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

a pile of notes in front of everyone. No one touched the money. They were not dissimilar to obedient dogs awaiting the instruction to eat. They only looked.

‘Go, we have work to do.’

As a hand stretched for the money, Sadiq noticed a small tattoo on the side of its palm and then the markings on certain fingers. He quickly covered Chelle’s hand with his and bent forward so his mouth was close to her ear. Suddenly, she could smell the jasmine on his warm breath.

‘Gloves, always gloves. You’ve identified yourself permanently and that’s not a good idea in our line of work. Is this new, Chelle?’

She nodded as her face flushed and her stomach tumbled, realising his displeasure.

‘Now, my seven little people, it’s off to work we go.’

Chapter 3

The gym had an aroma all of its own. It was not one direct smell that bombarded the nostrils but an unusual collection of subtle scents that only a perfumier would be able to separate and categorise. However, after a few moments of being there, one smell seemed to overpower the rest – a malodorous pong that grew to mask all others – and that was stale sweat.

The blue mat, an open sea of canvas, spread across the floor, and in the far corner stood a small crowd of different sized, worn leather figures, like wrapped sadomasochistic humans; some with single stumps, one with legs but two completely legless. Each had a purpose and all had endured a hard life.

After running and flexing, Skeeter rotated her head, first in one direction and then the other. She bent at the waist and gently rolled to the left. It was a fluid and controlled movement and she was back on her feet before changing into a tucked position. The momentum now carried her to the right. This repetitive alternative flow allowed her to cross the mat quickly and accurately. As she stood for the last time, she found herself directly in front of a large brown dummy, its arms outstretched as if in welcome. No matter how often she did this, and she had done it for more years than she cared to remember, she still felt the tingle of excitement, an adrenaline rush.

Without a moment’s hesitation she reached out, her body slipping neatly between the two outstretched arms. Her nose, now close to the featureless face, drew in the smell of leather. She was excited by it, quickly allowing her own arms to wrap almost lovingly around the figure. It was cool and smooth to the touch, but then this soft almost erotic moment of reflection, this casual caress, immediately changed. An animalistic grunt surged from her taut lips as she pulled the leather figure towards her before sending it upward and backward as she fell and twisted. The figure was hurled brutally over her right shoulder, every move was controlled. Its stiff, unforgiving body arched through the air before making contact with the hard canvas. A slapping sound erupted that brought a smile to her lips. Quickly standing, she performed the same move again and was rewarded by the dummy crashing obediently to the canvas; each time a perfect suplex.

The morning dawned and the weather was very different from the evening before. The drizzle was constant. The seductive smell of toast and coffee was consolation as April spread the marmalade thickly. She always protested she needed the sugar rush. Tico and the radio were April’s only companions and she liked it that way. She had no desire to look after others and if she had a man in her life, she would have to hold her stomach in and that was a definite burden she did not want at this stage of her career. Standing, she went over to the mirror, toast in hand. She inhaled, pausing as she heard that yet again the M6 from Standish down to the M56 was slow moving owing to an accident. The Radio Two traffic reporter continued.

… four miles of standing traffic. However, the accident has been removed but one lane is still blocked …

‘You cannot move an accident, only the cars involved!’ she muttered as she did most mornings. ‘The bloody BBC. It’s as easy to say the vehicles have been removed, surely!’ No one was listening. She took another mouthful of toast and felt its immediate calming effect. Why she had to be critical over something she had no control over she could never understand. She had always been that way. When she had been fresh to the force, a Turkish colleague had once called her Mükemmel owing to her eagerness to achieve perfection. Mükemmel being the Turkish word for perfect. She was soon known as just M and even her strong protests failed to change that. It had stayed with her through the early years when working in Leeds but it had not followed her when she moved. DI Decent could see the funny side, now thinking her initials might be, DIM.

Within the hour, April was sitting at her desk. She checked the Post-it notes attached to the edge of her computer screen. Some had been left from previous days, aides-memoire of outstanding tasks. It would take a while to prioritise them and that was a distraction.

Heterochromia iridum does not slip easily off the tongue but it certainly made people look twice before either turning away or trying to focus on one of the eyes. People had a tendency to be slightly embarrassed, probably through scrutinising and staring too much.

From behind the computer screen Skeeter watched as DI April Decent passed her desk. She had seen her a couple of times before but that was during the previous week. She watched her turn in her direction and slow her pace. April gave a slight smile and a nod, but as usual, there was also a moment of clear confusion on her face, it was almost embarrassment for the stare that was unnaturally and, even momentarily, too long.