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

the street light, when her attention was drawn away from the railings and through them onto the steep railway banking. Mounted on a stout stick trapped amongst a tangle of brambles and buddleia was what appeared to be a head. Startled, she moved her face back a little to find a cleaner area of window from which to get a better view. The object leaned to the left as if nodding in the same direction the bus was travelling. The hair, golden and bedraggled, hung lifeless apart from the occasional flick by the drizzly wind.

The bus began to move forward and Lucy inched closer to the glass until her nose was almost touching it, her breath misting the lower area. She wiped the window again as she focused on the object. Her heart rate rose, partly out of uncertainty but more through excitement and a morbid curiosity. It brought to mind the graphic photographs of the stranger on the shore, the pallor, the eyeless sockets. It was then she chuckled. She realised that it was in fact the discarded head of a doll or a shop mannequin. Smiling, she wiped the window for the third time whilst keeping her eyes on the object until it was no longer visible. The bus crept under the bridge and as if in concert, the object disappeared from view and the child stopped crying. I wonder how long it’s been there? she thought and the photographs on the Incident Room boards swam into her mind.

Stepping from the bus a stop early brought an immediate relief as Lucy felt the slap of the cold air collide with her perspiring face. She popped up her umbrella and the wind made her slightly unsteady. Pausing, she took a moment to study the veil of drizzle as it moved in waves across the road like ribbons of fine organza, collecting the colours of the lights that blazed in the background. She took three gulps of cool air. She was beginning to feel human again, helped by the almost theatrical trick of nature. It was magical, and she took a few moments to admire the beauty. Red and orange from the cars’ lights joined forces with the illuminated shop signs and the myriad of brightly coloured lights set within the pavements. They ran parallel with the roadside, before the same sheets of rain patterned the wet road surface turning black tarmac into liquid silver. Alchemy. She felt the momentary tug of the breeze again on her umbrella, like an encouraging hand pushing her forward. She smiled and started to walk.

There was always something magical about the town centre at night, no matter what the weather, and tonight was special. If only people took the time to look, but then many of them were wet, cold and wanted nothing more than home. It was true that the dark masked the time-ravaged, blighted, densely packed streets but there was also such beauty. Lucy’s mind returned to the vision of the head on the stick and it brought the nerves she had felt when April proposed her doing this job flooding back.

‘You’ve seen it all tonight, girl,’ she said out loud. How different that area of the town seemed to this, the centre. Checking her watch, she realised she was early. Turning left she watched her bus disappear down the side road, relieved no longer to be on it. Quickly crossing behind, she walked through the small piece of parkland. She could see the Cenotaph nestled by the side of the parish church. Lights were on in the Old Court building, now an evening concert venue. She took a moment to reflect. How many people over the many, many years had gone in through those doors innocent to later return guilty? All part of my job, came to mind. The thought of a coffee had an immediate effect on her pace. She quickened her step. There was now only the sound of the traffic moving somewhere out of sight.

Passing through the park gate she noticed two people huddled on the lower steps of the Cenotaph to her right. Neither looked in her direction but one belched loudly. One threw a bottle against the low railings on top of the church wall which shattered like tiny jewels on the wet flagstones. Lucy paused, her anger growing. Removing her mobile she checked her contacts. How she would have liked to deal with these two herself, right now when the immediate consequence of their action could be clearly remonstrated. Unfortunately, she had neither the time nor the footwear. Dealing with delinquents was always about planning. On the wet flagstones, her shoes would be more of a hindrance than a help. Neither man, looking at their present state, was compos mentis. She would leave it to others and besides, this was not the time. She made a call.

The four arched wooden mullions of the façade to Caffè Nero were familiar. Pausing, she tried to glance through the steamed-up window, made artificially opaque by the contrasting temperatures. She could see little but sensed it would be busy. Turning, she put her back to the door and eagerly pushed whilst at the same time shaking the umbrella. Inside the warmth and the aroma were welcoming. Lucy found a table and dropped her coat and brolly, as per her instructions then ordered a latte before slipping to the toilet.

She glanced in the mirror and sighed. The weather had been unkind. Producing a lipstick from her bag she carefully applied the brush to her lower lip before moving both together. The rich gloss red was now perfect. Running her hands expertly through her hair she was done. Her coffee was waiting.

Colin Patterson’s journey had been much easier. He had set the alarm in the shop, closed the door, pulled down the shutters to the window and then the door. The alarm’s shrill cry was still clearly audible. It would soon go silent, when the alarm was set. He