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

tattooed there but until we have a clear indication we’ll not know. The tattooist couldn’t locate the diagrams of what she’d tattooed on the fingers but assured me she’d look again.’

‘Thanks, Brad,’ Stan continued. ‘That information’s gone to Forensics to help guide their skin search. The person, as you see, also had their back to the working camera. The one camera positioned forward of the carriage was buggered so we can’t be assured of the person’s sex. Let’s presume female. The hood and the cap remained in place throughout the journey. However, we have a rough idea of height and weight. She left the train at Blundellsands and Crosby Station. On checking the local CCTV footage in and around the station we have assumed she travelled down Blundellsands Road. Immediately out of the station you have a choice of roads.’

April brought up a street view image.

‘Some are cul-de-sacs but that means nothing as she might have been meeting someone either in a car or at one of the houses. At present, the best guess is that she was picked up on one of these side roads. We’ve requested any dash cam footage of this time and day from Joe Public. Hopefully someone collecting or dropping off might be able to assist but I’m not holding my breath.’

‘Stan, is that the only time she was caught travelling from Southport?’ Brad asked as he leaned forward trying to get a clearer view.

‘That’s what we believe at present. We have civilian support checking the days before and the journeys to date. Had the guard not inspected the ticket this wouldn’t have come to light. The pedestrian area CCTV in Southport showed the same person crossing Lord Street earlier and then walking along Chapel Street. It appears the person never stopped, just went straight to the station.’

April smiled and nodded her thanks to Stan. ‘As soon as we have anything else, you’ll hear,’ she reassured the collective. ‘That’s the strongest link we have to Kelly at present. She may well have fled the flat, or simply been moved on depending on her importance. The motorbike taken from the yard at her flat suggests that there’s a strong link between the death of her flat mate and the serious motorbike offences we’re witnessing. Serious enough crimes to necessitate the murder. From today, we can’t be sure, but we are linking the two investigations.’

Brad frowned but he could see the logic.

‘And Brad. I want an artist’s drawing of that tattoo, the gecko, and I want it in every facility for the homeless starting in Southport. Then here before spreading out to surrounding areas including neighbouring towns within easy travelling from here. There can’t be that many. I then want it in charity shops and on the police website.’ She watched to ensure she received acquiescence.

‘Do people still hitch-hike?’ Brad questioned. ‘If they do, she could have gone anywhere.’

‘We do what we can do.’ April stared until Brad frowned.

‘You’re the boss.’

April nodded and left.

Chapter 15

Skeeter and Tony Price walked down Goodison Road. The façade of the football ground was clothed in what is best described as a huge, blue, semi-transparent tarpaulin. It was bedecked with the images of the players from the past. It was impressive. The breeze, channelled along the road, brought only a slight movement as the clever design allowed the air to pass through. In contrast, some of the terraced homes seemed dwarfed by the stadium’s stature but it was the contrast in colour that struck Tony Price.

‘Bright red! Directly facing the Everton ground but then you look at the plaque showing the door number and it clearly identifies their allegiance. On match days this place is alive: the scarves, the banter, the rivalry and then there’s the noise from the trapped crowd when the game is on. The voices joined as one in common belief and brotherhood. It’s bloody moving. You can stand here now and almost hear the cheers and songs. For years that noise, that harmony, will have reverberated down these very streets and into these very homes. People have lived for this club. In a strange way it’s beautiful.’

Skeeter leaned on the wall of one of the terraced homes and stared at him. This rough and uncouth copper waxing lyrical about something he knew nothing about was also strangely beautiful. It was as if he had found his feminine side. ‘Bloody hell, Tony, please stop! You’ll have me hearing fucking violins and my tears will be washing down these streets. You don’t even like bloody football, you tart!’

He grinned. ‘Covered too many games as a young copper. Had you going, though! Can’t bloody stand it. Wish I earned as much for doing so little. Look, they even put up bloody statues to them.’ He pointed up the road towards St Luke’s church. Positioned in front was a new statue.

‘If you’d done your research when we were at Walton Station, you’d have seen there’s a new and fully monitored camera looking directly at it. It’s a perfect target for some opposing fans. The Holy Trinity it’s called as it shows three players from Everton’s winning side from 1969 to 1970. Found it a little odd to have that title when it’s positioned outside a church. When they shift to the new stadium, if it’s ever built, they’ll no doubt take that with them. Suppose football in this city is a religion so it possibly is relevant. But it’s the CCTV cameras I’m interested in. Michelle Pearson, or Kelly Jones as was, had a flat down there.’ She pointed but saw Tony was still reading the wording on the football ground’s façade. ‘Are you bloody listening?’

He nodded. ‘Down there. Kelly Pearson’s … sorry Jones’s. Flat. The boss believes they’re part of the motorbike gang, Snow White and the …’ He did not finish his sentence. Looking down on Skeeter his imagination was ahead of the conversation.

‘We’re calling in all the shops, pubs, takeaways and talking to anyone we bump into. The