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

‘Can you take it just out of sight so I can listen for it, Steve?’

The copter flew rapidly behind the building, climbing steadily.

‘Find it!’ Steve announced as Skeeter checked the sky. She could hear the light droning but it was generally lost against the surrounding buildings. The noise, however, was not too dissimilar to that she had heard at the farm.

‘Nope. Can’t see it.’ She swivelled her head trying to locate it through the sound.

Within minutes, it hovered above them, and the legs lowered in tandem with the descending craft before it touched down on the ‘H’.

‘That’s it really. Apart from training, getting a commercial licence, experience and good looks!’ He winked as he removed the controller from around his neck. ‘And you also owe me a beer!’

Skeeter chatted for longer than she had planned; she liked Steve. Once back inside they looked at the amateur footage showing the discovery of Jennings’s body, taken from the drone.

‘That was probably an early drone looking at those images. The camera quality is very poor. We face a lot of issues with people flying them either too high or too near restricted areas. Like all things, you’ll always get those who flout the rules.’

They looked through the file and found the pilot’s name and his address.

‘Interviewed on the day at the site. Took his micro SD card. Was that ever returned?’

Skeeter scrolled down the report. The receipt had been issued but it appeared the card was still held at Forensics. ‘They were trying to enhance the images, I believe.’

Steve shook his head. ‘They can do the impossible, but miracles? Sorry, that’s a compromised film, it’ll just pixilate.’

Skeeter made a note and tucked it into her pocket. ‘I’ve taken too much of your time. Thanks.’

‘Anytime. You know where I am. Don’t forget to book me when you decide to fly to Ibiza and don’t forget the beer!’

Skeeter stuck up her thumb. Once at the car she entered the postcode of the address she had jotted down from the report. She would collect the micro SD card and then a visit would be in order.

Chapter 19

Simon Taylor crossed Canada Boulevard at the Pier Head and found the bench facing the statue of Edward VII. It was not the best of views as the Mersey Ferries building blocked the panorama of the river frontage. However, this was the location Craufurd had requested and it was within easy walking distance from his apartment. He sipped a coffee he had collected on route. The area in front of the Liver building was always a busy promenade, what with the relatively new statue of the Beatles and the exposed canal it attracted both workers and tourists alike. Facing south also had its advantages. Today was no exception and the warmth and the bounce of the light from the grey granite sets made it a pleasant place to sit.

To hear someone shout they were on George Parade and it was obviously named after George Harrison brought a smile. He hoped they would go on to find John Street, Paul Street and Ringo Starr Drive but he doubted they would bother. From the corner of his eye, he saw Craufurd approaching.

‘Thanks for meeting me.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What a bloody last few days. I suppose you’ve heard about Carla?’

‘On the news. Dangerous area you live in at the moment, my friend. I believe you’ve met them all? Jennings was it? Then there’s this chap, the latest. Discovered on the top of the carpark. Glad I moved, Craufurd. Much safer. Cop shop almost next door too.’ He smiled and sipped his coffee. ‘What can I do for you that we couldn’t manage over the internet?’

‘I have a painting in the car I’m interested in selling. I could put it through auction but you know how long-winded that can be. It’s too big to carry here. It’s in the carpark on Princes Parade.’

They both stood, Simon dropping his coffee cup into the first litter bin.

The drive from Speke to Waterloo via Copy Lane Police Station was quicker than Skeeter had expected. She had elected to take the M57 and avoid the city centre traffic. The houses along Tudor Road were not what she was expecting. Not all of the houses were designed the same, some had an Art Deco feel, many were painted in cream or magnolia. Their curved frontage gave them a genteel appearance. However, it soon became clear the house for which Skeeter searched was not in the same league. It stood out like a blackening tooth in a white smile. She parked at the front and checked the address. A large tree looked to have punctured the tarmac and shaded the frontage.

The gate hung on one hinge; the painted wrought iron was scaled and flaking. The garden was overgrown but still retained a vestige of design. Skeeter noticed the curtain of the house next door move as she approached the front door. The curved window to the left was blinded by yellowing net curtains that rested on the inner window sill. A number of dead flies were trapped in the folds. She knocked on the door before glancing round. Moving away, she looked up at the bedroom windows and then the guttering of the overhanging roof. Rosebay willowherb had taken hold along its length. Skeeter moved under the semi-circular door cover and knocked again.

‘He’s out! Out since early doors. Always out.’

Skeeter turned to address the neighbour. She had progressed from lifting the curtain to monitor the movements of a stranger to direct confrontation. As a police officer, Skeeter was impressed.

‘What time did he leave, and more importantly, what time does he get back?’

The difference between the two properties was marked. The front was unpainted but pebble dashed, the hanging baskets were ordered and recently planted and the garden immaculate. You could tell there was no car in the household as the drive comprised different ornaments and pots.

‘Are you Social