Catch as Catch Can (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 1) by Malcolm Hollingdrake (popular books to read .TXT) 📕

‘The second one, the pillion, was a little more shaken, I heard.’

‘Intensive Care. Tests there proved positive for cocaine, high quality too, and there’s a suggestion that it was buffed with fentanyl.’ He raised his eyebrows again. It seemed a habit. ‘Those supplying to these lads are not just dealing with shit stuff. Suggests these boys and girls are linked to the main supplier. The shit stuff for cutting, your caffeine and laxatives will be added lower down the chain or when they pass it on. Much of what we’re seeing on the streets, as I’m sure you know, has been cut and buffed several times. Let’s say the profits have been stretched as far as possible.

‘We’ve run the CCTV of those leaving the scene of Beverley Gittings’s murder and I’m assured that there’s a likely match with our chap downstairs. Not too sure as to the other fellow as his face matches a bus crash at present. We’ll see what he has to say for himself when we present him with a murder charge. Usually focuses the mind of even those with the lowest IQ. We might also have a name. Finger prints have revealed nothing and we’re awaiting DNA. This was not a lone wolf incident, April. The bike was stolen so at least we have him on that count too! I believe Skeeter Warlock’s been running that side of the investigation. Tenacious young lady whom, if I can say it in these politically correct days, you wouldn’t want to meet down a dark alley. Please invite her to call in on our lad. I’d have contacted her this morning but knowing you were in today I think it’s better coming from you, being her direct senior. Keeps everything in place, I think, a certain order.’

April smiled. She knew that it would make Skeeter’s day.

The meeting lasted just over the hour and April came away feeling more reassured that the work she was doing was deemed both efficient and valuable. Leaving the office with a lighter step than when she had arrived, she called Skeeter, imparting the good news.

Chapter 23

Flamur stood by the large expanse of glass looking out across the Mersey. Sadiq paced the room. It was apparent from the raised voice that the caller on the other end of the phone was not in the best of moods.

‘It’s been moved, yes and Doc is doing his stuff. The cutting agents are there, I checked this morning although they’re getting more difficult to come by. The prices are rising … might have to use shit stuff if this goes on.’

The voice on the other end was raised yet again and Sadiq moved the phone some distance from his ear. Looking at Flamur, he shook his head. He put the phone on speaker.

‘No, nothing on Chelle, why?’ He brought the phone closer. The rant was over and he continued to listen.

‘She’s in Wigan. It’s from a good source. Get the word out and Sadiq … get Snow White moving and fast.’

‘Yes, bro.’

‘Discretion and if you’re unfamiliar with the word, talk to Flamur, he’s with you. He knows all about it. Trust me. And whilst you’re at it, ask him to give you chapter and verse on Malik.’ He ended the call.

Sadiq frowned. ‘Says you know all about Malik.’

Flamur turned his gaze towards the view. ‘I know more than you think about many, many things, Sadiq. Remember, it’s always good to let people believe that they hold more power than they actually do. Why? I hear you think. Because, when it’s taken away, they become lambs to the slaughter. You give them power and let them shout and scream, let them feel high and mighty, indispensable, until, that is, they are no longer needed or they’ve served their purpose. My father back home taught me. We kept goats, we reared them, protected them, fed them and bred them. We cherished them like we cherished our own family. However, when we were hungry, we killed them. Life is simple and we are life. Never forget.’

Sadiq looked at Flamur and then the phone, said nothing but understood much.

The day had felt like two as Skeeter packed away her belongings. She had to be at the main station in the city centre the following day. Adjusting the trophy that sat on the pile of papers, she took a second to study the engraved date on the dulled brass plaque. She breathed on it before rubbing it on her sleeve. It seemed like only yesterday. It was a critical Catch as Catch Can bout and a vital win. The whole wrestling competition had been difficult but the final scrap had been touch and go as to who would win. She raised her hand to her ear; the permanent swelling had been a direct result of that fight. Initially she had loathed the damage but very soon she treated it as a badge of honour.

The paper dart landing on her desk made her jump. She turned to see Tony grinning from behind his computer screen. ‘When did you come back? You said you had an important call to make, that wouldn’t wait.’

‘Ages, you were engrossed and I didn’t want to disturb you. Are we having a pint or not? Fancy a pub meal too, can’t really be arsed cooking tonight.’

‘I was …’

He held up a finger as he approached, took the trophy from her hand placing it back on the pile and then took her arm. ‘Now or I’m going without you.’

The pub was quiet for just after six. Skeeter had a pint and Tony a large glass of red wine. They perused the menu. ‘Being a Wiganer, it’s got to be the pie and chips.’ Skeeter picked up her beer and sank half. ‘I needed that, mate. Didn’t have you as a wine man.’

He lifted his glass and in doing so stuck out his little finger. ‘Can’t judge a book