Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2), Malcolm Hollingdrake [best e reader for android .TXT] 📗

late call to be honest. Advised I delete the contacts and explained. Is that okay?’

‘Yes, just checking. We’ve had a few more calls made since.’

‘Why not just close down her phone and then the cloned one will cease to be of value?’

‘It’s not as simple as that, Mr Smith. Thanks for your co-operation.’

Skeeter held up her hand and signalled she wanted to speak to him.

‘Just a minute my sergeant needs a quick word.’ She handed the phone to her.

‘DS Warlock. Thanks. You held a number of parties when you were at the apartment on Lord Street. Do you have any photographs of these or know of those who attended who might have? We all have friends who don’t live in the moment. They spend their time behind a screen capturing it for posterity but then never look at it beyond a couple of times?’

‘Yes, I have some. I can send them on if you give me an email address. I’ll add the names and numbers of those people you rightly mention. Give me an hour. My photographs are on a hard drive at home and not entirely filed in order.’

Skeeter gave him her work’s contact email, thanked him and turned to April. ‘Your spectre at the feast might just have attended one or two parties.’

April nodded and smiled. ‘How very true. Well done you!’

The forensic results had confirmed the soil sample taken from the shoe found on Jennings was a match for the soil type where Sharpe was found. It was clear that the killer intended to and had successfully linked the two deaths. The reason, however, would remain unknown. There was always the possibility that the killer wanted it to look as though Jennings killed Sharpe but then it was unlikely that he cut his own throat, particularly in light of the pathology results. The details were logged in the hope some further evidence might show a more positive link.

‘So, what do we do about Trevor? How strong is your instinct on that? Is he a potential wrong one – a killer?’ April’s attention turned back to the misgivings Skeeter had harboured in the first instance.

‘When I asked about Midge Mill Lane he clammed up, did the dance, the shifting of feet you often see when a question surprises someone, takes the wind from their sails. There’s something there, but enough to justify a search?’ Skeeter was conscious of resources and could not justify a full warranted search when all they were dealing with was a man with an unstable mental condition. She shook her head. ‘At present, no.’

‘Suggestion. Take the officer you’ve been chatting to about drones with you. Make the excuse you thought Trevor might be interested in the police technology in that developing field of work. He could take one with him and get him chatting. It’s non-confrontational and he might just open up. It’s a slowly, slowly approach and would take an hour, but might answer the nag you clearly feel.’

Skeeter rubbed her chin considering the idea, and her head began to nod in agreement. ‘I’ll organise it.’ Waving the sheet, she left. ‘Thanks. That’s why you’re the boss.’

The decal had been created, a large transfer in blue copperplate script. It was loosely rolled and Nicola’s partner, Jim, carried it under his arm as he called at the salon. It was quickly unrolled before spreading it along the floor.

‘The things a man does for his woman,’ he muttered as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Was that what you wanted?’

Carlos and Nicola stood motionless and looked at the offering, before silent tears appeared to both their eyes.

‘Bloody Hell! You told me it was a positive mantra: “Life is for living – just live it!” Here you both are blubbering. Am I putting it up or not?’ He looked at Carlos and then at Nicola.

She moved back to him and gave him a hug. ‘When it’s in place it will be. We need to live with it for a while don’t we Carlos?’

Carlos entered the treatment room and the two men began to move the couch and the side tables. Nicola went to make a drink.

Once the horizontal chalk line had been levelled across the wall, Jim carefully unrolled the decal. He smoothed the surface with a squeegee to remove the air bubbles trapped beneath. Working steadily, he removed the backing so the adhesive made contact with the wall. Carlos sat on the floor and watched. It was then he noticed the small, red notebook attached with tape to the underside of the chest of drawers that normally sat next to the treatment couch. He had used the drawers on many occasions, he had even cleaned the chest, but he had never noticed the notebook. Moving across, he took hold of it, pulled it off and flicked through a couple of pages.

‘Carlos, I need a hand to roll this along. What have you found?’

Thinking quickly, he stuffed it into his back pocket as he stood to take hold of the remaining roll. ‘I’ve been looking for that for ages, a notebook. Must have been trapped between the drawers. I’d looked there too. Must have been a man look!’ he giggled.

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting with a coffee and admiring the mural.

‘You can’t get more positive than that,’ announced Jim as he drank the last dregs from his mug. ‘Come on. I need a beer. It’s been a long day. Coming?’ He turned to Carlos.

‘No, no thanks, I’ll just close up here. You go. I’ll spend ten minutes or so here just to finish rearranging my new and now positive treatment room.’ His smile was genuine.

‘Don’t you stay late.’ Nicola moved across and kissed him. ‘Don’t forget the alarm too.’

Once they had left, he slipped his hand to his back pocket and retrieved the notebook. Opening it, he found it contained a series of doodles. Clearly, they were Carla’s, sets of initials and a series of numbers and dates.