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

constitute lies. I bought art work on a few occasions, it’s all on file. The internet is a wonderful tool for business. He sees the space, I assess the art and if they match, we do business. There’s a lot of wealthy clients and they’re not all footballers in this area.’

‘Do you have your diary available, Mr Gaskell?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you find the fifteenth of last month, you’ll see it was a Thursday.’ Skeeter paused giving him a moment to find the date. ‘When you locate it, can you tell me where you were from 6pm onwards?’

‘Thursday, yes. I met a client at five, at a meeting on site, so it went on until about six fifteen or thereabouts. I had a dinner appointment at seven forty-five. I arrived at The Bistro in Formby at about seven thirty. I was back home at about eleven.’

Skeeter felt as though she were drawing teeth. ‘Did you meet someone or did you dine alone?’ She felt sure he would have heard the sigh that followed her enquiry.

‘No.’

She waited for further information but it wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Mr Gaskell, we don’t seem to be communicating too well so what I suggest is that I come to you and we can discuss this face to face. I’ll bring a colleague too just to ensure you understand the seriousness of this enquiry. As your diary is in front of you, I’d like to make an appointment with you tomorrow at ten. Make sure you’re available otherwise you’ll be coming to the station for questioning. You’ll be arrested. Is that clear?’ Skeeter knew that she had over played her hand but it was a risk she was prepared to take.

‘I was with Carla Sharpe. It was she who invited me. You are aware that when she was living in the flat, we grew quite close. Let’s say she had her troubles but you know about those too. We have met on the odd occasion and she’s been to my flat too. DC Warlock, I’ve nothing to hide and I’m happy to talk at the station or at my home. I, like you, want her home safely.’

Skeeter hung up. How could she have got him so wrong?

Chapter 14

Stuart Groves stared at the bronze figure of Red Rum. It had been in the Wayfarer Arcade for as long as he could remember. He had heard of the horse and its amazing success racing in the Grand National at Aintree. To think it was trained and exercised on the beaches close by. He let his eyes drift to take in the large enclosure in which he stood. The arcade was spacious and always beautifully maintained, and to come in on wet or cold days over a lunchtime was always a pleasure. The glass roof always seemed to give it a certain air of Victorian sophistication, that combined with the robust wrought iron balcony railings painted green and gold.

Collecting a coffee, he found a seat close to the statue in the central area and checked his phone. It was a text message from Carla.

Stuart, I’ve a free hour at two if you fancy. No worries if not. Top floor. Tulketh Street Carpark 2pm. You drive.

He consulted his watch. It was ten past twelve. Checking his diary, he realised he had a client at one and another at four. The rest of the day he had set aside for admin. He replied.

Where the hell are you? Are you okay?

The response came quickly.

I’m fine. Can we meet or not?

He returned the text.

I can but I might be five or ten minutes late. X

The frisson of excitement bubbled in his stomach as he pondered the messages. The idea of Carla in the back seat brought a smile. It was then his mood changed, dampened as he wondered where she might have been. Was she still officially missing? He sipped the coffee. Strangely, he occasionally thought about how wonderful it might be to go missing, leave behind the rat race if only for a week or so. You could contact only those you wished to contact, at a time of your choosing; no boss breathing down your neck to achieve performance targets, no, yes sir, no sir. Picking up his phone he dialled his first client.

‘Mr Phelps? Ah, good, it’s Stuart Groves. I was wondering if we might bring the appointment forward a little, say twelve thirty? You can? Marvellous. I’m grateful. Thank you.’

The flutter of excitement returned. He could almost see her, smell her. Finishing his coffee, he left the arcade. Suddenly the day had taken on a whole new meaning.

The offices of KP Financial were situated in a large and impressive Victorian villa. The gardens had been partly converted into a carpark during the refurbishment. Stuart’s office was on the top floor. He had described it as more of a box room to friends and family. Most meetings took place in two ground floor rooms.

Checking his watch, he had five minutes to spare. His palms were sweaty as he pulled out a can of deodorant from his desk drawer, unbuttoned the front of his shirt and liberally sprayed into each armpit. The cold stinging sensation was reassuring. His desk phone rang.

‘Mr Phelps is in reception, Stuart. Shall I show him into the Clarence Suite?’

‘Thanks, Marcia, I’ll be right down.’

April made her way to the Incident Room. It was now the control centre for the enquiry or ‘Gold’ as it had become known. Skeeter and Tony were present and chatting with the man April had come to see. Their conversation stopped as she entered. She smiled and proffering his hand, the technical officer introduced himself.

‘As requested, we’ve pinged both the phones. We have the log from the day before she went missing. There’s the call to a William Rodgers and that checks with the report received from the interview and from his phone log. Secondly, we have identified a call to Cameron Jennings. We have that recorded but we can only assume