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

No other persons found within the building as yet. Full survey to take place once the building has been properly secured. Victim believed to be male. Severe burn injuries.” Fuck!’

‘If you’re going to get rid of evidence the best way is fire and water. Someone somewhere knows that we’re getting warm.’

Skeeter turned her gaze on him and was not amused at his attempt at a pun. ‘Fucking warm? Fuck off. Try incinerated.’

Her comment was water off a duck’s back. ‘My money’s on the dead man being Malik. You?’

She did not answer but allowed the report to fall onto her desk. ‘I’m nipping out there. I want to see for myself.’

Two people were smoking at the end of the ginnel. Kelly paused. Their similarity was striking. Both appeared grey, hooded and vaping. Huge plumes of vapour clouded above each at almost identical times as if in competition to see who could produce the larger cloud. They leaned against the brick walls, some distance apart but were somehow linked by appearance and circumstance. Neither looked her way. A blossom tree, light pink in colour, was in full flower and occasionally when the wind blew it scattered petals like warm snow. Growing on the piece of waste ground it seemed trapped, imprisoned within the urban area but the marked contrast added a certain beauty. She walked on, keeping her head down until she saw the sign. She headed for the door.

Inside was a small entrance, that too was painted grey. A man in his sixties could be seen through a glass hatchway in the wall. It was then she noticed the bell push. She took a moment before pressing it. Immediately the man turned and smiled before moving to the hatch.

‘Morning. How can we help?’

Skeeter did not race to the kebab shop; she took her time to allow her anger to abate. She wanted to be able to focus on what she believed to be a case of arson. For a hundred yards to either side the road was cordoned off. A fire engine, blue strobe lights flashing, was still parked to the far side of the road. The usual collection of spectators was positioned along the tape.

Leaving the car, she mingled with the group, aware that locals at times like these might have vital information. She enquired with a degree of innocence about what had happened.

‘Bloody fire love, blind or something?’ The person turned and looked at Skeeter’s eyes. ‘Sorry, no offence. Last night about midnight. Sudden like.’

‘Anyone in?’

‘Strange place that, love. Sometimes see people go in but not come out. Live over there so I see what goes on. Not much else to do at my age.’ She pointed to a nearby terraced house. ‘Been there forty years.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve lived in it …’

‘No, people not coming out.’

‘Sorry, I see. Bit slow on the uptake some days. Senior moment. It’s a takeaway and can be busy but them that goes in comes out a few minutes later. On occasion I’ve seen people go in but not come out. I’ve deliberately waited. Nearly wet myself one time hanging on. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not every day. Always wondered. Well, you do, don’t you, when it’s on your own doorstep?’

‘Do you go in?’

‘Once. Bloody place is filthy. How it stays open I don’t know. Never trust what’s in them kebabs anyway. You could be eating anything. I remember what my dad told me about the war, you’d never eat rabbit again!’

Skeeter smiled and made her way to the firefighter who was rolling up one of the hoses. She held up her ID.

‘There’s a possibility this place is involved in distributing drugs and possibly people trafficking. I know you have a fatality. Can you do something for me?’

The officer tucked the roll away and approached, asking for her ID again.

‘Can’t be too careful. The press is here and would love us to tell all. Drugs and people, you say? Wouldn’t surprise me. It has all the hallmarks of arson but that’s my personal opinion, you understand. The team’ll look at it forensically and give their verdict. I’d imagine that from what I’ve seen the guy was trapped on the stairs and asphyxiated either trying to get up or down. The upper floor has come through in places and covered the body with burning timbers. It’ll remain there until the place is made structurally sound so he’s not going anywhere. Don’t forget there’s an awful lot of water gone in there too.’

‘Any idea where the fire started?’

‘This is only a rough guess but I’d say the cooking area. Intense too.’

‘Tell me,’ Skeeter moved a little closer. ‘Can you look and see if there’s any remains of a clock on the wall to the far right behind the counter – close to the window?’

The officer frowned. ‘It’ll be a mass of melted plastic and metal if it’s there.’

Skeeter handed him her phone. ‘Please, just take a few pics and I’ll know if it’s the right place.’

‘I shouldn’t really. People trafficking you say?’

She nodded.

Taking the phone, he moved to the front of the charred remains of the shop. He spoke with another officer who turned to look in her direction and then back. She saw him nod. Within minutes he returned handing back the phone. ‘There’s no sign but it could have been washed anywhere by the force of the hosed water.’

She checked the photographs. There was neither sign of the clock nor the melted residue. The shelf brackets remained and the skeletal, twisted remnants of the spit but nothing of the clock. She rang Tony.

‘Tony, the clock you saw at the kebab shop, like the one you have. What’s it made of?’

‘I think it’s plastic, even the glass is some kind of plastic. It’ll have some metal in the mechanism. There’ll be batteries too, four I think and they’d explode in fire, wouldn’t they? I’ll check when I’m home. Why? Are you rooting round the wreckage?’

‘Thanks,’ was all she said.