Caught in a Trap

by Trevor Burton

The attendant saw me back to the Saab, and I gingerly eased my way in. I thanked him profusely and slowly headed for the ticket barrier, only to find that, having paid in the station, I’d run out of time. The attendant came running over and sorted it somehow, but I was beyond caring by this point. I drove home to my converted barn on automatic pilot, with no recollection of the journey when I got there.

  A long soak in the bath helped. I woke late the next morning, my face looking and my body feeling like I had been the man at the bottom of a collapsed rugby scrum. I crept painfully down the stairs in my dressing gown, and into the kitchen. I had no appetite, but I put the kettle on and moved into the lounge, where I peered through closed curtains out of the window overlooking the farmyard. I really must have been in a state after my ordeal: my beloved Saab lay abandoned in the muddy farmyard, the door unlocked and slightly open. Cyril the farmer, my landlord, spotted me and promptly strode over to the door. I opened the kitchen door, which wasn’t locked either, an inch or two to speak with him.

  ‘You OK?’ he said. ‘I checked you weren’t in the car last night. The door was wide open, so I pushed it to, and this one as well.’ He tapped my kitchen door. ‘Must have been some night!’ He stopped short when he saw my face. ‘Good heavens! What happened?’

  ‘I was mugged by two thugs last night in the long-stay car park at Crewe station,’ I lied, not wishing to explain in detail about Lady Jane and her jealous husband.

  ‘Do you want me to run you to A&E for a check-up?’ he offered, looking worried.

  ‘Let’s see how I feel by lunch-time,’ I said.

  ‘OK, then. You know best. You take it easy!’ he finished. ‘I’ll pop back later.’

  I closed the door, and proceeded to make coffee. Still clad in my dressing gown, I moved back to the lounge, leaving the curtains closed. With Classic FM playing on the radio, I selected a book and settled down on the sofa. The next thing I remembered was a banging on the door and a frantic shouting. It sounded like Amelia, but I couldn’t think why. My head hurt as I started to rise from the sofa, and I immediately fell back. The coffee next to me was only half drunk, the radio was still playing and my book was unopened. I tried again to rise, more slowly this time, and my head throbbed as I crept to the door, where I found a tearful Amelia with a worried Cyril staring at me in shock.

  ‘It is past lunch-time! I’ve been trying to contact you for hours,’ she nearly shouted in exasperation. ‘Cyril just told me you’d been mugged.’

  Glancing at my watch before trying to formulate an answer, I saw that it was 1.30pm. I realised I had been asleep since 9.30am. ‘I must have nodded off,’ I said lamely.

  ‘You’re slurring your words,’ she observed in alarm.

  ‘Oh!’ I replied stupidly, still holding my head.

  Cyril chimed in. ‘I really think you need to go to A&E now for a check-up.’

  ‘And I totally agree,’ Amelia concurred. ‘Come on. I’ll drive you there right away.’

  ‘My car,’ I moaned, seeing it still lying abandoned.

  ‘Don’t worry about your bloody car. Give me the key and I’ll put it away, and you can get going,’ Cyril urged, as Amelia led me off like a small child to her car.

  Amelia insisted on all the details as we speed our way through the lanes to the A&E department at Leighton Hospital. Once there, we were admitted promptly, and after a thorough examination they concluded I had concussion and should stay in overnight. Feeling embarrassed, I was wheeled off to a ward and made comfortable. Amelia fussed like one of my chickens for a while before whatever drugs they gave me began to work and I became drowsy.

  ‘I’ll be back first thing in morning,’ Amelia advised as she left my bedside. I waved meekly, already drifting off.

  The night passed slowly. I woke at intervals, having a nightmare of the time when I had been shot with bits of shrapnel still remaining in my body. I experienced flashbacks of that place. The taunting of the little monkey-like guards, poking and prodding as we’re transferred from workplace to cell and back. One vicious ugly little bastard performs his favourite trick of sticking his bamboo cane between the legs of several of us prisoners. This signals great mirth among the other guards, who fall about like chattering baboons.

  I woke in a sweat with severe pain. The trauma had released a small piece of shrapnel, which was slowly finding its way through my system.

  I heard a voice ‘You have a visitor,’ an angelic nurse announced, as the beautiful smiling face of Amelia beamed down at me. Although she did not go for men, our relationship was as much a love affair as it was business.

  ‘You don’t know how good it is to see you!’ I managed.

  ‘Likewise. You look tons better. Any breakfast yet?’ she enquired.

  ‘On the way,’ the nurse chipped in.

  A minute later, a plate of scrambled eggs on toast appeared. I was famished, realising I had eaten hardly any food yesterday. Amelia watched quietly like a mother hen as I cleaned the plate.

  ‘I asked at the desk, and apart from a couple of shouts, you appear to have slept well. If the doctor gives the all-clear, you can be out by lunch.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I replied weakly.

  Fortunately, the doctor was quite happy to let me go, and indeed I was out by lunch time, courtesy of Amelia.

  Chapter 14

  I pottered around for the rest of Wednesday, feeling better as the day went on. I suddenly recalled that I was supposed to have gone around to Rebecca’s house for dinner last night, and my heart sank. I’d messed up again. It was hardly my fault, but it sure felt like it. I picked up the phone instinctively, then stopped. She could have rung me, but there were no messages on the landline. Where was my mobile? I thought for a minute. The car. It must be.

  I rushed out, encountering Cyril. I thanked him profusely in mid-stride, and he shrugged, hopefully not offended. The phone was there where it always was. Back inside, I checked and there was a message. At least she sounded disappointed rather than angry. I quickly rang her to explain the mugging. She was shocked at first, but I made light of it and we rearranged for the following Tuesday.

  After another early night and no nightmares, I was up at my usual time. Disinclined to visit the place of my mugging so soon, I ducked out of driving to Crewe and parking at the long-stay in favour of a more pleasant drive through the lanes to Stockport. At the Enodo office, Amelia was already at her desk.

  ‘Wow, you look almost normal,’ she greeted me.

  ‘You make it sound like a compliment,’ I replied wryly.

  ‘Quit while you’re winning,’ she retorted. ‘Have you filed a complaint to the police yet?’

  ‘The Transport Police made a report at the time,’ I explained.

  ‘Yes,’ she countered, ‘but being half-conscious, you were not in the best frame of mind to provide information.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I agreed, ‘but it was dark and I didn’t really see anything.’

  ‘I know,’ she tried again. ‘What about the man in the turban who helped you?’

  ‘He only saw them from a distance, but he described them as tallish with dark clothing.’

  ‘Bit feeble,’ she conceded. ‘Would it be any use talking to your mate Inspector Lambert?’

  ‘Yes, I had thought of that,’ I confessed.

  ‘No time like the present!’

  My call was answered by Bill himself. I explained the circumstances of my assault and he was alarmed by my apparent lack of awareness.

  ‘It was dark and raining and there were two of them, obviously in waiting behind a van.’

  ‘I tell you what. Why don’t we meet up and you can tell me all the details, and bring me up to date with what you’ve got on the narrowboat mystery.’

  ‘OK, where?’

  ‘I’m in town this afternoon. What about the Renaissance Hotel. Will 4.30 do?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you there.’

  It was obvious that Amelia had been earwigging, because she walked in just as t
he phone went down. ‘Told you it was a good idea!’ she enthused.

  ‘Yes, you were right. The downside is he wants an update on Elvis’s narrowboat, and we haven’t got very far yet, have we?’

  ‘I think that bump on the head has affected your memory. When we called the Canal and River Trust they confirmed that there were enough navigable canals that he could have virtually gone in any direction. They also accepted that it was relatively easy to disguise a narrowboat, and that they did not have a whole army of enforcers checking on licences.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, you’re right,’ I nodded, remembering. ‘So, we’re convinced he has made his escape, we just don’t know to where.’

  ‘Elementary,’ she confirmed. ‘Will it be enough to satisfy Inspector Lambert?’

  ‘We can only hope. I wish we had managed to visit a Canal and River Trust office and chat to them in person though.’

  ‘You can only relate what you know. You’ll have to wing it a bit, and remember he doesn’t know about Lady Jane and other stuff yet. Or does he?’

  ‘No, you’re right. It’s about time we revealed what we know on that score,’ I agreed.

  I pored over the canal maps for an hour or so, hoping for some inspiration as to where Elvis had gone, but ended up none the wiser. I left the Enodo office at 3.45, and piloted the Saab down the notoriously busy A6 road from Stockport into Manchester, parking up at the Great Northern Warehouse. I headed north along Deansgate to Blackfriars Street and the Renaissance Hotel. Entering the lobby, I scanned the reception on the right, but saw no sign of Bill Lambert. Looking left, there was a bar area and various seating arrangements. I chose a table with a couple of low lounge seats and ordered coffee. Bill arrived two minutes later.

  ‘Thought you’d be on your usual Bombay Sapphire by this time of the day,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘Is it because of the mugging? You do look a bit frightening around the eyes, I must say.’

  ‘The ribs are still sore, but I’m driving, and the yard arm is normally five o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll stick to coffee too, then.’ He directed the hovering waiter accordingly.

  I was just about to begin my waffling about not having anything conclusive on the disappearing boat and Elvis, when I remembered that I had not told him about Lady Jane and the chain of coincidences. Before I had collected my thoughts, Bill started to speak.

  ‘I’ll bring you up to date on the developments in this murder case first. We had that Streetsound drummer in, and it’s obvious he is supplying the band and other hangers-on. We think he’s getting the drugs from a dealer called Lenny Mack, originally from Liverpool. We’ve been around to his house in Ordsall, but he’s reputed to be away on holiday in Spain, so it’s watch-this-space time. So, what do you have for me on the narrowboat?’

  The time taken by Bill to bring me up to date had allowed me time to think how best to present my case, so to speak. I decided I should begin by telling him I knew more about the situation than I had so far let on. ‘I don’t think I mentioned last time that we are helping out a minor titled lady. Amelia has taken great delight in always referring to her as “Lady Jane.”

  Bill guffawed. ‘I don’t see a connection.’

  ‘There is one,’ I stressed. ‘You see, she has a toy-boy: your one and only Matt the drummer from Streetsound.’

  Bill looked confused. ‘That’s the connection?’

  ‘It gets better,’ I added. ‘She admits that he supplies her with drugs – for recreational purposes only, she says.’

  ‘She would,’ Bill harrumphed. Before I could continue he jumped in again. ‘Oh! I forgot to tell you earlier, forensics came back with information about the diamond that was found under the body of Jake Bosson. It seems it came from a ring supplied by a company with an address in the jewellery quarter in Birmingham. The relevance or not of that, we don’t yet know.’

  ‘It gets even better,’ I smiled. ‘You see, the main reason Lady Jane came to us in the first place is that she’s convinced Matt is stealing her jewellery, along with stuff from other people in the various hotels the band stays in.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me this before?’

  ‘I hadn’t done the math. It all seemed a bit tenuous.’

  ‘You need another bang on the head!’ he chided.

  I held my hands up. ‘Sorry,’ I say lamely.

  ‘I can’t quite understand where it all fits together at this point,’ he admitted. ‘And you getting beaten up in Crewe station car park… what’s going on there?’

  Again, it was going to appear as if I’d been deliberately holding back from him. ‘It wasn’t the first-time contact has been made,’ I admitted, going on to relate the glass incident in the Valley Lodge Hotel, and me being followed from Stockport station.

  ‘Well, at least he doesn’t know exactly where the Enodo offices are, but how did he know you park your car at Crewe station? Of course, if he had his wife followed to Stockport, he may have known you travel by train from Stockport to somewhere, and they could have followed you and got ahead as you paid for the ticket before walking to the car park.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ I nodded in agreement.

  I saw a shadow fall over the table, and looked up to see Bill’s driver. I offered to pay for the coffee as he followed his driver out of the door. Two minutes later, at the corner of Blackfriars Street and Deansgate, Bill’s Vauxhall Insignia had moved only the twenty-five yards to Deansgate. Traffic was at a stop both ways on Deansgate whilst a tow-bar was fixed to a broken-down bus. I attracted his attention, but he shrugged and waved as I headed off in the other direction to the Great Northern Warehouse car park. I fared better on my journey to South Cheshire and was home within the hour, my head buzzing as I tried to make some sense of our discussion.

  The next day was Thursday, and I woke up feeling even more like my normal self, even if the bruises on my face told a different story. I felt confident resuming my normal travel routine, although I sought and fortunately found a nearer and safer parking place close to the Transport Police office, with no vans for muggers to shelter behind.

  Amelia fussed over me as she brought in coffee. It didn’t last. ‘Right,’ she said, placing the mug down. ‘We did intend discussing our missing person case on Monday and comparing the notes we made last Saturday when we went around to Tina’s apartment – you can remember last Saturday, can’t you? Only you didn’t mention it at all yesterday, and I didn’t like to push it, as I felt you had enough on with Bill Lambert.’

  ‘Yes, we were to discuss it on Monday, and yes, I can remember last Saturday.’ It came out sounding rather snappy. ‘I did make some more notes, but I probably forgot to put them in my case.’ I searched through and found the originals but not the extra ones. ‘You start off.’

  ‘Right, OK. Well, we can be reasonably sure of the timescale, what with the two girls and the supermarket confirming two weeks approximately.’

  ‘I didn’t ask Bill to check it yesterday, as I felt we need to discuss it first,’ I explained before she could mention it. ‘The fact that nobody has seen her for two weeks doesn’t automatically confirm that any harm has befallen her, or if it had, that it took place two weeks prior.’

  ‘That’s true, but it is strange that a girl who is always in communication with her mother and flatmates should suddenly drop off their radar. What did you think about the girls?’

  ‘That they were keeping something back, especially Susie.’

  ‘I felt the same,’ Amelia agreed.

  ‘I noticed there was no mention about classmates,’ I observed.

  ‘I don’t recall asking outright, though. Maybe next time we visit.’

  I paused for a moment. ‘Wait a minute. I’ve remembered some of my extra notes now. One was about the classmates themselves, and more important there must be some kind of register for lectures, surely, that ought to give an indication about absences.’

  ‘OK, that opens up a few more avenues of inquiry.’

 
‘Right, if I contact Bill Lambert, can you look after the university records and classmates?’

  The phone rang and we broke off the discussion.

  Chapter 15

  It was the morning of the gig in Liverpool. Amelia arrived late after a dental appointment. She was holding her face.

  ‘Ooh,’ I say. ‘Difficult job?’

  ‘Root canal treatment,’ she moaned.

  ‘Are you going to be OK for the gig tonight?’

  ‘I should be fine by then,’ she replied. ‘Wasn’t Lady Jane going to phone us?’

  ‘She did, if you remember, and said she didn’t know who the bass player was going to be.’

  ‘Oh! I do remember now. She said meet at 7.15 in the bar. It’s this tooth! The painkiller hasn’t worn off yet. What time do we need to finish work?’

  ‘There’s not much going on at the moment, so we’ll finish up early for the day at say half past three. I’ll pick you up at say six o’clock, which will give us an hour to get there and park.’

  The rest of the day passed without event. I collected Amelia as arranged, and we travelled north on the M6 motorway, then west on the M62 into Liverpool. It was slow progress in the rush hour traffic, and we only just made it to the bar by 7.15. Jane was already there with her sister Samantha. While Jane was dressed casually, her sister looked business-like with her hair tied back and glasses. Wearing a dark suit with trousers, she looked as though she had come straight from work at the BBC.

  ‘What can I get you two to drink?’ Jane asked.

  We opted for our usual Bombay Sapphire Gin and tonic with lime. Still sporting a black eye from the mugging, I was wearing shades to hide the damage, but as befitted the occasion many others were also, and I drew no glances. The drinks arrived, and not a being a regular gig-goer, I assumed we would have to be quick. I checked my watch. ‘Doesn’t it start at 7.30?’

  ‘No, it’ll be eight o’clock at the earliest, and there’s a warm-up act on first. It sure won’t be Elvis this time, will it! No one knows where the hell he is,’ Jane replied.