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

fear like it. The tears, the dribbling snot that ran over the roughly tied material that brought a rictus type grin to what was a pretty face. It exposed her teeth and gums spreading her mouth wide. Mascara had run in two rivulets down either cheek before ending at the mouth. He had taped both arms to those of the director’s chair. Her feet locked round either leg before tape secured them in place. It had been an astute thought in the planning to bracket the chair’s legs to the garage’s concrete floor. He really did not want his guests to leave or move without his consent. Milky grey light spread throughout the room; it was only an adequate illumination but it sufficed. The dirt covered window, opaque and wired was more to keep people out than allow the day to enter.

Strangely, there was no recognition initially, not a glimmer but as soon as she heard him say the words, Leave him Bill, it was my fault, there was a moment of understanding. As to the specific occasion she was clearly uncertain. It seemed that this experience with the group that night, with Bill turning aggressive, was such a common occurrence that one would easily blend with another.

‘Is Bill always like that, Carla?’

Her eyes opened wider on hearing her name and she snorted, the porcine utterance deep and filled with fear.

‘It wasn’t my fault but you knew that. You laughed. I know you did. I was there, the innocent stranger. You hoped Bill would perform his party trick and you laughed at my fear, my anguish. What normally happened, Carla? Let me guess. Bill’s a bit of a bully. Handy with his fists. Drinks a lot and then can’t control his inner demons and he strikes out at whoever upsets him or insults one of the group. Maybe he defends you, Carla. You and the others think it’s fun to watch. You had no compassion that night, you demonstrated no human kindness. You did nothing. I’ve always been bullied. There is one thing that I am though. Unlike Bill, I’m patient. It took a while to find you. Time to plan when I could take you without being seen. You made it easy. Headphones on and running alone on the same route. It was perfect – you actually believed me when I stopped you. I have that kind of face, my mother always said so.’ He turned briefly to see himself in the mirror hanging on the wall. ‘Sorry, Carla. Now, to what were you listening?’

Without removing the gag, she could not answer. He lifted her mobile, took her finger and activated it. ‘Let’s just have a look before we change your print entry to a password. Now look at that. How apposite. You were listening to something called ‘Dark Lane Demo Tapes’ by Drake whoever he or she is.’ He listened to one of the tracks holding her headphones to his ear before moving it to hers. ‘A male voice I think.’

‘Was it this you were listening to?’

She nodded feverishly.

‘You’d nod at the moon if I asked right now, girl. If I were in your shoes then so too would I.’ He leaned over and his hand patted hers. ‘In a minute I want you to do as I say. Nod if you understand.’

Carla’s frightened eyes looked towards his as tears rolled down the dark mascara avenues.

Skeeter drained the final dregs of coffee from her mug allowing it then to swing on her finger whilst she looked at the file notes. ‘I see she has a record. Not exactly the world’s worst criminal though.’ She slipped the mug onto the desk. ‘Drunk and disorderly at Aintree Ladies’ Day weekend last year. How many have been guilty of that little faux pas? And reported by a witness as having been involved in an altercation on a Saturday night outside the Blue Boar on Lord Street, Southport, six months ago.’ She flicked over the page. ‘A beauty therapist, whatever that means, and she’s single. Twenty-eight and single?’

April just watched Skeeter whilst using her two fingers as drum sticks to tap out a muted rhythm on the edge of the desk. Skeeter turned. ‘Once worked with a bloke who used to play a desk. He’d put on some piano music, walk up to his desk as if he were approaching a grand piano and pretend to flick the tails on his coat. He’d do all the stretching exercises with his fingers and then mime away, all the finger and hand flicking, but what used to crack me up was his facial expression. Each note produced a different face. He was great fun. Good copper too. Was killed trying to stop a stolen car.’

April stopped playing. ‘I was enjoying your story until the last sentence. Finger tapping? A habit that seems to help me think.’ She looked at her hands.

‘Getting run down? All part of the job on the thin blue line. I see we have an address. Was anything found there?’

‘Apparently she came out of a long-term relationship about nine months ago. Moved to her present address. Trying to get access from the landlord. We’ve contacted the ex-partner, Callum Smith. He’d heard she’d gone missing from Carla’s friend, Debbie Sutch, the person who called us. She’d been ringing round and believed she might have gone back to him. Apparently, she missed a lunch appointment with her. This friend, had called at her flat when she failed to turn up and she couldn’t contact her by phone. Smith was interviewed but he hadn’t seen her for a month or so. He lives in Upton on the Wirral. Works as a yoga teacher and personal trainer. No previous record with the police.’

‘Is there a number for him?’ Skeeter turned, grinned and winked. ‘Just asking for a friend like.’

They both giggled.

‘According to Sutch, Carla was well in herself. Enjoyed her work and socialising. Apparently, she’d given up men apart from, and I quote: