Catch as Catch Can (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 1) by Malcolm Hollingdrake (any book recommendations .txt) 📗

same age as Kelly. She thought of her own upbringing and tried to put each of their lives into some sort of perspective. It proved impossible. She could hardly comprehend the thought of buying drugs for her mother let alone selling her body to help her feed a habit. The girl was pretty too.

Another name listed followed a similar pattern. No fixed address, whereabouts unknown. Two were not even registered, probably illegal. All had managed to become part of the disappeared. She had to start a search somewhere and the place to start looking would be the last known address of the Gittings’ family, if it could be classed as such.

Parking on Webster Street, Toxteth, was difficult at the best of times but she had picked the day the bin lorry was collecting. After some time, she parked in the first available spot and walked checking the numbers until she located the house. Aluminium screens covered the windows and doors to two properties in the row of terraced houses. She sighed. The Gittings had lived in the first. There were twelve to fifteen houses occupied. It was now a case of knocking and making enquiries.

Skeeter sat behind the computer screen. There was something about plain and simple Malik that was neither plain nor simple.

‘Did he get to you?’ Tony Price watched the response from across the room. ‘Feel insulted? You want revenge?’

He folded the paper into a dart and threw it. It headed in a descending curve as it crossed the room and struck the back of her computer screen.

‘Bull’s-eye! Saw you and Brad do this and it always raised a smile.’

She collected it from where it had fallen between her feet and opened it. There was a large round smiley face. She giggled. ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t use your power as an officer of the law to get one over him. I’d be fucking annoyed too but you’ve nothing to go on. He answered all the questions you asked and he served a tasty döner.’

‘Tony, you might not believe this but it wasn’t Mr fucking Malik that caused the hairs on my neck to rise but the guy who came from the back, all aggressive like. You saw him?’

‘I did. Big lad? The Albanian?’ He did not wait for a reply. ‘Put it in perspective. Can you imagine the trouble they could get on match days? Hell’s bells you need guys like that to ensure the staff’s safety and the premises, no matter how many coppers are on the street. I don’t need to tell you how quickly trouble starts as we’ve both witnessed it and been involved. That’s probably why he positioned the mini camera on the shelf facing the counter.’

From the expression on Skeeter’s face, he knew that she had been unaware of its presence.

‘It wasn’t your everyday CCTV either, it was the clock. Has a spy camera that links to a phone or computer using the internet. My attention was drawn to it because it was so clean. Everything else was covered in a layer of fatty grime but the clock’s face, particularly one area of the glass, was immaculate. Now whether your guy is always keeping a watching brief from the back of the place or from upstairs who knows? There could be an owner somewhere else who needs to keep a tally?’

‘These bloody spy things are frightening and they’re sold to the public. In the wrong hands, the hands of a pervert, they are a real danger. Are you sure it was a camera?’

‘Looked that way to me. I have one very similar. That’s why we have laws about their unregistered use.’

Walking across he took out his phone. ‘There, that’s my lounge in real time. If anyone disturbs the sensor it will notify me and I can see what’s happening. Records too on an SD card.’

‘Thanks, Tony, you’ve been a true support. I’m going to check the background of the place and then I can rest easy. Humour me.’

Skeeter requested as much information on the address as possible: business use, licence holder, employees and their National Insurance numbers, occupancy within the building. She was determined to leave no stone unturned. That would be the start and depending on the results, would determine any future action.

On the fifth attempt Lucy had struck lucky. The house was five doors down from the boarded property previously occupied by the Gittings’ family. Mrs Netherfield was in her mid-seventies. The house was immaculate. She opened the door on a security chain. Lucy smiled and showed her ID.

‘Police. Sorry to disturb you. It’s a routine call. I’m trying to track a Beverley Gittings.’

Netherfield pulled a face on hearing the name. The door closed and then swung open. ‘You’d better come in, love.’

After brief introductions, Netherfield went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Lucy knew that she would be there for a while.

‘They weren’t too bad when they first arrived. I believe they’d started life in a caravan and then managed to buy here. Never seemed to have two pennies to rub together, mind. Then the kids came along. I have to be honest and say when they were young the parents tried hard and the kids were always smart. Always spoke. The father was a keen fisherman, not sea stuff, more the canal. Big lad too.’

There was a pause as she seemed to drift off into the past and Lucy watched as her cup tilted. She reached out and steadied her arm. ‘Ta, love. I was back then. I do it a lot these days. Being alone it does funny things to you. Old age is not to be recommended. Stay young, love. Funny, I could just picture them.’

‘Two children?’ Lucy asked as she sipped her tea. Even though she had requested no sugar it tasted very sweet. She said nothing.

‘Beverley and Sean, he was the older. The trouble seemed to appear when the father lost so much weight in a short space of