The Trap (11 page)

Vinny smirked and checked he had his knife in his pocket. He had been expecting a visit from Johnny Preston ever since paying Judy a visit, but he hadn’t quite expected him to turn up on a Sunday afternoon. ‘Too scared to come on your own, was you?’ Vinny asked sarcastically, when he swung the door open and saw that Johnny had a pal with him.

Johnny immediately felt his hackles start to rise. ‘Dave’s my partner. He goes everywhere with me, a bit like your brother Roy does with you.’

Vinny stepped outside the club and slammed the metal door. He wasn’t stupid. Johnny and his muggy sidekick might be tooled up for all he knew. ‘Spit it out then? I ain’t got all day,’ he said.

Johnny Preston and Dave Phillips glanced at one another. Neither had ever been this close to Vinny Butler before and both were thinking the self-same thing. Vinny was exactly as the rumour mill described him. He looked like he had a bit of Italian in him. His eyes were deadly cold, and his attitude was as cocksure as they came.

Johnny suddenly felt extremely wary, but he’d come this far and there was no going back now. It was only the other evening that he and Dave had been bragging to Mad Frankie Fraser in a South London boozer that he was going to confront Vinny Butler so, like it or not, he now had to do so. ‘You owe my sister an apology, Vinny. Who do you think you are, eh? Going round her gaff and threatening her in front of her young son? You’re bang out of order and I ain’t fucking putting up with it. Judy is keeping her baby and that is final,’ Johnny said, sounding much more confident than he actually felt.

Vinny was very good at staring at people for long spells without blinking, and he had never met a man yet in his life who could hold his gaze. When Johnny dropped his eyes, Vinny grabbed him by the neck and smashed his head as hard as he could against the metal door. ‘Your slag of a sister will get rid of that kid whether you like it or not. I’ll kick it out of her personally, if I have to. Now go crawl back under your rock and tell that whore you’re related to that I’ll be round next week to check she’s un-pregnanted her fucking self.’

When Dave punched Vinny in the side of the head, Christopher Walker stood up to get a better view.

‘Silly move, you dumb cunt,’ Christopher heard Vinny say. He then saw Vinny repeatedly punch the man in the stomach, with what looked to be a knife.

When Johnny Preston saw his pal lying lifeless on the floor with blood pumping out of his abdomen, he knew it was time for a quick getaway. He ran like the clappers, leapt into his Triumph Herald and sped off as Vinny chased the car, screaming abuse at him.

Vinny could feel his heart beating ferociously as the car disappeared out of sight. It wasn’t down to nerves, more annoyance that Preston had got away as he’d wanted to stab that bastard too.

Punching a nearby wall, Vinny quickly looked up and down the road. Thankfully, being a Sunday afternoon there wasn’t a soul in sight, so Vinny stepped over Dave Phillips’ dead body, picked up the knife he had dropped, jumped in his Jaguar, and was just about to drive off, when he saw young Christopher Walker sitting in the doorway opposite the club. Leaning across the passenger seat to unlock the door, Vinny ordered young Christopher to get in.

Christopher no longer had any adrenaline pumping through his veins as he did what Vinny asked. He had seen too much now, far too much, and he was petrified. When Vinny drove past his parent’s café, Christopher started to sob. ‘You’re not gonna kill me as well, are you? I won’t say nothing about what happened, Vinny. I swear I won’t.’

With his head all over the place, Vinny pulled into a nearby sidestreet and stopped the car. He took a ten-pound note out of his pocket and handed it to Christopher. ‘Take that and there is plenty more where that came from. You saw nothing, understand?’

‘Yes. I understand,’ the boy said, making a grab for the money and then the door handle.

Vinny leant across Christopher so he couldn’t get out of the car. ‘You need to dry them tears before you get home, boy, and when you do get home, you gotta act normal. Me and you will be best pals for life if you keep your trap shut about this, OK?’

‘OK,’ Christopher said, desperately trying to dry his eyes with the sleeve of his duffle coat.

Vinny tilted the child’s chin up, and looked him in the eyes. ‘This has to stay our little secret. You don’t want anything bad to happen to your mum, dad, or sister, do you? Because if you say something, that’s exactly what will happen.’

‘No, I love my mum, dad and sister.’

‘There’s a good boy,’ Vinny said, ruffling Christopher’s hair.

When Vinny finally opened the car door for him, Christopher took off down the street like a rat up a drainpipe. To say he was terrified was putting it mildly.

Freda Smart knelt down next to the man and immediately knew he was dead. It wasn’t just the blood that had seeped out of his stomach and decorated the pavement; it was seeing his shocked open-mouthed expression and his eyes rolled back lifelessly in his head.

After yesterday’s events with Kenny Jackson, Freda had made a point of standing guard at her window today. Unfortunately for her, her house was on the same side of the road as the snooker club, so she hadn’t had a clear view of exactly what had occurred. Even so, she was sure she’d seen and heard enough to put Vinny Butler in prison for life, where he belonged.

Seeing what she thought was the man’s hand flinch, Freda screamed and ran towards Herbie Jacob’s house. Freda couldn’t afford such luxuries as a telephone, but old Herbie had one.

‘Whatever’s wrong, Freda? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,’ Herbie said, when he answered his front door.

‘I have! There’s a man dead on the pavement. Call the police, Herbie. I know who killed him.’

Word travelled fast in Whitechapel, and within minutes of the police turning up, a crowd of fifty or so onlookers had arrived at the scene.

‘Was it you who reported the murder?’ one of the police officers asked Herbie.

Freda immediately butted in. ‘No. It was me. I know who killed him. I was looking out of my window, and I asked Herbie to ring you on my behalf.’

The police officer took Freda to one side. ‘If you can tell us what you know now, that would be most helpful. Then, we will need you to come down to the station to make a formal statement for us at some point.’

‘Vinny Butler killed the man. The man had a mate with him and I saw him chase the mate down the road. The mate got into a white car and drove off at top speed,’ Freda gabbled.

‘But, what about the actual murder? Did you see Mr Butler stab the victim with your own eyes?’

‘No. My house is on the same side of the road as his club, so my view was blocked. I saw a boy I know standing opposite though. He saw everything and then Vinny made him get inside his car with him. I hope he ain’t killed that poor child as well, like he did Jack’s son, Peter,’ Freda cried.

‘If you could just give us the name of the boy involved, we can get our team onto it to make sure he is OK,’ the officer said kindly.

‘His parents have just opened the café along the road there. It was their son that saw everything. He’d been sitting in the doorway opposite the club for a while beforehand. His name is Christopher. Christopher Walker.’

CHAPTER NINE

Mary Walker clocked her son’s pale complexion as soon as he returned home. ‘What’s up with you? Not been near that club again, have you?’

Seeing his father look at him with suspicion in his eyes, Christopher bowed his head. ‘I don’t feel well. I got belly ache,’ he said, rubbing his stomach in the hope that it would make his lie seem more believable.

‘Go upstairs and have a lie-down then, boy. Dinner will be ready in about an hour or so,’ Mary told him.

Donald grinned as he finished going over the figures, then in a jovial mood, put his favourite record on the jukebox. Since employing Shirley to help them out, his and Mary’s takings had gone up even more. Their wonderful café was on its way to making them a bloody fortune, and Donald couldn’t believe their luck. Things were going even better than he had predicted.

Hearing a knock at the door, Mary switched the jukebox off at the mains. ‘You answer that, Donald, and if it’s someone complaining about the music being too loud, best you apologize. I told you not to turn the volume up, didn’t I?’

Donald answered the door and was rather taken aback when he came face to face with a policeman. ‘Come in, officer,’ he said, guessing that the visit was probably to do with the incident his children had witnessed at the snooker club the previous day.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Mary asked, politely.

‘No, thank you. Is your son, Christopher, at home by any chance?’ the officer asked Donald.

‘Yes, he is upstairs. I take it this is about yesterday’s awful turnout? I hope that poor man is OK. My Christopher thought he was dead, but you know how kids exaggerate,’ Donald said, knowingly.

‘Actually, it’s about the incident that happened today. We have reason to believe that your son was at the scene of the crime and is a key witness to a man’s murder.’

Donald shook his head in a pedantic manner. ‘No, officer, you have got it all wrong. The incident at the party which my son attended was yesterday, wasn’t it, Mary?’ he said, looking at his wife for back-up.

‘Yes, it was round at the snooker hall yesterday afternoon. My daughter attended the party as well. She is upstairs too, so would you like to speak to both of our children?’ Mary asked, feeling anxious. She wasn’t that keen on the police involving Nancy and Christopher, but the law was the law.

The officer cleared his throat loudly. ‘I’m afraid we have our wires crossed here somewhat. There was a murder not two hours ago outside the snooker club that you referred to, and according to an eye-witness your son saw exactly what happened and then got into the suspect’s car. I know nothing about any other incident that may or may not have happened yesterday.’

Donald was livid when he realized his son must have disobeyed his orders. He flung open the door that led to the living quarters. ‘Christopher, get down here now,’ he yelled.

Feeling rather faint, Mary flopped onto one of the chairs. No wonder the boy had looked so white and near to tears when he’d arrived home.

Christopher was almost paralysed through fear when he came face to face with the police officer.

Donald couldn’t help but glare at his son as he sat down next to Mary. Christopher had guilt written all over his deathly-white face.

‘Were you sitting in the doorway opposite the snooker club earlier, Christopher?’ asked the policeman.

‘Yeah I was, but not for long. I went to knock for my mate Tommy, but he wasn’t in, so I sat on the step on my way back to eat my sweets.’

‘You must tell the truth, boy,’ Donald ordered, pointing his finger dangerously close to his son’s face.

‘A man was murdered outside the snooker club earlier, Christopher, and the police know you were there when it happened. We have a witness who recognized you. Can you tell us exactly what you saw?’

Christopher racked his brain for the best way to get himself out of the mess he was in. If he had been spotted at the scene, he would have to admit to seeing something, but there was no way he was grassing Vinny up. He was way too scared for his own safety and he didn’t want anything bad to happen to his mum, dad, or sister. ‘I did hear some shouting, then I heard someone running away, but I didn’t see what happened because there was a car parked in front of where I was sitting.’

The officer sighed. He was sure little Christopher was lying. ‘Did you get into anybody’s car?’

‘No. My mum and dad have told me never to get in a stranger’s car. I walked home on my own.’

‘Please don’t be frightened to tell me the truth, Christopher. The man who has committed this murder will be locked up for many years to come, so it will not be possible for him to hurt you.’

‘I did see a man run away, and I think he was the killer, but I didn’t see the murder,’ Christopher wept.

Donald squeezed Mary’s hand. Everything had been going so well for them since moving to Whitechapel. So why did this drama have to bloody well happen?

The officer stood up. Obviously Vinny Butler had already nobbled the child, and it would take one of his superiors to get the truth out of him. He personally had been ordered to go gently on Christopher, which was why he had been sent to the café alone.

‘So, what happens now? Will you need to interview Christopher again?’ Donald asked, as he opened the door and followed the policeman outside.

‘Yes, he will almost definitely have to come down to the station to give a formal statement. In the meantime, perhaps you could have a little chat with him. I have a feeling that Christopher knows more than he is letting on.’

‘Do you mind if I ask who your suspect is?’ Donald enquired. He had already guessed that it was something to do with the Butlers, but was interested to know exactly who was involved.

‘I’m afraid I can’t speculate at the moment, Mr Walker. Us police officers have to abide by our innocent until proven guilty rule, and until somebody is actually charged, it would be very unprofessional of me to give out any names. I will speak to my superior and will be in touch again soon, OK?’

Donald nodded, shut the door and leant against it. Christopher was crying and Mary was cuddling the deceitful child. Unable to stop himself, Donald ran towards his son and clouted him as hard as he could around the ear.

‘Stop it, Donald! He’s upset enough as it is,’ Mary exclaimed.

Grabbing his son roughly by the arm, Donald took his shoe off and swiped it against Christopher’s backside. ‘How dare you defy my orders and hang around that bloody club? Now, get up those stairs and have a re-think about what you actually saw. As upstanding citizens of the community it is our duty to catch criminals, not harbour them. Also, just think of how beneficial it will be to your own career if you do decide to join the police force and they are aware that you helped catch a murderer at such a young age, eh?’

When Christopher ran upstairs sobbing, Mary put her head in her hands. ‘Why did this have to happen to us, Donald? Why?’