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

of his mates to see me. We had a meal and a drink and then he stated he could sort me out with cash and a cruise but … It sounded so plausible, so easy. Three weeks in the Caribbean, collect a couple of rucksacks in Trinidad and bring them home. It was just like he said. We went off with the cruise logo bags and just swapped them. Well, what happened was so efficient. We left them by our sun loungers and went for a swim. When we returned, what looked like the same bags had in fact been swapped for identical ones apart from the contents. I neither saw who did it nor did I want to.’

‘You placed a case in a car and that was it?’

‘Yes, more or less what was in the bags was transferred to a large case, the one I carried off. I never met the initial contact again. I met a foreign gentleman, young. He went through all of the details, even what to do if the ship went down with salmonella. Everything was so precise. I was given the car key and told it would be parked next to mine on our return and it was. Lynn, as I say, through love and misguided loyalty played along. When she knew I’d blown our life savings what could she do?’

Seeing tears appear in her husband’s eyes Lynn moved back closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

‘For better for worse and you don’t get much worse than this but … he’s my husband.’

Bob looked around the room and saw a few grown men and one female PC emotionally challenged by what they were witnessing. There was now a sadness in the room that weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders.

‘How much did they pay you?’

Arthur stood and went to the kitchen before returning with a supermarket carrier bag. He put it on the table. Bob did not move but looked.

‘It’s all in there. Twenty thousand pounds. What I’d asked for. Enough to clear my debts and get the loan sharks off my back and then deposit some back in the bank. I was going to deposit it bit by bit.’

‘Have you taken the money out of here? Counted it?’

‘We looked in the bag on the way back, expecting to find fake or plain blank bundles of paper but it’s real. I took one note out and spent it locally. There was no problem.’

One of Bob’s team slipped on a pair of gloves and collected the money from the table. It would again be bagged for forensic testing.

‘Collect some things and secure the house. You’ll face the consequences of your actions. Once at the station, I’d like to see if you can recognise some faces.’

‘I’ll need to wash these dishes before we go, Chief Inspector, I can’t leave the place like this.’

Bob nodded his consent.

Skeeter Warlock sat in the Incident Room and stared at the boards. Something had been bothering her for a few days and she had failed to win the previous evening’s bout at the wrestling club. For once she had conceded and it rankled. The words she recalled from a film came to mind, Failure is not an option. It referenced both her hobby and her professional conduct.

She scribbled down the three words found on the cards at the Tolands’ apartment. They made no sense. She then looked at Brad’s report from the tattoo parlour. Collecting her jacket, she left.

Within twenty minutes she was walking down County Road. The traffic was light considering the time of day. She could see Jesters Ink on the opposite side of the road. Checking both ways, she crossed. Skeeter was pleasantly surprised by the professional appearance of the shop front. She entered. A heavily tattooed young man was sitting behind a computer screen. He greeted her.

‘Just a minute and I’ll be with you.’ He leaned round and smiled. Once he had finished tapping on the keyboard he spoke again. ‘And … save,’ he said with a flourish, hitting the key with an exaggerated flamboyance, like a concert pianist hitting a critical note.

Skeeter held out her ID.

‘Foolishly, I thought your popping in here indicated you might want a tattoo. How wrong of me. Never mind, how may I help?’ He grinned.

‘I believe you tattooed a young man with a gecko here, depicted in simple red-and-black lines and lettering or numbers, some kind of lines here.’ She demonstrated on her own hand.

‘That was me,’ a voice from the back called and a young woman appeared.

Skeeter was impressed by the tattoos that spread up both her arms. She pointed and whistled. ‘Now that’s class!’

‘Why thank you. All his work. Do you have any ink?’

‘One.’ Skeeter opened her jacket and lifted her shirt from the waist band. To the left they read the fine script tattooed in black. ‘It’s in Latin.’

They looked at each other and back at Skeeter. ‘And it says?’

‘It says, or should say, By any available means or method. I follow that code in all things, always have since I was a kid.’ She tucked in her shirt and closed her jacket. ‘According to the report you gave my colleague, you were trying to trace the tattoos you applied to the fingers. I take it you haven’t found them? Too busy, I guess.’

‘I sent them, an image of each. They were Arabic numbers and some symbol or sign.’ She moved through to the back and returned with them. ‘Here, the punter wanted them small and just above the nail. I sent the images to your colleague the day he came here, late in the afternoon. He thanked me so I know he received them.’

‘May I take a photograph of these?’

‘Please, anything to help, and if you consider adding to that one of yours you know the quality of work we do.’

Skeeter thanked them and left.

Kelly’s reunion with Sharon brought tears to both girls. They moved across the room and hugged.

‘I’m sorry but I thought