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

another a skull, the third that of Guy Fawkes. All three were disconcerting and lifelike. They screamed as they started to move down the road. The couple paused, looking in the direction of the noise. They then made their first mistake. They started to run instinctively down the narrow passage.

‘Are you ready, Hoover? You’re going for the girl. We’ll take the bloke!’ the driver yelled as they took up the chase.

Hoover had already stripped off the sheath from the knife, stuffing it into his pocket. They sprinted towards the junction and then crossed the road to face the passageway. The joking and bravado were left in the car. After the initial shouts, nobody spoke. The sound of their crashing feet echoed between the houses. It was a sharp and frightening warning to those being pursued.

Beverley Gittings turned to see the black figures running and quickly gaining on them. ‘Oh fuck!’ was all she could say as she turned for the small opening in the gated entrance. She tossed the bag containing the separate quantities of drugs over a wall. At this stage she was unsure as to who was giving chase.

Before them was an ornate cemetery gate. To both sides was an arched opening set in the face of each stone tower. Within that rested a wrought iron rotating gate not too dissimilar to a turnstile. She had been this way so often and yet during this moment of panic she knew it was a wrong move. It suddenly seemed unchartered. She let out a scream, pointing to the left as she went right.

‘They lock them at night. Go over, Quas!’ she yelled to her partner. With a leap he lodged his foot in one of the ornate openings in the stone arcaded screen that joined the twin towers. He grabbed the top of the wall and was up, one leg straddling either side. He watched their approach. Beverley tried to join him but failed. The three were now only yards away.

‘For fuck’s sake, Bev, move! They’re close!’ Quasim’s voice was high-pitched and conveyed his fear. He knew there was little chance he could help. He quickly looked again and counted at least three assailants.

Those vital seconds of hesitation were all that it took. Beverley had foolishly created her own place of ambush. It could not have been more perfect for the pursuers. Within ten seconds Hoover had rapidly covered the distance and identified his quarry.

Beverley had one option and that was to try the stile, they might have forgotten to chain it shut but dusk had fallen an hour ago. She moved into the cell, fumbling with the first iron lobe of the turnstile. It was cold to the touch and stubborn to her frantic shove. She realised they had slipped on the chain and her heart sank. Suddenly it moved, but only part of the way and a moment’s relief was quickly dashed as the snap of the chain cracked loudly bringing with it a chilling fear. Every time in the past it had turned so easily. Her senses were heightened by sheer panic, as the adrenaline raced round her body. She knew what was happening. She had done the same to others, but this was wrong, this was her own patch for fuck’s sake. She tried again. It was turning and she was moving with it. Soon she would be through but the chain snapped tight again. In her peripheral vision she could see her partner was disappearing into the darkness of the graveyard. His two pursuers, also over the wall, had left him to run. They focused their attention on the trapped girl and Hoover.

‘Do it for fuck’s sake!’

Beverley could go neither way. Her body seemed to relax momentarily, partly in fear. The clown moved so close to her she could hear his breathing, see his eyes.

‘Beverley?’ He spoke quietly.

‘Yes … No … please, please.’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t do this!’

He was hesitating, she could sense that and it brought a moment’s hope.

‘It’s not worth it. Please!’

It was then she saw his arm thrust forward. She turned away to avoid it. A second later she felt the first desperate blow. It had caused the blade to penetrate her outstretched hand. She neither felt it enter nor retract. Curling herself into the enclosed space she turned her back to her attacker, trying to make herself as small as possible. The second blow struck. Initially it seemed as though he had thumped her hard just below her right shoulder. She gasped as her breath temporarily vanished. Winded, she tried to gasp in air.

‘No!’ was all she could utter in defence.

The third blow swiftly followed and caused the critical damage. It was an underarm blow. This time it hit lower and with it came the severe pain as her kidney was sliced. She turned in desperation, only to see the laughing clown. She could see the sweat on his forehead before the comical face tilted backwards, as if in slow motion, to gain leverage.

Beverley Gittings did not feel the blade twist as it was extracted. All feeling had suddenly evaporated. She heard voices, initially loud but they swiftly dulled. Those to her left sounded excited. On lifting her head, the clown mask had gone from her field of vision. Confused and in pain she tried to focus on the distant street light at the end of the passageway but that slowly blurred into darkness. The fear now intensified but the pain eased as the world became calm and black. For a moment she felt at total peace. Strangely, she smiled as she sank to the ground within the confined stone sarcophagus-like space.

Hoover felt a mixture of fear and excitement. He had done it. They had assured him that he could and that it would be easy, once he was close to his victim. To avenge the death of one of theirs … an eye for an eye, he whispered the exact words they had told him and