Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) - Malcolm Hollingdrake (world of reading TXT) 📗

you feel strongly that she’s not just skipped off with some new fella for a few days without telling anyone?’ The question was rhetorical; he did not give her time to answer. ‘April Decent, just keep me informed and don’t embarrass yourself. Do an assessment report with all the new intelligence and get it on my desk as soon as. If you have to up the risk level then go through FIB and do it through the authorising officer. Don’t embarrass yourself at this early stage in the bloody game.’ The phone went dead.

April felt vindicated and breathed a quiet but shaky sigh.

Chapter 6

The sun had broken over the trees at the far side of the field as birds circled before settling on and within the furrows. Two crows chased a lone buzzard, an aerial dogfight set against the misty azure. The smaller adversaries would soon see the buzzard move away, another dawn victory. Wood pigeons busily pecked at the new shoots, oblivious of their guardian standing fewer that ten feet away. The spinning and flashing discs proved to be an ineffective deterrent. The gas driven bird scattering gun set further down the field looked more like a miniature tank than a deterrent. It certainly had the desired effect on the birds but not on the farmer’s neighbours who were constantly angered by the early morning blasts. There was a whisper of a breeze and few clouds. In low-lying areas a layer of gossamer-thin frost remained. The dawn chorus had broken early and it would be another hour before those regulars using the lane would pass. It would be unlikely they would note a difference to the regular farm figure. They knew the scarecrow; it had been there a few weeks now and it had brought a smile to those passing. It was one of five dotted around the farm.

The red cap was now tilted to the right. Unless up close it was not easy to see that the exposed right side of the neck gaped cleanly and angrily, almost mouth-like. Below that and over the front of the fluorescent coat ran what appeared to be a deep, red-brown stain. The arms moved in a slight pendular fashion driven only by the slight breeze that was stronger on the exposed field. To the passer-by familiar with the scene, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It still brought a glance and a smile.

Cameron Jennings woke with a start as his mobile phone vibrated along the bedside cabinet seconds before the ring tone, the old-fashioned phone bell rang loudly. Lifting his head, he could see the screen had illuminated and cast a hazy green glow in the darkened room. Grasping it, he noticed the call was from Carla’s phone. He rubbed his eyes and brought the phone to his ear. He did not give her a chance to speak.

‘Bloody hell, Carla, where the fuck are you? We’ve all been worried sic—’

‘I need your help. Now, today. I know it’s early. Don’t tell the others. Meet me at the start of Ralph’s Wife’s Lane, the entrance by the footpath. You know the place. Look for a blue car. Now, Cameron, now!’

The voice was unsteady as if she were breathless. He listened and was about to speak when the call ended abruptly.

‘Carla! Carla!’ he shouted angrily into the void.

With fumbling fingers, he dialled her number but the phone was dead.

Ending the call, Cameron glanced at the time on the phone’s screen. Swinging his legs out of bed he went into the bathroom. He tried to put into perspective what he had just heard. What on earth could be the problem, especially considering the time. He laughed, a laugh of realisation when something comes back to haunt, to slap you in the face. He had always believed and preached that true friends never question. Should one of them ring in the middle of the night requesting help you do not ask why. You go. That is what true friends do. What’s round comes around, Cameron, he said to himself as he splashed water on his face before glancing in the mirror. Bugger the hair, get a cap. He quickly dressed. Unbeknown to himself, he slipped his crew neck jumper on inside out. Grabbing a coat, cap, wallet and keys he prepared to leave. He then remembered his phone. Collecting it, he checked again. There had been nothing since that early call. He knew the spot. He had run the path often. By car it should take him no more than ten minutes. It took eight. Just as she said, a blue car was waiting in the small lay-by.

Tony and Skeeter were already in the room as Fred and Lucy entered. April would be the last. Tony had placed a fiver on the desk and was already negotiating a bet with anyone who would take it.

‘My money’s on Carlos Briggs,’ he mumbled tapping the note.

Fred looked at Lucy and then at the fiver. He did not get time to ask. He thought about the evidence – could she again be in the Lake District and distracted? He did not commit.

‘Morning. First things first. We still have nothing. No sighting nor communication. Nothing from public requests. What we do have is some information from Michael, who’s been working overnight on the CCTV and phone records linked with the case. Key to that intelligence is Callum Smith. In his statement he informed us that he hadn’t seen Carla for, and I quote, “a month or so”. But we have video evidence clearly showing he went to the salon only last week when Carla was present.’

Fred slipped a fiver over Tony’s. ‘You’re on. I’ll take Smith.’

April looked up and noticing the money frowned but continued. ‘He’s due in for further questioning at eleven thirty this morning. Skeeter I want you present. Secondly, we have a list of telephone contacts from those interviewed earlier. Many correspond to the list of friends we already hold. Fred