have you recognized anybody now, Christopher?’ he asked, with a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

  ‘No, Sir. It was none of those men that I saw near the club.’

  ‘Take a look again at number one, Christopher. Are you damn sure it wasn’t him?’

  Number one was Vinny and when Christopher stared at him again, it felt as though Vinny was staring straight back at him. Thinking what scary eyes Vinny had, Christopher remembered the threat to harm his parents and sister and frantically shook his head. ‘It definitely wasn’t him, Sir. If anything, the man I saw looked more like number four.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  As Christmas beckoned, not for the first time in his life, Vinny truly believed he had got away with murder.

  ‘Morning, Vin. Mental last night, weren’t it? I bet you wish we weren’t shutting tonight now, don’t you?’ Roy said, putting two mugs of tea on the coffee table. The boys had properly moved into the club earlier this week, and now the upstairs had been re-decorated, it looked much more homely than before.

  Vinny shook his head. Friday was usually their busiest night of the week, but it had been his decision to close the club because it was Christmas Eve. ‘Nope. I ain’t got no regrets. We could do with a break ourselves. I’m meeting Geary at lunchtime. How much do you think I should bung him on top of what we pay for this place?’ Vinny asked his brother.

  George Geary had been keeping them up to date with developments on the murder of Dave Phillips. Obviously, Vinny hadn’t admitted anything, but it was very comforting to know that the only witness who had come forward was Mad Freda. It was also through Geary that Vinny knew that it had been Christopher Walker behind the blacked-out window at the identification parade, and Vinny had thought it fucking hilarious that the kid had picked out bloke number four rather than him. Vinny had sensibly kept well away from the café, and hadn’t seen Christopher since.

  ‘Wait and see what info Geary has got for us. If he tells you Jack shit again, just give him fifty on top as a Christmas drink. If he has found out where the Prestons are though, you’d better give one an’ half at least,’ Roy advised.

  Vinny nodded. It had been just over a week since Roy had paid Judy Preston a visit to check if she’d had the abortion. There had been no answer, then a neighbour had come out to inform him that Judy had moved out ten days earlier. Vinny had been absolutely furious and, unable to get involved himself just in case Geary had got it wrong and he was being followed, he had sent Michael to visit his arsehole of a father in hospital just to find out where Judy’s mother lived. He had then sent Roy round there only to find out that Mummy had done a runner too. So, Vinny had asked Geary if he could find out their whereabouts. He had also heard through the grapevine from a couple of his South London punters that Johnny Preston had disappeared off the face of the bloody earth, so Vinny wanted Geary to check out that story as well. Seeing as Johnny had run and left his best pal to die in a pool of blood like the coward he was, Vinny was sure that he wouldn’t go mouthing off about the murder. Geary hadn’t yet put two and two together, Vinny was sure of that. If he had, the Chief Inspector would have been on his case for more money like he usually was when he had something on him, and even if he did see the light, Vinny had his answer ready for him.

  Roy jumped as the doorbell rang. ‘Who the fuck’s that this time of the morning?’

  ‘It might be Mum, so answer it, Roy.’

  Roy did the honours, then ran back up the stairs. ‘It’s that Karen bird that used to work here. She wants to see you and says it’s urgent.’

  Vinny sighed. Karen was the stripper he had slept with a couple of times. She had become a bit obsessed with him after their last night of passion, and had spouted her mouth off to all the other strippers, so Vinny had promptly sacked her. ‘Tell her I ain’t here,’ Vinny ordered his brother.

  ‘I’ve already told her you are here. I ain’t going back down there, Vin. You shagged her, so she’s your problem,’ Roy chuckled.

  With only a towel around his waist to cover his nakedness, Vinny ran down the stairs and flung open the big metal door. ‘If you’ve come to ask for your job back, the answer is no. I told you what would happen if you started blabbing about what had happened between us, didn’t I?’

  Ignoring the callous tone in Vinny’s voice, Karen brushed past him and stepped inside the club.

  ‘What do you think you’re fucking doing?’ Vinny spat.

  Karen looked Vinny in the eyes and smirked. ‘I’m having a chat with the father of my unborn baby.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard. I’m pregnant, and it’s yours. Congratulations, Vinny.’

  Absolutely starving after driving up to Carnaby Street and back, Michael and Kevin bumped their mopeds onto the pavement and parked them outside Mary and Donald’s café.

  ‘Wow, this looks well ace compared to when Old Jack had it. You never told me they had a jukebox,’ Kevin said, highly impressed.

  ‘I ain’t been in here since it re-opened, but my mum has and she said the food’s really nice,’ Michael informed his pal.

  Unaware that Michael was a Butler, Mary took his and Kevin’s order. ‘Two cheeseburgers and chips, love,’ she said to Donald.

  ‘How are the kids? Have you checked on them again?’ Donald asked, putting the burgers into the frying pan.

  ‘Nancy’s OK, still absorbed in her Enid Blyton book, but Christopher is in bed, Donald. He didn’t eat any lunch again either, and he’s started to worry the bloody life out of me.’

  Donald turned away from the cooker and hugged his wife to his chest. Ever since the two incidents involving the Butler family, both of their children had changed dramatically. Nancy was still friendly with Brenda at school, but even though she seemed happy enough in herself, all she ever seemed to want to do these days was lose herself in books.

  Christopher, on the other hand, was not happy in himself. He had lost a hell of a lot of weight in the past couple of weeks, looked pale, was extremely withdrawn, and it was an effort to get him to school in the mornings. Christopher had always been an adventurous boy who loved the outdoors, but not any more. Whatever he had seen outside that club, and the interrogation by the police afterwards, had obviously knocked the stuffing out of the poor child.

  ‘I think perhaps in the new year we should consider selling this café and moving to a different area, Mary. It’s too dangerous around here to bring up our children. There are far too many unsavoury characters.’

  Mary looked at her husband in horror. Their busine
ss was barely a month old, but it was booming, and she had settled well in East London. ‘Don’t be daft, Donald. I’ll speak to Christopher, he’ll be fine. As for Nancy, I’m glad she’s got into her books rather than raking the streets. You wait until tomorrow when they open all their nice presents. We have never been able to afford to give them much before, have we? Once Santa has been, they’ll perk up no end. You mark my words.’

  Not sharing his wife’s optimism, Donald turned around to flip his burgers.

  Because of recent events, George Geary didn’t want to pick up his monthly bung from the club any longer. He was too frightened of being spotted there, so insisted that Vinny meet him at the entrance of a park a few miles away.

  Vinny sat in the chief inspector’s car and listened to what he had to say, while nodding politely. Geary had a habit of trying to dress things up to make it look like he had found out lots more information than he had, so he could suck more money out of his victim. ‘So, what you’re trying to say, George, is you have no idea where any of the Prestons are? Including Johnny, right?’

  ‘Well yes, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t got a few leads on the go,’ Geary said, licking his lips in anticipation of what sort of Christmas bonus he might be getting.

  ‘And what about that poor bloke who was murdered? Does your mob still think I had something to do with it? Just because it happened near my club?’

  ‘Well, I would be lying if I said they didn’t still see you as a suspect, Vinny, but to be honest they are concentrating more at the moment on finding the bloke who was with Dave Phillips at the time of the attack.’

  ‘Perhaps yous boys in blue have been barking up the wrong tree all along then, George? Don’t you think it’s strange that whoever was with the deceased did a runner? Perhaps that’s your murderer?’ Vinny suggested, handing over a wad of notes.

  When Geary began counting the money, Vinny smirked. ‘There’s a fifty on top of your usual as a Christmas drink, George. You find out where those Prestons are for me and there’ll be an even bigger drink in it for you.’

  George Geary was not amused. He had put his neck on the line sniffing around for snippets of information to throw Vinny’s way, yet all he was being given for his trouble was a measly fifty quid. He wasn’t stupid. He had spoken to a few of his colleagues over in South London.

  When Vinny tried to shake his hand, George snatched it away. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Butler. Fifty sovs! Is that it? Do you not think I know that Dave Phillips and Johnny Preston were partners in crime, eh? What do you take me for?’

  Vinny chuckled. ‘A bent chief inspector.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Vinny, because I can have you banged-up for murder at the drop of a hat,’ George said, pointing a fat finger in Vinny’s face.

  Realizing that his joke had been a bad one, Vinny apologized immediately. He also dug his hand back into his pocket and handed Geary another hundred pounds. ‘Look, I don’t want to fall out with you, George, but I swear I know nothing about the murder of Dave Phillips, OK?’

  ‘So, why do you want me to find Johnny Preston then?’

  Vinny sighed, put on the most innocent expression he could muster, and stared George Geary straight in the eyes. ‘Because my father has impregnated Preston’s sister, Judy, and she has done a fucking runner. Would you not want to know where your future brother or sister would be living?’

  Geary put the hundred pounds in his pocket, then held his right hand out to Vinny. ‘I’m sorry, boy. I’ll do my best to find them for you, OK? I’d best go now before my wife wonders where I’ve got to. Merry Christmas.’

  Vinny got out of the chief inspector’s car and walked back to his own. Karen’s bombshell earlier had left him in a bit of a daze, and he really didn’t know if he was coming or bloody going.

  Thrilled that the jukebox had some songs on it by their favourite band, The Who, Michael and Kevin put on ‘I Can’t Explain’, ‘Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere’, and ‘My Generation’.

  ‘Excuse me. Do you think you can turn it up a bit?’ Michael asked Mary.

  ‘I’ll turn it up a touch, but I can’t have it too loud because it’s not fair on the other customers,’ Mary replied, walking over to the jukebox.

  ‘Bleedin’ racket is giving me a headache. Don’t be turning it up no louder just because the murderer’s brother has asked you to,’ Mad Freda shouted out.

  ‘Who you calling a murderer? Michael’s brothers are good lads,’ Kevin said, sticking up for his best pal.

  ‘Who rattled your cage? You little black bastard,’ Freda spat back.

  Michael grabbed Kevin by the sleeve of his parka. ‘Come on, mate, let’s go. Everyone knows that Freda is off her head, so there’s no point arguing with a bigoted nutjob. It’s like talking to a brick wall.’

  Albie Butler was not in the best of moods. The doctors had told him he could be discharged before Christmas if he had somebody who could care for him until the plaster was taken off his legs. Trouble was, he couldn’t find anyone who could do so. Even his own brother had refused his pleas for help. Bert had made the excuse that his wife was ill.

  Knowing that Queenie was his last chance of getting out of the hellhole of a hospital before Christmas, Albie decided to swallow his pride and call her.

  ‘What do you fucking want?’ Queenie hissed down the receiver.

  ‘I need a favour, love. The doctors said I can leave hospital if I’ve got somewhere to stay and a bit of help. Now, I know it’s over between us, but it won’t be for long, Queenie. As soon as I’m up and about again, I’ll find meself a little bedsit or something. Please help me, even if it’s only for old time’s sake?’

  Furious by the cheek of the untrustworthy waste of space, Queenie gave her deceitful husband what for. ‘For all I care you can go and sleep under the arches with the rest of the fucking tramps. I will never allow you to darken my doorstep again, you dirty old toad. You’re dead as far as me and my sons are concerned. Even little Brenda don’t ask about you no more. I hope you rot in that hospital, and I pray you get bedbugs and sores as well. I’m hanging up now. Happy Christmas, you old cuntbag.’

  When the line went dead and the nurse wheeled the phone away, Albie couldn’t stop the tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t want to spend his Christmas in bloody hospital. Now his family had disowned him, he had no visitors at all, and couldn’t even get somebody to sneak him in a bottle of brandy.

  Old Mr Perry opened one eye. He had been pretending to be asleep, but he had heard Albie ask Queenie if he could move back in with her. It was now time for one of his little sing-songs. ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I’m half crazy all for the love of you.’

  Unable to take any more of Mr Perry, or life in general, Albie put his hands together and said a little prayer. ‘Just let me croak it, God. Please, just let me fucking die, so I can get some bastard peace.’

  Absolutely seething over what they’d just heard, Queenie and Vivian marched into the café like two bulls in a china shop.

  ‘See you, you fucking old cow. I have just about had enough of you slandering my family. Who do you think you are, eh? My boys are good boys. And how dare you call Kevin a black bastard, you bigoted old hag,’ Queenie yelled, her face dangerously close to Freda’s.

  Pushing her dinner plate away, Freda stood up. She was a stout woman with more than a bit of meat on her, whereas Queenie and Vivian were skinny as rakes. ‘I ain’t frightened of you, you pair of old dragons. Ruined my beloved Whitechapel, you and that scum you raised have.’

  When Queenie and Vivian both lunged at Freda, Mary screamed in fright.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Donald asked, running out of the kitchen with a tea towel in his hand.

  ‘Oh my God, Donald. Do something,’ Mary shrieked hysterically, when a cup and saucer got smashed in the fracas.

  Sturdy or not, Freda was no match for Queenie and Vivian, and was already lying on the floor with her legs open, showing her bloomers.

>   Being Christmas Eve afternoon, the café was empty now, so Donald had no alternative other than to break up the three brawling women himself.

  Nancy and Christopher had both heard the commotion and, petrified, they ran down the stairs. ‘What’s happening, Mummy?’ Nancy screamed, when she saw Vivian hit her father with her umbrella.

  ‘Get out,’ Donald shouted, as he grabbed Vivian’s wrists to stop her from hitting him again.

  Thinking that his father might get stabbed and die like the man outside the snooker club, Christopher put his hands over his eyes. ‘Leave my dad alone,’ he screamed.

  When Freda suddenly leapt up and grabbed Queenie around the throat, Mary was rather relieved to see Vinny Butler barge through the café door. ‘Mum, Auntie Viv, get in the car now,’ he barked.

  ‘And don’t bloody well come back. You are officially barred from my premises,’ Donald spat, as the two women stopped fighting and dusted themselves down.

  ‘Watch it, mate. That’s my mother and aunt you are talking to,’ Vinny hissed. He had been stuck in traffic outside and had only glanced inside the café to see if he could see little Christopher, when he had spotted his aunt attacking Donald with her umbrella.

  ‘Come on, Queenie. The food was shit in here anyway,’ Vivian said, grabbing her sister by the arm.

  ‘Yep. You’re right. That last sandwich we had in here was fucking rotten,’ Queenie lied.

  Seeing Christopher standing behind the counter with his mother and sister, Vinny took a twenty-pound note out of his pocket, screwed it up, and chucked it on the floor at Donald’s feet. ‘That’s to pay for any damage and whatever’s left, give it to your kids as a Christmas present,’ he said, generously.

  ‘Silence money, that is. I know that Christopher witnessed you murder that man, ’cause I bloody saw him standing there,’ Freda yelled.

  Absolutely terrified of Vinny, and unable to cope with the lie he had told, Christopher burst into tears and ran up the stairs.