Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) by Malcolm Hollingdrake (best authors to read TXT) 📕

she was not sure. ‘He could’ve taken it with him.’ She removed her phone. ‘Give me a minute.’ She dialled, Jim.

‘Hello love. No, nothing as yet. You remember the notebook you saw Carlos had when you were doing the mural thing in his room? Can you nip into the salon and see if it’s there? Look in his treatment room, check the drawers. See if it’s in the kitchen and search his locker, it’s never locked. If it is, the combination is 0000. He was nothing if not original. Thanks. I’m still with the police. Ring me if you have it.’

‘Thanks.’ Skeeter put a hand on hers.

‘It will take about thirty minutes. Is that okay?’

‘Skeeter smiled. I’m going to have to leave you with Mary here. She’ll let me know when you hear about the missing book. Believe me, we’re doing everything possible to find him.’

Bill Rodgers and Debbie Sutch were ushered into the first Interview Room where DC Fred Quinn was arranging photographs on the table. Both looked flustered and uncomfortable. He welcomed them but did not manage to introduce himself fully before Sutch spoke.

‘I know Brian, or Carlos, as they called him. Any news?’ There was genuine anxiety trapped within the question. Her voice was shaky.

‘Be assured we’re working very hard to find him. We’d like you to look at these photographs but there’s one in particular I’m interested in. This one.’

They sat and each looked at the same photograph. The image had been transposed from the CCTV as also had the one taken at the party.

‘I’ve seen him before.’ Debbie spoke first, lifting the photograph.

Fred watched, as she screwed up her face, as if trying to squeeze the answer out from every pore.

‘I don’t know his name but I remember him. God, yes! I do now. I trod on his foot accidentally when we were outside that pub down the side street near The Scarisbrick. You grabbed him and we all thought he was going to shit himself.’ She looked at Bill who blushed, and glanced at Fred before nodding.

‘I didn’t hit him. I just grabbed him. I thought he’d deliberately crashed into Debs.’ Rodgers protested his innocence guiltily.

Fred raised his eyebrows, aware of the case notes from his previous conviction.

‘I’ve seen him a couple of times since, he’s usually on his own. Sad fella really.’

‘And you didn’t hit him? There was no altercation at all?’ Fred looked between the two of them.

‘Definitely not. I just grabbed him.’

‘And I stood between them and pushed this fella away. I could sense the guy’s fear and I could also see Bill’s anger. Since his conviction he listens to me. The rest of the group would just goad him to self-destruct. He’s quite capable of that if he’s had too many, be a real daft sod.’

Rodgers looked at his hands, his head nodding in agreement.

‘Who was there on that occasion? Can you remember?’

It was upon hearing this question that something struck them both. Debbie’s hand moved across to cover Bill’s, and her other went to her mouth. ‘Oh Christ!’

Skeeter hurried back to the room in which Nicola was waiting. On arrival she saw a man she presumed to be Jim standing by her. In her hand was the notebook. She waved it with a look of relief on her face.

‘It was in the same place where he’d found it, beneath the bottom drawer. He’d taped it. It’s definitely Carla’s. I remember seeing it.’ She handed it to Skeeter. ‘It’s her writing and those are definitely her doodles. She was always scribbling, especially when she was on the phone to clients.’

Turning the page, Skeeter immediately saw the doodles. She flicked the next page slowly and narrowed her eyes as if trying to see if the squiggles were significant. Turning another page, she then saw the first initials, dates and number. She continued. Moving to the white board she jotted down the details in the order in which they appeared within the book. CJ, FL, CG, BR and PW. She then circled the initials CJ, wrote Cameron Jennings, and linked it with an arrow.

‘Any other ideas?’ She looked at Nicola.

‘BR could well be Bill Rodgers. He was a past boyfriend and she was still seeing him before she died.’

Skeeter added a circle around the initials CG, and wrote the name Craufurd Gaskell before turning to look at them both. ‘Know him?’

‘He owned the flat Carla and Callum rented on Lord Street, I think. Strange name, that’s why I remember it.’

‘Correct. What of the others?’

Both turned to look at each other but then shook their heads almost in unison.

‘Just a minute!’ Skeeter left the room returning a few minutes later with a photograph of Craufurd. ‘Is this him?’ She tapped the board by his name.

‘Yes. I saw him a couple of times at their parties. We didn’t go to every one but I remember Carla saying that he refused to go to them all, something about looking after the other tenants’ interests whatever that meant. Compromised his landlord status.’

Skeeter looked back at the board and then her focus returned to Nicola and Jim. ‘You’ve been most helpful. Thank you. We’ll hang on to this and keep you informed over the coming few days.’ Skeeter prepared to leave. They both appeared a little shocked. ‘We’ll find him.’

They stood, turning to leave. Jim slipped his arm around her shoulders as Skeeter let her fingers flick again through the pages. ‘Nicola, one last thing. The private evening work you both did, one night a week, I was told. What was it?’

There was no look of surprise on Nicola’s face as she turned back. ‘Friends, people who couldn’t get in during the day or needed something special. These things help make the wheels go round in our industry. People always want to feel special and as a salon we help to fulfil that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Nails, that’s my thing. They can be intricate, and if you are going to a special event you do them