The Magpie Trap: A Novel (43 page)

How to lay a trap

Jim Hunter
wasn’t exactly sure what he would do if and when he found the criminals
responsible for the heist at
Edison
’s Printers.
How could he explain to his former colleagues that although he’d known the names
of the three men responsible, he’d not informed the relevant authorities or
gone through anything like the correct channels? He knew that he couldn’t very
well make a citizen’s arrest. He questioned his own motivation; what was he
planning to do? Was he going to kill them?

Whatever, the company of Ruth Sharp certainly bought him a cover story;
he could have simply been in
Mauritius
innocently, on
holiday with his girlfriend…

Ruth Sharp had been engrossed in the in-flight movies; a procession of
crime capers which seemed too close to the knuckle for Jim to bear. Jim had
instead occupied himself with reading
Mauritius
guidebooks,
and taking advantage of the free drinks from the trolley. His knees started to
ache, though; he was squeezed almost unnaturally into the tiny seats in
Standard Class. He could have bet that his criminals would not have had to put
up with such discomfort. Two standard tickets had been all his meagre police
pension could stretch to now that he was on unpaid suspension from his security
job at the printers.

Ruth kept nudging him, pointing at the small screen on the back of the
chair in front which was showing the films. She had an almost childish
excitement at their impending adventure. She’d been like that on the previous
day, when she’d accompanied him, as designated driver, on a couple of visits to
case-related locations. She’d only had two vodkas, Jim had reasoned; by that
point, he’d sunk probably his whole week’s worth of units.

She’d giggled as they had used a credit card to bypass the Yale lock on
Mark Birch’s front door in Wortley. The man had clearly left in a hurry. His
cupboards were still full, drawers were open; their contents upended onto the
floor, and there was a pile of post which almost blocked the front door. Jim opened
some of the letters; most of them appeared to relate to a recent funeral, and
the arrangements to pay for it. There was also a hand-written letter from
Mark’s mother, thanking him for some money. She claimed that she’d been able to
put a deposit down on a flat in a much nicer area… Again Jim felt that the net
was closing in on the criminals.

The Ruth Sharp and Jim Hunter team had also visited Danny Morris’s house
in Chapel Allerton. When they’d approached the front door, they saw that it had
been boarded up by two planks of wood. A note from a debt-collection company
was nailed to the middle of the door. It said that the house had been
repossessed for non-payment of the mortgage.

Was this a reason why they’d committed the crime? To help them out of the
hole of bad debt which they’d seemingly dug for themselves? A phone call to
Chris Parker’s landlord had confirmed that he too had deserted his home;
leaving a stack of unpaid rent cheques; he’d closed his bank account.

The trap was closing; he
could feel it.

When Hunter finished reading the guidebooks, he sat around impatiently
for a while and then asked Ruth if he could read her copy of the free newspaper
that they’d handed out on boarding the plane. It was a broadsheet and therefore
incredibly difficult to read without resting one page on the lap of the
passenger to his right and one page half-folded over so Ruth Sharp could still
see the small screen in front of her. Soon though, the practical aspects of
reading the paper were put out of his mind. As soon as he read the headline of
the third page, in fact.

Edison’s security guard
out of coma; is quizzed by police,
it blared. Hunter devoured
the text. He learned that Callum Burr had responded well to treatment and had
started to breathe without the aid of a machine. As soon as he’d started to
talk, the police had been in to see him. There was no news, as yet, about what
had been discussed. But Hunter knew that all of the questions would be geared
towards his connection with the Wardle crew; the fact that he and a member of
the gang were team-mates on the ex-forces rugby team. They were still casting
their lines into the wrong bloody stretch of water.

But at least Callum Burr had survived. At least he would not have the
death on his conscience any more. Absently, he wondered whether the news had
reached Mauritius yet.

The fifth page of the newspaper bore more interesting news. It contained
information that Hunter may well be able to use. Apparently, a North Yorkshire
business called Parker’s Fine Foods had been outed by a reporter from the
Yorkshire Post
newspaper. They’d been
linked to the death of a schoolchild and to local organised crime networks. Mal
Parker, the owner of the company, faced prosecution. And Mal Parker, as Hunter
knew, was none other than Chris Parker’s father. The net was closing, and
closing fast. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place.

The plane had
landed at Port Louis Airport, from which they’d taken a taxi to the town of
Rose Hill. Throughout the journey, Ruth kept pointing out places where she’d
been on her previous visit. Jim Hunter was only interested in one thing from
her previous visit, and that thing was actually a person. The Dodo. He wondered
how they’d be able to track the man down once they arrived in Rose Hill. It
wasn’t like he would be advertising his services in the phone book, or on one
of those huge hoardings which flanked the road.

Luckily, Ruth’s enthusiasm and wealth of innate practicality brought him
back in line.

‘I know you’re worried, but listen, the Dodo is something of a local
celebrity. Somebody here is going to know how to track him down, as long as we
ask the right questions.’ She rubbed two of her fingers against her thumb,
indicating that they might have to resort to bribery. ‘Also, if you’re right
that the criminals are going to need somebody to unlock this money printer,
then somebody round here might have seen them. It’s still barely in-season
here; foreigners are going to stick out like a sore thumb.’

Hunter admired the rational way in which her scientific mind worked and
worked at a problem until it found a solution. He agreed with her. The first
thing they needed to do was find a hotel, and then they start the search.

They found a reasonably well-priced hotel – more of a boarding house in
actual fact - close to the town’s main square, and as Jim was hunting around in
his hand luggage for his foreign currency, Ruth had engaged the receptionist in
conversation.

‘We’re actually looking for our three friends; three English men. We’re
supposed to be meeting them here. We’re doing some scientific research.’

The receptionist raised her eyebrow, perhaps alarmed at the particular
nature of the ‘scientific research’, but then she nodded.

‘I have only just arrived here for the summer season. This is my second
day of work… I can ask one of the maids when she comes; she cleans at other
hotels too… they might have stayed there. Tell me, do you not have contact
numbers for them?’

‘We want it to be a surprise,’ cracked Jim, who had now risen from his
root around in his bag and was now holding a fan of crisp Mauritian rupee notes
at the receptionist. ‘Sorry, take the right money - I trust you- I just never
get the hang of foreign money.’

After three
hours of walking round and round in circles in the town, Hunter needed a drink,
and badly. They retired to a small bar in the main square and ordered two of
the local rum drinks which Ruth had told him so much about. Hunter played
nervously with the ashtray, unable to meet Ruth’s eyes; he still liked her, but
wasn’t sure what the situation was with her husband, and was too afraid to ask.

With a nervous twitch, he suddenly dropped the ashtray off the edge of
the table, and all-apologies reached to pick it up. It was only when he raised
his head from under the table cloth that he realised what had been underneath
the ashtray. It was a small white business card with the black silhouette of a
Dodo on it; on the back was an e-mail address and nothing else. He waved it in
front of Ruth’s face.

‘Is this his calling card?’

Ruth sighed, ‘Jim, do you not realise how much people here trade off the
Dodo image? It’s like bulls in Spain, or the haggis in Scotland; you find them
everywhere. This might very well be a bloody pottery shop or a sugar cane factory
for all we know.’

‘But it’s a start!’ cried Jim excitedly. ‘Come on, let’s find an
internet café!’

For once in his life, Jim Hunter left behind an unfinished drink.

The search for
an internet café proved just as difficult as their previous search, and
eventually, they were pointed back to their own hotel by a helpful
store-keeper. The store had been called Dodo Jewellery; Jim had almost laughed.

It was Ruth that took control of operating the computer back at the
hotel; Jim still had an ingrained fear of them; a fear of the unknown. She
opened up her roving e-mail account and clicked on ‘New Message’, then stopped.

‘What the hell can we write? We can’t just put that we’re looking for a
computer hacker, and then ask them if they are one…’

‘Just type in the e-mail address and put something like “We need your
help.” Let’s see what we get back..’

Jim was gasping for a drink again now; he felt so useless - like a spare
part- that a drink might actually help the situation. He was supposed to be the
one conducting the investigation, and yet here Ruth was, doing it all without
him. Ruth’s fingers moved rapidly across the keys. In a blur, she’d sent the
message.

‘Well, nothing we can do now, but sit back and wait. Fancy a drink?’

She had seemingly read Hunter’s mind; was there no end to her talents?
He watched her walk out of the computer room towards the bar. She walked as
though she was on a catwalk, gyrating her hips and rolling her shoulders
seductively. Jim once again marvelled at the one particular talent which had
attracted him in the first place; her powerful self-confidence. He’d never felt
guilty about their affair because he knew that she could handle the emotional
turmoil in a way he never could; she had an ability to compartmentalise. It was
all a part of her scientific brain. Conversely, Jim had fallen apart when the
affair had ended; once his wife had left him, it had shattered the idea that he
could simultaneously move across different worlds.

           
All of a sudden, a yellow envelope
symbol flashed up in the corner of the screen with a ping; an incoming e-mail.
It shook Jim out of his reverie; he began to panic. He didn’t want to grab the
mouse and then somehow delete the incoming message, but then he really wanted
to be the first to read it. Other thoughts spun through his mind; what if it
was a private message from her husband?

Gently, his long fingers enclosed the mouse and he gingerly moved the
cursor across the screen towards that yellow envelope.

           
Then, before he could stop himself,
he double-clicked, and the envelope expanded to fill the screen. Adjusting his
eyes to the white background, he immediately registered who the e-mail was
from; in the address line was the legend -
[email protected]
 
Jim silently punched the air and then read
the message:
                       

Hello weary travellers,

Thank you for requesting my help in the correct
fashion. I will require further detail before I can action this, however.

Dodo

Jim was taken aback; how did this man know that they were weary
travellers? Granted he would have been able to see that the initial e-mail was
sent from an English e-mail address, but how did he know that they were not in
England? Intrigued, Jim clicked on the ‘Reply’ tab and slowly, one finger at a
time, he began to type his response.

Thank you for your swift response, Mr. Dodo. You are a
hard man to find. I will need to speak with you in person however so that I can
outline the exact requirements.

Jim was still wary about giving too many details out; he knew that he
could be talking to a practical joker. Quick as a flash, another yellow
envelope symbol appeared, and this time, Jim had no qualms about opening it up.

I appreciate that this may be a difficult job then,
sir. I will meet you in one hour at my house.
   
Simply
follow the trail of Dodos. And enjoy your drink. She’s put Diet Coke in it. I
think she worries about you.

At that very moment, Ruth Sharp walked back into the room carrying what
looked like two rum and cokes. Jim’s jaw dropped; how could the man have known?
He must be somehow watching them. He craned his neck to survey the ceiling and
the walls, looking for a camera.

‘He’s watching us, Ruth,’ Hunter whispered, a little shaken.

‘What? Who is? The Dodo? What are you talking about?’ Ruth carefully
deposited the two overflowing glasses onto the computer desk. ‘Forget about
that, you’re just being stupid.’