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

look beyond the obvious, and not just what might have been missed, to try to knit the evidence together. That was his job tonight and it might have paid dividends. He decided to call his boss. It was nine thirty.

April was soldering the last of the joints on the second side of the stained-glass windows when the call came. He explained his findings and his thinking.

‘That’s another lead we need, Michael, good work. I’ll sort out a warrant to search tomorrow. I’ll ring DCI Mason in a moment. As it’s a murder inquiry he should have no problems. Toland, on the other hand, will be a different kettle of fish. Something else, you’re good with computers and such. Our man was murdered for some reason. From the evidence he was tortured before he was killed, you’ve read all of that. The question is, why? He was found with two things, the fake police medal and the Perspex disc. We know from where they originated. Please, give it some thought, see what clear thinking brings to that particular anomaly, and Michael, thanks, and well done. If anything comes to mind, please leave your notes on my desk and any links you think relevant.’

April stood back. Such a simple thought but it could be a vital clue missed. She propped up the window with a light source behind it. As the glass was yet to be cemented in place, it rattled within the lead. Immediately the whole concept, the pattern and colour took on a new dimension, it became real and vibrant. It made her think of Michael. Looking with fresh eyes certainly helped you see things differently.

It was 7.45am when Sharon placed her two bags in the doorway of the old bank building, a place she had occupied for three days. As it was shallow and on the main road, the smell, unlike some empty shop door ways, was not reminiscent of a urinal. Tucking her knees to her chest, her hood up, she waited, staring at the immediate area before her like a patient kingfisher on a branch, only less colourful and certainly less successful.

Within thirty minutes she felt the presence of company. A woman dressed in a waterproof cotton jacket held a large takeout cup of coffee before her. Crouching on her haunches she leaned against the stone wall.

‘Sharon?’

The girl did not move and her hands remained under the small blanket.

‘A friend asked me to call, it’s very important. This conversation and your help could save the life of someone you met recently … Kelly. She’s in trouble with a gang which has already killed. We believe they will kill again.’

Sharon took the coffee.

‘You can see my name on the cup and there’s a phone number too. At the moment I work with the police although I am not a police officer. I work with people like you, Sharon, who might have accidentally found themselves vulnerable. I’m someone you can trust. If I found you, so can the gang. Where I want to just chat, they, on the other hand, will want immediate answers … I needn’t say more. You’re not naïve.’

Sharon looked at the cup before turning. ‘Paula, when?’

‘I think there’s never a better time than the present.’

Paula stood and helped Sharon collect her things. Taking the cup from her she dropped it into a litter bin. Walking down Wallgate they reached the main railway station where a car was parked. The driver walked up to them.

‘He’s with me it’s fine,’ Paula reassured her.

He smiled and took Sharon’s bags before putting them in the boot whilst Paula held open the rear door. Once closed she went around to the other side. Within minutes they were gone.

Skeeter arrived early at the Liverpool Police Headquarters, if only to look at the young man who had plagued her for quite some time. She had seen his photograph sent the previous day and had also watched the CCTV footage of the bike appearing from the Albert Dock and recklessly running down the pavement. Even knowing the final outcome, she still cringed as the pillion took the full force of the impact. Still, she could not prevent herself from smiling.

Once in the building, the formalities attended to, she met with DCI Mason in an office normally reserved for visiting solicitors.

‘We’ll use this and save going upstairs, Skeeter. Great to see you looking so fit and well. Still throwing your weight around in the wrestling world?’

‘You know me, Alex. Keeps me physically and mentally fit. I get rid of all the crap this job throws at me and believe me you’d go mad if you didn’t.’

‘I could do with that myself. How are you taking to your new boss?’ He looked away as if it were a casual, throwaway remark but she knew him too well.

‘She’s crap, Alex, if you want the truth. Couldn’t find her arse with her hand in her back pocket.’

Alex Mason turned immediately but only found her grinning from ear to ear. ‘She’s my boss, new at this stage in the game and so she deserves and receives my trust, loyalty and respect just as you do. I neither tell tales out of school nor throw witches on the fire. You should know that but I’ll be happy to castrate the little shit you have downstairs should you require. I’ve brought these.’ She held out her hands in a cupping position. ‘It’d just take a gentle squeeze.’

‘I’m sure of that, I’ve felt your handshake.’

They both planned the strategy for the interview understanding that initially they would get, as Skeeter so aptly put it, ‘diddly squat’. They were in no hurry. The other character involved was still in Intensive Care and so he would be going nowhere for some time unless he was called by a higher being. Considering his history, there was only one direction in which he would be travelling.

Quasim sat with only two legs of his chair pirouetting on the grey, polished floor. His