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

It was a regular occurrence that now amused Skeeter more than it angered her. It was easier for people to look away and if that be the case, so be it.

At school it had been a cross Skeeter had to bear and it was there she was first given her nickname, the name she had also carried during her time in the force, Witch. To some in the force and at the wrestling gym, she was generally known as Wicca, the derivative of the word witch. It amused Skeeter as they failed to realise Wicca was the masculine term, that of a sorcerer and not a female witch. It was a small consolation for someone called Warlock.

This first meeting was only brief and April had felt herself blush during what she deemed to be overexposed eye contact. To make matters worse she had neither taken the initiative to speak nor to make an approach, a situation she realised later on reflection was totally out of character. It was something she knew she would have to rectify. April was determined to address her rudeness and make sure she was properly introduced, but it would have to be the next day. She had a meeting with her boss, DCI Alex Mason, and she would be out for most of the day.

John Radcliffe moved along the constantly swerving pathway like a drunken sailor allowing the head of the metal detector to brush over the undulating surface of marine detritus. The early morning fall in the tide had left high and dry a clear but irregular line which stranded along the sand. It was certainly plain from where he was standing that the planet was not in a position to digest plastic. The occasional seabirds called, a cacophony of shrill screams that shattered the peace as they dived towards the tumbling grey waves that bullied and swallowed the beach to his right. The constant breeze, the sea’s ally, seemed to move magically. The dry grained upper surface of sand appeared almost serpent-like in fine sheets. For a few seconds, it was a dancing mirage.

Pausing for a moment, he glanced across the beach closest to him. He admired the colour change of the wet sand as it turned to the texture and shade of an elephant’s back, reflecting the colour of the lead-grey sky, mirroring the water’s deep surface. Lifting his gaze further out to sea, he stared at the Burbo Bank Wind Farm and marvelled at this feat of engineering. It was positioned about seven miles from the mouth of the River Mersey. This is where thirty-two of the planet’s biggest wind turbines stood, catching and harnessing the constant breeze, the myriad blades seemingly dancing in total synchronisation in all weathers. They exhibited a beauty all of their own.

He adjusted his earphones and started to sweep an arc over the strandline flotsam and jetsam. A change in pitch in the signal told him that he had found metal. He kicked the seaweed and what appeared to be straw away only to discover a rusting bottle top. He had lost count of the number of bottle tops he had found that morning. Patiently, he started again. Within a hundred yards, however, the next find would change his opinion of metal detecting forever.

Upon her return to the police station, April parked her 4x4 around the back. The building had little to commend it. Aesthetically, it had the architectural merits of concrete boxes placed one above the other. It might simply be referred to as ‘functional’. Up until a few years ago, CID officers had been spread around the Merseyside area but more recently, it had been thought politic to bring them all under one roof. The fact that the Southport Police Station and other smaller stations within the Merseyside force did not have the interview rooms necessary for officers to perform their jobs had a great deal to do with the decision. Although still the newcomer, she was growing more comfortable. Change needs time, she would often whisper to herself whenever self-doubt crept into her mind.

The briefing had been anything but brief and she was now with two of her team. There had been a serious road rage incident on the East Lancashire Road and it was decided one of her officers, DC Lucy Teraoka, would work with Traffic to investigate. The other immediate concern was the 999 call, taken fifteen minutes earlier. April and DC Bradshaw listened to the recording. Within five minutes they were on their way. Bradshaw had ensured the area of the beach had been securely cordoned off and CSI had been notified.

DC Pete Bradshaw drove. ‘The section of beach is not too far from the Altcar ranges.’

He turned to look at April; he could clearly see the puzzled look on her face. She had heard of the Altcar ranges when researching the area of her new posting but could not immediately bring any facts to mind.

‘It’s a major centre for small arms training for different elements of the forces. There are a number of ranges to accommodate the many different weapons. They have loads of land too for training but they only use live ammo at the site ranges so we’ll be safe.’ His tone seemed to patronise. ‘We’ll also check for the red flags though. Our firearms people have been known to use it too.’

April lifted an eyebrow. ‘Reassuring,’ she whispered before making a note to find out more. She looked across at her new colleague suspiciously, realising that fairly soon she would have to have words. He was too informal and she had a distinct feeling that he was pushing boundaries, a male trait she had frequently experienced in the past.

He turned left off the B5424. ‘We have someone with a 4x4 waiting in the carpark at the bottom of this road to take us along the sand until we’re close enough to the body. I checked the tide times and we’re okay for quite