Catch as Catch Can (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 1), Malcolm Hollingdrake [best large ereader .TXT] 📗

as it echoed from within the close brick walls. Seeing the man still holding the bike, Quasim thrust the blade down hard aiming for the rider’s thigh that was close to him. The tip quickly penetrated the jeans he was wearing and sank up to the knife’s hilt.

There was a moment as if time stood still. Quasim watched the rider’s face in the open-faced helmet. It was not a look of fear that he was faced with, but one of uncertainty and disbelief, but then as the pain registered, his expression changed. Quickly extracting the blade, Quasim was careful not to twist it and cause too much internal damage. He could still see the intensity of pain and horror in the man’s eyes reinforced by the accompanying scream. Without hesitation, Quasim grabbed the handlebar of the scooter and with the knife hand punched at the rider who instantaneously backed away and fell from the bike. It was done. Quasim slid onto the scooter, opened the throttle and followed the other two bikes before turning onto Regent Road. Within a minute the knife was thrown from the moving bike into a fenced yard containing tightly stacked blue shipping containers. It would remain there. Whilst the Honda was still fresh, they would destroy one of the older bikes before planning the next grab.

The rider lay on the semi-cobbled road and watched the ground beneath his right leg turn deep red.

Working with the youngsters at the wrestling club was the highlight of Skeeter Warlock’s week. Training the Tough Tots, as the group was known, filled her with pride as she remembered her early days, many of which had ended in tears. Today, however, was different, it was more structured and far more safety conscious. Two tots were in the centre of the mats on all fours and two, also on all fours, were tasked to get past them. There was much excitement, laughter and encouragement as those sitting around the edge encouraged and shouted. Skeeter knelt on the mat’s edge and the smile across her face signalled her delight at the progress they were making.

‘Wicca!’ Roy yelled from the far end of the room, trying to be heard above the noise of the excited screams.

She turned briefly to see what he wanted before looking back at the kids.

Roy was moving towards her. ‘Your phone’s been dancing inside your locker and annoying the hell out of me for the last ten minutes. It’s on and off, persistent, whoever they might be. Probably work calling their favourite police woman.’ He winked and tapped her shoulder. ‘Go, I’ll watch the nippers.’

The early evening air felt chill after the warmth of the gym. Some youths were playing football on a distant, floodlit field, their shouts drifting towards her. She checked the phone to see she had five missed calls and an answerphone message.

‘It’s Lucy. We have another report of bike theft, broad daylight. Knife attack and a bad one.’

Skeeter could hear the anger in Lucy’s voice; there was no way of concealing that degree of professional concern. She checked the time of the message before returning the call.

April and Pete Bradshaw were standing discussing the latest findings on the police medal when Skeeter entered. They turned to see the forlorn figure move to her desk.

Brad watched her before moving over. ‘More attacks?’

She let her eyes rise to meet his whilst shaking her head. ‘Bloody broad daylight, the bastards. Broad daylight and then they stab a guy in the arm and thigh because he put up a struggle. It won’t be long before these shits kill someone, knife attacks, hammer attacks … If I could get my hands on them.’

‘How’s the fella?’

‘In hospital, knife missed his artery by this much.’ She held her thumb and finger apart to show the distance.

Brad whistled. ‘Lucky bugger … if you can call it luck. I guess he survived.’

Skeeter responded. ‘There’s long-term psychological damage that’s sometimes difficult to treat. All for a fucking scooter.’

‘Bastards,’ Brad mumbled under his breath.

‘The scooter?’ April queried.

‘Vanished. There were two other bikes involved, one single, one two up.’

‘Back of a Transit more like,’ April added.

Skeeter nodded her agreement. ‘It’ll be stripped, painted black and back on the streets used as a modern-day Black Bess.’

April moved towards her, clearly sensitive to her distress. ‘Funny how we have this romantic notion regarding the highwaymen of old. Stand and deliver, until you put them in a modern-day setting and then they become the bloody scum of the earth. We could do with setting up our own riders, make them look old or vulnerable but then they’ll find there’s nothing old or feeble about them when they give chase and stop them. They did that in the capital and rammed the buggers off the bikes. Believe me they soon started to think. I’ve had a word with DCI Mason. He thinks there’s a chance of following the same tactic.’

Although April was only stating what she knew, she could see the idea of taking the fight to them had registered with Skeeter. Fortunately, she quickly changed the subject. ‘What about you?’

‘Bit of a head’s up on the medal that was found near “Sandy Shore” here.’

April’s tone lightened and it reflected immediately on the general mood as April pointed to the boards.

‘Our name for the guy dug up on the beach – Alexander Shore.’ She allowed Skeeter’s chuckle to die away. ‘It was sent from a collector after it was purchased online and collected by a woman from a local store. We have her on CCTV but the images are not too clear. The technical people have managed to get some improved stills on the tattoo she had on her hand.’

Skeeter walked over to April and looked at the images on the wall. ‘What exactly is it?’

April answered immediately. ‘It’s some kind of gecko or lizard. The shopkeeper also remembers seeing some random markings tattooed here on her fingers. They’re not visible on any of the shots we have.